"Hey!" Grandma yelled, leaning her head out of the driver's seat window to shoot the cat that had decided to sit in the middle of the road a glare. "Get out of the road! Some of us have places to be!"
The cat, a striped orange short hair with an unusually fluffy tail, stared at Grandma's Volkswagen Beetle with feline disdain, unconcerned about the one-ton vehicle bearing down on him. "Do you have hairballs for brains?" Grandma asked before honking the horn twice.
The cat closed its eyes languidly and yawned, purposely exaggerating the way it stretched its jaws open. Then it sauntered off, its tail sticking straight up in the air, looking as though he had departed of his own whim rather because he was being menaced by an old lady in a Beetle. "Sheesh," Grandma huffed, rolling her eyes as she hit the gas pedal, "This is why I prefer dogs."
Quentin nodded in agreement. He liked cats, but he and Grandma were on a mission and needed to get to Phoebe's house as soon as possible. He yawned, much like the cat did just seconds before, the contents of the bucket he held in his lap rattling as the car moved onward. It was way earlier than he usually woke, the sky on the horizon a mix of pink and orange that made Quentin think of fruit smoothies. "You alright?" Grandma asked, noticing his sleepy state. She flicked the turn signal on as they approached the right led onto the street Phoebe lived on.
Quentin shifted, sitting up in his seat. "I'm okay," he said, rubbing his eyes. "I don't know why I'm so tired. I went to bed early like you told me to."
"It's because you aren't used to it," Grandma explained as she turned the steering wheel. "You'll wake up more once we get there."
It would not be long before they did. Quentin felt himself perk up a little more, anticipation already beginning to bubble up inside of him. He drummed his fingers on the lid of his bucket and looked out at the neighborhood he knew almost as well as his own. The houses were all moderately-sized and well-kept, the trees in front of them standing tall with newly budding leaves already on their branches. Quentin had always thought that the part of town Phoebe lived in was nice, but he'd overhead some other kids at school derisively refer to it as a 'lower-class' place. He'd never understood why- sure the houses here weren't as big or fancy as the ones in the gated community he lived in, but Phoebe's house was always cozy and smelled like cinnamon.
They pulled into Phoebe's driveway five minutes later. "Geez Louise, kid!" Grandma laughed when Quentin began unlatching his seatbelt before the car had even come to a full stop. "Don't go falling out now!"
Mr. Love was waiting for them outside, a mug in each hand. He approached as Quentin opened his door and jumped out. "Good Morning!" he greeted, making long quick strides down the path leading to the driveway.
"Hey Mr. Love!" Quentin said, waving with one hand while lugging his bucket with the other. He went over to meet him, the heavy pail hitting his leg as he walked.
"Hey Phil," Grandma said as she exited the vehicle and shut the door behind her. "Quentin, you didn't close your door!"
Quentin swiveled his head back towards the vehicle. The passenger side-door was still wide open. "Uh-oh! I'll get it!"
"You sure will!" Grandma called back.
Quentin turned, and took a step forward, but then stopped without going any further. He looked back and made eye contact with Mr. Love, who smiled and inclined his head in the direction of the car door, as though issuing a silent, friendly challenge. Quentin, deciding to take him up on it, set his bucket down on the driveway and put two fingers to his forehead, the way they did in the comics he and Phoebe liked to read. He extended his other arm out, focusing his telekinesis on the door, and then slowly swept it horizontally. The car door followed the movements of his arm, closing with a soft click. He turned back to Mr. Love, proud of his accomplishment. "I did it!"
"You sure did! Wow!" Mr. Love bent forward to hand one of the mugs to Quentin, who took it eagerly. "That's awesome! And so early in the morning, too! At this time of day I can barely get my socks on!"
Quentin smiled up at him, holding the steaming mug with both hands. The morning was a chilly one, and the heat of the hot chocolate gave his cold hands some relief. "Is Phoebe up?" he asked, bringing the mug up closer to his face so he could inhale the chocolatey goodness.
"She was asleep when I checked a few minutes ago." Grandma walked up and handed her the other mug. "But you know how she is." Quentin certainly did know- Phoebe was usually awake before he was, though not normally this early.
"You better get started then,Quentin," Grandma suggested, gesturing at the driveway, "if you want it to be done before Phoebe wakes up."
Quentin nodded, took a generous sip of his cocoa-it was hot, but not scalding, and felt good going down in contrast to the frigid air around him- then moved to kneel in front of the driveway, setting his bucket and his mug down on either side of him. He took the plastic lid off of the bucket and scrutinized its contents for a moment before taking out a thick pillar of white sidewalk chalk.
