Finding Laila: Some Changes are Necessary Read online

  “Haden—” I start to tell him something but he cuts me off.

  “No, that came out wrong—I do want you to see it, I’m just nervous about what you’ll think.”

  “Your stuff in the past wasn’t personal?”

  “Not the things I did for class. I’ve never had a problem sketching or painting things at home. I have a stash of work in folders that I’ve never shown anyone, so that part was easy. It’s sharing it with the world that I’m not sure I’m ready for.”

  “Are these paintings?”

  “Do you not want to go to the gallery?” he teases.

  “Oh, I’m going. I just mean, what type of—stuff—did you use?”

  “My medium?” he corrects with a crooked smile.

  “Yeah.”

  Damn that smile.

  “Some are charcoal, others are oil-based, and I have two that are watercolor.”

  “That’s really cool. I’m so proud of you, Haden.”

  “You might not feel that way after tonight,” he warns, and my stomach knots at his words.

  I know that there are things he’s kept from us, and I knew that he’d reveal them in his time.

  Maybe tonight is the night.

  He pulls into a parking lot and finds a spot, but lets the engine run while a song plays over the radio. He stares toward the entrance and his leg begins to bob up and down nervously and I smile.

  “Searle,” I pause and wait for him to look at me, “you have nothing to be nervous about! And if you need me, I’m here.”

  He turns away and leans against the headrest again, staring at the ceiling. I want so badly to ease his fears.

  It’s going to be okay.

  I’m waiting for a response and he knows it, but he chooses to remain quiet and I give him time to think. My phone is in my clutch and I feel it vibrate, but I ignore it for now in hopes that he’ll finally relax.

  “There are things that only a few people know. When you go in there tonight, you’ll know everything about me.” He exhales as he rolls his shoulders back and finally looks at me.

  “And I’ll still love you, Searle,” I remind him, because there’s nothing he could do to change that.

  “I hope you can handle it,” he says, and I can tell he’s really worried.

  “Then what are we waiting for?” I ask, opening my car door. I slam it shut and move to the sidewalk while I wait for him to join me. When he’s finally in front of me, he looks so unsure and sweet with his hands stuffed into his front pockets. I sweep his hair out of his face and give him a wink. “You’ve got this.”

  “Thanks for being here tonight.” He smiles and sticks out his arm to escort me into the building and I nod. Just before we reach the door, he drops his arm and takes my hand in his. “You look good in yellow.”

  I can feel my cheeks flush and I hate it. The guys rarely compliment me, and when they do, I can’t help but get awkward. I squeeze his hand and follow him through the entrance where a crowd of people mill around the gallery looking at the artwork on display.

  “Haden,” a skinny man, in equally skinny black pants yells as he rushes over. Haden hasn’t told me much about Stefon, but the geek-chic glasses, titanium-colored hair, and bright pink button-down under the checkered coat tell me this is he. When the man is closer, he gives me a quick glance but returns his attention to my friend. “Where have you been? People have been waiting to meet you.”

  “I’m sorry, Stefon,” Haden says and squeezes my hand tighter. It’s clammy and I want to let go, but he’s got a death grip on me. “This is my friend Laila.”

  Stefon finally turns his attention to me and his mouth opens to speak, but he silences himself. When I extend my hand to introduce myself he shakes his head and instead places his hands on my shoulders—a gesture far too familiar for someone I have just met.

  “Laila, darling,” he smiles and air kisses my cheeks. “You are going to love this.”

  I’m lost for words, but do my best to find something to say. “I’m sure I will.”

  “But I have to steal Haden away.” He lets go of me but maintains eye contact. “There are some people here that he absolutely needs to meet. You understand, right?”

  I finally wrestle my hand away from Haden’s and the panic in his eyes leaves me wary of walking away, but he needs this. I wrap my arms around his waist and give him a quick hug before pushing to my tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

  “You got this,” I whisper in his ear before turning to Stefon and responding. “He’s all yours.”

  “Don’t leave me,” Haden mutters, but I give him a wink and walk off to discover what artistic displays wait.

  Chapter 5 ~ Finding Truth

  The gallery is in the middle of town in one of the oldest buildings around. I think it’s been a restaurant, a pharmacy, and a coffee shop before someone leased it and turned it into the local art hotspot. It’s actually really cool, with the weathered brick walls and stamped concrete floors. The space has been divided with temporary walls, all of which have art hanging from them.

  Standing in the lobby, I take in my surroundings and the mix of people in the room. Everyone is dressed up, but it’s clear the definition of “dressed up” is available for interpretation. There is a small group of well-dressed couples in customary black attire. The ladies have champagne flutes in their hands as they chat, and each looks like she’s doing her best to one-up the others. The men stand off to the side, their chests puffed out as if they’re trying to show off their muscles. The entire exchange looks like nothing but egos fighting for the limelight.

  Another group, one I would consider hipsters, stands in front of a painting and takes turns pointing and speaking. The others nod in agreement as each speaks and I wonder if any of them know what they’re talking about.

  In all honesty, I could stand here all night and people-watch—it’s fascinating—but I’m here for a reason.

