thing that excites you the most was stealing a five dollar bottle of red nail polish. My guess is it’s not even a color you would wear.”
“They took it from me, but yeah. It was that horrible tacky red from the ’80s, like it belonged in a Billy Joel video.”
“See? That’s all this is. And Cleo, this is very cool.”
“Why is it cool? I am totally depressed and have no idea what to do with myself.”
“Because. Look what happened when you took away all that clutter. All the gossip. The chit-chat about everyone else. Without all that in the way, without a Keaton schedule to adhere to, there’s only you left. And it can be totally freaky to look into that abyss of nothingness, but the amazing thing is, you can do anything you want with it. Your life is there for you to make it what you want.”
Cleo rolled her eyes. “This is getting a little new age-y for me. Did you, like, watch The Secret lately or something?”
“See, there you are. I’m getting close to something otherwise you wouldn’t be bringing out your bitchy self.”
Cleo laughed shortly. “Did you just call me a bitch?”
“No. Well, yeah. It’s like your persona, your armor. It’s much easier to be bitchy and judge than it is to actually be a part of something and believe in it.”
“Maybe.”
“I do it, too. I mean, I don’t turn into a bitch, but my armor is that I have to dissect everything into a million pieces for it to make sense. But really that’s just me buying time before I have to commit to anything. We all do it in our own way.”
Cleo was silent. Her lips twisted in a smirk, but Devon could see her chin quivering a little. Then a lot. The smirk disappeared and her eyes welled with tears. Cleo brushed them away.
“Honestly, I don’t even know who I’m supposed to be.” Cleo sniffed and sat up straight. “I’m just living the schedule they want me to live, you know? And here we wake up at seven A.M., class by eight A.M., lunch at noon, sports, homework, dinner, more homework, and bed, and then do it all over again. And there’s no end in sight. I’m just going to go to whatever college they want me to, marry the guy they want who also has enough money so we can afford to put our future kids on the same schedule when it’s their turn. I know I sound like some spoiled brat that doesn’t appreciate anything, but I would give it up just to make my own choices. To live my life. Like, really live.”
Devon handed a tissue to Cleo. Finally, the tissue comes in handy. “Look, we’re all kind of stuck in the same thing here, some of us more so than others. But, even within that schedule there are amazing opportunities. You can live how you want.” She bit her lip. She’d nearly added: Hutch did.
“Yeah? Like what?” Cleo blew her nose.
“Well, let’s start at your definition of living, really living. What does that look like? Then we can find a way to get more of that in your life.”
Cleo laughed and wiped her eyes. She shook her head. “It’s stupid. You know, what just came to mind. No, it’s too dumb.”
“I doubt that. What is it?”
“Okay, well last summer my parents took me to Florence. It was supposed to be some big art history kind of tour. We saw the statue of David, the Birth of Venus, walked the Ponte Vecchio, you know, all the supposed-tos in Florence. On the last day my parents went with some friends on some winery tour. I was supposed to go on some tour of an art academy or something. Had the tickets and everything. I walked toward the academy thing that morning. On my way I saw this guy who looked about my age playing the guitar and singing in some piazza. He had this really cute dark curly hair, totally Italian cute. He sat on the steps near a church with the guitar case open, trying to make some money. I tossed him a Euro and he smiled at me and suddenly started playing a different song. The Rolling Stones. It was kind of cool to hear him sing in English with that accent, so I hung out for a minute to listen.”
Devon nodded, encouraging her. “Did you go on your tour?”