Chapter Text

My sophomore year of high school ended on a bright, cloudless day in the middle of June. It was hot, as East Highland is always hot in the summer. The bell sang its shrill song, and the dam burst. A thousand pairs of feet surged into the corridors. I never stood a chance. A great tidal wave of students swept me up in its current. I was buoyed, helpless as a child, towards the nearest exit. There, as we stepped out, I was able to break from the horde. I stood still for a moment and breathed in a cool breeze. Then I got moving again.

I weaved through the exterior pathways, sheltered from the blazing sun by dense concrete, dented in some places and cracked in others, above my head. Everything in East Highland is either cracked or dented. Or both. I’ve never minded it, though. It was only a short walk to the bike racks on the far side of the building.

Rue was there waiting when I ducked under the poly-carbonate shelter. She leaned against a metal post. Her bike was lying at her feet. “You’re late,” she said. Blunt, as always. I have known Rue for half a decade, but that time has bought me neither patience nor sweet words. Rue is Rue, and I have learned to accept that.

She was wearing the hoodie again, the maroon and well worn garment that had once belonged to her late father.

My jacket was black. One thing you should probably know about me, I almost exclusively dress in black, or dark shades of gray or navy. I’m not some goth or anything. I just like dark colors. Of course, if you're a goth, that's fine. I don't judge.

My sweatpants were also black. The three stripes at my waistband continued up the side and underarms of my jacket.

I neither like nor understand high fashion. Nike and Adidas, or their ilk, are more than fancy enough for me. I’ve never really understood the need to get all dressed up for school. It’s hardly a formal event. Though, when it is a formal event, I go hard. One day, inevitably, somebody will invite me to their wedding, and I will look like Bruce Wayne. Fucking stylish.

But anyway, back to Rue.

“By, like, two minutes,” I said. I crouched and slung my backpack off one shoulder.

“I don’t care by how long. Next time, I leave you.” An empty threat she has made near on a thousand times and never once followed up on. I doubt she ever will.

The zip of my backpack’s front pocket came apart with a loud ripping sound. I plucked out the key and inserted it into the lock of my bike. One twist and it came apart. I placed both lock and key back into the pocket and zipped it once more. Rising to my feet, I put my arms through the backpack straps again. “Right,” I said, my mouth melding into the faintest of curves. “Of course you will.”

Rue’s eyes narrowed into a glare, but she did not deign to respond. She bent, lifted her bike to a standing position, and swung one long, denim clad leg over the frame. Rue’s pretty tall. I mean, not quite as tall as me, but close. “Come on,” she said.

I mirrored her position and put my sneakers to the pedals. It was slow going at first as we maneuvered our way off of campus. As soon as we hit the street, our pace picked up.

East Highland isn’t a coastal town, but it is close enough to the Pacific that seagulls are not a rare sight. It would almost look idyllic, from a distance. In the nicer neighborhoods, the streets are lined with trees and the lawns are well maintained.

Neither of us wore a helmet. Call it the folly of youth, I don’t know. If Lexi was there, she would have insisted upon it. Neither of us would have listened to her. We never have. While I wouldn’t describe myself as a rebel, wearing a bulky helmet to ride a bike is a step too far for even me.

“I told her we’d be there by four,” Rue said, as though she could read my mind. She has always been eerily good at that.

Rue and Lexi are both my best friend. I would be hard pressed to choose between them. I guess I owe Cassie for both of them. We’ll get to Cassie, don’t worry.

At the corner, Rue cut across a short stretch of suspiciously stiff lawn. “You really shouldn’t do that,” I said disapprovingly.

She scoffed. “Grow up.”

“I’m just saying… it’s disrespectful.”

“It’s fucking grass.”

“Technically, it isn’t. AstroTurf is composed of synthetic fibers… it’s basically plastic.”

“I didn’t ask for the lecture.”

I felt myself smile. “And yet you enjoyed learning anyway.”

Rue was silent for a long moment, before, “shut up.”

I absolutely love a fun fact, and have amassed a library in my mind of trivial knowledge that is largely useless in day to day life. You never know, though. It may come in handy one day.

***

The road splits as it nears the Howard house, curving inwards and running parallel with itself on its way to the garage. The front door step meets it, its lip lying mere inches from the asphalt.

By nightfall, the three of us were huddled on that doorstep. The sound of heavy rain buffeting against the wooden overhang was oddly calming. I have always liked rain.

The two of them pressed in close on either side of me. It was a little cramped, but I was okay with that. I have whatever the opposite of claustrophobia is. Claustrophilia, I guess. Enclosed spaces have never bothered me. As long as it is wide enough to turn around, I’m good.

“Wait,” Lexi said, leaning back on her hands. “Where are you going?

“The Yukon,” I answered.

“Like Canada?”

“You know another Yukon?”

“There’s a Yukon in Florida,” Lexi said. She looked extremely pleased to know something I did not. “It’s basically a ghost town now, but George Smoot was born there.”

“Like the scientist?”

“You know another George Smoot.”

I sighed, my shoulders slumping. “Canada,” I confirmed.

A stirring to my left. “For two months?” It was the first thing Rue had said in at least an hour.

I turned my head to look at her. Rue’s eyes are brown, but sometimes I think I see something else in there. Hazelnut, maybe. Whatever it is, it is lighter. “Yeah,” I said with a nod.

The corner of Rue’s mouth twitched. “That’s cool,” she said, suddenly seeming very interested in the nearest puddle. It reflected the headlights and vibrant paint job of a passing car. Whatever front she put on, I could tell she was affected, at least a little, by my nearing absence.

