blechy blech blech

2004:

At fourteen, I am a professional at hiding my emotions. I can go days with fake smiles and appropriate frowns. Even better, I can go days without feeling anything. I don’t feel anymore. I never feel happy, I don’t feel sad. I don’t feel anything. And really, I don’t remember the last time I did. I don’t honestly know what’s worse; not being able to feel or being hyperactively aware of how empty I feel.

I spend my days - and nights too, I suppose - that I’m not with a friend of mine in dirty clubs, dancing to loud beats that make my ears ring. By now, security has stopped narrowing their eyes when I flash my - convincingly real - ID. They barely ask me if I’m sure this is my age anymore. They just step aside and let me into their club.

I went to my first show a couple months ago, on a night that I was stumbling around for a new place to hang out. There were probably thirty people in the room to see this no-name band, all moving around in a tight group despite all the room on the dance floor. I’d paid the dues to get in the door and pushed myself into the middle of the crowd. And while I was a pro at club scenes, I’d never been to anything live before. And I fell in love. I loved the way that I was forced to jump when the people around me did, or how I was shoved too roughly for my fourteen year old body to handle. But most of all, I loved the loss of control I had over my own body.

I’ve since lost the memory of what band I saw, but I haven’t forgotten the way the rough crowd left bruises on my hips and arms from the shoving. Or the way I was in love with them. I ached for more bruises, for more pain. The pain was real, and it made me feel less hollow. I’d felt something real, which was something that hadn’t really happened in a long time. The lust I had for music after that show had more to do with the pain than the beats or bands. The more shows I went to, the more I ached for that feeling.

And I guess that’s what led to last night. I was sprawled across my bathroom floor, a blade I’d snapped out of my shaving razor balanced delicately between my thumb and my index finger. I was in a trance, enamored by the way the metal sparkled in the florescent light. It was beautiful. It was enchanting. The thought of the pain that this would bring me sent shivers down my spine. I’d never done this before, but as I allowed the blade to slice my skin, I knew this wouldn’t be the only time.

I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the wall. And when the rush from the first cut calmed, I made another before I could stop myself. And eventually another, and another, until there are ten horizontal lines running across my forearm. And then I was done. I’d cleaned up my mess and stopped the bleeding, but I didn’t bother to put on a bandage. It’s sick, but they’re beautiful. Like the bruises, I was in love with them.

This morning, as I’d pulled my hoodie on, I was insanely aware of the way the cotton rubbed against the fresh cuts. It’d sent a sharp pain over my wrist and it took my breath away. And each time I moved, it would happen again. God, I could get used to this. I never want this feeling, this real feeling, to go away.

When I get to school, Alexis is waiting at our lockers. Mine is only four apart from hers, a freak accident from our usual alphabetic assignments. And when she sees me, she instantly smiles and goes into a hyperactive rush of the latest gossip on the boy she’s in love with this week. To which I smile and nod at the appropriate times. It’s not that I’m ignoring her, I just don’t want to waste a second of this pain.

I met Alexis when I was six, the first day of first grade. She was new to the school, her family having moved to Chicago only a few weeks before the new school year began. I would later find out that she’s albino, but back then I’d been amazed by her absolutely white skin and hair, and most of all, her eyes and their pink hue. She looked as though she’d lived in a place where she’d never seen the sunlight - you know, somewhere with igloos and polar bears - but the Southern drawl that spilled out of her mouth verified her Texas roots.

Now, at fourteen, we are nearly inseparable. Her Texas accent has faded into a dialect she only uses when she’s sleepy or extremely angry. It’d only taken a couple of months before she’d adopted my Midwestern accent, one with long a’s and over-pronounced vowels. Fortunately for me, she didn’t pick up the speech problems I’ve had since childhood that leave me embarrassed when I can’t pronounce the ‘th’ sounds in words.

In a way, I’ve always been jealous of her. Especially when I was younger and would tag along to the mall with her and her mother. You see, while she looks different than anyone else, Alexis is beautiful. Even from a young age, people in public would double take to get another glance at her. Which, I can only assume is why her mother started entering in pageants when she was as young as three.

Alexis has a stage presence that you can’t forget. She’s bubbly, innocent, graceful. She’s quick to answer questions in a way that seems entirely real, and talented when she gets up to play piano for her talent. For years, I have stood side stage to cheer her on. I’ve been the girl she squeals and jumps with when she takes home trophies, and the girl that tells her how ugly the other girls are when she doesn’t win. The latter is a rarity, however, because judges fall in love with her. I could only hope that I find something that gives me the happiness that is so apparent on her face when she walks off stage.

Alexis wants to be a model. And honestly, I think she’s going to accomplish exactly that. Alexis is gorgeous. Honestly. Me? I’m not so much. Alexis has a thin, curvy, feminine body and looks fabulous in the girly clothes she wears. However, I have a thin, straight body that I frequently cover up with t-shirts and hoodies.

But don’t get me wrong, I love Alexis. It’s just that sometimes she doesn’t get it. She still has both of her parents. She didn’t lose her mom like I did - which is a topic we never discuss - and her sister still lives at home. Her dad still talks to her every day and picks her up from school when it’s cold outside. Basically, she has a normal family where mine crumbled long ago. And yeah, you could say that I’m jealous.

I absentmindedly shrug out of my hoodie as she’s talking, shoving it into my bag. She stops mid-sentence and her eyes scan my arms. She’s silent, and meeting my eyes, quickly. I avert my eyes, trying to cross my arms and cover it up, but it’s too late. She grabs my wrist, holding it out so she can examine it. The disgust on her face sends a wave of panic down my spine. She’s ruining it. She can’t see how stunningly beautiful the red lines are, and she’s ruining how good it makes me feel.

“Kate, did you do this to yourself?” She asks, trying to meet my eyes, but I keep my gaze away. “Because you know my mom deals with people who do this to themselves. And god, those people are crazy. Like really messed up in the head. And that’s not you Ka—”

“Shut up!” I jerk my arm away from her, grabbing my hoodie and shoving my arms back into it. I feel sick. And wrong. And worse, crazy. I’m not any of those things, I swear. It’s just that the pain makes me feel alive. And I haven’t in so long.

“I just never thought that you…” She shakes her head in disbelief. “After what happened to your mom..”

“Stop,” I clench my teeth and dig my fingernails into my palms. I can’t bare to listen to her anymore. I feel like all of the blood has rushed to my head and it’s this horrid pounding and I feel worse than I did before I cut myself. “I don’t want to hear this.”

Alexis grabs my shoulder, leaving me frozen in my place. “I’m sorry,” She blurts out, and her eyes - which, thanks to contacts, are now a bright blue - blaze into my own. “I know that we don’t talk about that. It’s just that I can’t believe you would do something like that after..”

“We’re not going to talk about it, Lex.”

“Do you need to talk to someone? The counsellor? My mom? She knows everything that happened to you and she deals with this…”

“Are you an idiot?” I blurt out, and she stares at me stunned. “Your mom can’t know about this. No one can know about this.”

