Under the Dusty Sky (Holloway Farms)

want to be here with me. You shouldn’t because you’re leaving anyway. You shouldn’t care about what’s really in this book.”
    “ But I do.”
    I grab her legs and throw them over mine so I can get closer to her. Her eyes are wide and scared. I’ve never seen this look on her. I didn’t know this look could exist on her face. Torn. Defeated. Terrified.
    “ You had sex with him, didn’t you?” I am not sure if I should say it until I do, but it’s definitely the right button. Or wrong button, depending on how you look at it.
    Her lip trembles violently, and the one or two tears gathered in the corners of her eyes turn into a flood. Her face contorts, and my heart breaks for her. The first time is never good. Maybe it is for some people, but it definitely was not for me. More like an embarrassing disaster.
    I lightly pull on her arms, and she flings herself at me so hard we almost fall off the railing. I hug her tight to my chest as she sobs into me. Her breathing comes in hiccups and coughs and short choking bursts.
    I rub her back, squeeze her tight, stroke her hair. Everything about her feels good to me, and I don’t want to leave her, even though she’ll push me away. Even though I might run. I listen to her cry. I hear the thunder roll in on the horizon. The rain has calmed the dust, and the air is wet and clean smelling. I feel her shaking in my arms. It makes me feel strangely calm. This is life. It’s a weird time to re-prioritize, but as the storm resets the world and a girl is crumbling in my arms, I think about how unimportant most of the things I worry about are. The things I’m afraid of suddenly don’t matter.
    I lean back and take Gracie’s puffy face in my hands.
    “ I’m so sorry, Bentley. You should hate me. I hate me,” she chokes out, and I frown.
    “ Why would you say that?”
    She starts sobbing again, and I hug her again so she can calm her tears and slow her breathing.
    “ After what you did for me. After everything you’ve done. I just ruined it. I just ruin everything. I wish I didn’t.”
    “ Graceland, it’s not like you’re my girlfriend. Yes, it’s kinda shitty that I tell you I care about you and you immediately go to him, but I think I get it. As long as he didn’t hurt you.”
    She shakes her head vigorously. “No, it was me. I was mad. I was lonely. I was desperate. Stupid. I started it. Dermott is a great guy. I’ve known him forever. It was after. After that I just. I just. Felt empty.” Her sentences are choppy as she tries to catch her breath.
    “ Like you weren’t ready?”
    She looks down into her lap.
    “ It’s that I was the last one of my friends. It’s a stupid reason. I just wanted the memory. But it’s not perfect.”
    “ What is your obsession with perfection and these memories? I’ve heard it from you, your dad, your brothers, Lacy, and almost everyone else I’ve met.”
    Gracie holds the book out to me, and I stare at it. She pushes it closer to me, and I take it. The book falls open in my hands to a cracked and broken piece of the spine. This page is obviously the most visited of them all.
    When happy is sad/and fear swallows joy/when life is thrust upon us/the imperfect glares/it’s all around, all around/it never leaves, it’s always there/the only time it fades/is when I’m alone/with the air/Under the dusty sky
    At first I don’t understand. It’s just a poem.
    “ You collect perfect memories because your mom wrote a poem about life being imperfect?” I don’t mean for it to come out so disbelieving, but I never would have thought something her mother wrote years ago would literally dictate her life.
    Gracie points to the date and now I get it. That’s kind of a downer poem to write on the day her child was born.
    “ I’m the reason she left. I’m only eleven months younger than the twins. Four of us in just over two years. I wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m the imperfect.”
    She starts to cry again, and I take her chin. “Do you know that for sure? Have you ever talked to your dad about it?”
    She shakes her head. “He doesn’t talk about her. Not ever.”
    “ Have you tried?”
    She shakes her head again.
    “ Why not?”
    “ He doesn’t know I have it. I stole it when I was ten. He was so mad when it went missing that I’m still scared to tell him I did it.”
    I laugh.
    “ Seriously? Your dad thinks you’re the poster child of perfection. He’d forgive you in a heart beat.”
    “ You don’t