by Nessa Morgan
But he was already in my driveway, rocking along to an Otep song I haven’t heard in a while. It was a great welcome, a great way to start my morning—with some Confrontation.
Let’s see how long this good mood lasts.
I climb into his car, tucking my backpack between my legs and pulling the seatbelt across my torso, yawning wide as he pulls from my driveway, passing Jamie and Zephyr as they pile into her little car. Their eyes on us as we pass.
“Your neighbors look familiar,” Milo comments when he stops at the sign at the end of the street, a red car passes in front of us before Milo turns onto the road.
“They go to our school,” I explain vaguely, focusing my eyes out the passenger window.
Milo looks to me, blonde hair blowing from the open driver’s side window, flailing around his head.
“Why don’t you ride to school with them?” he asks. It’s a typical question, a logical question. A question I don’t want to answer at six o’clock in the morning. There’s an explanation I don’t want to delve into.
What can I say? I used to. How does that explain anything easily?
“We don’t get along.” Not entirely untrue—it’s more like I have no idea where I stand with them. Zephyr: I am pretty sure it’ll take us a while before we’re even classified as friends. Jamie: Not a clue how she feels about me since I broke her brother’s heart, which essentially broke her brother. She can’t exactly be my biggest fan at the moment.
Yeah, as much as it breaks my little cold heart, I’m pretty certain neither of them are in the Joey Fan Club anymore.
“Fair enough,” he mutters. “So, I’d consider us friends—”
“I would say you’re jumping the gun, there, Cowboy.”
“Come on,” he almost-whines. “I’m giving you a ride to school.” Milo looks to me, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.
I snort. “I’m allowing you my presence,” I reply. “It’s a gift. Don’t waste it.”
“Fine,” he says, the car stopping at another sign. “Well, I consider you my friend.” Milo sneaks a glance at me, smirking smugly. “How you classify me, that’s a thing between you and your diary.”
“And that’s why we are not friends,” I tell him.
His head turns as he looks at me, stopping so long at the sign that the car behind us honks with annoyance.
“What?”
“I don’t keep a diary,” I tell him, ignoring the question. As I watch the world through the window blur in hues of browns, greens, and grays, spotting people walking to school. “I can’t handle that kind of commitment.”
“Huh,” Milo mutters. “My sister loves her diary.”
The word sister catches my attention, my eyes turning to him. “There are more of you?” I blurt.
He chuckles quietly before saying, “I guess so, if you wish to phrase it like that.” Milo looks to me. “She’s younger than me—an eighth grader.”
I snort. “God, I feel sorry for her,” I mumble.
“Hey,” he objects loudly, playfully pushing me in the arm.
His touch brings tension to my body, preventing me from joining in on the laughter booming from his throat. But some part of me can’t tell him not to do that. That part is large, nearly half of me, while the other half screams at me to shove him away.
“I’m sorry,” he says once the laughter dies down.
“For what?” I ask, rubbing away his lingering touch from my arm.
“You hate people touching you,” Milo states matter-of-factly, and he isn’t wrong. “I see it. It’s just—I don’t know. I can’t really explain it. I feel like I can touch you.”
Um…
“Try,” I nudge, waiting to see where he goes with this conversation.
“I feel like I can be myself with you,” Milo replies honestly. “It’s just easy, you know? Easy to talk to you, easy to be around you.” He smiles wistfully, staring through the windshield at the stoplight. “You know?”
No, I don’t.
It might be wrong to say what’s on my mind, so instead, I say, “So where’d you grow up?” instead.
Can’t go wrong when you change the subject.
Milo notices and chuckles. “Right outside of Austin,” he replies. “I was born in Dallas, though. From where in Texas are you?”
“Dallas,” I answer. “I visit every year, seeing my grandparents and…” I trail off, debating how to phrase it. “Other things.” Nothing wrong with being vague. Right now, I miss the simplicity I find in Dallas. Surrounded by family, it’s something I crave when I feel low and alone.