“But—”

“No one. Promise me,” I grab her by the shoulders and look her in the eyes. “Promise.”

“I promise,” She whispers, tears forming in her eyes and my own. “I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

I hug her, which is something we rarely do. Alexis and I aren’t touchy-feely friends, opting out of hugs and kisses on the cheek since it makes us both uncomfortable. So it surprises me when she wraps her arms around me and doesn’t let go for a long time. I wish I could tell her that I’m not hurting and mean it, but I can’t lie to her. Instead I say nothing. When she pulls away, there’s no trace of the tears that were on her cheeks before. But I’m standing there blubbering like an idiot. Alexis picks up her backpack and looks away while I wipe my tears on my sleeve, almost soaking it.

“Do you want to come to my house after school?” Alexis says, rocking back and forth on her feet. Another thing we don’t really discuss is emotions, or at least not real ones. Alexis was there for me when my sister left, and I was there for her when her dog died. But about this, these emotions, she has no idea how I feel and I won’t tell her.

“Sure,” I say, my sobbing coming to a halt. “I need to do my math homework.”

“Do you want to stay for dinner?”

I nod. I love the way that her family has dinners together. And that her mom has a warm, home-cooked meal every night that isn’t too salty or too sweet. And I love the way that her house always smells faintly of cookies that her mom bakes when she can’t sleep at night. Alexis’ family almost always feeds me dinner, and the leftovers are always wrapped in foil and sent home with me for my father.

A few years ago, I was bitter about the way that this would happen. The way that I would have a place set at their dinner table before I was even asked if I wanted to join them. It was as though they were taking pity on me, trying to replace the family I’d lost. And I didn’t want a new mom. I didn’t need a new family. But then I came to the conclusion that if they didn’t take care of me, I didn’t know who would.

It’s not that my father doesn’t love me, because I know he does. It’s just that things are well, complicated. He can’t get over what happened to our family, to his wife. He’s heartbroken, as I like to all it. Stuck in feelings. He functions at a basic, unemotional level. He gets up and takes a shower. He gets dressed and knocks on my bedroom door to make sure I’m awake for school. He drinks exactly a cup and a half of coffee - black - while he skims the headline. Then he goes to work. He gets home around nine, scans the fridge for food, and then goes to bed. And repeat. And it breaks my heart to see him so sad.

It’s snowing when we leave school. When I was younger, I adored the snow. I loved playing in not only it, but all kinds of weather. Now, it brings back awful memories that I can’t explain to anyone. The feelings that make me want to throw up and ache to punish myself. They’re feelings that are so burned into my brain, not even amnesia would give me the gift of forgetting.

I’m not sure if Alexis sees the look on my face or just knows, but she’s pulling out her phone and giving her dad a call before we can even step foot outside. I’m thankful. Her hand finds mine, clutching it. I don’t really hold her hand, ever. Like I said, we’re not that kind of friends. But I can’t deny the calm it brings me, and I’m thankful that she doesn’t let go. However, when her father pulls up, Alexis drops my hand and takes off for the black car. She climbs into the front seat, leaving the backseat open for me. I avert my eyes when she leans across the car to kiss her father on the cheek and pretend to be more involved with buckling my seatbelt than I actually am. The last thing I need is one more reason to be jealous of her.

“Hi Katie,” Her father says, peering at me through the rearview mirror with a smile on his face. “Did you have a good day.”

No. That’s what I want to say, but instead I let a fake smile spread across my features. “It was good, I got a 90 on my math test.”

“Good job!” He flashes a genuine smile my way before he turns to Alexis. “And how did you do, Alexis?”

Alexis slumps, looking as though she’d rather disappear. Math has never been her strong point, and instantly I feel guilty for even bringing up the subject. “I got a 68.”

“Did you study?” Her father’s voice is thick with disappointment.

“No,” She admits, her voice small.

“And why not?”

“I had pageant practice that night.”

He sighs, looking away from her. “And what is our rule, young lady?” I squirm. It makes me uncomfortable when he scolds her in front of me. I can’t even pretend to be looking out the window, we’re not moving yet.

“I have to have all A’s and B’s to participate,” She murmurs. I can’t see her, but I can only imagine the look on her face. I know how long she’s been preparing for this. And it feels like acid in my stomach, the guilt that I feel for this. Have I mentioned I can never say anything right?

katekate

Kate:

William's bathroom door used to have a lock, you know. In fact, every door in Will's apartment used to lock. But that was before. Before Delaney's suicide attempt.

A lot of things have changed since then.

I guess, in the end though, that will be what saves me. I'm thinking that now as I'm laying on the bathroom floor. My wrist is slit upward. It's deep and the way the blood is gushing, I just know what I've done to myself. The blue vein that ran up my arm was cut.

I knew this was the end.

But it wasn't, it couldn't be because I know that Delaney will be home at any minute.

She shouldn't have left. But she had to. I was sleeping, and she needed to go to the store. That's what the note said.

The empty house left a weird ringing noise in my ears. I was used to the way Delaney fidgeted around as quietly as she could.

And what can I say, the blade I'd seen in the bathroom cabinet called to me.

It only took one. One long, six inch cut up my arm and I was dizzy. There was so much blood. Not the bubbling, random spots of blood that weren't uncommon along my skin. But the gushing, pouring blood that made me sick to my stomach.

Pressure, you idiot. Stop the bleeding.

No, I can't. I don't want to.

How long would it take? To die, I mean. It shouldn't be long now. I can feel the mask of unconsciousness slowly starting to come down on me. I want to scream but I can't find my voice. My throat is too dry for it to make a noise anyway.

I lay back on the cool tile, my head resting on a towel that Delaney had left laying on the floor.

And I wait.

Wait for it, the end. It should be more painful, shouldn't it? Horrible pain, not the nauseous, dizzy feeling that was overtaking me. But really though. I didn't feel anything.

It was fuzzy. My eyesight. Blurred so bad.

I still saw her though. Delaney. A scream bursting through her lips and she was on her knees in an instant. She was pressing something to my arm. Something cold and rough and I wanted to scream. To tell her to stop.

I thrashed on the floor. But just one of her cool hands was enough to pin me to the ground. There was so much blood.

It was a fight, keeping myself awake. A horrible battle and I was losing. I struggled to focus on her face. I wanted to remember anything and everything.

There's a phone to Delaney's ear and fuck, fuck she's calling for help.

He's not coming. Don't get your hopes up. He's with another girl and he's never coming back for you.

"No, that's not true."

Delaney's voice interrupts me and I know I've been saying everything outloud. All of my horrible thoughts, my wants, my needs. Everything outloud for her to hear.

I don't want to beat this. I want to die. And I'm going to. I let the dark cloud overtake me and my eyes close. My crying halts. My heartbeat slows.

I can hear the sirens in the distance.

