Together, Apart

by Erin A. Craig

  “Yeah,” I say with a smile. Yeah. Real smooth, Harper.

  As soon as she hangs up, I launch myself off my bed and burst back into Eve’s bedroom. “How could you do that to me?”

  Eve looks up from her laptop, her eyebrows raised so high they disappear into the fringe of her bangs. “Excuse me?”

  “I embarrassed myself, like…” I pause, trying to count, but I quickly lose track of al the inane things that managed to come out of my mouth while I tried to flirt. “I don’t even know how many times.”

  “Harp,” Eve says, her voice gentle. “I’m sure that’s not true. You’re too hard on your—”

  “I asked you to help,” I say.

  “And I said no,” Eve says, the gentleness seeping out of her tone. “I have a final. In case you haven’t noticed, Mom has been on my case since I’ve gotten home about my choice of major. And this final is actual y real y

  important for my career. The one no one in this family seems to care about.

  Not Mom, and certainly not you.”

  I shrink back, blinking fast at her. “Eve, I care ab—”

  “If you did, you wouldn’t be busting into my room every ten seconds while I’m trying to work because you don’t know how to write a text. And maybe you’d stand up for me every once in a while when Mom starts going on and on about my choices.”

  I swal ow thickly. “Eve, I…I’m sorry.”

  “Please,” Eve says, turning away from me, “get out of my room so I can finish this.”

  I shut her bedroom door behind me, taking a deep breath in the dark hal before looking at my phone again. There’s a text from Alyssa.

  it was nice talking to you

  How am I supposed to answer now? If Eve refuses to help me, Alyssa wil notice the sudden drop in humor and the increase in painful awkwardness. And then texts from her wil dry up.

  I lock my phone and go to bed without answering.

  —

  When I wake up, at noon but stil feeling groggy after a night of barely sleeping, I have another text waiting for me.

  Okay you may be right about me having a problem.

  Under it is a picture of her breakfast oatmeal, with a half-finished bottle of Coke next to it. I laugh, but the bubble of joy that I felt when I saw her name on my screen bursts when I remember that Eve won’t help me anymore.

  What am I supposed to do now?

  I leave my phone on my nightstand and head downstairs for a breakfast of my own. Or lunch, I suppose, at this point. I crack open a new box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch to fix myself a bowl—maybe I have a problem of my own—and eat it while staring into space. Every time I think about last night, I want to curl up into a tiny bal and disappear. And not just because of how cringey I was with Alyssa.

  I’ve been pretty self-involved with Eve. This feels even worse than the time I cried at her thirteenth birthday because she chose a boring vanil a cake, and she made fun of me for years after that one. I have to make this right.

  She must have stayed up even later than I did, because she’s stil asleep.

  As soon as I’m done eating my second bowl, which I top off a bit to finish the last of my milk—see? problem—I set about cleaning the kitchen. I clear off the island, then I set up the space with the sunflowers from the coffee table in the living room, a fancy pen I nab from Mom’s office, and my favorite candle, which claims to smel like old books. I’ve just finished lighting it when Eve comes downstairs.

  She stares at the kitchen, bleary-eyed. “Do you have a date or something?”

  “No,” I say, holding my arms out in a ta-da! motion. “I have an awesome older sister who needs a nicer workspace if she’s ever going to finish her final.”

  Eve laughs. “You’re cute.”

  “I’m sorry I bothered you al night,” I say.

  She wraps an arm around my shoulders. “It’s fine. Being annoying is your job. I forgive you, but only if you promise to tel Mom how funny I am when she inevitably starts arguing with me tonight. I did make your whole relationship happen, so you can be the first official witness to my unending humor.”

  I hold out my pinkie, and she shakes it, like when we were little kids.

  “You didn’t make my whole relationship, though,” I say. “That’s definitely down the toilet.”

  Eve stares at me. “What did you do on the cal ?”

  I summarize it for her, and she shakes her head at me. “You’re the most ridiculous person I know.”