He pulls into an open spot in the back of the student lot. I wait for him so we can continue this conversation. I haven’t any clue why but I feel like being overly polite.
“For some reason, my parents just up and moved us to Austin.” Milo shakes his head. “There was talk for some time about moving out of state, something about some crazy guy stalking my mother, but something happened to him over the years.”
“What happened to him?” I ask, nosy and curious.
“I don’t know, after a while, my mom stopped hearing from him.” Milo shrugs. “So my parents decided it was safe enough to stay where we were.” His hand clutches the strap on his backpack. “I never ask. It still terrifies my mother to this day with just the mere mention of the maniac and I don’t want to freak her out.”
“Why are you here now?”
I’ve heard the rumors. I’ve heard the tale of the slaughtered teacher. But wait, there’s more: he got a teacher pregnant, he got the principal’s daughter pregnant, he got another student pregnant—there were a lot of tales of pregnancies running around. Then he punched a teacher, he punched the principal, he blew up part of his old school, he kidnapped and slaughtered the school mascot. A lot of these stories were impossible. I mean, if most were true, he’d probably be in jail because they’re are crimes, some serious crimes.
So—I want to hear his story. The true story.
“You want the gritty story.” He looks at me knowingly. “You want the one filled with blood, carnage, and few dead bodies.”
I laugh. “How about the real one, Cowboy.”
“My mom got a job transfer,” Milo explains. “Nothing too exciting. Certainly nothing compared to why everyone else thinks I’m here.”
As a person who grew up with tales slung about her, untrue stories spreading around about her, I can feel for him. It’s almost enough I nearly hug him, nearly force my body to work through the unbearable tension and wrap my arms around him. I hate the feeling of wanting to comfort a dude I barely know.
“I’m sorry,” I sputter. “You have my reputation.”
“Well, as a new guy in desperate need of friends,” he begins, pulling open the door and letting me pass. “Hopefully, it’ll weed out the idiots. I don’t need that in my life.”
I laugh, pulling open the second door. “You have high hopes for friends here, huh?” I ask as he shoves me through, holding that door open for me as well.
“Why not. If I’m stuck here, might as well make the most of it.” Milo makes a good point. “It seems like I’ve made a good choice already.”
I stop, letting him continue ahead. “I thought we covered this? We’re not friends!”
The day is slow and long. So very, very slow and long. And uneventful. I swear I saw the clock tick backwards at some point. By the time the clock actually says it’s appropriate for me to consume nutrients, I bolt from the room to my locker and switch out my books.
“Hey,” I hear from behind me. Turning, I spy Harley and Kennie walking over. I haven’t seen much of Harley lately but we were talking in gym class today about hanging out later. Judging by the hopeful look on her face, she wants that later to be now. I didn’t think she meant lunch. “Are you sitting with us today?” she asks, her brown hair dropping into her eyes before she can flick it away.
“Uh, uhm…” I trail off, trying to think of any way to get out of this
. You see, I would, but I’d rather dine naked in the boys locker room after their practice. The last thing I want to do is spend my lunch awkwardly sitting at the same time with my ex-boyfriend who might be plotting my murder.
Less likely, but I fear it.
“Zephyr’s totally cool about it,” Kennie adds boisterously. “If that’s what you were worrying about.”
I wasn’t worried about that but thanks for the added information, Kennie.
Harley turns to glare at our blonde—sweet baby Jesus, sometimes she hits those blonde stereotypes right on the nose—friend having an obvious blonde moment as my eyes widen at the words that just left her mouth.
“You’re not the brightest candle in the chandelier at times, Ken,” Harley tells her before turning back to me. “Ignore Blondie over here; what we care about is you and spending time with you.” Her hands clasp in front of her, her bottom lip jutted out in pout.
“I’ll think about it, okay?” I say, trying to think of some way, any way, out of it. But I only have about thirty seconds to make the decision.
