We sit down on the floor, and he opens it, pulling out a pair of glasses.
“You wear glasses?”
“I’m very, very slightly farsighted. Sometimes reading is hard. And drawing goes better when I’m wearing them.”
“Shouldn’t you just wear them . . . all the time?”
“Don’t need to. My vision is perfect otherwise.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s how I work,” he says. “Can we not dwell on this? I’m not good with admitting my flaws.”
“It’s hardly a flaw, Liam. Those glasses look great on you.”
He turns, his typical smile slipping into place. “Is that right, Barnes?”
“Liam.”
“Okay, okay. Making a mental note that you like the nerd type, and we’ll move on.” He chuckles. I spot a Superman comic on the chair by his desk.
“Clark Kent wears glasses.”
“Not when he’s flying,” he says. But then he shrugs. “But now that you mention it, a Black Superman would be pretty cool.”
He reaches for my pear drawing. “May I?”
“Be my guest.” I doubt the thing can be salvaged, but I watch as Liam begins to color in the edges of one pear, making just the right parts of it darker with lines, drawing out the round shape of the fruit. When he’s done, the pear looks almost real. I feel like I could pick it up.
“That’s amazing. Wow. How do you know how to do that?” I ask.
“How do you know which words are right in your essays, or your column?” he asks. “Same thing. Just a thing I can do. And a lot of practice.”
“I guess. But you could easily learn to write better. I can’t learn to do that. That’s witchcraft.”
“Try,” he says, and hands me my paper.
We work at it for an hour, and by the end, my pears look somewhat decent. Nothing like his, but my report card might say “Shows progress” next to a solid B+ if I can keep this up.
We are sprawled across the floor of his bedroom for elbow space, though we still keep bumping into each other while drawing. Liam leans over, his finger following the dark edge of a pear, and tells me how to fix it. I look up at him and smile. I’d forgotten the glasses for a moment, and he looks distractingly cute in them. It’s like the softness of them just accentuates his strength. One little vulnerability that throws the rest of him into sharp focus. Athlete. Academic. Ivy League–bound, apparently. But then I remember the set of his jaw when he talked about getting accepted everywhere, and that pinprick of annoyance over his glasses. Perfect. Too perfect. He’s trying so hard, and I want to tell him that I see it. I see him.
He finally catches me looking at him, and knocks his shoulder softly against mine.
There’s a knock on Liam’s open door, and we spring apart.
“Liam,” Fiona says from the doorway. “Oh, sorry.”
Liam collects himself first. He gives me a half smile, quirks his eyebrows at me. More charm.
I want to hate it.
I don’t.
“It’s fine, Fi, we’re just practicing pears.”
“Is that something dirty? Because if it is, I really don’t wanna know.”
I hold up my sad drawing as evidence of our innocence.
“Ah, pears,” Fiona says, coming into the room. “You guys have art together.”
“No way,” I say. “I’m struggling through Art I.”
“These are good!” Fiona says. “I’d totally eat one if it wasn’t paper.”
“Thanks,” I say, laughing.
“What did you need, Fiona?” Liam nudges his sister.
“Oh, right. I think I figured out that last part of my routine, which means I am so ready for this competition.”
“That’s great, Fi. Does this mean I’ll be hearing that song less now?”
“No. More. It has to be perfect, and I have less than two months.”
Fiona tells me about dance and this big trip their family has planned so she can compete next month, and what a big deal it’ll be if she does well. She’s easy to talk to and easy to laugh with, and it feels totally normal to be hanging out with Liam and his sister. I’m even a little relieved by her presence, because this was always meant to be about art class, and leaning into Liam’s shoulder was making it hard for me to remember that.
Fiona takes a stab at the pears, and even hers are better than mine, but I pay attention to how she moves her wrist, and the shading, and when I try another I really am doing better.
Liam walks me out a few minutes before my mom is supposed