  “I know,” I groan. “It’s so embarrassing.”

  “No,” Eve says with a laugh. “You’re ridiculous because that’s a perfectly normal and fun time you had. She clearly wants to talk to you again. Just be yourself, for the love of al that is holy, and leave me alone in my cute workspace because if I don’t finish today I’m going to miss the deadline.”

  She spins on her heel to go to her room, and reemerges with her laptop and headphones, which she puts into her ears with a pointed look in my direction.

  Taking the hint, I plop myself on the living room couch and try to let the hours disappear into a TikTok hole. Instead, I feel every agonizing second rip past. Al I can think about is Alyssa’s text, waiting for me. But every time I think about answering, the panicky shaking in my gut returns. What can I say to her?

  It only gets worse when, a few hours later, she texts me again.

  Is everything okay?

  I bite my lip, hard. No, everything is not okay, Alyssa, I want to tel her.

  Everything is in fact very bad. I like you so much, and the idea of saying the wrong thing to you makes me want to hide under a rock and never come out.

  Of course, I can’t say that to her. Plus, now I have to give an explanation for why I ignored her text this morning.

  I turn, about to cal Eve, but she’s busy writing. Instead, I think about what she told me yesterday. You have to put yourself out there at some point.

  Isn’t that what Alyssa and I talked about last night, about being vulnerable with people you care about?

  I tap over to TikTok and hit record.

  “Hi, guys,” I say, waving at the camera. “I need you to help me make this go viral, because I majorly messed things up with my crush and I have to fix it.”

  The rest of the video is a montage of me packing al the Coke cans I can fit into a cardboard box, along with a pack of chocolate chips, because why not? And the scariest part: the note. I don’t show the video what it says. That’s just for Alyssa.

  I’m so sorry I didn’t answer earlier!! To be total y and probably cringily honest, I was scared. Like we were saying last night, being vulnerable with someone you care about is scary. And I have a whole lot of anxiety, so that doesn’t help. But anyway, the point is, I like you. Even though you have a massive problem with carbonated beverages

  “Next step, ride this over to her house,” I say to the camera, filming myself as I clip my bike helmet on. I balance my phone on top of the package

  in my handlebar basket to edit together quick cuts of me biking the twenty minutes to Alyssa’s place, dropping the package off on her front porch, and hurrying off with my fingers crossed.

  When we get back home, I post the video and text Alyssa.

  The typing bubble appears almost immediately. And hovers at the bottom of my screen for what feels like a hundred lifetimes. I can see myself growing old as she composes her message, taking her sweet time.

  Eventual y, her response pops up.

  I like you too

  Even though you do not understand the power/access that Coke has Also your video is great but you real y shouldn’t TikTok and bike I bite back a laugh as I check my profile. TikTok has done me a solid here—the video has done just as wel as Eve’s Smush masterpiece.

  “Eve,” I cal out.

  She takes out a headphone. “I swear on that typewriter I got for my birthday, if you say one more word I wil take you out with the trash.”

  “I told Alyssa I like her,” I say quickly, before she can pu
t her headphone back in.

  She rips out the other one to run over and give me a hug. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

  “Thank you for your faith in me,” I respond dryly.

  She pats my head, and I slap her hand as she goes back to her workspace.

  I turn back to my phone, the panicky feeling fizzing away as I text Alyssa.

  They’ve been living here for two weeks and four days.

  Lockdown began two weeks ago.

  Our next-door neighbor, Mr. Cotton, was tel ing Mom that the Brady family brought COVID-19 here. As if they packed it in their boxes. He’s the neighborhood gossip, heavily into conspiracy theories. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn he’s converted his basement into a doomsday bunker.

  I look out my window and can just about see Archer Brady lounging on a sunbed in his backyard, staring at his cel . He looks around my age. Tal , dark hair, square jaw, high cheekbones that Michelangelo himself couldn’t have sculpted any better. Archer belongs on a teen drama series, starring as the angry one who eventual y wins everyone over.

  So far, he hasn’t won anyone over.

