Live Forever In The Lights You Make

3. The Graffiti They Write On Your Grave

Chapter 3: The Graffiti They Write On Your Grave

Ten minutes later, we pull up to a large, graffitied structure at the outskirts of town.

Gerard gives me a wary glance. "I've seen graffiti before, Foster."

"I know," I say, turning off the car engine. "But this is different."

Gerard follows me as I walk towards the structure, admiring it. Tendrils of neon color snake around the entire thing, jarred by bubble letters and jagged signatures. What interests me most isn't on the outside, though.

"Follow me," I say, ducking under a hole in the back of the structure. I see Gerard raise his eyebrows, but follow suit.

The space we step into is rather damp and misty, with sunlight trickling in through various holes. Sharpied writing covers the walls, turning the entire thing into a work of art, of messy letters and a million personal stories.

I turn and face Gerard, shrugging and smiling apologetically. "I . . . I come here when I need to be alone," I explain, surprising myself. I have never told anyone that up front before.

He says nothing as he skims his fingers across the wall, tracing the letters. His lips move softly as he mouths the words.

" . . . What are these?" he asks finally.

"There's a new one every time I come here," I say, wrapping my flannel around me. "I guess some people just come here to vent, and I like reading their stories."

Gerard is silent again, and I see him staring at a paragraph written in purple marker that looks fairly recent. "He left today," he reads aloud, his brow furrowing as he tries to decipher the sloppy handwriting. "I never thought he would just go like that. I've told myself a million times to move on, that he's not worth it, and yet . . . "

He turns and looks at me, his eyes somewhat glassy, then shakes his head, blinking, and shakily regains his smirk and sarcastic demeanor. "You . . . you just like to read these?"

I nod, feeling slightly vulnerable and not liking it one bit. "Yeah," I say defensively. "Or I come here to think sometimes."

Gerard sticks his hands in his pockets, his eyes still wandering around the space. Then a shy grin crosses onto his face. "This is really cool," he says softly.

"You think so?" I say slowly as he takes a step towards me.

"Definitely."

His hazel eyes have a different look in them, a more passionate look, that burns into me as he gets closer.

I take a step back and cross my arms over my chest nervously. "Gerard . . . "

He takes another step towards me, and my face flushes as he brushes a strand of hair out my face, leaning in. "Yes, princess?" he whispers, his voice huskier and more intense than it was before.

"Gerard." I run a hand down the side of his face and gently push it away. "I'm sorry, I just . . . can't." I let my hand drop as a wave of disappointment crosses over his features.

He bits his lip hard and looks down, his cheeks pink. "Sorry . . . I just . . . I don't know what . . . "

I feel a twinge of sympathy at his embarrassment, and put my finger under his chin, lifting his head to face me. "It's okay," I say lightly. "I'm just not sure I'm ready for that yet."

Gerard, still blushing, nods his head, his bangs flopping into his eyes. "I understand."

Feeling the tension in the air, I begin to climb out of the structure. "School's probably getting let out right now," I explain. "And I have to go to my job."

"Where do you work?" Gerard asks, following me.

"I work at this restaurant downtown," I reply. "It's kind of crappy, but it pays well."

Gerard nods, looking pensive. "I should probably get a job," he says.

"It better not be where I work," I say, playfully shoving him.

He laughs. "I've tried to steer clear of anything involving kitchens after . . . " He falls silent, a look of horror and remembrance on his face.

"After . . . ?" I prompt.

"The Toaster Incident," he says quietly. "Mikey has never been the same since."

"Um, okay," I say awkwardly, deciding to drop the subject. " . . . I'm pretty sure the music store is hiring, though. Matty could probably help get you a job, if you wanted."

"Really?" Gerard's eyes are shining as he gets into the car, much like they had been in the store. "That would be awesome!"

"I know," I say smugly, tossing my hair over my shoulder as I start the car. "I'll talk to him about it, okay?"

"Okay!" Gerard says excitedly. He lets out a low whistle. "You really are something else."

I give him a soft smack. "You're such a dork," I laugh.

"I would argue, but you did have to get me out of a locker this morning, so . . . " Gerard relents, and I giggle.

As we drive through town, I turn down my radio, opting to learn some more about Gerard instead.

"So," I say, "do you play any instruments or anything, or are you just really into music?"

Gerard's cheeks flush slightly. "Um, I sing," he says, a hint of embarrassment in his voice.

"You do?" I exclaim. "Can I hear you sometime?"

"Sure," Gerard says, and I look over to see him grinning like an idiot, quite unlike the cocky boy I had met this morning. "Oh, by the way, you can just drop me off at the school, since my car's there."

"How is Mikey going to get home?" I wonder aloud.

"Not my problem." Gerard rolls his eyes. "He can walk home for all I care."

"He's your brother!" I scold him as I pull into the parking lot.

"He shouldn't have ditched school in the first place!"

"Well, you shouldn't have either!"

Gerard gives me a patronizing look. "We've been over this already, princess."

"Get out," I order jokingly as I stop my car.

Gerard steps out, flicking his hair out of his eyes as he looks back at me. "Thanks, Foster," he says softly. "I'll see you later, okay?"

"Later, loser," I call, and he scrunches up his nose at me in an adorable fashion.

"Bye, princess," he says, his eyes slipping to his seat for a second before he shuts his door. I watch as he makes his way over to his car, then glance at the shotgun seat.

I'm surprised to find a small, folded-up slip of paper sitting there, and I grasp it and carefully unfold it. Inside, written in an unruly scrawl, reads a series of numbers, with xoxo, Gee, signed at the bottom.

"Foster," I whisper to myself as I feel a smile and a blush creep onto my face, "what have you gotten yourself into?"