by Mariah Dietz
“Because,” I answer with a groan, dropping my head against my forearm resting on the table.
“So you’re still trying to pull the shade on yourself as well. Great, we’re really starting at square one here.”
I glare at him as I lift myself back up.
“Why don’t you want to like Max?”
“I’m not Max’s type.”
“Have you considered letting Max make that decision?”
“He’s my neighbor, Jameson. My neighbor that up until a month and a half ago I’d barely spoken to. If I tell him I like him, it will make things really awkward.”
“He likes you! But he’s not going to act on it until you dump the douche.”
I scoff, closing my eyes against my arms, trying to resist allowing myself to hope that he’s right.
“Seriously. If Max knew you had feelings for him, he’d be all over that.”
“I’m not Max’s type, Jameson,” I repeat, sitting up to face him. “I don’t hookup and bounce from one guy to the next.”
“According to Kendall you date guys you aren’t that interested in. Maybe you both need to try something new.”
“Look, I really don’t want to discuss this tonight. Any of it, Eric, Max, sex, none of it. I just want to go home. Can I borrow your phone?”
Jameson fishes his phone out of his pocket and keeps a firm grip on it as he places it in my hand until I meet his eyes.
“Just think about it.” I open my mouth to protest, and Jameson shakes his head. “Don’t just be logical about it.”
Thankfully of the ten numbers I actually have memorized, I’m able to get a hold of Jenny, who comes to get me with few questions. When we pull up to our parents’, she looks over at me and smiles warily before she offers me one piece of advice. “I’m not really sure why you’re holding on to this one, Ace. We both know you don’t need a man to be successful, or to define you, or for anything else. You’re a strong, smart, and beautiful woman, and I hate to tell you this, but he isn’t bringing out those qualities in you, babe.” She turns off the car and opens her door before I can respond or ask about her and Paul. It’s obvious things still aren’t going well since she’s staying here.
Feeling stubborn, I head to see Eric the next day. I plan to confront him about the girl, and the party, but when I get there he beats me to it. I listen as he profusely apologizes giving me the same excuse I’ve heard countless times over the last nine months—a printing error occurred and he had to leave. He continues, explaining he thought Kendall would be able to come get me since the bonfire was so close.
I know I should probe further, demand more of an explanation than the lame one resembling a colander with all the holes it bears, but I don’t. I sit beside him on his suede designer couch as he flips through the channels and try to banish Jameson’s words from my brain—where they’ve been replaying all night.
“What do you think they’re going to do? I don’t understand what they’re trying to accomplish,” I comment, turning from the news station he’d turned on.
Eric’s head is down, his thumb racing across the screen of his phone, completely distracted and obviously preoccupied. A fleeting thought passes through my mind as I wonder if it’s the girl Jenny had mentioned. What the hell am I doing?
“I’m pretty sure you’re the one that wanted to watch this.” I’m annoyed as I glance at the clock on the wall, which tells me I’ve only been here a little over two hours. It feels like it’s been days.
Apparently he doesn’t realize I’m talking to him and not the coffee table. My anger builds as the realization that even if I’d been speaking rhetorically, he should still be paying attention.
“Eric,” I snap, narrowing my eyes on him.
Eric’s fingers pause as he tilts his head up and raises his eyebrows without tearing his eyes from his phone. Even without fully looking at me, I can see the clueless expression on his face and I find myself picking at every detail of him. I hate this expression, and I know it well; he’s trying to look boyish and innocent, and instead I just find it unattractive and dense. I look at his cheekbones that seem almost hollow, and his eyes which look more like murky pond water rather than the soft, warm caramel I’d thought when we’d first met.
“What are you doing?” I demand, and for the first time I don’t really care that I sound impatient and rude.
“Just checking on things. Did you need something?”
“Checking on what things?”
“Things you’re too pretty to worry about,” he replies, trying to pacify me with a grin that I begin mentally critiquing as well.
I let out a sigh and stand up. “Alright, well I’m going to go.”
“Where are you going?”
“Home,” I answer almost vehemently as he stands up beside me.
“Why are you leaving?”
“Because you’re not even paying attention! You’ve said all of twenty words to me in the last two hours.”
“Harper, you’re being needy,” Eric says with an exasperated sigh.
“Needy?” The word feels foreign and uncomfortable leaving my mouth. “Needy!” This time I nearly spit it. “You think expecting you to pay attention to me is needy?” A laugh follows my words as I look to the ceiling in disbelief. “I’m going home.” I grab my purse and head toward the door.
He doesn’t object or follow as I wrench it open and head to my car.
When I arrive home I’m still seeing red and kick myself for not clearly ending things when it had been the perfect opportunity.
“What’s wrong?” I turn my head as a familiar voice infiltrates my angry thoughts. Kyle and Max stare at me from Max’s driveway. I hadn’t even seen them upon pulling up; come to think of it, I can’t recall a single detail about my trip home.
Max drops a grease rag and shiny tool on the piece of cardboard his motorcycle rests on. They land with a dull thud as he makes his way over to me, wiping his hands on his dark gray shorts, all the while keeping his eyes trained on my face.
