The phone rang.
Sophie rushed to finish her last algebra problem. It was already 7:30pm, but the call didn’t catch her off guard; on the contrary, it was not unusual for her classmates to call right around this time to compare homework.
She didn’t recognize the number, but that didn’t bother her either. It was the same zip code, and she’d recently offered to be a tutor in her science class. She had given her teachers permission to pass out her phone number to students who were falling behind, under the agreement they would study in groups of three or more during the daylight hours.
In the middle of the third ring she answered it.
“Hello. Who is this?”
“Uh…Hi…This is…”
The caller hadn’t actually said anything meaningful yet, but Sophie was already stupefied–it was a boy’s voice.
As she waited eagerly for him to continue, Sophie imagined soft, hazel eyes. The voice had a certain let’s-play-on-the-swings sweetness to it, but there was also a hint of scruffiness that called to mind the heartthrob protagonist of a recent teen action movie.
It must be Luke, one of the most popular (and cute!) guys in her school.
“This is L-Leo... You know, the guy behind you in science class?”
In an instant her bubble was burst, and the shock many times harsher than when she first answered the phone. Face burning from shame, she muttered a prayer of thanks that her parents weren’t home yet. Just the thought of someone being in the next room would have most certainly caused death, or worse, from embarrassment.
“Oh…Hi…Yeah, of course I remember you.”
She somehow managed to pull off this blatant, big-black-lie, despite being known as one of the most conservative, honest girls around. But no harm, no foul; after all, she was simply responding to this unexpected situation, or so she told herself.
“I saw you d-drawing stuff in your notebook the other day during class, and…”
She finally remembered who Leo was and connected the voice with the face: a chubby-cheeked boy with unkempt hair, as if it wasn’t even worth the time to comb it.
His perpetual duh face had kept her, and many of the other girls in the school, at a distance.
Sophie took a deep breath. She was relieved not only because of the (apparently) genuine compliment, but also because she realized how nervous this guy really was.
It only took Leo mumbling a few more words for Sophie to figure out what he wanted: to have his picture drawn by her. For some reason, he wanted it done tomorrow at his house, on Saturday.
Like any good student would, she turned down an offer involving meeting a guy–especially one she had never spoken to in person–in his own house. Not only were hours worth of lectures from her parents etched permanently in her memory, but Sophie had enough common sense to know this was just simply a bad idea.
Rather than turning him down flat, she evaded by saying she had plans to meet a friend. In truth, her plans to study with her friend Deborah tomorrow could easily be broken. But she wasn’t going to mention that part.
Either due to a failure to comprehend he was being rejected or the misdirected persistence some boys tend to have in their teen years, Leo’s blabbing continued. He was talking about exactly nothing, but the conversation somehow managed to stay afloat for a few more minutes.
As they spoke, the awkward pauses seemed to shorten, probably due to a combination of Leo’s boosted self confidence (could it have been the first time he tried this sort of thing?) and Sophie reconsideration of the boy. Somehow speaking with Leo wasn’t what she had expected, and right around the time her desk clock hit 8:00 pm she felt like the person on the other end was someone other than the boy who sat in class behind her. It was like the messy-haired slob from school was just a substitute for the real person.
After Sophie finally hung up the phone, she grabbed her pencil and–it was a bit of a reach–put a circle around tomorrow’s date on her wall calendar.
It took a few moments for reality to set in. Somehow, in the end, she had agreed to Leo’s weird request. Her conscience shortly kicked in and she began to panic, sweat beading up on her forehead. In response, her straight-A logical mind struggled to justify this dubious decision.
First, she’d be going with Deborah, a quiet, basketball-team tall girl, so she would be safe. After fingering a few text messages on her phone, Deborah seemed to be totally cool with the whole thing (maybe she secretly liked this guy?) Also, they would be going over there during the day, in early afternoon. Finally, Sophie’s phone so kindly told her Leo’s house was only three blocks away, a quick walk to get to or escape from. No car required.
She opened her bottom desk drawer and took out her new brush set, a birthday present from her grandfather. She placed the wooden box gently into her school bag and left the algebra book inside just in case.
Heart still racing, Sophie doubted she would fall asleep anytime soon. But she was looking forward to who might appear in her dreams tonight, so she turned in a few minutes earlier than usual.
* * *
Leo’s house was as close as Sophie had expected; surprisingly, all the houses on his street seemed much newer than hers, maybe over a decade newer, and had much larger lots with fancy, well-kept landscaping, wooden fences, and curved gravel driveways. Her family, with dual incomes, was far from poor, but judging from the looks of his house Leo’s parents made at least twice her parents’ combined salary, or were up to their heads in some serious debt.
Pushing aside thoughts of earning some money from rich boys who want her to draw pretty pictures of their (not necessarily) pretty faces, she exchanged glances with Deborah briefly to gather her courage, then rang the doorbell. It was one of those annoying kinds where you couldn’t hear the sound too well from outside, and you ended up pressing it two or three times just be sure.