Chapter ONE

Chapter One

Andrew:

On the outside, she looked like every other girl from our school - blonde, with light make-up on her eyes, and her skirt pulled up as high as she could get away with before the administration would get involved for violation of our school uniforms. She was, well, a living doll, with her perfectly straight hair and glossed lips. But still, she wasn’t exactly like them either. She’d opted out of the heals that the girls were allowed to wear this year, choosing mary jane’s instead. On her left hand, what I could only assume was a purity ring glistened on her finger - which, combined with the short skirt, was an oxymoron if I’d ever seen one. As a senior, I’d seen plenty of these girls. Living in Southern California, it was almost a rarity to see someone who didn’t look the way that she did. But still, there was something different about her. Something that had me licking my lips in what, lust? There was something about her, and I wanted her.

“Man,” My friend, Josh, says, following my gaze to the girl. He’s slumped against his locker, arms across his chest. I don’t look at him, my eyes are still fixed on the girl. “Andy, why don’t you drool over her.”

“Andy’s got a thing for the Frosh?” Clutch says. Clutch, at one point in time, was called Kevin. But, for reasons that none of us seem to understand anymore, that name faded a long time ago. He looks over at the girl too, then back at me. “Shit, I don’t blame you.”

Josh looks at me, a smirk forming on his lips. “How long before she’s sprawled across the backseat of your car, Andy? You know that’s what you’re thinking about. You want that,” He looks back at her. “And man, can’t say I blame you. Just look at that ass.”

“Shut up, Partington. You too, Clutch,” I say, reaching up and running my hands through my thick red hair. I narrow my eyes. “Neither of you will touch her. I’ve got dibs.”

“Dibs,” Clutch chuckles, nudging Josh. “You know what that means. How long do you think, Josh? A month?”

Josh shakes his head. His eyes find mine, skeptical. I know exactly what he’s thinking. “I bet he’ll have had his way with her and be bored with her by the end of the week.”

“Both of you, shut up,” I say, tightening my hands into fists.

Josh licks his lips. “I can’t wait until you’re bored with her and I get a taste,” He’s looking at me now, teasingly, and sometimes it’s hard to believe that he’s my best friend. And honestly, we probably wouldn’t be if he wasn’t a killer guitarist. About six months ago, Clutch, Josh, and I had gotten together with a friend of ours, Brian, in a pathetic attempt of forming what we’d liked to call the next great American band.

“You won’t,” I say, and while it hadn’t been intentional, it came out in a low hiss. Josh stepped back a little, his eyes narrowing as well. “And I do believe I told you to back off, she’s mine.”

“Fine, fine,” Clutch laughs, putting his hand on Josh’s arm. Clutch, in many ways, is the peacekeeper. Josh and I, while we have been friends since we were in third grade and know each other inside and out, are often down each other’s throats. Clutch is the comic relief, the one that makes us laugh and keeps us from killing each other. “We’ll meet you at lunch, Andy,” He says, his hand clenching on Josh’s arm, leading him away from me. As they walk away, I can hear Josh muttering under his breath about me, and I roll my eyes.

I sigh, turning back to my locker and twisting the combination lock. They had a point, really, I was known for getting bored with girls quickly. I’d want them, and then not long after that I’d take them in the backseat of my convertible, and then I’d be done with them. Lust over. Gone, you can go now. And of course, Josh had a thing for picking up my rebounds, and it was a soft spot with him that he’d never had a girlfriend that I hadn’t dated first.

As a senior, my schedule is kind of a joke, and you can tell that by looking in my locker. It’s full of notebooks and fresh, new binders that will go the entire year without being touched. You see, the majority of my classes are electives, filler classes for seniors that don’t give out homework, or really have any educational value. I chuckle, turning my head and watching all the freshmen struggling under the weight of their books, when one of them crashes into me.

I look down, she’s nearly a foot shorter than me, and realize it’s her. Even just looking at the top of her blonde head as she bends down to pick up the books, notebooks, and dozens of the papers you collect on the first day of school that she’d dropped, I know it’s her. I bend down, carefully picking an English book up with my index finger and thumb, catching her eye.

“I. Am. So. Sorry,” She says, breaking up her words into short sentences. With every word, her cheeks redden more. She slips the book out of my grasp, tucking it under the others and hugging them against her chest. “I was… walking, and I was staring… at my feet. And not… paying attention. And I am so sorry,” She says, and just when I think she’s done apologizing, she opens her mouth to start round three.

“I’m Andrew,” I say before she can begin, hoping to whiz past the apologies by distracting her. She looks up at me, and I almost regret it, because now she just looks more flustered than she was before. She stares at me for a few seconds before I chuckle, looking at her patiently. “And you are?”

“Edwina,” She says, straightening up and her hands go to find her skirt, twisting it into a knot around her fist. My eyes flick down there, and I wonder if she notices that by doing that, her panties - or more like the mere concept of panties, from what it looks like - are completely visible. When I smirk, her cheeks turn a deeper shade of red - how is that even possible, really - and she drops her hand away from her skirt.

“Ed then,” I reach up, slipping the books out of her arms. When she opens her mouth to protest, I shake my head and place a finger to her lips. “It’s the least I can do, clearly you’re a danger with these. You’re new here?”

“Freshman,” Her voice is barely more than a whisper, with a stutter that leaves words dangling on the tip of her tongue. Freshman, as if that wasn’t obvious. “And you’re a senior?” When I nod, she opens her mouth again. “O-oh! That sounds really creepy, doesn’t it? It wasn’t supposed to, really. I don’t like, spy on you or anything. I just saw you hanging out with those boys, and they’re seniors. And the other girls said that you-”

I glance up at her. Well, I mean, I’d been looking at her, just not her face. “The other girls said what, exactly?” I guess I say it too sharp, because she instantly winces and looks down. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m just curious as to what’s going around about me.”

“They say you’re in a band,” She murmurs, looking at her feet. I sigh, relieved. There were so many things those girls could have said about me that would have ruined my chances with her. “Which, if it’s true, is really cool because I really like music. Even though I’m not really allowed to listen to it, but I still do and I just don’t tell my mom about it because she would just, freak out. And when my mom fr-”

“It’s true,” I cut her off once again, which is seeming to be a routine for this girl. “I’m the vocalist. We’re not exactly named yet.”

“Oh!” She says, clapping her hands together and rocking back and forth on her feet. “That’s so exciting, really, it is. I love music, I consider myself to be really good at music. Well not playing, I can’t play an instrument but I’m very good at enjoying music.”

“Maybe I’ll let you listen to one of our demos.”

“Really?” Her eyes are wide. “That would be awesome! I have my walkman with me and everything, we could listen now if you have them with you.”

“They’re in my car,” I say, almost absentmindedly. I wondered if Josh and Clutch would be truly mad at me if I ditched them for lunch, or if they’d forgive me when they realized what I was doing. I placed my finger on my chin, looking towards the front doors of the school. “I wouldn’t be able to get them for you until after school… Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Unless you’d like to skip lunch and come with me?” I say smoothly, letting my hand slide to the small of her back. I watch as her cheeks turn red and her eyes leave me and go towards the cafeteria.