“What happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Ace, what happened?” His eyes beseech mine as he closes the last couple of feet between us.
I let out a tired sigh and close my eyes in defeat. “I’m just realizing what an idiot I can be sometimes.” I smirk, waiting for him to make a jab after creating a perfect stage to do so.
“I’d be happy to break his legs. Or an arm. Maybe his nose?” Kyle calls from the driveway, making me laugh.
“Thanks, Guido.” I tease, shaking my head as I turn back to Max.
I feel the smile slip from my face as I see the concern in his eyes. “Look, I’m sorry I made things weird between us. I don’t want things to be weird—”
“I know, me too.” Max wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me into his chest. My entire body melts a bit as I’m enveloped in his warmth.
“Let me finish this, and then I’ll come over.” Max’s voice comes out slightly muffled from being buried in my hair, and I simply nod in response as I reluctantly extricate myself from his embrace.
“I love you too, Ace,” Kyle calls out as I reach the door.
I turn around with a grin. “I love you too!”
“Ace, will you pass the popcorn over here, please?” Kendall crosses her ankles as she extends her legs on the ottoman in our basement. I want to ask if her legs are broken, until I look up from her feet and realize she’s leaning into Jameson’s side. I work to cover my grin as I slide the popcorn over to her so she doesn’t have to move.
When Max had finished working on his motorcycle with Kyle, he’d texted me that he was going to shower and I’d asked if he and Jameson wanted to come watch a movie. The four of us are now comfortably sprawled on the sectional in our family room.
“Are you kidding me?” I cry as the menu screen for the movie Kendall put in reveals a horror film about a psychotic serial killer.
“It’s supposed to be really good!” Kendall tucks a
strand of hair behind her ear exposing her lie. My eyes narrow at her as I shake my head.
“Not a fan of scary movies?” Max asks from his seat beside me.
“That’s an understatement,” I admit, already feeling my heart race in anticipation. “I hate them.”
“Max will keep you safe.” Kendall winks at me, and my glare makes her chuckle as she snuggles further into Jameson’s side.
Within the first ten minutes of the movie I have my hands covering my face. “What’s happening?” I whisper to Max.
“You want to know what’s going on?”
“That’s why I’m asking.”
“Isn’t the point of covering your eyes … so that you don’t know?”
“No, it’s so I don’t actually see what’s happening. But I need to know. It’ll freak me out even more to not know,” I admit.
“Come on.” Max peels a hand from my face and wraps it in his. As I turn from the screen, shrill screams and slashing sounds echo through the dark basement, making my heart accelerate even without the image.
“Where are you guys going?” Kendall whispers.
“We thought you guys might enjoy some alone time,” Max replies.
He leads me out to his driveway where he opens the door to his Jeep for me. I look at him curiously, and without question, I climb in.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere your poor heart won’t have to work so hard.” Max reverses down the driveway with a small grin.
When we pull into Maggie Lou’s, the old fifties diner that my dad and I used to frequent during soccer season—and now with Lilly— or on the occasional outing when he’s feeling nostalgic. I look over at Max accusingly.
“What?” he asks a broad smile upon his lips.
“Don’t what me! How’d you know?”
“Know what? That this is your favorite place to get ice cream?” I give him half an eye roll, not able to stop the amused smirk on my face as I shake my head and follow after him as he climbs out of the Jeep.
We settle into a booth, sitting across from one another, and place our order. They’ve added a new milkshake flavor: chocolate fudge marshmallow. It sounds like the cure to any and all ailments and problems, so I go with it. Max orders a brownie fudge sundae with caramel, coffee, and chocolate-toffee ice cream with caramel, marshmallow, and chocolate sauce—no nuts. This is terrible; I’m officially head over heels for this guy just because he ordered the most perfect ice cream dish ever.
“Do you have a thing with ordering in threes?” I tease as Margaret, the daughter of the original Maggie Lou, walks away with our orders scribbled down on a tablet.
“Do you often get greeted on a first name basis by fifties diner waitress?” I grin in response and turn my attention to Margaret as she makes her way back to our table holding two ice waters. She makes eye contact with me and then turns her gaze to Max and back to me with a smile as she wiggles her eyebrows up and down suggestively. Max turns to look at her to see what’s holding my attention, and she giggles guiltily as a small blush fills her full cheeks.
He watches her retreat a ways before turning his attention back to me. “So tell me the deep, dark secrets of Ace.” Max slides a glass of water over to me.
“Deep, dark secrets?”
“Didn’t you know? That’s what friends do.”
“There’s not much to tell really, except my name isn’t really Ace,” I answer, keeping my voice and expression serious. He doesn’t look amused, which makes me laugh as I spin the straw in my ice water.
“Too many to keep track of?” There’s an edge to his inquiry.
“No, it’s quite possible that I live one of the most boring lives of anyone that you’ve ever met,” I admit. “I have a tendency to overanalyze things to a fault, if you haven’t yet noticed. Which usually prevents too many acts of crazy, other than the zip line of course … and the whole TP incident at Marshall’s.”
“You haven’t done anything crazy?”
I shrug, looking up at the side of the car that they’ve somehow attached to the wall a few booths over and briefly wonder if it’s real. “No, crazy and I haven’t really been introduced. I’ve met stupid a couple of times.”