After a long, awkward silence, Sophie made a fist and lifted her hand to knock on the hardwood door. But just as her knuckles were inches away, the door abruptly opened inwards and bumped into them with just enough force to avoid bruising. Cold air rushed outside, carrying with it a melange of smells: leather, wood, nylon carpeting, and something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
Leo stared out at the visitors with a dazed expression that could have meant he just woke up from an oddly-timed nap (how old was he anyway?), or that he had never expected Sophie and her friend to actually show up. His Jimi Hendrix-haircut seemed more explosive than usual–if that was even possible–and his wardrobe looked like it was pulled from a magazine for guys who are too lazy to think about dressing properly: baggy jeans and a night black short sleeve shirt, both wrinkled just enough to irritate her. It was clear that there was no chance for romance here, and she couldn’t lie to herself and say she hadn’t been thinking along those lines. And yet, part of her breathed a sigh of relief that she was here to simply show off her artistic skills. This was definitely not the boy she had spoken with for over half an hour on the phone. Maybe she should charge him for the drawing after all?
With a forced smile and awkward greeting, Leo invited the girls in, leading them through a dimly-lit living room (his parents seems to be out) and into a larger room in the back that had a clutter of furniture: a piano, a few bookshelves, a desk, a giant flatscreen TV, and a bed. It took a few seconds for Sophie to realize this was Leo’s bedroom because it was different from any boy’s bedrooms she had been in (only a few, for study sessions of course). There were no posters, no sports memorabilia, and above all no Xboxes or Playstations.
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There was one book open on the desk, too far away to make out any details. But from it’s size, she guessed it might be one of those fantasy art books she’d come across in the bookstore now and then. Maybe Leo himself was interested in learning how to draw?
He offered them cans of lemonade, which Sophie accepted after some hesitation. Although feeling a little more comfortable about this whole thing, she refused to let her guard down and kept a vigilant watch for any signs of the usual suspects like alcohol. She opened the can slowly to let Deborah drink first, then took her own sip after her friend signalled all clear with a slight nod. Deborah had more experience with alcohol and could detect it better than Sophie, and her bigger body meant she had a higher tolerance.
After some completely boring small talk about classes and homework, at last Sophie broached the subject on her mind.
“So Leo, looks like you have an art book over there. Are you studying how to draw?”
“Art book? Oh, that?”
Leo’s expression of confusion lasted only a split second until it was replaced by one of recognition. He darted to the other corner of the room where the desk was, grabbed the book in question, and brought it back to where the girls waited.
“Actually, before you draw a picture of me I had another…request for you first.”
Instead of showing them the book, he closed it and stuffed it underneath his arm. Before the girls could realize what was happening, his outstretched hand was holding a small glass bottle. The label surrounding the bottle was faded with cracks and tears throughout, but more concerning was the clear liquid that sloshed around in it.
Sophie unconsciously took a step backwards and grabbed her friend’s bulky arm for support. She had never been to a party where undrage drinking was taking place, but nevertheless her instincts knew what was in that bottle and what was being asked of her.
As Sophie struggled hard to contain a scream, Deborah calmly pushed out the palm of her hand to make a universal ‘stop’ gesture.
“Hey dude, we aren’t interested in that. Please put it away. Now.”
Deborah was generally a girl of few words, but her close friends knew her reticence was done out of choice, not an inability to express herself. If the situation dictated it, she was able to step up to bat, especially to help a friend. Deborah’s tone was decidedly neutral, lacking an indifference that could be have been seen as a weakness.
“No…I’m not…Wait, let me show you.”
Seemingly unphased by Deborah’s refusal, he put the bottle down near his feet and leafed through the book in search of something.
The book’s outside cover looked like one of the role playing game manuals for the dungeon game popular with some of the nerd kids at school these last few years. Like the bottle’s label, its pages were torn, weathered, and a few were partially torn out. There was a handful of discolored spots, and one or two looked like burn marks (from a cigarette?). If this was a book for some game, the author had done an superb job with the art design.
Having apparently found the desired page, Leo reversed the book to show the girls.
Sophie didn’t know what she was looking at–what at first reminded her of one of those funky mazes on children’s menus they gave out in restaurants, upon closer inspection lacked anything like a ‘start’ or ‘end’ and seemed far too complex for a child. There were spirals nested within spirals, jagged lightning bolt-shaped figures, and parts that could have been an illustration for a root system of a large tree, expanding out in a snowflake-like shape.
It wasn’t until she felt a pull on her arm that she realized she had been staring at the strange drawing for quite some time. Her friend had moved her arm slightly that Sophie still had a tight grip on.
