Where To?

Chapter 4

Clair rapped on my door, looking less polished in leggings and an oversized hoodie. We were having dinner at my balcony, she said. Her treat too, since she was taking advantage of my space. She sounded better too, after another hibernation day full of reports and emails; she called me 'dork' when I opened the door.

The food arrived promptly, and Clair had a satisfied grin on her face as the table was getting set up. She sat me down and talked. Which was pretty good, because a silent, pensive Clair wasn't really a character we were used to seeing. We were just ourselves tonight. I enjoyed my food and she did the talking.

Her mom called to check up on her yesterday, she told me, and nagged her saying she should "hook up" with the sun because she and the sun made such a good duo, given she was rosy pale. She face palmed to the term "hook up," referencing the times today, she guessed. 

Her mom would always insult her, only to follow up with a compliment, making it impossible for Clair to ever roll her eyes at her. She said she missed her mom. I missed her too, because she'd insult and then compliment all of us. Roasted by the old lady, Jax would joke. I asked her about her brother Danny, who would be on his last year of high school next year.

"Still slacking, still trying to find a girl. Still my little bully. I hope he's not like that to everyone though, a bully." 

I thought of my own brother. Marion is a "literal angel from art heaven," as mum says, but sometimes you feel the presence of his canvasses up on the walls more than that of the artist himself. Clair argued my brother was a broodier, more mysterious, maybe even cooler version of history nerd Jill, but that was just her girly perception of guys that painted, like Leonardo DiCaprio in Titanic. Still, I was pretty lucky I had the socially woke Cohen, and crybaby Liv, and Jaxson that counted as two people with those gigantic biceps, and Vern whom we're sure is a runaway Weasley. And then there's rebel Clair with way too many stories to tell –

"Yeah, yeah. We love you too, Jillian." She smiled at me before returning to a real meal this time around. She argued she's trying this diet that should work with her workout routine when I asked where her salad was.

Rebel Clair with way too many drinks downed, standards way too high for everyone else but just high enough for her, way too many dreams to catch with just one pair of hands, dreams that took forms of neon sign streets and bent coconut trees way too far to trek with just her two feet.

"So," I started to set my fork down, "that bird painting, you sure you're alright from that now?"

"I thought about it," she started alertly, sitting straighter, "the moment I tuck myself into bed. I figured, I just wanted so badly to leave, you know?

"And like, I wanted to run like those silhouettes, with the birds, wherever they're going. I might even just let them adopt me. Imagine me trying to flap my arms and then chicken skin surfacing on my skin and feathers sprouting out of my armpits." She gesticulated around her armpit. It was so funny I felt the iced tea coming back up my throat for a split second. Jesus.

Rebel Clair that made everything funny. Rebel Clair that gave herself space instead of waiting for everyone else to do it for her. And yet, Rebel Clair that, despite loving herself for who she was, wanted to flee from where she knew herself best.

"I just want to get out already, you know? I mean, I don't hate England, I just think it's not the only place in the world. Especially after Paris – man, that was such a great trip. Even if Riv and Liv got back together."

"They broke up again thought." I shrugged quietly, feeling my face muscles droop.

"I swear to God I'm going to throw River into a river. Let him drown in his own bullshit or something." Clair rolled her eyes and rubbed her temples.