“Well I was supposed to eat lunch with those girls…”

“Oh,” I say, trying to sound more disappointed than I actually am. “Well, I suppose that’s okay. I guess you’re not interested.”

Her eyes dart back to mine, and now she’s biting on her lip. “Oh, I am! I really would like to hear your music, Andrew.” I try to suppress my chuckle. It still surprises me that she thinks this is still about my music, but then I glance down at the purity ring on her finger and remember that she’s a good girl. My eyes barely leave the ring, and I can’t help but wonder how long it’ll take me before that ring is insignificant. If I have my way, it’ll only be a few hours.

“The girls can wait then?”

She nods. “They can wait,” She agrees. She takes a step towards the door, then freezes and looks at me. “Wait, won’t we get in trouble? We’re not supposed to go to the parking lot during the day.”

Laughing, I press my hand into the small of her back, guiding her forward. “Come on,” I laugh, “They just say that to scare you.”

“Are you sure?” She asks. When I nod, she takes another step forward. She still looks unsure, but she’s following me, and quickly I let my hand fall down to take her hand. She grips it, following after me at a quicker pace now.

When we get to the parking lot, I lead her to my car and push her up against it slightly. “So this is my car,” I say, letting my hands fall to her hips. My eyes drift down to her skirt, and at the same time I let my fingertips inch it up slowly.

“I-it’s nice,” She stumbles out.

“Do your parents know you wear your skirt this high?”

“No, they’d kill me,” She squirms slightly as my fingers trace at her thighs. “So um. Do you um. Have a girlfriend?”

“Not currently,” I say, watching her trying to focus. It was almost amusing, really, to watch the way she resisted my fingertips.

“Is that by choice?”

“No, not really,” I lie.

She blushes. “Oh, well, I mean, I can’t understand why a girl wouldn’t want you. That’s just really… unfortunate?”

“I don’t think it’s so bad,” I chuckled slightly.

“Well I-I-I’ve never had a boyfriend, so I wouldn’t know,” She says, letting her eyes fall closed as my fingertips push up higher.

“Well, do you want one?”

“I um.” Her eyes dart open, and she looks exactly like a dear caught in the headlights of an incoming car. “I uh. I guess so.”

I smile at her, letting go of her and moving to rest my hand on my car handle. “Let’s get in my car, shall we?” She nods slightly, reaching for the passenger door. I reach up, grabbing her hand to stop her. “Backseat? Really, it’s much more comfortable.”

“Sure,” Ed says, her voice shaking. I open the door for her, helping her slide in before sliding in after her. She looks nervous, and I almost feel guilty, but then I look down at her skirt and really, she’s asking for it.

“What’s the matter?” I say, reaching over and pulling her legs into my lap. I let my hand find her thigh again, this time rubbing with my thumb and not my fingers.

“I’ve…” Her cheeks turn a bright scarlet. “I’ve never even kissed a boy, Andrew.”

“I’ll show you how,” I say carelessly, inching my hand up. “Don’t worry about that.”

“Those girls,” I look up at her, stopping a little. “They say that you do drugs.” I barely murmur a yes, my lips coming to rest on her neck. “What exactly do you do?”

“Weed, usually,” I shrug, sucking lightly on her neck. “Why do you ask?”

“I’ve just, I’ve never done that. It’s so… bad,” She sighs. “I guess, I usually just hang out with the safe crowd.”

“Not anymore you don’t,” I chuckle against her skin.

“Andrew,” She says, her hand coming to rest on my chest. “Are we going to have sex?”

I don’t stop kissing her neck, instead pull back just enough to whisper. “Do you want to?”

“Do you want to?”

“Well of course, sexy.”

“Andrew,” Ed says, closing her eyes and tilting her head to the side as I kiss her neck. “Is it better if you’re high?” When I nod slightly, she murmurs. “I want to be high.”

I pull back this time, looking at her with a wide smirk. “Well aren’t you a bad girl,” I tease, climbing into the front seat. I motion for her to climb up. “C’mon, get in the front seat.”

She’s quiet while I drive, fiddling with the fabric of her skirt. This girl knows how to tease, every time she touches her skirt it somehow manages to go even further up her leg, and it’s impossible to keep my eyes on the road. After a few minutes, she reaches up, pulling her long hair into a ponytail, and with the absence of her hair on her neck, I can see the hickeys starting to form on her skin.

“Andrew?” She says, breaking our silence. I turn to look at her, and she looks even more nervous. “If I.. If I give it up, are you going to leave me?”

I’m glad I have driving as an excuse to not look at her, because I don’t think I could lie convincingly if I had to look at her. “Of course not, baby, where would you get that idea?”

“My mom says that my virginity is something to be cherished,” Even as she says it, I can hear the disbelief in her voice, and maybe she’s not the goody two shoes I thought she was.

“Christian?” I ask

“Mormon,” She says, but it comes across as more of a groan. “I go to church ever Wednesday and Sunday, and sometimes Saturday. It’s about all I do, my mom doesn’t want me being with kids outside of the church.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Why?”

“She thinks that Satan will get me,” She says seriously, and I can’t help but laugh. “What’s so funny? Satan is a very real threat!”

I look at her for a moment, trying to quiet my laughter. “You’re cute,” I say finally. She stumbles over her words for a second, and I sigh. “You know that Satan isn’t real, right? It’s just our parents way of scaring us into behaving. That kind of stuff is just propaganda, everything the church teaches you is, really. Our parents did all those ‘bad’ things when they were our age too, you know.”

“So…” She says, thinking it over quietly. “So it’s not bad that I want to ask you to pull over and take me?”

I smirk, shaking my head as I pull to the side of the road. “Not at all,” I say before turning in my seat. “Why don’t we get in the backseat, then?” She nods, taking off her seatbelt and climbing into the backseat quickly. I follow her, and God, I’ve never been more happy for tinted windows.

chepper one.

Chapter One - Andrew:

On the outside, she looked like every other girl from our school - blonde, with light make-up on her eyes, and her skirt pulled up as high as she could get away with before the administration would get involved for violation of our school uniforms. She was, well, a living doll, with her perfectly straight hair and glossed lips. But still, she wasn’t exactly like them either. She’d opted out of the heals that the girls were allowed to wear this year, choosing mary jane’s instead. On her left hand, what I could only assume was a purity ring glistened on her finger - which, combined with the short skirt, was an oxymoron if I’d ever seen one. As a senior, I’d seen plenty of these girls. Living in Southern California, it was almost a rarity to see someone who didn’t look the way that she did. But still, there was something different about her. Something that had me licking my lips in what, lust? There was something about her, and I wanted her.

“Man,” My friend, Josh, says, following my gaze to the girl. He’s slumped against his locker, arms across his chest. I don’t look at him, my eyes are still fixed on the girl. “Andy, why don’t you drool over her.”

