Madison - 2005

He’s really, truly mad at me.

The thought clangs through me as my fingers tangle in the long blades of grass on either side of my hips. It’s a cloudless day, the sky a searing blue. The heat has turned oppressive and muggy, so much so that my yellow shirt is starting to cling with sweat.

I grab my bookbag and dig around the front pocket until I feel the telltale loop of a hair tie. Slipping it over my fingers and onto my wrist, I gather my heavy heap of brassy, brown hair and wind it up until I can tie it into a haphazard knot on my head. Almost too tight, it pulls randomly over my scalp until I yank it a few times to ease the pinch.

Not like the other girls on the other side of the baseball pitch with perfect messy buns and jean shorts cut so high their pockets stick out the bottom. Each one wearing a different colored shirt, like jeweled peacocks gathered in the golden afternoon light.

No, my shirt is dingy, faded, and sweaty, my face feels hot and flushed from the heat and I don’t have a swipe of makeup on it. The rubber sole of my left tennis shoe is separating at the toe, my fingers working between the flap, flicking bits of dirt and debris out.

He won’t even look at me.

Carrie Hayes waves at him and his mit flaps awkwardly before resting again on his bent knee. It’s just a practice game, just for fun really. But the sun drenched bleachers have always been a popular after school hangout whether there was action on the field or not.

The bat cracks, a baseball zings out, and he snags it effortlessly, those huge broad shoulders flexing in his gray shirt before he volleys it toward the second baseman.

I shout out a cheer and watch his head turn to the side but not completely around. He knows I’m here. I’m always here.

“Doghouse, huh?”

I glance over my shoulder and squint into the sun, blinking rapidly around Heather’s outline.

She lumbers the last few steps before collapsing down beside me. Once she’s divested her book bag she looks like a real human girl and not an awkward turtle carrying fifty pounds on her shoulders.

“You gotta start leaving those books in your locker,” I chide her.

“Yeah, well my mom wants a valedictorian. I need them so I can fall asleep with their heavy weight on my body. I’m trying to learn via osmosis.”

I snort and look back toward the field.

“Let me know how that goes.”

“He’s still mad, huh?”

I shrug, because yeah, he’s still mad and I don’t know how to feel about that. We’re friends. Best friends. Like me and Heather are best friends. Except not. We’re best, best friends. Closer than I am with Heather. Closer than I am with anyone else.

“You guys need to talk about it. I keep telling you-”

“He doesn’t feel that way about me! Stop saying that he does! I’m so sick of it!”

Heather jerks back, her hand coming up like she’s trying to stop a speeding train.

“Jesus Maddie! Okay! For fucks sake!”

And now I feel like such an asshole because I shouldn’t have snapped at her. She’s just trying to help. Plus my outburst makes me look totally psycho. Also, I need to keep my stupid voice down so he doesn’t overhear our conversation.

But it’s not helping.

My heart can’t take the idea that she might be right. That Rem might have those kinds of feelings for me. That my other best friend, my longest best friend, my real, extra special best friend… Might feel more for me than just friendship.

Remington Clark, the boy that introduced himself to me by throwing a water balloon at my butt when we were eight.

Rem who was currently playing outfield and ignoring me all over a stupid date with stupid Mitch Erikson.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you. I just… it’s because him and Mitch are total assholes to each other. There’s not some secret love story underneath, okay?”

Her head bobs and she pulls a crumpled paper lunch sack from her bag, fishing for the cheese stick she didn’t finish at lunch.

“Ugh, don’t eat that. It’s gotta be so hot by now.”

“I’m hungry and it’s fine.”

My stomach turns a little and I grimace as she takes a bite out of it. Gross.

“Are you really going to go on a date with Mitch?”

I sigh, watching the guys all jerk into motion the second a ball actually connects with the bat again.

“I wanted to at first. I mean, it was kinda cool when he asked and I said yes before I really thought it through but now… I’m not so sure. Now I feel…disloyal? Which logically, I think shouldn’t be how I feel but I can’t help it.”

“So you’re not going to go on a date with Mitch.”

My hands form claws in the soft grass, ripping handfuls out then letting the severed blades flutter back to the ground.

“No. I’m not.”

“Then Rem will be happy again,” Heather practically sings.

I snort because, no he won’t. He’ll hold this over me for at least a week before things go back to normal. Maybe not outright but he’ll be sure to make comments. Ugh.

Rem is super moody, though to look at him you’d think all he did was smile and pop those dimples out, left, right, center. No, inside Rem there was a fiery ball of something.

