Subtleties

Dad looked much better now that he'd had the chance to rest. Nathaniel followed behind him shyly, his eyes softening when they found me. I waved to both of them enthusiastically, motioning for them to come join us.

How'd the shoot go, girls? Dad asked as he made his way to the back.

Very well, I think, I answered. We've even made some new friends.

Mom must have been waving at him from behind me. I saw his beady eyes shift to look at her from behind the glare the umbrella lights cast on his glasses lenses. He went to join Mom, Desirée and Iana further back, leaving Nathaniel, Dajan, and me in front of the cash wrap.

I, for one, was thrilled to see Nathaniel. I didn't expect him to drop by; I assumed he would be too tired to do anything until later. His blond hair fell over his eyes in still-damp tendrils, and he sent a waft of intoxicating shower-fresh smells to my eager nose when he moved. I sort of wanted to hug him, but I decided I probably shouldn't.

He returned my smile and wave, but hesitated when he saw who stood beside me. Dajan. Nathaniel's face formed his name with a tinge of bitterness.

Curious, I looked up to see if D.J. would have a similar reaction. The name he used for Nathaniel was shorter—one syllable. Nate, I think, or maybe Nat or Nath. It was hard to tell, since he kept his jaw mostly still, talking through clenched teeth. He forced a smile—which was nothing like the bright, beaming, laughing smiles I'd captured on camera—and held out a hand for a stiff shake, which Nathaniel was obliged to return.

Nathaniel held his face in a quizzical expression, looking back and forth between Dajan and me.

They already seemed to know each other, so I didn't introduce them. He's my neighbor, I told Dajan. He's really sweet. We met the day I got here. We pretty much became instant friends.

Friends? Dajan glanced down at me flirtatiously. Are you sure about that?

Yeah, D.J., he's my friend. I swatted his arm playfully. Am I not allowed to have other friends in this town besides you?

I'd completely forgotten about poor Nathaniel. The longer Dajan and I exchanged complicated gestures he couldn't understand, the more upset he became. A bluish wash fell over his face as he gaped around the studio—at Mom, who was introducing Dad and exchanging pleasantries with Desirée and Iana—and at me, who was ignoring him completely and talking to Dajan about him in the third person without him even knowing.

Hold on just a second, I signaled to Nathaniel contritely, hoping Dajan would fill him in—but Dajan just shrugged uncaringly.

Both of them stared at me helplessly as I climbed on top of the cash wrap and reached behind it to retrieve my phone from its hiding place in the empty drawer. My heart broke a little bit when I realized Nathaniel had sent me three texts in the past hour, and I had been too busy with Dajan to even read them.

I pulled my feet under me and perched in a comfortable sitting position on the countertop, unconcerned about the smears of sawdust that came off my shoes. "You're such a liar, Nathaniel Wiess," I typed, glaring at him teasingly. "You said no one at the high school can sign, and Dajan Asad can!"

He wasn't as receptive as I'd hoped he would be. Maybe I shouldn't have poked fun at him when he was already on the defensive. "I didn't know he knew sign language," he shot back, trying to hide his frustration with a too-small smile.

I glanced at Dajan briefly, but turned my attention to Nathaniel. "I know you wouldn't have lied to me on purpose," I wrote back apologetically. "I'm glad you're here now. I've missed you today."

It was definitely true that I missed him and I couldn't stop thinking about him, but wondered if telling him that upfront was a little…too upfront.

I couldn't dwell on that for long, though, because now Dajan was the one who felt left out. Talking about me? he asked wryly—clearly annoyed, but still smiling.

I set my phone down on the counter to free up my hands while I waited for Nathaniel's reply. Only good things, of course, I answered him. I guess that was sort of a lie; I'd dropped the subject of Dajan Asad with Nathaniel almost immediately since talking about him only seemed to piss him off.

Likewise, Dajan's smile was disappearing behind an insecure frown. He doesn't like me, he said bluntly.

That much was obvious by the way they acted around each other—but why wouldn't Nathaniel like Dajan?

What's not to like? I asked Dajan.

He needed clarification. What do you mean? About me, or about him?

Either of you! I like you both. Why can't you be friends?

He had no idea how to respond. He just squinted down at me, tilting his head like I'd just said the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. Or the stupidest thing he'd ever seen, more accurately.

…Ugh. I just want to get out of here! Who knew boys could be so…moody? I felt like if I said the wrong thing to either of them, I'd be 'losing points' somehow.

Nathaniel read my mind. "I've missed you, too," said his next text, which made me smile mushily when I read the words. "Have you had lunch yet?"

