Pieces of Me (5 page)

             
“A classic? Hardly,” I argue. “Your car has seen better days.”

             
“It’s a ’72 Chevelle,” he says emphatically like I should know how cool that is, but it means nothing to me. When I still don’t look impressed he adds, “My grandpa drove it off the lot brand new and it’s been in my family ever since.”

             
“Well, I guess that’s pretty cool,” I allow. 

             
“He died last summer before he could finish restoring it for me. The engine is great; the exterior just needs some work. We talked about upgrading the motor to give it more horsepower but I don't know. Now that he's gone, I'm not really sure what to do with it.”

             
“Oh,” is the most brilliant response I can manage. I think that maybe I should tell him that someone I loved died last summer too so he knows that I can relate, but I can't. I never expected him to be so sentimental, but I don't really want to go there. If I start talking about Sean, I might fall back down the deep dark hole and since I'm just barely treading the surface as it is, I can't make myself say anything but, “I’m sorry.”

             
“Don't be, I know girls like you don’t know too much about cars,” he teases me.

             
“That’s because girls like me prefer trucks,” I shoot back. “Farmer's daughter, remember?”

             
“How can I forget?” He smiles. “So are you ready? Or do you not trust my piece of crap to get you to your apartment safe and sound?”

             
I think about it for a minute but ultimately I know that I'd rather just be alone.

             
“Thanks, but I'll be okay.”

             
“Look Aria, I get that you are a little bit of a loner and that you don't want to be friends, hell you won't even let me tutor you for class so you must really despise me or something—”

             
“It's not that.” I blush. “I don't despise you. I just, I don't know.” I'm at a loss for words. How do I explain to this guy that being around him makes me uncomfortable without implying that I either think he's creepy or that I'm somehow affected by him? It's neither—I just really don't feel comfortable around anybody these days.

             
“Fine. If you don't despise me, please just let me take you home.”

             
“It's okay, honest. It doesn't even hurt anymore.” It still hurts like a bitch, but I lie anyway.

             
He looks like he's going to try to argue with me in some vain attempt to get me to change my mind. After a moment though, he sighs in defeat. “Fine. I won't force you but I'm not exactly happy about this.”

             
“It shouldn't matter to you anyway. You don't even know me.”

             
“And whose fault is that?” he points out. “See you later, Aria.”

             
He waves goodbye, leaving me alone to face the dilemma of getting home with a damaged hand, since I'm too much of a stubborn ass to accept his offer. 

             
Getting back to my apartment is a struggle and by the time I get there I'm kicking myself for not just letting him drive me home. Would it have really been that bad? Probably not. There is something seriously wrong with me when I would rather push my bike home with an injured hand than let a freaking boy drive me here. 

             
I go to my room and pull Sean's shirt off of its hanger in my closet, careful as always to avoid looking at the box labeled 'Pieces of Us' in his familiar handwriting. But I can't help but notice that the guitar leaning on the wall behind it is starting to collect dust from over a year of not being played. The strings call to my fingertips as I itch to strum the chords and feel the vibration of the music in my chest. But I don't give in. I pull on the shirt of the boy I love and crawl into bed alone
.

Chapter 7

I make sure I'm the first one in lab on Tuesday.  I'm a hands-on learner and while I've failed the first two tests, I've done well on the lab sections so I'm hoping that if I can continue this pattern, I'll at least scrape by with a passing grade.

              I've been staring at the pictures of the different phases of cell division since last night. All I need to do is correctly identify the four stages of mitosis.

             
The class filters in gradually. I look up just as Holden is arriving. He takes his usual spot in the back, directly behind me.

             
When Dr. Hilburn walks in he doesn't greet us like a normal teacher would. He just sits down at his desk and instructs us to begin.

             
I don't have a lab partner so I don't have to worry about sharing the microscope. I peer through the eyepiece and try to adjust the focus, but all I see is white. I adjust it again and all I see is black. I check the slide to see if I grabbed the right one. Then I slide it back on the stage and try again. Nothing.

             
What am I forgetting? I double check to make sure it's actually plugged in despite knowing that if it wasn't, I wouldn't be able to see the light at all. I look around and nobody else seems to be having any problems with their microscopes. They are all busy going back and forth from peering at the slides to writing down their observations and I have yet to see a single cell.

             
“Do you need some help?” Holden appears at my side.

             
“No, I'm fine thank you.”

             
“You don't look fine. You look like you are pretty much freaking out over here.”

             
“I'm fine,” I repeat.

             
“You know, I'm here to help you guys.”

             
“Like you are some sort of expert.” I roll my eyes at him.

             
“Do you think just anybody can be a lab assistant?”

             
“Um, yeah,” I deadpan.