It wasn’t quite anger or resentment but something more. Something dark that sometimes scared me. Not that I was afraid for myself. Rem wouldn’t hurt a single hair on my body, of that I was absolutely certain. No, I was afraid for him. His intensity and restraint seem to fight a daily battle. To the masses he was light hearted, happy, a jokester. In private it was much different.

There was a quiet ferocity in his hooded jade eyes. He liked to turn off all the lights in his room except for the dim bulb in the bedside lamp and play rock albums, just loud enough to drown out any attempt at conversation but not too loud that his mother complained.

That smirking mouth would turn sullen and pouty as he stretched over his queen sized bed and stared at the ceiling, eyes flickering at nothing as guitars and drums raged. Sometimes I would try and guess what he was thinking. Not out loud or anything but just to myself. Was he thinking of his Dad? Some girl he was in love with and didn’t return his affections? If it was about a girl who was it? Was it his time in foster care? Was it about his relationship with his mother? Or did he just like to play the emo kid sometimes?

Conundrum. That is what Remington is. My conundrum.

And for the first time since freshman year he is mad at me and I have no idea how to handle that. Rem is never mad at me, not about anything important.

Although, could I even think this was that important? It’s just a date. A stupid thing really. I’ll text Mitch and tell him I changed my mind. Then I’ll explain to Rem that I called the whole thing off and we’d be okay again. We can go back to the way it was before the sixth period bell rang yesterday.

I dig into my bag for my blocky Nokia and press the button to turn it on. My finger moves over the keys, pulling up Mitches name and starting to text. It takes me a while even with the T9 but I manage it, reading over the message twice before sending.

Hey, changed my mind. No date.

His response comes faster than I think it will. I assume after turning him down he’ll either ignore me or just be an asshole on Monday.

Why

Why? Shit. I mean, I guess I owe him an explanation but doing it over text seems…ruthless. Then again, I decided to back out over text so I kinda made my bed on that one.

Rem doesn’t like it. I don’t want to make him mad.

It’s the truth right? Rem doesn’t like it, he did get mad. He yelled at me in the hallway when he found out via Heather’s big ass mouth.

Fuck Rem. Go out with me.

I can’t. Still friends tho right?

Whatever

I sigh. Yeah, I fucked this all up, but honestly, Rem was way more important to me than Mitch. I barely knew him. Sure he was pretty and athletic and I didn’t think in a million years he’d ever want to go on a date with me but my friendship with Rem was special. I didn’t need anyone to tell me that. I knew it, on some visceral level. We just got each other. Through music and words and movies and jokes. We were on another level. I’d take Remington over a hundred Mitchs.

“How much longer on this?” Heather asks, her hand waving toward the field.

I shrug, “Maybe another hour. They like to hang out for a few minutes afterwards. I was going to see if he’d talk to me. Check it out.”

Heather takes the phone from my hand scrolling up through the messages and whistles.

“Damn through text too. Savage.”

“Don’t say it like that! I didn’t think about it until I’d already texted him. I feel bad now.”

“It’s Mitch. He’ll find someone else to take out. I don’t think he’s ever had a girl turn him down until you honestly. He needs it. A little rejection goes a long way to checking some of these boys' egos.”

The laugh that bubbles out of me is from humor but also nervous tension. I’m a giant asshole now and I just know it. How is it possible I’ve gone almost my whole high school career without any drama and now when I’m in my last semester, this shit is coming at me from all angles? In the span of only two days no less.

“Good luck, chica. I’m gonna head home. You sure you don’t want a ride?”

“Nah, I’m good. I’ve got my bike anyway.”

I nod over my shoulder at the hand me down bike Rem gave me. It’s black and green and the tires are huge but it gets me to school and back so I can’t complain. Better than riding in the work van with my dad in the mornings.

Mostly, I throw it in the back of Rem’s beat up Chevy when he drives me to school and then ride it back in the afternoon when he has practice or work but today, I’d had to bike in. I was in the doghouse afterall.

Heather waves as she walks toward the student parking lot, her green Honda looming all alone in the center of the faded white stripes.

To kill time I pull out my notebook and start jotting down words and thoughts, letting the squirming sick feeling in my stomach take shape on paper.

But the words are trapped inside me

Hopes and fears; something exciting

Is there more inside your words

Or am I just lying?