"No, and I'm starving!" I answered, relieved that there was now an avenue of escape. "Let me wheedle some money out of my mother. I'll be right back."

He didn't seem thrilled with the prospect of being left alone with Dajan, but before he could stop me, I hopped down from the counter and left the two boys to carry out what must have been a trite, awkward, out-loud conversation.

When she saw me approaching, Desirée flagged me down and handed me one of her business cards. Jo, Honey, can I call on you to tutor Iana over the summer? She needs some extra help with reading and signing before she starts kindergarten in the fall.

Sure, I'd love to! I was flattered that she would want me to tutor her daughter, so much so that it was kind of intimidating, but there was no way I could refuse. Iana was a sweet, adorable little girl—and getting closer to her meant getting closer to her sweet, adorable older brother.

Great! She threw up both hands gleefully. My cell phone number is on the front—and I wrote D.J's on the back.

Um…

Thank you! I signed quickly.

Subtle, Dajan's mom. Very subtle.

While Desirée shouldered her handbag and fussed over Iana, preparing to leave, I got the attention of my own mother.

Mom, can I go out to lunch with Nathaniel? Please? I asked her, making sure to wear my very best begging face.

She dove straight into Question Number Two of the dreaded Three Questions. What time are you coming back?

Um, I don't know, an hour or two? I threw out vaguely. Will you still be here to give us a ride home if we come back at three-thirty?

Mom seemed to think that was reasonable enough. Yes, that's fine.

Thanks, Mom. I'll see you then. Oh—I forgot to ask her for money. Hey, don't I get paid for getting the subject to smile during your first-ever photo shoot?

You sure do! She reached up and patted the top of my head condescendingly. Good work today, Kiddo!

Very funny. Come on—don't I at least get enough for lunch?

Dad shook his head and took two twenties out of his wallet. That's for Neighbor Kid, for mowing our lawn. He can buy you lunch.

Thanks! I snatched the money out of Dad's hand.

Now that I had money, there was nothing stopping me from bolting out the door.

…Oh, yeah. Except Dajan.

Hey, I tapped his elbow when I returned to the cash wrap. My neighbor/friend is taking me to lunch. I'd invite you to come with us, but… But he sort of hates you for some reason.

He smiled and laughed, catching on to my sarcasm. No, it's okay. See you soon.

'Soon,' huh? Really? How soon?

Later, he said even more obscurely. It was nice to meet you.

You too. Oh, was it ever nice to meet you, Dajan Asad.

I tilted my head at Nathaniel and propelled myself to the door, pulling myself away from Dajan's magnetic stare.

Goodbye, Mr. and Mrs. Quirke, Nathaniel said politely over his shoulder, holding the door open for me—but he didn't offer Dajan the same courtesy.

I'd taken for granted how stuffy the new studio was compared to the airy summer afternoon outside—exactly what I needed after being shut in all morning. I strode beside Nathaniel on the sidewalk as he carefully navigated around trees, bike racks, and fire hydrants, his hands and eyes busy composing a text. "Sorry it took so long for me to catch up with you," it read, reaching my phone after a few seconds' delay. "I had to mow your lawn first. And my lawn."

I remembered I still held Nathaniel's payment clutched in my greedy hand, and I opened the crinkled bills, smoothing them out as best I could, before I held them out to him.

He tried to refuse it, smiling my favorite boyish, low-lashed smile and insisting they don't have to pay me anything. I stopped him dead in his tracks, though, when I forcefully shoved the money into his back pocket, his mouth issuing no complaints whatsoever when I accidentally ran into him.

"Where are you taking me for lunch?" I typed with giddy, shaking fingers once I righted myself.

Why am I shaking again? Fatigue? Hunger? Or is it just from Nathaniel being…Nathaniel?

"Italian?" came his answer. "It's only a few blocks from here."

How did Nathaniel know me so well already after only a week? I loved pasta, and I ate it up whenever the opportunity presented itself, as hungrily as I would the attention of a hot boy. Here was my chance to help myself to a serving of both at the same time!

My only regret about this situation was not having a chance to go home and shower; I probably smelled like soggy cardboard, whereas Nathaniel smelled incredible. "Are you sure they'll seat me looking like this?" I texted anxiously. "I'm all gross and sweaty."

"I think you look fine," he assured me, even though I knew he was just being polite. Nonetheless, he used the opportunity to conspicuously check me out while I read the text—his eyes inspecting me, his mouth curling into a smile when he liked what he saw.

This late in the afternoon, there weren't many occupied tables at Ciro's, the little Italian bistro. The smiley hostess recognized Nathaniel and called him by name. She offered us the option to sit on the shaded patio, to which I happily agreed.