He looked down at the smooth grey asphalt, wondering where he should start on his recreation of the drawing he'd given Phoebe. The head would probably be best, he decided, leaning forward to touch the chalk to the driveway. It's what I normally do. He pressed the chalk down and arched it upward to create the oval that was to become Phoebe's head, liking how easily the chalk dragged on the asphalt. I better make sure I draw everything big enough…
As Quentin drew Phoebe's outline, the adults behind him talked. "How's she been?" Grandma asked.
He heard Mr. Love sigh. "She's been very upset about what happened at the brunch." Quentin frowned, because he had also been very upset about it, not having been able to understand why Phoebe set something that he had made for her on fire. "She said she liked it," Quentin recalled saying to his mother shortly after returning home. "Why would she burn something she liked?"
"She didn't mean to do it, honey," Mom had said as she pulled him close and wiped away his tears. "It was an accident. She's having a lot of trouble right now…"
Phoebe had not spoken to him since that day, even though he had called her later that night and the afternoon following. Knowing that she had been sad about what happened to his picture should have made him feel better, but really didn't. He didn't like to think about Phoebe being upset, even if she had hurt his feelings at the time. She didn't mean to, though. I know that.
"Vanessa was right," Mr. Love admitted. "It was way too soon for her to be out in such a crowded place."
"All those people may have been overwhelming after the hospital," Grandma replied sympathetically, "but Phil, it wasn't anybody's fault. These things happen."
Quentin furrowed his brows and paused, bringing his free hand up to rub at the side of his head. A strange sadness began creeping into his mind, like water flowing into the cracks in a sidewalk, made weirder by the fact that he'd been feeling really good a second before. He glanced behind him, looking up just in time to see running a hand through his close-cropped black hair. "We should have just had breakfast at our house," he said, the guilt he was feeling weighing as heavily on Quentin as it must have on him. "But she was so excited. She kept going on about how much she wanted to see Quentin."
"I was really happy to see her," Quentin said, hoping the words would make Mr. Love feel less bad, "even if it was only for a little while."
Mr. Love blinked, as though he had forgotten that Quentin was there. He smiled down at him, and the sadness began to recede from Quentin's mind. "I'm glad to hear that. Phoebe's lucky to have a friend like you." He cleared his throat. "Maybe we'll go for brunch another day, when she's had a bit more time to recover.
That sounded like a great idea to Quentin. He turned back to his art, more motivated to complete it than ever if it would help Phoebe get better faster. He finished the outline of her body in good time and set the white chalk aside, wanting to start on her hair. He didn't have any black, and it wouldn't have shown up that well on her driveway, so he levitated a piece of purple chalk out of the bucket and into his hand. Phoebe won't mind having purple hair and I can always make her scrunchies pink, he thought as he swirled the chalk around her head in little circles to create her curls.
The color that came out on the driveway was lighter than what the color of the chalk had implied, but there was no way for Quentin to change it, and it looked pretty anyway. A breeze blew, rattling the branches of a nearby tree and rolling the white chalk he had put down underneath Grandma's car. Before he could react, the chalk came rolling back, seemingly of its own accord. He glanced back at Mr. Love, who gave him a wink as he talked with Grandma about the prospects of the Mets. Quentin grinned and gave him a double-thumbs up, then put the chalk back into the bucket so that it would not roll away again.
He worked for a good while, the sky above him gradually lightening, pausing now and then to take sips of his cooling hot chocolate. He felt a tickle in the back of his head halfway through coloring Phoebe's shirt, a light, barely noticeable touch. It was the tingle he often felt when Phoebe was near but could not see her. Mr. Love had them that the sensation was the result of them automatically picking up on each other's psychic wavelengths, an explanation that had disappointed them both. "I thought it was because we had a super strong bond," Phoebe had said, "but it's like that for everybody?"
Mr. Love had laughed at her dissatisfaction. "Well, yeah. But being friends is sort of prerequisite for it."
Quentin turned his head towards the front window, somehow knowing that the source of the psychic energy was there. The curtain was drawn back slightly, and he could just make out a pair of dark eyes peering out at him. He waved and the curtain quickly fell back into place, blocking Phoebe from view. Though he couldn't see her, he knew that she was rushing to the door to see what it was he was doing in her driveway.
The front door opened not five seconds later, and Phoebe peeked her head out, looking similar to the way she had while looking out of the window. Alerted by the creak of the door hinges, Mr. Love and Grandma turned. "Uh-oh," Grandma said with mock-chagrin. "Looks like the jig is up!"