There was something different about Leo’s eyes now–he seemed less fidgety and uncertain, more determined. It brought back memories of her grandfather, who had struggled with alcoholism in his final years. But she didn’t get the connection between Leo’s apparent abuse problem and his weird taste in art. His next words didn’t help much, either.
“I want you to draw this.”
The reason she was here in the first place had completely slipped her mind.
She felt Deborah tugging at her arm again, this time with more force. It was clear she wanted to escape from this house to somewhere safer.
Sophie couldn’t agree more. Actually, maybe that wasn’t exactly true. A lingering curiosity tugged at her with an insistence that surpassed her friend’s. What if this boy’s interest was directed instead at this unique form of art? It seemed crazy–and the brainy part of her had to admit completely illogical–but she wanted to believe Leo wasn’t the type of guy to get girls drunk.
She took a step forward.
“Then what does that”–she pointed with a rigid finger to the bottle still sitting on the floor–“have to do with anything?”
“It’s...a present for my Dad. You see...he kind of likes retro stuff. I wanted you to draw that picture in the book...on the bottle’s label.”
Sophie didn’t know what was more odd about this guy: his moronic use of the term ‘retro stuff’, a terribly misguided sensibility to think his dad would actually enjoy such a lame gift, or the fact he thought it was even remotely possible to draw such an intricate figure on such a small object.
Actually, there was a way–her brush set contained an ultra-fine nail art brush. Having absolutely no interest in painting her own nails and very little in painting someone else’s, she’d been wondering if she’d ever find a use for it.
In her brain there was a part that lit up during school exams, driving her to be the first one done and to get the top score. Now, that same part lit up like a neon sign in the heart of Las Vegas.
She let go of Deborah’s arm and smiled reassuringly while mouthing the words Are you ok?, to which her friend cautiously nodded. She hoped Deborah wouldn’t be too surprised by what she was about to do.
“Ok...I’ll try to draw it. But if you try anything weird, we’re out of here. Alright?”
“Sure. And...thanks.”
Like the previous night’s phone call, she found herself swept up into a chain of events that she was both a part of and an outside observer to: she took the bottle and heavy book, was led over to Leo’s pricey study desk, sat down in the cushy chair, withdrew her brush set from her backpack, opened it, spotted the nail art brush, dipped it into a burnt umber acrylic paint that was a close match for the book’s strange illustration, and touched the brush ever so slightly to the thin, aged paper which wrapped the bottle.
To be sure, an accurate transcription of such a large, complex shape onto a small, curved surface was more than a tough challenge–it was impossible for anyone but an artist with decades of experience, rare inborn talent, or both. Anyone who could actually carry out such a venture would surely charge a pretty penny for the effort. Unfortunately, Sophie felt that none of these things applied to her, but she couldn’t just give up.
***
She traced the last stroke–one of the thin, squiggly ‘legs’ of a seven-legged starfish-like figure–just as her paint was nearly dried up and her wrist had began to cramp up from holding such a tiny brush at an awkward angle while her other hand had held the bottle in place.
She laid down the brush. It finally dawned on her that neither Leo nor Deborah had said a single word during the entire time. The sky outside the windows was already getting darker, but that meant over three hours had passed since they arrived. Had that much time really passed?
Unsure of how to break the silence, her eyes darted between Leo’s and Deborah’s faces.
Deborah, while looking a little weary (perhaps from standing so long), seemed truly impressed at Sophie’s accomplishment.
Leo, on the other hand, seemed impatient, even annoyed about something. Did Sophie do something wrong?
The afterglow of self-satisfaction was quickly overtaken by an indignation that began in the pit of her stomach. Sophie stood up fast, intending to storm out with her friend, spewing complaints and dirty words on the way out. But in her haste, her elbow collided with the bottle she had just devoted so much time and energy to ornamenting, knocking it off the table and on a sharp trajectory towards the wall.
By what must have been the saving grace of just the right angle, the bottle bounced off the wall in one piece and landed safely on the floor with a dull thud. Of course, anyone would reasonably expect it to be rolling around on its side at the end of such a trip.
But it wasn’t. The bottle stood straight up.
Deborah spoke out with a voice wavering in what might have been anger, or perhaps fear.
“Leo, enough of the magic sh…”
She was interrupted by a loud popping sound as something shot across the room. Did someone fire a gun?
Before Sophie had a chance to act, Leo ran up to where the bottle stood and gazed down at it with an expression that could only be described as wonder.
A thin line of what looked like smoke began to rise from the bottle, as if a match had just been extinguished. But instead of gray it was a dark shade of violet, with tiny flashes of light dancing erratically inside like a swarm of excited fireflies.
Before the smoke reached the ceiling and triggered the smoke detector there, however, it slowly split apart into several finger-like tendrils. The cluster began to change directions mid-air.
The swirling nest of sparkling, hazy filaments was now only inches from Leo’s face, which had a smile unlike anything Sophie had ever seen.