I hum out a discordant melody that seems all wrong and for the millionth time, I roll my eyes at my juvenile attempts. It’s ridiculous to think anyone cares about what a seventeen year old girl writes in her stupid notebook and tries to turn into songs. I’m not Taylor Swift. I’m just Madison Miller. Single child to Trent Miller. Daughter to late Mary Miller.

No one gives even a tiny shit about the crap I write in this stupid notebook.

Ugh, I jam it back into my bag and glance up over the field. They’re by the dugout now, the game either over or abandoned. Girls from the bleachers have wandered into the space, their hands moving in graceful motions, hair flipping, hips popping this way and that. Sweat trails down my temple and I blow an errant strand of hair out of my face. The bangs I’d cut in at the beginning of the year were finally growing out but they refused to stay out of my face still. The ends just barely tucked into my bun. How do these girls stay out here for this long and not sweat? Why do I always feel so gross compared to them?

Sarah Huxom reaches out to press her hand against Rem’s arm and Carrie cuts her a look that burns. I can feel it all the way across the field.

Ooooh, cat fight.

But nothing interesting happens. Carrie flings her red hair over her shoulder and I wonder how long she has until she needs a touchup on her roots. Sarah laughs at something Rem says, her head going back, long blonde hair streaming down so low it brushes her belt loops.

Stupid, pretty, blonde bimbo.

But it’s an empty insult. Sarah is smart. So smart she’s actively giving Heather a run for her money on valedictorian. As for the pretty and blonde part, well it’s true. She’s gorgeous. All tanned legs and big boobs and perfectly symmetrical face.

Welp, guess I waited for nothing.

I make sure my bag is zipped then sling it onto my back. One last glance at Rem shows he’s hunched over his duffel bag, his phone engulfed in one giant, meaty fist. Even from here I can see the pucker on his brow, the way his mouth purses into a fine line. Sarah hovers behind him, doing her best to look over his arm at the screen, pink painted nails a bright contrast against his gray sleeve.

Best leave before I get reamed again in front of a crowd. Hell hath no fury like Rem and all.

I straighten my bike up and wheel it around the chain link fence, throwing a leg over and preparing to push up onto the seat when I hear him.

“Mad! Maddie, wait!”

My feet bounce on the ground, the pointed seat bumping me in the butt as I turn to watch Rem jog over to me.

“Hey,” he breathes, his cheeks ruddy from the heat and exertion of the game. His chocolate colored hair is damp with sweat, fingers flexing on the duffel strap slung around his chest.

“Hey.”

“You called it off with Mitch.”

“How the heck do you already know that?”

“He texted me,” he says, wiggling the blue phone in his hand.

“Oh for the love of God. And boys say girls gossip too much. I swear you’re all the worst.”

My eyes roll and I bring my right foot up to the pedal but then wobble when Rem grabs both handlebars, effectively keeping me right where he wants me.

His hands cover my own completely, the hot, sweaty heat from his skin sears into my muscles, rendering me momentarily mute.

It’s not the touch that’s weird, it’s how firmly he’s gripping. It’s borderline painful.

“He said you canceled because of me.”

“I- I- Well I said it was because you didn’t like it and I didn’t want you to be mad. Even if I was a super bitch and canceled on him through text.”

Those green eyes search my face with a kind of desperation. Just when I’m about to question it though, he blinks and it’s gone. An easy smile spreads on his face.

“He’s an asshole. Who cares how you told him? He does it to girls all the time.”

That jolts me a little because while Mitch is popular and generally thought of as a golden boy, he doesn’t seem cliche enough to cancel on girls through text. No, I seem more mean than Mitch does in that regard.

“I gotta get home, Rem. Sarah’s waiting for you too. You should get back.”

I push my feet backward trying to use the bike to roll away, to dislodge the hold he has on my hands. But Remington won’t allow it, fingers tightening on me, keeping us tethered.

Rem looks over his shoulder and sure enough Sarah stands with Carrie and Riva twenty feet on the other side of the fence. They’re trying valiantly to look like they haven’t been eavesdropping but I know better. It’s so quiet out here, now that most of the other kids have left, that nothing we said would have been missed. I wasn’t whispering and neither was Rem. They did follow him across the field too.

“I’ll drive you. I got the new Gorillaz album. We’ll drop your bike and you can come over.”

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My eyebrows screw in and I glance at him.

“But I thought you were going to Donny’s tonight. The party.”

“Nah, fuck it. I don’t feel like partying. I need a shower and I want to listen to some music. C’mon. Me and you Maddie.”