“Andy’s got a thing for the Frosh?” Clutch says. Clutch, at one point in time, was called Kevin. But, for reasons that none of us seem to understand anymore, that name faded a long time ago. He looks over at the girl too, then back at me. “Shit, I don’t blame you.”

Josh looks at me, a smirk forming on his lips. “How long before she’s sprawled across the backseat of your car, Andy? You know that’s what you’re thinking about. You want that,” He looks back at her. “And man, can’t say I blame you. Just look at that ass.”

“Shut up, Partington. You too, Clutch,” I say, reaching up and running my hands through my thick red hair. I narrow my eyes. “Neither of you will touch her. I’ve got dibs.”

“Dibs,” Clutch chuckles, nudging Josh. “You know what that means. How long do you think, Josh? A month?”

Josh shakes his head. His eyes find mine, skeptical. I know exactly what he’s thinking. “I bet he’ll have had his way with her and be bored with her by the end of the week.”

“Both of you, shut up,” I say, tightening my hands into fists.

Josh licks his lips. “I can’t wait until you’re bored with her and I get a taste,” He’s looking at me now, teasingly, and sometimes it’s hard to believe that he’s my best friend. And honestly, we probably wouldn’t be if he wasn’t a killer guitarist. About six months ago, Clutch, Josh, and I had gotten together with a friend of ours, Brian, in a pathetic attempt of forming what we’d liked to call the next great American band.

“You won’t,” I say, and while it hadn’t been intentional, it came out in a low hiss. Josh stepped back a little, his eyes narrowing as well. “And I do believe I told you to back off, she’s mine.”

“Fine, fine,” Clutch laughs, putting his hand on Josh’s arm. Clutch, in many ways, is the peacekeeper. Josh and I, while we have been friends since we were in third grade and know each other inside and out, are often down each other’s throats. Clutch is the comic relief, the one that makes us laugh and keeps us from killing each other. “We’ll meet you at lunch, Andy,” He says, his hand clenching on Josh’s arm, leading him away from me. As they walk away, I can hear Josh muttering under his breath about me, and I roll my eyes.

I sigh, turning back to my locker and twisting the combination lock. They had a point, really, I was known for getting bored with girls quickly. I’d want them, and then not long after that I’d take them in the backseat of my convertible, and then I’d be done with them. Lust over. Gone, you can go now. And of course, Josh had a thing for picking up my rebounds, and it was a soft spot with him that he’d never had a girlfriend that I hadn’t dated first.

As a senior, my schedule is kind of a joke, and you can tell that by looking in my locker. It’s full of notebooks and fresh, new binders that will go the entire year without being touched. You see, the majority of my classes are electives, filler classes for seniors that don’t give out homework, or really have any educational value. I chuckle, turning my head and watching all the freshmen struggling under the weight of their books, when one of them crashes into me.

I look down, she’s nearly a foot shorter than me, and realize it’s her. Even just looking at the top of her blonde head as she bends down to pick up the books, notebooks, and dozens of the papers you collect on the first day of school that she’d dropped, I know it’s her. I bend down, carefully picking an English book up with my index finger and thumb, catching her eye.

“I. Am. So. Sorry,” She says, breaking up her words into short sentences. With every word, her cheeks redden more. She slips the book out of my grasp, tucking it under the others and hugging them against her chest. “I was… walking, and I was staring… at my feet. And not… paying attention. And I am so sorry,” She says, and just when I think she’s done apologizing, she opens her mouth to start round three.

“I’m Andrew,” I say before she can begin, hoping to whiz past the apologies by distracting her. She looks up at me, and I almost regret it, because now she just looks more flustered than she was before. She stares at me for a few seconds before I chuckle, looking at her patiently. “And you are?”

“Edwina,” She says, straightening up and her hands go to find her skirt, twisting it into a knot around her fist. My eyes flick down there, and I wonder if she notices that by doing that, her panties - or more like the mere concept of panties, from what it looks like - are completely visible. When I smirk, her cheeks turn a deeper shade of red - how is that even possible, really - and she drops her hand away from her skirt.

“Ed then,” I reach up, slipping the books out of her arms. When she opens her mouth to protest, I shake my head and place a finger to her lips. “It’s the least I can do, clearly you’re a danger with these. You’re new here?”

“Freshman,” Her voice is barely more than a whisper, with a stutter that leaves words dangling on the tip of her tongue. Freshman, as if that wasn’t obvious. “And you’re a senior?” When I nod, she opens her mouth again. “O-oh! That sounds really creepy, doesn’t it? It wasn’t supposed to, really. I don’t like, spy on you or anything. I just saw you hanging out with those boys, and they’re seniors. And the other girls said that you-”

I glance up at her. Well, I mean, I’d been looking at her, just not her face. “The other girls said what, exactly?” I guess I say it too sharp, because she instantly winces and looks down. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m just curious as to what’s going around about me.”

“They say you’re in a band,” She murmurs, looking at her feet. I sigh, relieved. There were so many things those girls could have said about me that would have ruined my chances with her. “Which, if it’s true, is really cool because I really like music. Even though I’m not really allowed to listen to it, but I still do and I just don’t tell my mom about it because she would just, freak out. And when my mom fr-”

“It’s true,” I cut her off once again, which is seeming to be a routine for this girl. “I’m the vocalist. We’re not exactly named yet.”

“Oh!” She says, clapping her hands together and rocking back and forth on her feet. “That’s so exciting, really, it is. I love music, I consider myself to be really good at music. Well not playing, I can’t play an instrument but I’m very good at enjoying music.”

“Maybe I’ll let you listen to one of our demos.”

“Really?” Her eyes are wide. “That would be awesome! I have my walkman with me and everything, we could listen now if you have them with you.”

“They’re in my car,” I say, almost absentmindedly. I wondered if Josh and Clutch would be truly mad at me if I ditched them for lunch, or if they’d forgive me when they realized what I was doing. I placed my finger on my chin, looking towards the front doors of the school. “I wouldn’t be able to get them for you until after school… Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Unless you’d like to skip lunch and come with me?” I say smoothly, letting my hand slide to the small of her back. I watch as her cheeks turn red and her eyes leave me and go towards the cafeteria.

“Well I was supposed to eat lunch with those girls…”

“Oh,” I say, trying to sound more disappointed than I actually am. “Well, I suppose that’s okay. I guess you’re not interested.”

Her eyes dart back to mine, and now she’s biting on her lip. “Oh, I am! I really would like to hear your music, Andrew.” I try to suppress my chuckle. It still surprises me that she thinks this is still about my music, but then I glance down at the purity ring on her finger and remember that she’s a good girl. My eyes barely leave the ring, and I can’t help but wonder how long it’ll take me before that ring is insignificant. If I have my way, it’ll only be a few hours.

“The girls can wait then?”

She nods. “They can wait,” She agrees. She takes a step towards the door, then freezes and looks at me. “Wait, won’t we get in trouble? We’re not supposed to go to the parking lot during the day.”

