The Art of Losing(26)

My cheeks flushed. I had just forced a movie date on him without even thinking about it. But Raf didn’t seem to notice.

“Cool,” he said, still engrossed in the first few pages.

I liked that he was enjoying something I’d given him for once, rather than giving me advice about what I needed to do to make myself better.

But as if he’d read my mind, he glanced up and asked, “Do you write at all?”

I turned away, embarrassed. “Not lately. My poems are terrible.”

Raf shook his head. “I don’t believe that. Your brain is built for words.”

I could feel myself blushing. “I guess,” I practically whispered. “But the literary magazine has only published a few of them.”

He looked smug. “Well, at least think about it. Because someone has to write the comics, right?”

“Yeah . . .” I said.

“Why not you?”

I squirmed uncomfortably but didn’t answer. Because I didn’t have an answer.

“You used to write comics all the time when we were little. I’d be coloring, and you’d be scribbling away next to me, plotting out these intricate stories. And then you’d make me illustrate them for you in these tiny boxes that you’d drawn.”

The memory made my lips tilt up at the corners. “They were pretty tiny.”

“I started drawing because of you. So I guess my mom should thank you for all the destruction I’ve done to my bedroom.”

I laughed, relieved we’d moved on from the subject of me. “Since you’ve now admitted that you owe me, I’ll be expecting a commission when you become a famous artist.”

Raf rolled his eyes playfully. “Only if you start writing things for me to illustrate again. Because your stories were good, even when you were seven.”

My smile slipped. This was edging dangerously close to a conversation about my lack of ambition, and I already got more than enough of that from Mom.

“You want me to shut up now?” Raf said, bumping me lightly with his elbow.

I nodded.

“I have to get going anyway,” he said. “I have to go to a meeting tonight.”

“You’re still going?” I was surprised. He was done with rehab, so it wasn’t a requirement anymore. And I didn’t think he thought of himself as an addict.

“Yeah,” he said. “I kind of like going. It makes my parents feel secure that I’m not out using, for one, but mostly, I find it really inspiring to see people pull themselves up and dust themselves off after reaching bottom, and I mean rock bottom in some cases. It’s encouraging. And it’s making me think about what more I could be doing.”

“Doing how?” I said.

“Like school, for one,” he said. “I signed up for community college classes in the fall. I’m going to take some art classes, but also a psych course.”

“That’s great, Raf!” I said. I suddenly wanted to hug him, but I wasn’t sure we were at that point in our friendship yet. “So, have you met anyone at your AA meetings? I mean, like, have you made any friends?”

He shrugged. “Kind of,” he said uncomfortably. “I mean, there are some people I hang out with at the meetings, but it’s weird going to a party by yourself, you know? I need a wingman, but all my men are on the No Fly List.”

I could see that even though he was making jokes, he really was sad. “Well, if you ever want a wingwoman, I’m a very good flier. I don’t get airsick or anything.”

I regretted saying it immediately because, truthfully, I wasn’t great with strangers. Or parties. But even though he laughed, he also looked grateful, and I knew I’d go anywhere with him if it made him happier.

“Thanks,” he said. “And I will report back on this,” he added, gesturing to Watchmen.

I walked him downstairs and bummed a cigarette off of him before he left.

“Hey,” I called to him before he reached the shadow at the corner of his house. “Do you want to go to a baseball game tomorrow with me and my cousin Spencer?”

It was getting dark, but I could see his smile in the porch light. “Yeah,” he said. “I definitely do.”

I couldn’t keep the smile from my face, a goofy reflection of his. “Good. Come over at noon. And you’re driving.”

I turned around and went inside before he could argue. Spencer was going to love his Jeep.





Eight Months Ago



I was halfway through the latest issue of Batman when I heard a car pull into the driveway. It was Mike. I hadn’t been expecting him. I sighed as I closed the book, wishing I could finish it. But instead, I got up and headed downstairs to meet him.

Audrey was at the door waiting for Mike as he came up the front walk. I saw her check her hair in the mirror before he reached the storm door.

She startled guiltily when she saw me and backed away. “Mike’s here,” she said.

“Yeah, I saw,” I said. “So you can . . . leave.” That came out harsher than I planned, but I couldn’t figure out what she wanted. She shot me a dirty look before rounding the corner.

“Hey, Harley Quinn,” Mike said as he opened the door.

I leaned in for a kiss, catching the lingering smell of alcohol from the night before. “How was the party last night?”