And suddenly it’s like Mitch never asked me out and we never shouted at each other in the hallway and the sick feeling in my stomach never existed.

Everything is alright again because Rem isn’t mad anymore.

I’m not silly enough to think I’ve heard the last of this crap with Mitch but at least Rem is talking to me.

He holds out a hand and I take it, throwing my leg back off the bike. His long arm grasps the center between the handlebars easily, walking it to the back of his dark green truck. Rem’s biceps bulge as he picks the bike up and sets it down in the empty bed. I’m already at the passenger door waiting. He opens the door, taking my bookbag and putting it in the back seat.

When the engine roars to life, all the windows go down and the frenetic sound of Linkin Park blares through the aftermarket speakers.

The drive home is relatively short, only about ten minutes. Rem leaves my bike in the back of his truck and drops me at the curb in front of my house before driving up three spots and parking in front of his own.

I hurry inside, dropping my book bag and heading straight for my shower. Thirty minutes later I’m wearing a pair of shorts and a tank top over an old sports bra. My wet hair is braided down my back, my phone clutched in my hand.

“Going to Rem’s!”

My dad calls something out from the open garage door, probably an ‘okay’ or ‘yeah.’

I speed walk toward Rem’s house, barging inside like I live there.

“Hey, Mrs. Clark!”

“Maddie! How was school, dear?”

“Eh, it was school. TGIF right? How was your day?”

“Oh, it was wonderful. I’m working on a new painting!”

“Ooooh, I like it! That purple is on point!”

Her smile is radiant, the pink and green scarf she’s tied around her head a pop of color against the canvas smock she’s wearing.

Rem lives here with his mother who is the biggest hippie I’ve ever met in my life. She makes (pot) brownies, listens to the Beatles more than anything else, and wears the most amazing earrings that dangle in all sorts of shapes and sizes.

I can easily imagine her at Woodstock or wearing outrageous bell bottoms and halter tops with flowers painted on her arms and stomach. Not that I’ve ever seen her wear anything like that, but I could totally see it. She's practically a walking cliche.

Mrs. Clark smells like patchouli and weed and uses their living room as a paint studio.

She’s also the sweetest person on the planet. Honestly, I’ve never heard the woman raise her voice, not even to call Rem down for dinner. She just floats up to his door and knocks gently, her lilting voice telling him food is ready or his laundry needs to be folded.

Rem also has some weird spidey sense when she talks. It’s like he’s attuned himself to her volume. He can hear her even with the music raised.

“Thank you, my lovely! Rem came in a little bit ago, he’s in his room I think.”

“Thanks, Mrs.Clark! I can’t wait to see it when it’s finished!”

Her smile is distracted, the paint brush already swirling over her pallet, mixing colors together.

Rem’s dad died when he was a baby. It was a factory accident. Between the life insurance and several other factors Mrs. Clark was financially well off. From what I understand though, a few years before we met, he was in foster care for a little over a year.

Mrs. Clark had sort of a breakdown and wasn’t able to care for him. She regained custody but it had taken some time, leaving Rem in the care of strangers.

It’s not something he ever talks about, not even to me. I only know about it from bits and pieces I’ve put together over the years.

His room is at the top of the stairs on the left. They have a four bedroom house so he got to pick which room he wanted. Obviously, the master bedroom downstairs was his mother’s but Rem had chosen the room facing the back yard instead of the larger one down the hall. That room was storage now, the extra room over the garage became their guest bedroom that never got used. His drum set was in the basement right in front of the washer and dryer.

I don’t bother knocking on this door either. I just twist the knob and walk right in. Rem is leaning back in his desk chair, legs sprawled lazily, his back slanted as far back as the chair will allow, his bare feet flexing in the carpet.

Shirtless and wearing only a shiny, loose pair of white basketball shorts, he rolls his head to look at me, a weird grin on his face. His computer is on, AIM chat boxes littering the screen.

“C’mere.”

Rolling my eyes I ignore his request and fling myself onto his unmade bed, breathing in the smell of laundry soap and boy.

“I was promised Gorillaz.”

“And Gorillaz you shall have, but c’mere first.”

“Ugh, but I just laid down!”

“And you can lay back down in a minute.”

Heaving a disgruntled groan, I heft myself back up and stomp over to him.

“What?”

Big hands wrap around my waist, twisting me until my back faces him before sliding around my belly and pulling me down onto his lap.

I squirm trying to get comfortable as he turns the chair and reaches around me to move the mouse.

A chat box moves to the center of the screen.