             
“Okay, yeah, fine. Anybody can with enough credit hours and professor approval but I actually know what I'm doing.”

             
“I can figure it out.”

             
“Aria, you are already behind. Just let me fix the damn microscope,” he whispers.

             
“Fine.” I start to step away but before I can move he's standing behind me, his arms resting on either side of my body trapping me in between the table and his chest.

             
He leans over my shoulder and peers through the eyepiece.

             
“You were adjusting the lens diaphragm instead of the course focus,” his husky voice whispers in my ear.  He adjusts the knobs accordingly and I know I should try to pay attention to what he is doing, but all I can focus on is the beating of my heart like a drum and the slow and steady rise of his chest pressed up against my back.

             
“Now try,” he says without moving an inch.

             
I peer through the eye piece to find the image is now perfectly clear. I smile as I look back up at him.

             
“Thank you,” I tell him sincerely.

             
“You're welcome.” He still hasn't moved, and the heat from his body is making me uncomfortable. Even my face feels hot.

             
“How's your hand?” he asks as he moves away and takes the empty seat next to mine.

             
“It's much better,” I tell him as I continue working on the lab since I'm so far behind.
              “Good. No tenderness or anything?”

             
“It's not too bad.”              

             
“Let me know if there's anything else I can do for you.” He gives me a crooked smile before returning to the table in the back. 

             
My hands are shaking so much that I'm afraid I'm going to knock the entire box of glass slides to the floor.

             
I'm one of the last ones to finish the lab thanks to my late start. I feel like I should thank Holden again for helping me but when I finally get up to leave, he's talking to Dr. Hilburn and I don't want to interrupt. I thanked him already so I'm sure he knows how much I appreciated his help.

             
Olivia texts me to let me know she is at The Java Bean and asks me to meet her for coffee before my next class. I could definitely use a pick-me-up so I head over.

             
She's already curled up on one of the most comfortable chairs at the back of the café sipping on an iced coffee.

             
“Hey!”

             
“Hi,” I greet her.

             
“Did you see this?” She holds up a flyer printed in funky lettering announcing:

Do Art Studios

Now Open

             
“What is it?” I ask.

             
“Have you ever heard of Corks & Colors?” she inquires.

             
“Um, no.”

             
“It's, like, an art studio where you get to paint your own stuff and get drunk on wine while you're doing it.”
              “Sounds fascinating.”
              “This place is a paint-your-own ceramics studio only without the booze. Wanna check it out with me Saturday?”

             
“I don't know. My hand is still pretty messed up.”

             
It's the best excuse I can come up with since I’m boasting a pretty convincing bruise, but it definitely looks worse than it feels.

             
“It's your left hand, Aria.”

             
“So?”

             
“I know you're right handed.”

             
Well, there goes that excuse. I have no choice then but to reluctantly agree. Besides, I figure she'll just continue begging me anyway,  so I agree mostly just to shut her up about it. I think she might be more stubborn than I am.

             
“Fine,” I sigh. “Where is this place anyway?”

             
“It's just on the other side of town.”

             
“Can I ride my bike and meet you there?”

             
“Um, no. You're not riding your bike all the way across town. I'll drive.”

             
“But—”

             
“It's supposed to rain all weekend.  Trust me; you do not want to ride your bike.”

             
“I'm not sure—”

             
“It'll be fun! I've always wanted to go to a place like this. I'm so excited that Fairmount finally has something cool to do during the winter. I can't wait for Movies in the Park to start up again.”

             
“When does that start?”

             
“In the spring. Usually in late March or early April. It's a blast. You should come with me sometime!”

             
I think about my first introduction to Movies in the Park. It didn't exactly go very well. But maybe if I went with Olivia it wouldn't be so bad. I can't keep locking myself in my room every time something reminds me of Sean.

             
“Yeah, that sounds good.”

             
I don't have to work tonight so I head back to my apartment after Olivia and I finish our coffee. I study for a little bit and contemplate calling my mother but ultimately decide I don't really want to. She'll get over it.

             
It's nights like these that I almost get my guitar out just to have something to do. Maybe I should take up knitting. That's an innocent way to keep my hands busy.

             
God, I sound like a little old lady.

             
I open up my laptop and check my email. There's one from Mrs. Matthews but I don't even open it. Sean's mom is one of my most favorite people on the planet, but I haven't been able to talk to her since the accident. I know it's selfish, but I can't stand the thought of seeing the pain in her face, knowing that I'm the cause of it. I can’t bear the thought of her hating me.

             
I close the laptop and briefly consider doing something really pathetic—I almost call in to work to see if they need any help closing.

             
Yeah, I have problems.

             
I decide against it and ultimately opt for a long, hot bubble bath and go to bed early—a pathetic end to yet another pathetic day.