Picturesque

Chapter 24: Pontiac

I slept hard that night. The next day was Saturday, so I knew I could sleep in since I didn't have lessons with the kids. I remember also having vivid dreams that night, but for some reason I couldn't remember them.

My room was bright from the morning sun when I was woken up by a tap on my shoulder. My mind came to, but I did not stir.

"Becca," she whispered, tapping my shoulder again. "Beccaaaaa." She pinched my shoulder now, and this time my eyes popped open, seeing Jo sitting on my bed beside me. I blinked, wondering if I was still dreaming. But it was real—Jo sitting on my bed, her eyes a little puffy from sleep, holding a giant brown box. "Happy birthday!" she exclaimed, trying to hold the box up, but whatever was inside was too heavy for her to lift. Even after Jo reminded me yesterday, I had still forgotten that it was my birthday.

Groggily, I grunted and sat up in the bed, stretching out my arms. Memories from the night before came flooding back to me—the feeling of her hands on my face, her mouth on mine, our bodies pressed together. It brought a hot wave through me that caused me to start sweating under the blankets.

"What's that?" I asked as she hoisted the heavy box into my lap once I was sitting, the weight pressing down on my thighs.

"Well, you gotta open it, silly," she said, turning to me with an air of both excitement and bashfulness. She avoided my eyes and just stared at the box.

On the lid of the large brown box was her scraggly handwriting in black marker. "To: Becca From: Jo." It was simple and straight to the point, just like Jo. There was even a blue bow taped messily to the top.

"Oh," I said, as if I just realized it was a present for my birthday.

"Open it," she said impatiently, resting her elbow on her knee and her face on her hand. Somehow, after our kiss, she looked even prettier than I thought she was before.

Carefully, I lifted the lid from the box and set it aside, moving through a layer of white tissue paper until I revealed the present in the box.

My heart throttled as the tissue paper left my hands, and I could see Jo grinning in the corner of my eye. "Jo..." I breathed, lowering my hands but stopping them, too scared to touch it.

It was the most beautiful little piece of machinery I had ever seen. It was a Royal Signet manual typewriter, its body the creamiest shade of baby blue, and the keypads a soft oval white ivory. It shone under the dim morning glare, and even just staring at it I could feel my fingers buzzing to type at the keyboard.

"I'm not really sure how it works. The girl at the shop gave me some paper to go with it—it's in a stack under it. I didn't test it or anything, 'cuz like I said I don't know how to use it, but—"

"Jo," I stopped her, looking at her with sudden seriousness. "I can't take this." I knew how expensive typewriters were, especially one as pretty and prim as this. It was said to be the smoothest typewriter ever invented, and for that reason it cost a pretty penny, and for that reason I never owned one.

Her face fell all at once. "What do you mean?"

"This is too much." I started shoving it towards her gently. "This must have cost way too much."

Jo rolled her eyes and put a hand on the box, sliding it back to my lap. "That doesn't matter. It's yours. I got it for you. What the hell am I supposed to do with it if you won't take it?"

I slowly let my hands drop to the sides of the box, still too scared to taint it with my fingertips. "Jo..."

"It's yours, Becks," she demanded. "It's your birthday present. Don't be rude."