BuschMaster87: I think it’s fucked you told Madison to cancel on me man. What ever happen to bro’s before ho’s

RockSteady227: First of all, don’t ever refer to her as a ho. Second of all, I didn’t tell her to cancel on you. Thirdly, she’s off limits. I told all you assholes when you made that stupid game up, she was off fucking limits.

BuschMaster87: she said it was because you got mad. it’s the same thing. and you know what I mean asshole. you can’t blacklist her from the game. we said all the girls in the highschool were open season. did you tell her?

RockSteady227: Maddie can do whatever she wants. She canceled cause you’re a douche. No, I didn’t tell her but I might tonight. Just so she knows what the fuck is going on now that you fuckers can’t follow the rules.

BuschMaster87: Fucking cock blocking asshole. I wasn’t serious about the shit I said at harvey’s. there are no rules! all girls are game!@

BuschMaster87: you just can’t stand it that she wanted to go out with me. you just had to fuck me over! I’m so close to beating out James. I’d get extra points for banging a virgin and you knew that!

RockSteady227: Maybe you shouldn’t have been talking about her pussy at Harveys then. Maybe you shouldn’t have been talking about using her like that. But for real, you put her name in your mouth like that again and I’ll bust it right out. Don’t fucking worry about her v-card. You’re never going to get it.

BuschMaster87: You don’t own her. She’s not your girlfriend. She’s fair game.

RockSteady227: Wrong. Maddie isn’t part of the game. Period. I’ve told you and every other asshole participating in that. SHE’S OFF LIMITS.

BuschMaster87 signed off at 6:05:03 PM

My hands are shaking a little so I press them down flat on his desk, right below his keyboard. One of his big hands is rubbing a circle on my back, my wet braid snaking over his arm, tugging on my head each time it moves.

“What game?”

Rem sighs, his other hand coming up to press against my belly.

“They made it up at the beginning of the year. Whoever has sex with the most girls by graduation wins.”

My heart is a hammer in my chest. Oh God. Oh my God.

“And…how- how would that even work? I mean, couldn’t someone just say they fucked a bunch of girls?”

Rem sits up a little then, his movements a little jerky. He looks at the screen, the hand on my back stops rubbing instead fisting around my braid, wrapping it around his palm.

“They have to have proof.”

“Oh my God, I feel sick.”

My brain goes slack, both his hands grip my waist tightly, I'm not sure if it's supposed to be comforting or keep me from bolting.

“I’m not playing it! And I told all those fuckers you were off limits. You saw that! I would never let anything like that happen to you!”

My chest is moving like a creaky accordion. They were talking about my virginity! Oh Jesus.

“Oh fuck, Heather and Michael-”

“He’s not playing either. That’s why I didn’t say anything about it. It’s fine. Whatever went down with those two, had nothing to do with it.”

I relax a little, more air seeping into my lungs.

“How could you not tell me!”

“I wanted to! But it wasn’t something… I just didn’t know how. It felt like I shouldn’t. I don’t fucking know!”

There are too many thoughts racing through my mind right now. Too many feelings. My skin is chilled but my face feels hot.

“What happened at Harvey’s?”

“I wasn’t there. Rory said Mitch was talking about you. I heard second hand.”

“But he was talking about my…”

“Yeah.”

“Gross. So fucking gross. Why are all you boys so gross?!”

“Hey! I wasn’t talking about it! You know me better than that!”

I do. I really do. Rem isn’t a full fledged gentleman but he’s not like the other boys in school. He opens my doors for me no matter what. He pulls his truck up to the door outside the grocery when it’s raining. He walks me to class when he can and he always puts himself between me and traffic when we walk anywhere there might be cars.

But he still curses like he’s in the Navy and pees outside where anyone can see him. He still burps and smokes cigarettes sometimes. He’s still a boy with boylike mannerisms.

“I do. I’m sorry, this is just a lot. I feel so awful for the girls who…”

“Well there’s nothing I can do for them.”

“I know. I mean, I know. Jesus, that’s just so gross.”

He makes a face and starts to spin the chair around again. My eyes catch on another chat box with Sarah’s handle on it. I can’t see the whole conversation, just the last message before the text box.

CherryGloss15: Please come out tonight? Please?

And then my stomach is back to that weird gnawing feeling.

“C’mon. Time for Gorillaz. Get comfy.”

Standing from his lap, I walk the three steps to his bed and drop down on it again, this time rolling into the blankets until I’m under them, my head in the center of the bed.

“You know you’re gonna have to move.”