"I guess so!" Mr. Love siad, shrugging his shoulders. "Well, you may as well come on out, after you put a jacket and some shoes on."
Phoebe closed the door and re-emerged after a moment, wearing a 'University of Oregon' hoodie that came down to her knees over her pajamas and a pair of sneakers far too big to be her own. She lingered on the doorstep, one hand still on the knob, making no move to walk forward or retreat back into her house. She raised herself up on her tip-toes and looked to where Quentin sat, attempting to peer over at his drawing.
Mr. Love waved her over. "Phoebe, you know your mother will throw a fit if she catches you leaving that door open," he warned. "Come on out, Quentin's got something to show you."
Phoebe shut the door with a push, her fingers reluctant to leave the knob. She squared her shoulders, inhaled through her nose, exhaled through her mouth, and then stepped down to the sidewalk. She walked with her back straight and her arm hanging at her sides, the long sleeves dangling over her hands. Her oversized shoes made loud thumps on the concrete, making it sound like she was stomping, but the look on her face was more anxious than angry. Quentin couldn't blame her- a bit of nervousness was simmering in his stomach, though he could not understand why that would be, as he'd never been nervous about talking to Phoebe before. So many things are different now…
She came to a stop in front of him, her gaze alternating between her face and her sneakers. Quentin decided to speak first, hoping that it would put her more at ease. "Hi Phoebe," he said, waving at her with his chalk still in hand.
Phoebe waved back, the too-long sleeve of her hoodie flailing around with her movements. "Hi," she squeaked out in reply. She swallowed, looked away at the dew-covered grass, and then said. "I'm sorry I burned your drawing." She cringed as though remembering what she had done caused her physical pain, and her eyes were full of the same guilt that had haunted Mr. Love's. "I really liked it."
Quentin smiled, though it was hard, because she looked like she would burst out crying at any moment, and it hurt to see her that way. "It's okay, Phoebe. These things happen, it's no one's fault," he said, repeating the words his Grandma had used.
Phoebe wrapped her arms around herself, still unable to look him in the eye. Quentin got to his feet and put a hand on her shoulder, taking care not to press down too hard in case she had a burn there. "Look, Phoebe," he said pointing down at his half-finished depiction of her. "I'm making another one for you!"
Phoebe slowly turned her head, directing her gaze down at the picture. She gasped, her eyes growing wide and her mouth dropping open. A flood of emotions rushed from her head into his - shock, happiness, and guilt, a combination that he had never before experienced himself, and made him want to both cry and jump for joy. "I thought-" she cut herself off, and then tried again, her voice choking up. "I thought you wouldn't want to be my friend anymore after what I did." Tears gathered in her eyes, and she started sniffling a little. "That you wouldn't want to see me ever again."
"What!" Quentin blinked back the tears that had begun to form in his eyes, genuinely surprised that she would think such a thing. "No way! We're best friends forever!" He moved in to hug her, remembered what had happened the last time he did that, and then settled for gently patting her on the shoulder. "I'll never stop being your friend, not even if you try to stop being mine We're best buds for life!"
In an instant Phoebe launched herself into him, throwing her arms around his neck. The hug did not last long, as the contact still bothered her healing injuries, but when she pulled away she was smiling."Thank you, Quentin," she said, her voice nearly a whisper.
"No problem," he replied, stepping back and turning his attention to the drawing. "I wanted it to be a surprise," he said as they both knelt down to examine it more closely. "But it would have been too dark if we had gotten here earlier."
"I was still surprised," Phoebe said, tracing her finger along the outline of her scrunchie. "I've never seen you get up this early!"
The door opened again, and the final member of the Love household emerged, dressed in a warm flannel robe. "Mom!" Phoebe yelled, grinning from ear to ear. "Come here! Quentin made me a present that I can't burn!"
Mrs. Love headed over, not looking at all that surprised to find Quentin and his grandma in her yard at this hour. "That's really thoughtful of you, Quentin," she said, smiling down at him with approval.
"It'll last longer than the paper one," Quentin said, "at least, until it rains, anyway."
"If it rains, we can draw another one." Phoebe made the declaration with confidence, sounding so much like her old self that Quentin became immediately convinced that things would be back to normal in no time. "I'm gonna draw you," she said, floating a piece of chalk into her hand.
Quentin grinned. "Rad," he said, and then the two set themselves to work, the air around them steadily getting warmer.