Laughing, I press my hand into the small of her back, guiding her forward. “Come on,” I laugh, “They just say that to scare you.”

“Are you sure?” She asks. When I nod, she takes another step forward. She still looks unsure, but she’s following me, and quickly I let my hand fall down to take her hand. She grips it, following after me at a quicker pace now.

When we get to the parking lot, I lead her to my car and push her up against it slightly. “So this is my car,” I say, letting my hands fall to her hips. My eyes drift down to her skirt, and at the same time I let my fingertips inch it up slowly.

“I-it’s nice,” She stumbles out.

“Do your parents know you wear your skirt this high?”

“No, they’d kill me,” She squirms slightly as my fingers trace at her thighs. “So um. Do you um. Have a girlfriend?”

“Not currently,” I say, watching her trying to focus. It was almost amusing, really, to watch the way she resisted my fingertips.

“Is that by choice?”

“No, not really,” I lie.

She blushes. “Oh, well, I mean, I can’t understand why a girl wouldn’t want you. That’s just really… unfortunate?”

“I don’t think it’s so bad,” I chuckled slightly.

“Well I-I-I’ve never had a boyfriend, so I wouldn’t know,” She says, letting her eyes fall closed.

lol chapter one

Chapter One - Andrew:

On the outside, she looked like every other girl from our school - blonde, with light make-up on her eyes, and her skirt pulled up as high as she could get away with before the administration would get involved for violation of our school uniforms. She was, well, a living doll, with her perfectly straight hair and glossed lips. But still, she wasn’t exactly like them either. She’d opted out of the heals that the girls were allowed to wear this year, choosing mary jane’s instead. On her left hand, what I could only assume was a purity ring glistened on her finger - which, combined with the short skirt, was an oxymoron if I’d ever seen one. As a senior, I’d seen plenty of these girls. Living in Southern California, it was almost a rarity to see someone who didn’t look the way that she did. But still, there was something different about her. Something that had me licking my lips in what, lust? There was something about her, and I wanted her.

“Man,” My friend, Josh, says, following my gaze to the girl. He’s slumped against his locker, arms across his chest. I don’t look at him, my eyes are still fixed on the girl. “Andy, why don’t you drool over her.”

“Andy’s got a thing for the Frosh?” Clutch says. Clutch, at one point in time, was called Kevin. But, for reasons that none of us seem to understand anymore, that name faded a long time ago. He looks over at the girl too, then back at me. “Shit, I don’t blame you.”

Josh looks at me, a smirk forming on his lips. “How long before she’s sprawled across the backseat of your car, Andy? You know that’s what you’re thinking about. You want that,” He looks back at her. “And man, can’t say I blame you. Just look at that ass.”

“Shut up, Partington. You too, Clutch,” I say, reaching up and running my hands through my thick red hair. I narrow my eyes. “Neither of you will touch her. I’ve got dibs.”

“Dibs,” Clutch chuckles, nudging Josh. “You know what that means. How long do you think, Josh? A month?”

Josh shakes his head. His eyes find mine, skeptical. I know exactly what he’s thinking. “I bet he’ll have had his way with her and be bored with her by the end of the week.”

“Both of you, shut up,” I say, tightening my hands into fists.

Josh licks his lips. “I can’t wait until you’re bored with her and I get a taste,” He’s looking at me now, teasingly, and sometimes it’s hard to believe that he’s my best friend. And honestly, we probably wouldn’t be if he wasn’t a killer guitarist. About six months ago, Clutch, Josh, and I had gotten together with a friend of ours, Brian, in a pathetic attempt of forming what we’d liked to call the next great American band.

“You won’t,” I say, and while it hadn’t been intentional, it came out in a low hiss. Josh stepped back a little, his eyes narrowing as well. “And I do believe I told you to back off, she’s mine.”

“Fine, fine,” Clutch laughs, putting his hand on Josh’s arm. Clutch, in many ways, is the peacekeeper. Josh and I, while we have been friends since we were in third grade and know each other inside and out, are often down each other’s throats. Clutch is the comic relief, the one that makes us laugh and keeps us from killing each other. “We’ll meet you at lunch, Andy,” He says, his hand clenching on Josh’s arm, leading him away from me. As they walk away, I can hear Josh muttering under his breath about me, and I roll my eyes.

I sigh, turning back to my locker and twisting the combination lock. They had a point, really, I was known for getting bored with girls quickly. I’d want them, and then not long after that I’d take them in the backseat of my convertible, and then I’d be done with them. Lust over. Gone, you can go now. And of course, Josh had a thing for picking up my rebounds, and it was a soft spot with him that he’d never had a girlfriend that I hadn’t dated first.

As a senior, my schedule is kind of a joke, and you can tell that by looking in my locker. It’s full of notebooks and fresh, new binders that will go the entire year without being touched. You see, the majority of my classes are electives, filler classes for seniors that don’t give out homework, or really have any educational value. I chuckle, turning my head and watching all the freshmen struggling under the weight of their books, when one of them crashes into me.

I look down, she’s nearly a foot shorter than me, and realize it’s her. Even just looking at the top of her blonde head as she bends down to pick up the books, notebooks, and dozens of the papers you collect on the first day of school that she’d dropped, I know it’s her. I bend down, carefully picking an English book up with my index finger and thumb, catching her eye.

“I. Am. So. Sorry,” She says, breaking up her words into short sentences. With every word, her cheeks redden more. She slips the book out of my grasp, tucking it under the others and hugging them against her chest. “I was… walking, and I was staring… at my feet. And not… paying attention. And I am so sorry,” She says, and just when I think she’s done apologizing, she opens her mouth to start round three.

madi would you mind telling me how much this sucks?

Chapter 7: Summer 2023

As soon as summer truly began, I was never without Preston. All of my time was spent with him, and I’d even taken to sleeping at his house. It his arms, I felt safe, and perfect, and he treated me like the princess I never thought I’d be. Always, his hands were lingering on my hips, or on my waist, while his lips were resting on my shoulders. He was perfect. Almost like my own personal angel, he saved me from the hell that had become my home life, and pulled me back onto my feet. He was my oxygen, and I quickly realized that I’d do just about anything for him. I lost track of the amount of nights I would spend laying on Preston’s floor, my head in his lap as he and Bronx would smoke. Weed had always been their favorite, and it seemed to be the most accessible to them. Sometimes, Bronx would pass the blunt to Jamie, who would almost eagerly take it.

Personally, I’d never been into drugs. I’d seen the way they affected people. Now that I’m older, I understand that my mother is an addict, and it’s led me to hate the drugs. Or at least, it had until the first time that I’d been with Preston when he’d gotten high. Preston, like my parents, was entirely different when he was high, but unlike them, he would be even more divine. His lips would turn up in an uncharacteristic smile, making him look like he was entirely happy. So at peace. And it was because of this that the first time he ever offered it to me, I’d accepted. Saying that I hated it would be a complete lie, it was quite the opposite, really. I’d loved it. It made me feel giddy, everything that Preston said was beautiful and perfect. And when he touched me, I felt even more complete than normal, something I hadn’t thought possible before now. However, it wasn’t just weed that they were into. They also liked the appeal of the harder drugs. Soon, pills were taking dominance over weed.