I yank the blanket over my head.

“No. My spot, now.”

I can hear him unwrapping the CD, the crinkling squeak of the cellophane loud in the quiet. I like that he doesn’t even open them until I’m with him. Like it’s proof he hasn’t really listened to it yet. Like I was special enough to wait for that moment.

When his sound system whirs to life, the soft sounds of a horn instrument heaving up and down filters through.

I’m being shoved and pushed under the blankets as he makes room for himself. When I flip the blankets off my head, he’s reclined on his pillow, the CD booklet in his hand.

“Anything good?”

“Eh.”

I crawl up, taking the blankets with me, clutching them tight against my chest when I drop down beside him. We look at the pages together, eyes skimming the words and pictures.

“Are they really playing that game?”

Rem blows out a tense breath, his shoulders bunching before relaxing.

“Yeah. It’s fucked, I know but I don’t know what else to say.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because, I didn’t want you to stress about it and I knew you’d tell Heather and she’d tell God knows who and they’d trace that shit right back to me and I didn’t want to put any of us in the crosshairs.”

It makes sense. I’m not really mad. I’m more shocked than anything. Then disgusted. Then revolted. And then a teensy tiny bit mad that he didn’t tell me. But he’s right, I’d have told Heather and Heather is terrible at keeping even the most minor secrets. She’d never be able to hold onto this one.

“Well now I do know. So-”

“Don’t tell Heather. Do not tell her. She will blab to everyone. She’ll make fucking posters or some shit with glitter. She’ll write a thousand word essay on it and post it on the school message boards.”

He’s not wrong. Heather’s idea of social justice is loud. She would see this whole thing has a single minded attack on women.

“How am I supposed to not tell her?”

“Easy, when you think you’re going to say something, don’t.”

He rolls off the bed and onto the floor, executing three fast pushups before standing.

“Look, if they had left you alone like they were supposed to, this wouldn’t be an issue but I told you not to agree to a date with Mitch. I told you he was an asshole. You didn’t listen to me and now we’re in this situation okay?”

That kinda makes me mad. Specifically because I hate that he actually threw ‘I told you’ in there.

“So just because you said ‘No, you can’t date him.’ I was supposed to just be like, ‘Oh right, I forgot, Master Remington, you tell me what to do. I shall decline said invitation post haste!’”

“Who the hell says ‘post haste?’ But seriously, keep the Master Remington part. I like that a lot. Like, a lot, a lot.”

“You’re so demented.”

He slides a big finger over the volume dial, lowering the sound of the music so we can still hear the words but it’s not so loud that I have to raise my voice. His body bows as he snags a baseball off the floor.

And maybe if he hadn’t come at me so hard when I told him about Mitch asking me out, I might have called the whole thing off right then in the hallway but it had hurt when he acted so incredulous.

Like it was crazy that Mitch could ever possibly think to ask me out.

But then again, it kind of was. I wasn’t exactly like the other girls in school. Rarely did I wear makeup and if I did it was just mascara and black eyeliner that I smudged all over the place. I felt so plain most of the time.

Boring brown hair, boring brown eyes, boring tan skin that turned a sallow yellow in the winter. Short, no breasts with a whole lot of thigh and hips. I’m not really athletic. I read too much, listen to music, and try to write songs that suck.

So it was kind of nice to think that Mitch thought there was something special about me. Something special enough that he asked me out.

“Look, I’m sorry about what I said yesterday. I was out of line.”

It’s like he just knows where my mind has gone. And that’s been the norm since we became friends. I know Rem like I know myself. He knows me the same.

“It’s okay-”

“No, it’s not. I fucking hated it. I hated fighting. And it was different. Not like… that’s not us. I reacted badly. I was just freaking out about the stupid game they were playing. I thought for sure they’d leave you alone but when you said he’d asked you out, I knew. And I knew it was fucked cause I was going to have to tell you why and I knew it would hurt your feelings and then I started yelling and I literally could not stop myself from yelling. I mean, I was doing it and thinking, ‘Fucking stop, you lunatic’ and I couldn’t. It was like an out of body yelling experience.”

His voice is breathless by the time he finishes, eyes glittering, hands gripping the baseball in his hand so hard I can hear the leather creaking. I’m caught on the muscles of his forearms, the thick circumference of his wrists, those fingers flexing white around the horse hide.

“I don’t ever want you to look at me like that again, Maddie. I can’t take it. I hated it.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I get it now. I understand. I mean, I wasn’t any better yesterday. I yelled back at you, you know.”