  I take a few steps into the interior so I can see whose art is on display in the main room. No surprise, it’s Stefon’s. I spot him across the room laughing and talking animatedly with Haden and a few others, though my friend looks quite uncomfortable. He glances in my direction and looks desperate for me to rescue him, but I simply wave and walk off.

  Stefon has two different types of art on display. One looks like trash photography—as in, they look like pictures from the local junkyards—while the others are paintings that look like something Luka could have done. Honestly, none of them grab my attention and I find myself judging whether he’s any good at all, so I walk away. Besides, Haden’s art is what I’m here for.

  To the left of me, there is a woman with a business suit on; her hair is a knotted mess on the top of her head. She’s on a small stage sitting on a workout ball, holding a book in one hand and a cell phone in the other.

  Is this art?

  I walk toward her and notice a placard with a note that reads “balance.”

  Yep, apparently, this is art.

  I look at the woman a little closer and notice that her makeup is a mess and she looks like she’s been crying, though I’m not sure what any of it means. A few others walk over and start murmuring about the meaning of the “piece,” but since I have nothing to offer, I walk away in search of Haden’s exhibit.

  On the opposite side of the room there is a small doorway that leads to another artist’s work, and as I get closer I see that it is work by ‘debut’ artist Haden Searle. The surge of excitement and pride that flows through me is indescribable. I swear, it’s like Christmas morning and I can’t get to the room fast enough. There are two people looking at a piece on the right wall, and I wish they’d leave so I could gush alone, but I’m impatient and walk in anyway.

  My eyes widen when I see our place, the spot the five of us disappear to every weekend.

  The title reads Oasis, and I smile because that’s what it is for all of us. The quarry looks three-dimensional on a huge canvas, and I smile knowing how much we all mean to him. Every detail is to
perfection, down to the rocks we sit on and the trail we’ve rutted into the grass from taking the same path every time. He captured the solace and serenity of the quarry so well that I feel as if I’m there.

  I move to the next piece and it’s a charcoal drawing of his dad that he titled Their Forever.

  Tears prick my eyes seeing his dad lying in a bed with tubes going into his nose. Mr. Searle is the picture of strength, fighting the cancer to the bitter end.

  What really catches my attention is the loving look that he’s giving Haden’s mom as she holds his hand. Haden never said much about his father’s death, but we all knew how devastated he was; there were no words necessary. His dad used to tease me about being the only girl, but said anyone who could put up with those four was worth keeping around.

  God, I miss him.

  Each painting or drawing tells a story about Haden; some I know, some tell me more than I realized.

  I can’t help but smile when I reach a sketch of my boys hanging out at the quarry, staring at the edge of the lake. He titled the image Regret, and I shake my head to contain my scoff.

  It’s familiar only because I saw it from the other side. We had been running around, taking turns jumping in to see who could make the biggest splash. Of course, all of them had done significantly more damage than me, but it was still fun to try to beat them. All four of them were in the water waiting for me to do my final jump and I took a running start and just before I reached the edge, my foot caught a rock and sent me tumbling head first toward the water. Somehow, I managed to flail around and hit feet first, but not before hitting a huge rock. It gashed my shin and I was screaming as they all swam over to help me.

  I remember looking up and seeing all of them staring down with guilt and concern on their faces as my dad carried me up to take me to the hospital. I needed stitches for the cut and a cast because I got a hairline fracture on my ankle. I knew the guys felt bad, but it was no one’s fault but my own. Stupid pride.

  I can’t believe that he painted that day.

  There are only a few more paintings left, and as I move to the next one I’m suddenly frozen where I stand. My hand covers my mouth and my heart rate increases.

  “Forbidden,” I read aloud to myself from the placard.

  It’s a watercolor painting of me sitting on my favorite rock at the quarry. I’m looking toward the sky and my hair is blowing in the wind. I look peaceful and happy—lost in my own world.

  I don’t understand the title at all.

  The next one is also of me and my exposed back. My hair is pulled into a loose twisted ponytail and I’m looking down toward my shoulder with a small smile playing on my lips. What really catches my attention is that the entire drawing is black and white with a huge, colorful butterfly across my back, as if it were a tattoo. I don’t have a tattoo, but I mentioned once that if I were to get one, I’d want a butterfly because they’re so elegant. When I look for the title, all it reads is Pure.

  What alternate universe have I entered?

  Slowly, I move toward the last one, afraid of what I’m about to see. When I look at the remaining piece my entire body runs hot and I feel exposed. A shiver runs down my neck, sending a strange sensation down my arm to reveal goose bumps.

  “Laila?”

  I spin around when I hear Haden call my name and my cheeks flush.

  I point to the image because I’m at a loss for words. Unable to say or do anything else, I turn back to the drawing and stare at it, but I can feel his anxiety permeating from behind me. He remains silent as well, and I’m grateful for that.

  What is happening?

  The painting is almost life-sized and captures a moment that has never happened—yet it feels like it captured the truth about something of which I’m unaware. I can’t tear my eyes away from the piece that he titled My Forever.

  In the drawing, Haden is standing in front of me with a smile as I hold his face in my hands. It appears as if I’m moving in to kiss him, or maybe we’ve just kissed? Regardless of the moment, we both look happy to be in each other’s arms.