For the most part, I stayed away from the pills. A couple of times, I found myself allowing Preston to slip one of the little white tablets into my mouth. Usually whenever I’d gotten into a fight with my mother and Preston implied that I needed a good distraction. He’d always slip his hands into mine, assuring me that the pills would make me feel better, less tense even. Usually, of course, he was right. It would never take too long after I swallowed the pills to start to feel better. In fact, it was always just a few minutes until I would feel lighter, happier, a feeling that would always get me to press my lips into Preston’s and smile wide.

When we were alone, Preston and I were perfect. His hands always knew how to find that perfect spot on the small of my back, the spot that would make me shiver and curl against him. He was gentile in the best of ways, but he didn’t treat me like I would break. He knew how to kiss me, and how to keep me from being upset. With him, the nightmares that sometimes plagued my dreams went away. Curled against his chest at night, my dreams were always pleasant.

However, when we weren’t alone, things didn’t feel as right. Those long summer days that we would spend alongside Bronx and Jamie would leave me with a sick, queasy feeling in my stomach. There was something about the way that Preston looked at Bronx that made me just want to throw up. It was that look of utter longing. I knew that on his mind were those days where it was Bronx holding him the way he holds me, and sometimes I wonder if he even notices that I’m there. That it’s me he’s holding and not Bronx. And sure, he tells me he loves me, but I’m not so sure if he means it. Not like I do, anyways.

Tonight, I am curled against him while he is sleeping off the latest night with Bronx. His hands are tight, even in his sleep, on my hips. I wince, it’s almost painful how tight he’s holding me, but I don’t mind. I love it when he holds me like this, as if he’s afraid that I’ll slip away, too. Of course, I won’t. I could never even think about leaving him, it’d be almost like giving up my oxygen. I reach up, petting his hair. Tonight, he forgot to do his regular ritual of blow drying his hair after his shower, so soon were Bronx and Jamie here. The result was that his hair had turned into a wavy, soft mess instead of the straight, perfect style he usually had it in. Personally, I like it better this way. It makes him seem so much more natural. Almost instantly, his head pressed against my palm.

“Bronx,” He murmurs in his sleep, and then his lips turn up in a smile. I pull my hand away slightly, but then he’s tightening his grip on me, letting out a soft whimper. I place my hand back on his cheek, and the peaceful look on his face returns.

“No, it’s Elyse,” I murmur, and I don’t know what falls faster; his smile or my heart.

adlkfjlkdajkljfl;a blah

Everyday after school since third grade, the four of us had walked home from school together. First us in elementary school, then middle school. They’re in high school now, and I’m finishing up my eighth grade year. Even being in different schools doesn’t stop us from walking together. They’re always waiting for me outside the middle school when school dismisses. Bronx and Jamie are a couple now, and have been for a couple weeks now. And now, during the long walks home, they’d spend the whole walk home holding hands, shoulder-to-shoulder, and whispering to each other. Anymore, Preston would absentmindedly rest his hand on hip in a way that would make me instantly scoot closer to him. We didn’t really talk all that much, not more than about music, or movies, things like that. Nothing more than we usually talked about, and while Jamie and Bronx were getting closer than ever, I hadn’t made any progress with Preston.

Sometimes, while Bronx and Jamie occupied themselves by cuddling on the couch, Preston would slide into the chair next to me at the dining room table. He would lean over my shoulder, looking at the homework I was doing and see if he could help, and usually I would seem lost so he would help me out. Preston is intoxicating, even more gorgeous than he always has been. I try not to stare at him too much, but sometimes I just can’t help myself. His brown hair, the same color as Uncle Will’s, is perfectly straight, falling down to almost his shoulders. I love the way his brown eyes always focus on my face when he speaks to me, and the way he always turns up the edge of his lips in a smirk of sorts, as if he’s in on some private joke. He always smells good too, always faintly of Axe, that makes me want to press my nose into his shirt and stay there for as long as I possibly can.

Today, Bronx and Jamie are curled together outside beside the pool, it’s one of the first early summer days warm enough to be outside without a jacket. And while I love seeing the way my best friend smiles when he’s around Bronx, I chose to stay inside, working instead on a homework assignment that I’ve put off for almost a week. Preston is standing in the kitchen, looking out the window to the back porch with an almost pained look on his face. I can tell he wants to be the one tucked inside Bronx’s arms, and while I’m happy for Jamie, I hate seeing how upset Preston looks. I don’t think that Preston had planned for this to be a long term break up, but Bronx had almost instantly switched to Jamie, leaving Preston alone.

“Preston?” I ask, just loud enough for him to hear me across the kitchen. He looks up at me, his previously glazed eyes focusing on my face. He tries to hide the discomfort from his face immediately, but for a few seconds, I can see it lingering there. I nibble on the bottom of my lip, trying to think of the best way I can distract him. I glance at my math book, where I’ve been struggling with the complex workings of Algebra for nearly an hour now. I motion my hand to my math book, smiling at him. “Help me?”

“Sure Lyse,” He says, sitting down at the table beside me, and almost instantly picks up my math book, moving it closer to him. He looks over it, and I’m thankful that he won’t make fun of me, unlike Bronx, for my difficulty with this subject. Math comes fairly easy to him, but he’s not the natural at it that Bronx is, and he’s always helpful when I can’t understand it. He taps my hand lightly, waiting for me to allow my pencil to fall out of my hand and into his palm. He twirls the pencil in his fingers, pushing the eraser to my notebook and scrubbing away the work I’ve done on the latest math problem. “You distributed this wrong,” He murmurs, lightly writing the correct way to do the problem.

“Oh, right,” I say, my cheeks turning a little red. I hate when he figures it out so simply sometimes, it leaves me feeling like an idiot and grabbing at my pencil from his hands. I rewrite the problem in my own handwriting slowly, erasing the parts that show where he wrote on my paper. Preston smiles lightly at me, his eyes no longer drifting up to the window where he can see Jamie and Bronx. Instead, he’s grabbed a spare pencil and my other notebook, and he’s drawn a tic tac toe board. A thick ‘X’ marks the lower right corner, and he pushes it over to me.

“Your turn,” He says, and I watch the way his lips turn up in that ever-constant smirk. It makes my stomach do a ridiculous flip, one that I’ve never gotten for anyone except for Grace. Almost, only almost, I hate that he has that ability, to make my stomach fill up with butterflies at a moments notice. It’s a fairly new feeling, only appearing a couple weeks ago, the first time that he placed his hand on my hip while we were walking home from school.

I chuckle, leaning both of my elbows on the table. “You know, this isn’t going to help me get my homework done,” I say, leaning in closer to him. My eyes flick down for only a moment to land on his lips, and I’ve never really been close enough to notice how soft they look. I stare at them, my thoughts about math becoming cloudy with the mere idea of kissing him.