“Because I was being a dick. You should yell at me when I’m being a dick.”

“You were trying to look out for me. I knew it yesterday too. I just wanted to hold onto that feeling a little longer I guess.”

“What feeling?”

I shrug, my fingers finding the edge of his comforter and tracing over the thick stitches there.

“Like…wanted? That’s so stupid when I say it out loud. God, just ignore me. This isn’t what I thought it would be like, the music. It’s not bad but I don’t know.”

“Hold up. What do you mean ‘wanted?’”

“Please can we not have a Dawson’s Creek moment right now? Can we just go back to being Rem and Maddie and talk about the music?”

“Fuck Dawson’s Creek and fuck the music for right now.”

I gasp in mock outrage, a warped grin on my face because I’m getting nervous and trying desperately to get us back on track.

“You take that back! You take that back right now! How dare you!”

Rem’s face goes hard and I immediately swallow. Okay, so we’re not at the joking stage yet.

“Talk to me, Maddie. What do you mean, ‘wanted?’”

“Wanted. I mean, like someone likes me. Something thinks I’m pretty or fun or whatever. I know it hasn’t escaped anyone’s notice that I’ve been on like two dates my entire life and those were kinda terrible.”

I roll my eyes and scratch at a loose stitch on the blanket.

The bed dips before Rem sets the baseball on his nightstand.

“You are pretty. And fun. So what if you’ve only been on two dates. So what if the assholes we go to school with can’t see that or if they do, they’re too chickenshit to do anything about it. Fuck them. You don’t need a fucktard like Mitch to validate you, Maddie.”

My laugh is brittle.

“Listen to you all ‘girl power’ right now.”

“I’m being serious.”

And he really is. His voice has gone all deep and soft, tilting his head down then to the side.

A big hand lands over mine on the comforter, warm and strong.

“I think you’re pretty. I think you’re fucking amazing and talented and funny and perfect.”

My nose starts to sting a little and I’m really close to being one of those girls.

“Ugh, okay. That was seriously sweet and I appreciate the fuck out of you, but I don’t want to snot sob on you right now. Can we please fast forward through this part? Please?”

When I lift my gaze to Rem’s he’s still so serious but after three long seconds he grins at me and lunges.

My shriek is a terrible sound, legs kicking air as his fingers deftly dig into my ribs.

Ten breathless minutes later and I’m sprawled on my stomach, Rem's head pillowed on the back of my thighs as we abandon the Gorillaz and he switches over to My Chemical Romance, not his favorite but it’s what I’m into right now and he knows that.

He flips the stereo remote in his hand as my feet move in time with the beat.

“Go to the Fall Dance with me,” he says. And it is a statement not a question.

“Okay.”

I turn my head toward him, seeing his over exaggerated fist pump out of the corner of my eye.

It’s not really a big deal. We’ve been each other’s dates all through high school for just about every event. At this point I’m not even sure why he asks me. It’s just a given.

“It’s late. I should get home and scrape together some food.”

“Spend the night. I’ll order pizza.”

I should say no but I’m hungry right now. And pizza will be fast and easy and I won’t have to be sad when I realize there’s no more lunch meat in the fridge.

Since my mom passed away my Dad and I have lived off a sketchy assortment of food. The oven almost never gets used but our microwave is the lord and commander of the kitchen. If that thing ever breaks we’re screwed.

Hot pockets, sandwiches, TV dinners, and ordering out is the only way we stay alive.

Mrs. Clark makes us casseroles every once in a while but otherwise we eat like bachelors.

“Okay. But I want pineapple.”

“Of course you do.”

He likes them too but he pretends he doesn’t.

An hour later I’m on my back, my fingers are greasy, my stomach is overly full, and I’m struggling to figure out how I’m going to sit up with all this food inside me. I ate my last piece lying down, not ready to concede defeat with only three slices left in the box but man, I couldn’t eat a single bite more right now.

We’re on the floor in Rem’s room, two boxes of pizza between us. He leans back against the dresser, legs spread around his box, a hand over his stomach, eyes half lidded, a smear of red pizza sauce on the corner of his mouth.

We’re like two lions that just massacred a gazelle. If that gazelle came from Capo’s Pizza.

“Can you stand?” he murmurs.

“Standing is for losers.”

A laugh huffs out of him and he groans before rolling to his side and standing himself.

“C’mon. Let’s get ready to crash. I’m fucking tired.”

He leans down, bracing one hand on his knee and extending the other toward me.

