We don’t talk much after his games anymore. Our phone conversations last for a few minutes as opposed to hours, and that strange voice that was at the back of my head when we first started to talk?

Something is telling me that she’s getting ready to say, “I told you so...”

Chapter 9

MIA

Sixteen weeks before prom.

MIA: Just wishing you good luck one last time for tonight’s game! :-) I just finished my second piece for Western Peak and will finish the other two next week. I’m going to get some ice and heating pads and I’ll have them ready for when you get here later. I love you... :-)

I’m not sure if he’s already on the field or not, but I don’t waste any time heading to CVS and picking up all the things I’ve promised. And even though I just told him that I’m finished with my piece, that’s a lie.

My mom came into my room and tore apart my sketches just as I was getting started. She went into a rage like I’d never seen, taking all of the art supplies that I had out and pouring them down the drain. Then she screamed at me for submitting a formal “No Thanks” to Harvard, demanding that I call them immediately.

When I refused, she screamed at me even louder and accused me of chasing pipe art dreams just like my brother. (“Do you really want to be like him? Tattooing junkies just to make it day to day? Do you have any idea the awful life that an ‘artist’ lives? It’s not worth it, Mia. Let me save you.)

I wipe away a tear as her words replay in my head, and my heart hurts to think about just how hard it’s going to be to finish my portfolio for Western Peak. I’ll have to start all over, and I’ll have to use a good chunk of my summer job money to replace everything she destroyed.

I’ll also miss the rest of Dean’s playoff season more than likely, since the remaining games fall under hours when my mom won’t be home and the best lighting is in my room. I’ll also have to find ways to make it up to him because I know he’s gotten used to me being on the side lines supporting him.

I’m not sure why I feel the need to hide the truth about Western Peak from him, but I’ve noticed a distance in him lately, and I think he’s dealing with something much darker so I just hold back.

As it turns out, I’m not sure if that helps or harms us in the long run...

Ten weeks before prom.

“Happy Birthday!” Autumn runs up to me in the hallway and hugs me. “Will I be seeing you later tonight?”

“Not at all.” I smile and mock her voice. “I have a boyfriend.”

She laughs and hands me a card. “What do the two of you have planned?”

“He hasn’t told me yet. He just told me to meet him at Main Park tonight at seven.”

“Hmm. Interesting! Well, if you two get done early, let me know. I’ve been downgraded from being grounded to having “permission” to work at the ice cream parlor, so I’ll be there all night. I’ll treat you both if you come by.”

“Autumn, it’s a Friday. You’re off on Fridays.”

She shrugs. “Okay, so I’ll be in the parking lot with Jacob, but my mom does not need to know that.” She hugs me once more. “Call me later, okay?”

I shake my head at her as she walks away. I stand at my locker for twenty minutes, waiting for Dean to show up to take me home, but he never does.

He’d said he was coming to school today after missing four days in a row, but he’s a no show once again. I call his phone and there’s no answer, but I don’t panic.

I’m sure this is all a part of something bigger that he has planned. He’s already had two massive bouquets of roses delivered to my house this morning and he somehow managed to have a teddy bear with a “I love you” tag stuffed inside of my locker.

Shaking any negative thoughts away, I take the bus home and start to get ready for the first time I’ll actually celebrate my birthday for a full night. (My mom has never really been one for birthdays. Just a simple card, a cupcake, and a “You entered the world on today. Remember that and keep your mind sharp. Very sharp.”)

Just last month I told Dean how I’ve always dreamed of eating birthday cake at night somewhere, under the stars even, so I’m feeling giddy thinking about what he has planned for tonight at the park.

It takes me two hours to get my make-up just right, and another to stop smoothing the fabric of my brand new black and gold dress. It’s strapless and short, falling right above my knees, and it matches my shimmering stilettos perfectly.

The second the clock strikes six forty-five, I practically rush out and jump into my mom’s old car heading straight for the bench where Dean told me to wait.

I don’t mind that it’s cold as hell outside, or that a light snow is falling. I’m too excited about what’s to come.

Until it never does.

Ten minutes pass.

Fifteen minutes pass.

Twenty minutes pass.

Worried, I pull out my phone to call him and see what’s wrong, but I notice he’s sent me a text.

DEAN: Happy Birthday, Mia. Did you get my flowers this morning?

MIA: I did :-) Thank you.  Are we still going out tonight?

DEAN: No, I’m sorry. I can’t come.

My heart drops.

MIA: Why not?

DEAN: I just can’t come. I want you to call and tell me all about it later though.

Call and tell him all about it? HE’S the one who told me to come here...What is he talking about?

MIA: Dean...You’re the only person (outside of Autumn) that I actually want to see tonight...why can’t you come?

DEAN: It’s hard to explain.

MIA: Okay...Well, can you explain why you haven’t been to school in a week? Why you’re not letting me come over to see you?

DEAN: No. That’s hard to explain too.

I have no idea what to say. I’m more confused than hurt, and I want to believe he has a perfectly good reason for this, but I can’t think of one. He spent all last week promising me that he would show me what it meant to have a “true birthday” with “cake and candles and all” and that he would make love to me right after, but now it feels just like all my other birthdays. Like any another day.

MIA: Okay.

DEAN: Okay.

DEAN: Enjoy your birthday, Mia. I really do mean that.

MIA: Totally shows.

Three weeks before prom.

“I finally picked a dress,” I say to Dean as I sit next to him in chemistry class. “I’m cutting it close, but it’s red just so you know.”

“Why would I need to know?”

“Because aren’t we going to prom together?” I look into his eyes. “Didn’t you ask me to be your date over winter break?”

“Oh. Right.” He shrugs. “So, your dress is red. I’ll try to remember that.”

“You won’t have to remember it for long,” I say. “It’s only three weeks away.”

“Hmmm.” He shrugs again and the teacher begins to speak at the front of the classroom.

“Dean, what is wrong with you lately?”  I whisper. “What’s happening to you? To us?”

“What makes you think something’s happening?”

“Everything. You missed my birthday with like little to no explanation, you’re missing days of school at a time without telling me why, and I feel like I’m pulling teeth just to get you to tell me how you are and what you’re feeling. Something is happening with you and I just want to know what it is and why.”

He stands up and pushes his chair against the desk. “I want to know why you’re just now noticing.”

Two weeks before prom.

Despite the fact that he’s been hot and cold with me, I still show up to his house armed with balloons and a birthday card. Since he’s managed to miss another string of days at school, and my mom is “punishing” me by paying my phone bill two days past schedule to teach me some type of distorted lesson, I haven’t been able to reach him today. So, I’m having to do things the old fashioned way.