“You know you want to,” He shrugs, as if that should be the last thing on my mind. And it is. In fact, he is the only thing on my mind. He’s absolutely right, I do want to play with him. I reach over, drawing a heart instead of an ‘O’ inside one of the squares. He instantly draws another X, and I respond with a star this time. He chuckles, crossing off a box in between my two symbols, blocking my chance of winning. I frown, and looking up at him he looks entirely pleased with himself. It only takes him two more ‘X’s to beat me, and after he draws the thick black line connecting his three letters, he licks his lips and looks up at me.

“I win,” He says simply, the smirk growing wider. He leans his arms on the table, smiling at me wildly. His smile is huge and playful, and this is one of those times that I terribly want to know what he’s thinking about. His eyes are bright, focused on my face. “Now the question is, what exactly do I win?”

“What do you want?” I ask with a laugh, looking down to hide the blush that is creeping up on my cheeks. I watch as he pauses, obviously thinking about what he does, in fact, want from me. He pushes my notebook near me, standing up slightly. He walks to the doorway, pausing slightly. My eyes follow him, sliding down from his face to the curvature of his hips. I can’t help but lick my lips, and I can’t help myself, but I want him. I barely notice him turning back to me, until his eyes are on mine, and it’s hypnotizing the way he captures my gaze.

“I’ll let you know” He says, and within seconds, he is out of my sight. But he is not, ever, out of my mind.

putting this up for madi

Chapter 6: Spring 2023

Despite the Max incident being nearly four years ago, I still find myself having trouble being around him outside of school. Sure, we’re friendly in passing when we’re in the hallways, but every time I look at him I still remember that pained look on his face, and the way he wouldn’t look at me for months after that. The way he’d avoid me, leaving a room the instant I’d step into it. It’s painful, and even though I know four years have passed and we’re both over it, I still try to give him his space. And since Jamie and Max share a bedroom, their parents one attempt at making the boys get along, it makes hanging out with Jamie more difficult. It wasn’t a problem at first, back when Max and Jeremy would spend all of their time at Jeremy’s house to play Halo, but then his little sister Charlie got old enough to develop a weird liking to being in the same room with them, so they relocated to here, in the boys’ shared bedroom. We pretended nothing was wrong for awhile, just opting to ignore each other, but it was hard for me to get into talking to Jamie when Max was in the room. Especially since most of our conversations these days involved Jamie’s love of Bronx, and my ever growing crush on Preston.

So we’d relocated to my house, a quieter place since I have no siblings, but it wasn’t exactly the ideal location for anyone to hang out. In fact, I hated bringing Jamie here. My parents are in a constant state of intoxication, and they are always yelling at each other. At first, this was merely at night, a problem I could easily fix with headphones blasting through my ears while I slept, but now they’re drunk during the day, too. It’s embarrassing, and I try to pretend that I don’t hear it, and luckily Jamie does too. He, better than anyone else, understands how much I hate it, how much I hate them. And frequently, he’ll pull me into a tight hug and remind me that it’s going to be okay. Other than my parents, my room isn’t a bad place to hang out. It’s just as large as Jamie’s room, but there’s more space since I don’t share with anyone. My bed is big enough for several people to sit on, and it’s on the opposite side of the house from where my parents are.

Today, Jamie is sprawled across my bed, his chin resting on his laptop while I’m working on homework at my desk. He keeps telling me that he’s working on homework too, but I don’t believe him for a second. Most likely, he’s browsing the internet. Or more specifically, Bronx’s Facebook page, looking for any clue that his relationship with Preston would be coming to an end. I keep laughing at him, telling him not to get his hopes up, but he’s consistently checking. He’s convinced that he’s going to find something, any day now, but he’s been telling me this for months. Either he’s reading wall posts looking for clues, or he’s looking through Bronx’s pictures and lusting over him. I’ll admit, sometimes at night when I can’t sleep I find myself browsing through Preston’s pictures, or reading the wall posts he’s left for me, which usually only include him informing me that he has a cd for me to listen to, or a movie he wants me to borrow. More frequently, I look at the few pictures there are of me and him, where we look intensely awkward while we hug, or he is making fun of me and Delaney happened to snap the camera at us.

Jamie’s quiet for a long time, and I’ve just settled into the treacherous work that is Algebra, when he suddenly squeals. It’s a high pitched squeal, and after a few seconds he reaches a point that I’m positive only dogs can hear. I look at him, utterly confused, but he jumps up, grabbing my arm and yanking me onto the bed.

“What the hell is your problem,” I laugh, but he points at the screen, his squealing stopping so he can catch his breath. He’s gripping my arms so tight, and I don’t when I saw him this excited last was. But then I see it, in clear letters on Jamie’s Facebook homepage, that Bronx and Preston have ended their relationship. I feel the breath catch in my throat. Unlike Jamie, I don’t scream or squeal, instead getting butterflies in my stomach. They flutter around, stealing my breath, and I think this is the first time I’ve ever had hope that I might, just maybe, get a chance with Preston. I only get a few glimpses at the screen before Jamie shuts his laptop, and I watch the bright Apple logo go dim. I know what he’s thinking, that he wants to go talk to Bronx, to console him. To distract him from even the possibility of him getting back together with Preston. We planned this a long time ago, a joke originally, and it turned into Jamie’s game plan.

“I gotta go,” He says, a huge smile on his face. I have never, ever seen him so excited. He leans down, planting a kiss on my cheek. He grips my hand for a moment, looking me straight in the eyes. “You going to Preston?”

I think about it for a bit. But there’s one thing I know about Preston, and that’s that he doesn’t really like to feel pressured into anything. I shake my head, smiling at him. “No,” I say, handing Jamie his laptop. I watch him stuff it into his bag. “I think I’ll wait it out, give it a few days so it doesn’t look like we planned this.”

“We did plan this,” He chuckles, but nods as he slings his bag over his shoulder. He picks up his cell phone off my bed, no doubt sending Bronx a message. I imagine it to sound sympathetic, and to inform him that he’s coming over and that they could talk about it. I can’t help but chuckle, not because the situation itself is funny, but because I know Jamie is going to succeed. I’ve seen the way Bronx looks at Jamie when Preston isn’t looking, and I know that Bronx can’t resist it when someone is practically throwing themselves at him.

“Good luck, J. Call me later and let me know how it goes,” I smile, watching him go. I lay back on my bed, opening my own laptop. When my Facebook page finally loads, I click on Preston’s profile. It shows him with his arms tight around Bronx’s waist. He’s smiling big, and he looks absolutely ecstatic to be there, standing next to Bronx. I smile and do what I always do, I close my eyes and pretend that it’s me in the picture instead of Bronx. Only this time, it’s different because it has the possibility of being true.

12.28.2008

this is my cousin royce. everyone in my family thinks we look alike.

12.27.2008

so there's this girl, and her name is madi. for some reason, she thinks i'm beautiful.