Max grins at me, his blue eyes brightening with mischief. “My mom says that crazy and stupid are sort of two strands of the same thread.”
Margaret returns and slides our desserts to us, and the sight of them makes me momentarily forget what we’re discussing.
“Is there anything else I can get you kids?” she asks with a warm smile.
I shake my head turning my attention to her. “We’re good. Thanks, Margaret.”
“I bet,” she answers. Backing away she gives me two thumbs up and fans her face to indicate how attractive she finds Max. I shake my head, trying to stifle a laugh, as Max follows my eyes to see Margaret’s widen as she quickly turns and walks away.
A small laugh erupts from me that he’s now come within half seconds of catching her both times. I turn my attention to his colossal sundae that looks like Christmas morning in a dish.
“Are you ogling my ice cream?” Max asks, lifting his trademark single eyebrow.
“There’s a definite possibility that I am.” He grins and pushes his sundae toward me, offering me the handle of his spoon.
I open my mouth to object, but Max pushes his spoon closer to my hand. “Sometimes you have to go for what you want, Ace.”
I stare back at him for a brief moment before taking his spoon and dipping it into a mound of chocolate-toffee and coffee ice cream and shoveling it into my mouth with great satisfaction before turning the spoon and offering him the handle. The cold ice cream melts in my mouth as the warm fudge sauce coats my tongue, and the fluffy whipped cream melts like a cloud. The bite is heavenly.
Max grips the proffered spoon with a grin.
“You order really good ice cream,” I mumble, taking a drink of my water. “Do you want to try mine?”
“You try it first.”
“You let me try yours first.” Max shrugs, watching me patiently. I smirk, grabbing the milkshake and using my spoon to scoop a taste of it.
He watches me closely. “They make the best milkshakes,” I say, sliding the glass to him.
Max takes my spoon and dips it in the milkshake. His eyes glance toward me as he holds it a few inches from his mouth. “You were telling me about the time you were introduced to crazy.”
I nod, trying to force my attention from watching Max’s lips curve around my spoon as he eats a mouthful of my shake.
“Alright, well other than the one you witnessed involving Kendall and fifteen rolls of toilet paper; my crazy moment, which really, you’ll classify as stupid here in a moment … in high school I drank a decent amount, not like an alcoholic or anything, but certainly past my limit.”
“Uh oh, does this involve streaking or waking up to someone strange?”
My eyes grow with surprise. “Those would be classified as crazy and stupid; I can see your point, but alcohol doesn’t have that effect on me,” I say, shaking my head. “I hear I’m a funny drunk and can get a little … friendly.”
Max throws his head back and laughs, and I feel my cheeks flush, instantly regretting admitting this to him.
“Friendly, huh? I thought you said this doesn’t involve waking up to someone strange?”
It’s my turn to roll my eyes.
“So no streaking or awkward one-night stands. What did happen?”
I fold the paper napkin in front of me, avoiding looking at Max. “I drank too much one night at a party over Christmas break. I didn’t follow any of the rules, even my own. It was really stupid. I truly have little recollection of the entire night, but I ended up having to have my stomach pumped because I wouldn’t regain consciousness and they were afraid of alcohol poisoning.” I slowly glide my finger along the crease of the napkin. “Not one of my finer moments.” My eyes travel up to Max’s face; he’s staring back at me with a serious expression
. The playfulness is gone, and I appreciate that he doesn’t crack a joke like most. Nothing about that night, nor the next day, or next month while my parents discussed date rape, peer pressure, drunk driving, and every other negative effect, at extensive length with me while I remained at home, grounded, was even remotely humorous.
“Weren’t you there with someone to look out for each other?” Max’s brilliant blue eyes are focused on me, the skin between his eyebrows crinkled with confusion.
“Not really.” I shrug. “I mean, I knew a lot of people that were there. I’d been dating Levi Peterson.” I pause to look at Max’s face and see the recognition in his eyes at the name. “Yeah, he was an ass,” I say, nodding with a sheepish grin as I return to folding my napkin, running the back of my thumbnail over another crease.
“I was angry that night and just felt too …” I stop and stare out the window serving as a mirror, silently searching for the right way to explain how I’d been feeling. “Structured?” I try the word, and it doesn’t quite seem to explain how I’d felt—the pressure, the confinement. “I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it. I just didn’t want to have the monotony of doing what was expected of me anymore.”
“You didn’t want to do what was expected of you, or you just needing a break from the expectations and conformity?”
“I don’t know, maybe both?” Max looks at me closely. His face is calm and doesn’t hold an ounce of judgment. He’s not looking at me like it was stupid that I had felt this way, or that I had been irresponsible, even though I had been, incredibly so. He’s looking at me with a look of empathy, like he understands the words I’m not saying. It’s a bit unnerving.
“I’m glad nothing more happened,” he says softly as his eyes search mine in a comforting way, like he’s trying to assure me of something. “Crazy isn’t a bad thing. I’d even go so far to say that it can be a really good thing.” He continues looking at me closely. “It’s just they tend to have better results when there’s someone there to look out for you.”