“Please, please, pretty please turn that maybe into a yes.” Kennie begs while Harley looks at me, pouting dramatically and—damn it!—yes, giving me those damned puppy dog eyes. I can’t turn down the puppy dog eyes. They’re my effing kryptonite.
She knows I can’t say no to the puppy dog eyes.
I nod my head slightly and slowly before saying, with a sigh, ”Yes,” to the invitation to sit at my old lunch table, to partake in having friends and nice conversation, maybe an apple.
I should have thought that decision through, truly. But sliding on my big girl panties—they’re pink and polka dotted in my mind—I say screw it and just do whatever I want. It won’t be so bad, it’s only Zephyr and he’s not a rabid lion… or anything worse. We’ve descended into this civility, this place of limbo, that irks me most of the time but it’s the easiest thing to do not to scream how much I love him when he passes by in the halls.
Harley and Kennie l eave, excited finally to have things back to normal—at least that’s how I think they feel. I won’t know until I’m there.
Skipping down the front staircase to the cafeteria, I stop on the first step and peer over the crowd, searching the familiar faces.
I haven’t been in this room much since the start of the year but no one notices me. I slink through the crowd, keeping the back of Harley’s head in my view. The rest of the table is hidden by a pillar.
I fix my hair, pulling it over my shoulder, and grasp the locket dangling in front of my shirt. I can do this, I tell myself. Taking a step forward, I breathe deep and start walking.
The table comes further into view, I spot everyone. Avery and Harley—ew—feeding each other lunch, Jackson and Ksenia at one end of the table in discussion with Kennie. At the other end, I spy Zephyr with… a girl. Gulp—a pretty, blonde girl I’ve never seen him talk to, walk with, do anything with, before. She’s beaming, her smile bright, toothy, perfect, and distracting as her hand flips her hair back.
At the sight of her, my steps falter and I stop in the middle of the cafeteria, my eyes stuck on her as she touches Zephyr’s arm—that’s the flirty signal! He smiles at the touch, her skin on his—she will touch him. She can touch him and not freak out. His hand reaches up, sliding her hair from her shoulder, exposing the flawless skin where the collar starts. His thumb begins tracing lines against the ridges of her exposed flesh and she’s giggling—the girl is giggling.
It’s taking everything I can muster not to walk up to them and smack her, yelling at her to get her paws off my man—you bitch!
But the sight of them—looking at them so close and cozy, it does something to me, something I can’t easily explain. It takes my breath, steals my air, and I fight for it back.
It breaks my heart he doesn’t even look up. He doesn’t even notice me staring at them staring at each other.
Stepping back, I bump into something or someone—I don’t really care the difference—and to me, it’s just a barrier to my escape. I turn around, darting around the large form, and bolt, sprinting down the hall as fast as my legs can carry me.
How could Harley and Kennie think my being there was a good thing? How could they look at that table, see Zephyr and a beautiful blonde and think that is the place I need to be? How could they do that to me? I thought they cared about me, I thought they were my friends.
Speeding down the hall, I burst through the back doors and into the chilled air, dropping my backpack on the cool cement before peeling my black jacket from my arms and letting the cold surround and caress me.
Air.
The air feels so thick and comforting. I welcome it happily into my lungs—breathing as deep as I can, but it hurts, breathing hurts. I gasp for air, pain shooting through my chest with every inhalation, and I can’t do this. I can’t feel like this. Not right now, and certainly not today. I’m supposed to be fine. I’m supposed to walk down those halls, past all those students who think I’m a lost cause and prove them otherwise. I’m supposed to hold my head high and not let anything get to me.
But this—what I just saw, Zephyr with another girl—I can’t move past it, I can’t force my brain to forget or ignore it. I never thought I’d ever see it, I never thought he’d move on so quickly and so openly in front of me.
“Joey?” someone says from behind me, I assume the door. I ignore them and bend forward my hands clutching my knees, trying my hardest not to sob—I’m failing. “Joey? Hey.” An arm reaches out. An arm I bat away with a quick punch.