  Except me, that is. I can’t seem to make myself stop watching. He’s one of those people you can’t help staring at as you try to figure out how it’s fair they look so perfect.

  The fact that his house is right next to mine doesn’t help the growing obsession.

  So far we’ve seen each other when our moms have come back from the grocery store and we’ve been outside helping take things from the car. Twice that has happened and al we’ve done is raise our hand in a little wave. It stil sends my heart on a sprint. I haven’t heard his voice, but I’ve wondered so many times if he wants to talk, to make a friend. To sit in my tree and chat.

  Between our houses is an old gnarly tree that looks dead in the winter but is ful of lush green leaves in the spring. It’s so big that not even my dad and mom can get their arms around it together; it takes the three of us to be able to reach. Only our backyards are fenced, so we have shared access to the tree at the side of each other’s houses.

  I used to climb it with Sabi. She’s my best friend, and her family lived in the house before the Bradys moved in. Sabi and I would chil in the tree for hours. It’s where she told me about her crush on Hunter, footbal star, and I told her about my first kiss with Hunter’s older brother, Roman.

  Archer throws one leg over the other, crossed at the ankles on the sun lounger…that’s in the shade! If he’s going to stay in the shade, he might as wel be inside. They have a pool, but I haven’t seen him use it yet. Good thing, real y. I’l probably pass out if I see him shirtless.

  I bite my lip as he runs his hand through his messy black hair.

  I have only spoken to his mom. I don’t know where his dad is.

  His head raises almost directly at me as if he can sense I’m spying. My breath catches. Jumping back, I spin around and flatten my back against the wal .

  Damn it! If he saw me, he wil definitely think the girl next door is a total creep. All we’ve done is catch each other’s eye in the window or outside.

  Maybe he didn’t actual y see from that far away.

  “Quinn! Shouldn’t you be online? You have school, right?”

  My least favorite words to hear from my mom. School at home. There is no God. But she’s right. It’s almost time for class.

  I trudge downstairs like I’m off to war.

  I find Mom in the kitchen. My laptop is open and water bottle fil ed.

  Both sit neatly on the table. She’s prepped my classroom.

  “You don’t have to do this,” I tel her as I sit my butt at the table and smile up at her. “It’s not like I’m going to forget.”

  We’re on day fifteen of being at home. Day fifteen of missing Taco Bel , Starbucks Frappuccinos, and hanging with friends. Day fifteen of one walk a day. Mom stops to gossip with the neighbors who are in their front yard. I just keep thinking about everything I’m missing.

  Social distancing is weird. But one bright spot: every house on our block has a chalkboard in their yard. We leave messages and encouragement. I love reading them on our walks. On ours, Mom has written: This too shal pass.

  One of my favorites has been 2021 wil be our year.

  Archer’s is stil blank.

  The conversation with everyone is the same most days. Lots of talk about

  “crazy times,” “the damn virus,” and “living like prisoners.” I don’t think prisoners can order food in, hang out in the sun, and swim in pools they have in their own backyard, but sure.

  “Hey, Mom?”

  She turns from where she’s chopping apples. That better be for a pie.

  “Yeah?”

  “When you met Archer and his mom…did he say much?”

  “He grunted a hel o and went inside. Bit rude, if you ask me. Though I suppose we don’t know their circumstance for moving here. No friends or family here, no dad around. Not that I’ve seen, anyway. Now, finish your work.”

  I put my head down and focus. Hours pass. The smel of warm apple pie wafts through the kitchen.

  And the very second I announce that I’m finished, Mom thrusts my Vans in my face.

  “Let’s get out for a bit,” she says.

  Our walk is the highlight of her day. I slip my Vans on and fol ow her to the front door.

  “What’s that?” I ask, eyeing the covered plate she’s holding in her hands.

  “Apple pie for Mrs. Langford down the road. She’s missing her grandchildren. We’ve got to look after each other now more than ever.”

  So she made my favorite pie and it’s not for me.

  Of course I notice him the second I step out of the front door.