“But… but… I like it here. I can live here now. I’m okay. Just drop some food on the floor every once in a while and maybe a bottle of water. I’m good. I’ll be really quiet. You won’t even know it when my skin grafts to the carpet.”

Another exaggerated groan and he’s hooked his hands under my armpits, pulling me up until I’m sitting. My stomach feels even more full in this position. I feel fat and awkward now. Yuck.

“Go. You get first dibs on the bathroom.”

“Fine but I want it stated for the record that I do this under protest.”

“Protest while you wash your hands and face. And brush your fucking teethe.”

“You’re lucky I really have to pee or else I’d rub my greasy hands and face all over your pillow right now, you twerp.”

I don’t hear his comeback. I’m already out the door and moving into his bathroom.

It’s in the hallway and pretty big since all three rooms up here are supposed to share it.

Once I’ve done my business and washed up I look at myself in the mirror. My face is flushed, my stomach slightly pooched out from too much pizza. I study my wide cheeks, my dark eyebrows that are in desperate need of a plucking, my too full lips and weirdly sloped nose. Ugh, whatever.

The door knob turns slowly before it’s being opened.

“You okay?”

I look over at Rem, who’s cautiously peeking his head through the gap.

“Yeah, I’m done. Sorry.”

“S’all good. You were just in here for a while.”

I pull the door open more and slip past him, into the hallway. Scurrying back into his room, I find my flip flops and slip them back on. I should really go home. Sleepovers were fun when we were younger but now… sometimes it was awkward.

Rem didn’t like me staying in the guest room, he wanted me to stay in here with him and while I know his mom doesn’t care, or maybe she does but she trusts us, I know if my Dad ever realized I was sleeping in Rem’s bed, he’d freak the fuck out.

“What are you doing?”

I whip my head toward the door, my hand going to the spot over my heart.

“Jesus, wear a fucking bell!”

“Um, you’re in my room.”

A breath stutters out of me because yeah, it is his room. He still needs a fucking bell.

“I’m going home.”

“You said you’d stay.”

“Yeah, and now I’m going home. It’s late. We’re a little old for sleepovers. And I’m literally three doors down.”

“You said you’d stay.”

And there’s that tone. That mulish, pissy tone. The one Rem used to get when someone took something of his and played with it. When someone on the playground did something he didn’t like and he got frustrated or mad.

“We’re just going to fall asleep. You don’t need me here to sleep, Rem.”

He doesn’t talk. He just grabs my arms and pushes me toward the bed until the mattress hits behind my knees and I’m forced to sit down. Thick fingers pluck the green flip flops off my feet, throwing them toward the dresser on the far side of the room.

“You’re staying.”

“Rem-”

“It’s been a shitty two days, Maddie.”

Which I get. I do. We had a fight, we yelled at each other. It’s bound to happen, we’re getting older and more opinionated. Neither one of us is a wilting flower. We both have strong personalities.

“Can I at least sleep in the guestroom?”

“Why?”

He sounds genuinely perplexed. Like the idea of me sleeping in another bed in the same house is just so foreign that there couldn’t possibly be a reasonable explanation for it.

“Because if my Dad finds out he’ll flip.”

“When has your Dad ever come over here when you’ve stayed the night? And we’re sleeping, not fucking around. Fully clothed. My Mom doesn’t care. Now move over.”

I grumble but do so, sliding over onto my side of the bed. Because that’s what this is, my side. Rem takes the side closest to the door, stretching those thick arms over his head once before reaching over to turn out the lamp. His door is ajar about a foot, the hallway light spilling into the room.

I roll back and forth a few times, trying to find a comfortable position when he moves, his body making the mattress dip in the center and my body moves into him. He’s a hot wall of muscle against my back.

A heavy arm drapes over my waist under the blankets and he nuzzles his chin over my head.

“I’m sorry. For all of it,” he whispers.

“I’m sorry too,” I whisper back.

“You’re my favorite person. I don’t ever want to lose you.”

“You’re my favorite person and we won’t lose each other.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. You’re stuck with me forever. Now go to sleep, jerk face.”

“Night, Maddie.”

It’s these moments that hook into my heart like razor wire. The squeezing, bleeding feeling that causes tears to well up into my eyes when we whisper to each other like this.

Every time we lay in the dark together and I hear his soft sighing voice I’m tethered tighter to him. So tight now I don’t know how to untangle myself. I don’t know how to free myself from him. There’s no reason in the world why I would want to.