It’s Milo. He’s the only logical person. He’d see me running away and come chasing after me. That seems to be his typical MO.
“Go—away,” I choke out through deep breaths, feeling the sobs waiting to erupt, fighting to explode from my throat. My hand reaches to clasp the locket dangling from my neck, waiting for that familiar bite into my palm.
“No,” he objects. I don’t have time for this. I don’t have time for him trying to be my hero or trying to comfort me. Still, hands surround me but don’t touch me. They block me, preventing escape. So I turn around, facing Milo as he inches closer. “What’s wrong?” he asks, concern dripping from his words.
I shake my head, dragging my hand through my hair. “What the hell does it matter?” I ask weakly, my hand drops, tightly clutched at my side. His hands inch closer, cocooning me where I stand. “He’s—and her—I just… I can’t go in there,” I finally whisper, letting the tears fall. I don’t know this boy at all but there is something about him. He was right but I can’t place why.
But I understand what he means when he tells me there’s something about me that makes him wonder. Right now, I get it because briefly, I wonder about him.
“Then don’t go back in there,” Milo tells me quietly, looking around us for any witnesses. We’re hidden behind shrubs that haven’t seen a trim in a good ten years. “Let’s just go.”
I look up to him, the brightness of his blonde hair blinding in the sunlight breaking through the gray clouds. “But I can’t do that either,” I say, turning away, wiping at the tears.
He shrugs. “What’s stopping you?”
That’s a good question. What is stopping me? I’m already graduating a year earlier than expected. I don’t have anything important due today. Even if I did, the teachers would accept it tomorrow and be fine with it. There’s no need for me to be here any longer.
Other than attendance, but I can forge a note from Hilary.
When I don’t immediately protest, Milo grabs my backpack and jacket from the ground, and leads me around the building to the student parking lot. The thrill exhilarates me. I’ve never left school before. Okay, that’s false. There was that time early in January but that was different. Or maybe not so much. He opens the passenger door for me and shuts it when I’m buckled into the seat. He slides into the driver’s seat, inserting the key into the ignition, and turning it. The car rumbles to life. “Where to?” he asks, mischief in his eye
s.
But I’m not feeling very adventurous right now.
“I don’t care,” I answer, dragging a finger beneath my eye. “Just drive.”
Milo nods and backs out of his assigned space. “Then I know the perfect place,” he says.
It’s not long before Milo pulls the car into the driveway of a decently sized house. It’s not too big, not too small—it’s the perfect thing for the Three Little Bears. I feel like Goldilocks.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” he says as he opens the door. “It’s not much but it’s home for right now.”
I step inside and look around. In front of me is a cute little living room filled with bright, plush furniture and white carpeting. Pictures cover the walls—large painted landscapes and neon abstracts that, when looked at individually, you wouldn’t think they’d pair together well, but they work. In the corner is a large fireplace. Above that is a mantle covered end to end in family photos. The room is warm and welcoming, a lovely place to bring up my mood.
“Right now?” I ask.
“We might go back to Texas after my mom gets this company up and running.” Milo drops our backpacks in the foyer and motions for me to step into the living room. “Take a seat anywhere, make yourself comfortable.” He gently pushes me toward the couch. “Mi casa es su casa.”
I do as he says, settling myself on the teal couch, sinking within the large, comfortable cushions. I’m still sniffling but I’m nowhere near sobbing, not anymore. I let my hair fall over my face, not bothering to move it from my eyes. Milo walks back in holding two glasses of water. One he hands to me, the other he sips as he sits next to me, leaving a good two feet of space between us like a gentleman.
“Start taking, kid.” He situates himself on the couch, laying his arm along the back. Milo looks to me, leaning over to move the hair from my eyes before he resumes his position.
“About what?” I ask, avoiding the obvious with a shrug of my shoulders.
“Why you sprinted from the cafeteria.” Milo narrows his eyes, flipping his hair from his eyes. “I’ve never run that fast in my life. I’m not a fan of athletic activity, really.”