I understood immediately why Nathaniel wanted to bring me here. The tabletops were all protected with disposable butcher paper, which was meant to be colored, doodled, and written on. He came prepared, digging a ballpoint pen out of his pocket. Before he could write something to me, though, a waitress approached our table and asked a question out loud, expectantly waiting for one of us to answer. She seemed slightly confused when she saw that Nathaniel and I chose to sit side-by-side as opposed to across from each other.

Nathaniel hesitated and looked over at me.

I took his pen and wrote, "Sprite, if they have it," assuming she wanted our drink orders.

I assumed correctly, and she nodded and scurried away, leaving us alone again.

Now that Nathaniel was in a better mood, I decided to test the waters; I wanted desperately to get to the bottom of why he seemed to hold a grudge against my new friend Dajan. "I take it you know each other? You and Dajan Asad?"

He wasn't pleased to see I'd brought him up again, but he answered—probably for the sake of getting it out of the way. "You could say that. He's my sister Amber's boyfriend, I think."

Wait a second. (1) That glittery, trashy blonde bitch is related to my sweet Nathaniel? (2) Dajan is her boyfriend? (He thinks?) And therefore she is his girlfriend?

Why did Dajan go out of his way to clarify that he didn't have a girlfriend? He pretended not to even know the meaning of the word 'girlfriend.'

…I guess Dajan and Amber have two very different definitions of their relationship.

Either that, or Dajan blatantly lied to me, thinking he could flirt with me on the side and it wouldn't get back to Amber.

At least now it was easier for me to understand why there was some preexisting animosity between Nathaniel and Dajan. Nathaniel struck me as the 'protective older brother' type and would probably feel defensive of Amber even if she was dating one of the nicest people on Earth—which, in my opinion, she was.

Which reminds me of what I originally wondered when I first met Dajan at the carnival: what does he see in a brat like Amber?

"That explains a lot," was all I wrote back to Nathaniel, digging the pen into paper tablecloth so hard it ripped through when I dotted the lower-case 'I.'

Just in time, the waitress came back with a fizzing Sprite for me and a Coke for Nathaniel.

I hadn't even bothered to leaf through the menu the hostess gave us—and neither had Nathaniel, since he already seemed to know what he wanted. As much as I loved pasta, I pointed to a Cesar salad instead, because it would be cool and refreshing.

The waitress was thoroughly perplexed by my silence.

She's deaf, I saw Nathaniel explain, slightly embarrassed—even though there was no reason for him to feel embarrassed for me. I certainly hoped he wasn't embarrassed of me.

Oh! the waitress said when she finally understood.

When she left again, Nathaniel asked for the pen back, changing the subject to something more pleasant. "What do you normally do for the Fourth of July?"

"It's funny you should ask," I wrote, snaking around where his glass left a ring of moisture on the paper. "The Fourth is my birthday."

"Seriously? You were born on the Fourth of July? That's awesome!" His initial excitement faded. "So you probably have plans with your family," he jotted, the disappointment on his face adorably obvious.

"Actually, no. I don't want to hang around my Mom and Dad all day. It's called Independence Day for a reason!" I couldn't believe he found my lame pun funny enough to actually crack a smile. "I was hoping you could offer me some options. What do Sweet Amoris kids do for fun on the Fourth?"

"It's nothing special, but some friends from high school are getting together to set off fireworks. I was hoping you'd come with me."

A fantasy materialized in my mind as he handed me the pen and awaited my response.

Setting stuff on fire with a bunch of Nathaniel's friends? Potentially spending some quality alone time with Nathaniel under the stars, watching the fireworks?

"Count me in!" I accepted.

I could already taste the electric excitement in the air, and when I breathed it in, it set my heart on fire and sent the butterflies in my stomach reeling.

Now I was almost too excited to eat. …Almost. To my delight, Nathaniel had ordered bruschetta, too, which he was glad to share with me. Delicious though it was, I was sure it wasn't the ripe red tomatoes that were making my mouth water; that had more to do with Nathaniel's bare knee touching mine under the table, and the way the breeze played with his bangs as they dried in the open air.

"Just one more thing," Nathaniel wrote, taking up the pen between slices of bruschetta. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but I think it'd be best if you didn't invite Dajan to come with us on the Fourth."

I'd been secretly considering it; it would have been kind of nice to have someone who could sign around, especially in the midst of a large group. But I guess that was out of the question now.

There must have been some other reason for Nathaniel to dislike Dajan, if he didn't even want him around.

"Sure, Nathaniel. I understand," I wrote—even though I really didn't.