  Somewhere inside me is an Archer Brady radar. Archer is taking out the trash

  —that seems to be his job—and he’s doing it while scowling at the whole world.

  And oh my god. He’s much closer to me than he’s ever been. My stomach clenches like it’s independently working on some abs. His eyes fol ow me.

  I’m pretty sure my brain is short-circuiting right now. I hope he doesn’t speak because I don’t think I can.

  Everything about him is angry: the narrowed eyes, clenched jaw, and tight shoulders.

  It should be il egal that he looks so good while doing it.

  I wipe my damp palms on my shorts.

  Stop staring.

  I’m mostly a happy person, I like to smile, I like having fun and laughing, so why am I so drawn to him? It doesn’t make sense, but I want to know everything. I want to dig into his brain and learn every part of his life, the good and the bad. And I want to run my fingers al over that magnificent face and through that inky hair.

  Calm down, Quinn.

  Now is not the time to develop a new crush. Especial y on someone who is more likely to push me over during my morning yoga than join in.

  “Hel o,” Mom says, waving at him.

  I stop breathing. Is she crazy? She’s talking to him!

  Don’t trip over.

  He jerks his chin in some sort of greeting. It screams I can’t be bothered with you. I don’t imagine he would be massively concerned about insulting people, so I suppose we should take the nod.

  Wow. Okay, I thought his eyes were brown, but up this close I can see that they’re dark blue, like the midnight sky. They linger like he’s trying to commit my face to memory so he can draw me later.

  Al we have done is stare at each other for slightly too long. Every conversation we’ve had over two weeks has been silent and spoken exclusively with our eyes. I feel like I know him without actual y knowing him. It’s the oddest feeling and I can’t explain it. Right now, al it would take is six steps.

  Six of my little steps and I would be right in front of him.

  His mouth parts and I think he’s going to talk to me. That happens a lot, he opens his mouth or goes to take another step, then retreats with nothing. I want to talk to him so bad, but I’m terrified of the way he m
akes me feel, so I just walk away.

  It’s not normal to be this invested in a person you haven’t even said one word to.

  My heart misses a beat when he takes one last look—his face turned down, almost sad—over his shoulder before walking around the side of his house.

  —

  “Quinn?” Mom says.

  I jolt as she places her hand on my arm. “What?”

  “Are you okay?” Her face is ful of amusement.

  “Fine.”

  “I think…I think he’s climbing up in the tree,” she says, straining to see between our houses now that we’re past his.

  “Huh?”

  “Archer. He’s in the tree.”

  My and Sabi’s tree. I look up and see him on her branch, legs kicked out, leaning back against the trunk. My branch runs at a ninety-degree angle to his and just a smidge lower down.

  “Go and talk to him.” She takes the pie from me. “I’l deliver this.”

  “But you wanted to walk.”

  “I can stil walk. You wanted to know what his story is, so go and find out. Looks like he could use a friend right now.”

  I bite my lip as I weigh up my options. Walk around the neighborhood having the same conversation at every house from the sidewalk…or go and gril Mr. Happy.

  “We’re al in this together, the whole street, remember? Go, Quinn,” she says with a laugh and a nudge.

  “Okay. Tel me what the signs say today.”

  “I wil . Keep your distance up there.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “No touching,” she says with a wicked smile.

  I give her a look close to the one I gave Dad when he accidental y broke my favorite Twilight coffee mug.

  There is no danger of me touching him, even if there were no virus. I can’t even look at him without getting flustered.

  He might tel me to get lost, but he has no right to. The tree is right in the middle of our properties and no one seems to know who it belongs to.

  Can I real y do this? I have to. There’s no choice. We can’t spend the rest of our lives here not talking but desperately wanting to.

  Time to be brave, Quinn Reeve.

  I walk over to the tree, reach up, grab the next branch, and push myself up. My heart flutters as I feel his eyes on me the whole time, waiting for me to get to the top. I shuffle back on the branch that’s about as wide as my waist and smile.