  “I don’t get it,” I finally manage to say, still looking at the image.

  He moves next to me, but stays a few inches away and looks at the artwork, too. “What do you not get?”

  I turn my face to look at him, but his eyes are fixed on the image.

  “What is this?”

  “It’s a sketch of—”

  “I know it’s a sketch, Haden, but why am I in this? In any of these?”

  With those words, he turns to face me and he furrows his brow in confusion. He doesn’t answer, only looks at me like he’s waiting for me to crack or fill in the blank.

  “Haden, you’re gay,” I inform him as if he doesn’t already know this.

  “I’m what?” he asks with wide eyes.

  “Gay. You’re gay,” I repeat, but I feel my throat getting dry when I ask, “Right?”

  “What made you think I was gay?” he scoffs lightly, clearly taken aback by my observation.

  “You haven’t had a girlfriend since -”

  “Since we agreed that you were off limits,” he finishes.

  I’m off limits? To who?

  “What do you mean ‘we’ agreed?”

  “We can’t do this here.” He looks at his watch and then to me. “Give me five minutes, then we’ll get out of here and talk, okay?”

  “Can’t do what, Haden? You can’t leave—we just got here. This is your night.”

  “That’s right: my night, and I want to leave. With you. Please, just wait a minute and we’ll talk.”

  He rushes out of the room and I look at the image again before scanning the rest of them. All of his artwork tells stories of things that mean something to him: his parents, the gang, the quarry, and apparently me.

  I need to talk to Joey because my head is spinning and he’s the only one who can calm me down. He can help me sort this out.

  “You ready?” Haden asks as he extends his hand to me. We arrived hand in hand as friends, but I’m hesitant to take it now as we leave. He sees my trepidation, and drops his hand and waits for me to reach him before we head toward the entrance.

  * * *

  Say something…wait, no—don’t. This has to be some sort of joke he’s playing on me.

  Haden’s been driving for ten minutes, but I know where we are headed. I glance at him from the corner of my eye, afraid of what he’s going to say. This is uncharted territory for me, and I want to rewind—go back and never press him to take me to his show tonight.

  “Can we not go to the quarry?” I finally ask.

  “The park okay?”

  “Yeah,” I answer and I realize that he thinks I don’t want to be with him in the gang’s special place. “I’m in heels. I can’t walk that far.”

  Not because I might actually faint or something crazy like that.

  He pulls up to the curb and throws the car into park before shutting the engine off. In the same position earlier, the silence wasn’t so deafening; but now, there is so much unknown and unsaid that it almost suffocates me. Haden opens his car door to get out and I do the same.

  A newer, shinier one has replaced the merry-go-round we used to spin on as kids, which is a good thing. The old one was rusty, wobbly, and squeaked way too loud. My shoes keep sinking into the grass so I pull them off and carry them in my hand while I make my way to the new toy. I toss my shoes to the side and take a seat, holding onto the rails on either side of me.

  Haden walks to the opposite side and sits down, shifting the balance of the circle with his weight. I chance a look over my shoulder and he’s sitting in the same position, so I drag my feet in the sand to start a slow spin and he joins in. We get a solid rotation going and both lie back so our heads are near each other; the sky above is swirling though the streetlights are almost blinding.

  “Haden?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  “But why
now? Why me?”

  “It’s always been you, Lai.”

  I try to sit up, but he reaches out and clasps his hands over mine, causing me to relax.

  “You really didn’t know?” he asks. I hear the surprise in his tone, but it only frustrates me.

  “Haden, for the last four years I’ve assumed you were gay. You haven’t dated anyone. You never talk about being interested in anyone. I thought you were going to come out tonight in your art.” I snort and shake my head. “I guess you did come out, just not like I thought.”

  The merry-go-round slows and I try to stand up, but I’m still dizzy from the spin. As I wait to gain my equilibrium, Haden walks over and sits on the grass in front of me, obviously not worried about his suit.

  “I never talked about being interested in anyone because you’re the only one I want—and I haven’t dated for the same reason. You really never knew?”

  “How would I know? How would any of us know?”

  “Everyone knows, Lai.”

  “What?” I gasp, feeling stupid and angry all at once. “The guys know?”

  He laughs and runs his hand through his hair. “Yeah, they’ve given me a hard time about it for years.”

  “Years?” I mutter, breathless. “You said I was ‘off limits’—what did you mean?”

  “The summer before high school, we all started to notice that you were pretty hot—but we also realized that you were our best friend. So we made a deal that none of us would go after you so it didn’t ruin our friendship.”

  “This is some sort of joke, right?” I breathe out.

  My head is whirling and it’s not because of the playground toy anymore. I stand up and move past him as he hurries to get up and follow me, but I spin around and shove my finger into his chest.

  “It’s not for any of you to decide that I’m off limits to anyone. I decide who I go out with. And what would make any of you think I’d want to date any of you anyway?” I yell at him, though I’d like to yell at all of them. “I’m just Laila, there’s nothing about me that would end friendships or cause dissension in the ranks. Are you freakin’ kidding me with this?”