“I’ll be back before our junior year,” I assured her. But I won’t be back for Cassie’s birthday… I won’t be able to ask her to dance with me.

“Mars,” Lexi said suddenly. Her tone was careful. “Are you sure you’re the kind of guy your uncle wants working in a quarry?”

Mars. Oh, yeah. Now would probably be a good time to tell you that my name is Marston. Yes, Marston. And, yes, before you ask, my parents are incredibly pretentious. Their only son couldn’t have a common, normal name. No, it had to be special. If you think my name is funny, that’s okay. Everyone at school certainly found it funny. Until Maddy got to them, I guess.

It was Cassie who started calling me Mars. Lexi had adopted it soon after. Marston is the name of an eighty year old lawyer, not a teenage boy.

I felt my shoulders tense. “Why not me?” I asked curtly. I was prepared for this question. Of course it was coming.

“I don’t know,” Lexi said slowly. “Just that you’re kinda, you know…”

“Scrawny,” Rue finished for her.

“I am not scrawny,” I insisted. Not for the first time.

“Your arms are skinnier than mine are,” Rue pointed out. Her voice was dry, without a single trace of irony or jest.

Lacking a proper retort for that, I settled for a glare.

Before Rue could say anything more, Lexi cleared her throat. She pushed a strand of brown hair off of her shoulder. “It just… it sounds like a physical job.”

“I can handle physical. Just you watch. When I come back, I’ll be so jacked. Rocks are heavy.”

Rue scoffed again. She has an annoying habit of finding everything I say comically ridiculous. “You are literally going to die. But, hey… at least Cassie will look pretty crying at your funeral.”

Lexi exhaled, retreating from the conversation.

Despite myself, I perked up. “Crying, really?” I asked. Too eager. “You think so.”

Rue gave me a long, pitying look. “You’re pathetic.”

“So I’ve been told.” By you, constantly, went unsaid. “Now answer the question.”

“Yes, you freak. She’d probably be crying.”

I nodded, satisfied. “Good… that’s good.”

“You’re not going to die, Mars,” Lexi said.

I managed a weak smile. “Thanks.”

“So, what,” Rue said, raising a knee to rest her chin on it. “You come back, you’re all strong, and you think Cassie will magically want you?”

I shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.”

Rue’s brow furrowed, as though I have just said something deeply stupid. “You couldn’t get a girl like Cassie in a million years.”

When Lexi sighed again, it was louder and more pointed. “Are we seriously having this conversation again?”

“Yes,” Rue and I said at the same time.

Lexi sighed for a third time.

“We’ll keep having this conversation until he stops being delusional,” Rue continued.

“I am not delusional,” I said firmly.

“While you’re freezing to death in Colorado, Cassie is going to see a thousand guys here. Guys who are already hot in real life, not their fantasies.”

“Canada.”

Rue exhaled. “That isn’t the point of the fucking sentence.”

“You know what, Rue?” I said quietly.

“What?”

“When I come back, and I look like Superman, I’m not even going to say ‘I told you so’.”

Rue tilted her head to one side. “When you come back, and you still look like a scrawny nerd, I am going to say ‘I told you so’.”

***

Near midnight, Lexi hugged me and slipped inside. As Rue and I mounted our bikes, the door opened again. “Mars?” This voice was smaller, softer, and achingly familiar.

I glanced at Rue. “Um, go on ahead,” I said. “I’ll catch up.” Rue gave me a skeptical look, but rode away. I turned my gaze to the girl on the doorstep.

Bathed in the golden glow of the porch light and backed by dark wooden paneling, Cassie Howard looked, as she so often does, like an angel. Her hair was still damp and dark from the shower. Her pajamas were a pink so pale it was almost absent. They looked soft. All of her looked soft. There has always been something hauntingly sad about Cassie’s beauty, but on that night it seemed lesser, somehow.

Cassie was the first person in this world to ever be kind to me, and for that I have always loved her. She was my first friend, my oldest friend, but I have spent every moment of that friendship praying for more.

“Yeah?” I said, my throat suddenly feeling very dry.

“Lexi told me you were going away?”

“Um, yeah.” I nodded, the apple of my throat bobbing as I swallow. “Canada.”

“How long?”

“Two months.”

Cassie digested that for a moment. She hesitated. One glance at the rain, and she seemed to make her mind up. She stepped out into the night, her bare feet making a pattering sound as she approached me. She stopped inches away.

The height difference meant she had to crane her neck to look up at me. Cassie is nine inches shorter than me, but at that moment we probably weighed about the same. “I’m gonna miss you, Mars.” The five words that kept me warm in the great white north. When the weather was below freezing, the thought of Cassie would embolden me. To know that, at that exact moment, while I was missing her, she was missing me as well. Not in the same way, maybe, but it still counts.

“Really?” I whispered.

Cassie laughed. Her laugh is the single most melodic, harmonious sound I have ever heard. It is sweeter than honey, warmer than fire, and softer than powder snow. “Yeah, of course.”

I did not have time to react before her arms were encircling me. I could smell her shampoo mingling with the acidic, oily scent of the rain. I could feel her breasts pressed against me and her slender fingers brushing just barely against the nape of my neck. I could not say, after, how long the hug lasted but to me it felt like an eternity and still too short a time.

There was a flush on my cheeks by the time she pulled back. Cassie had the grace to pretend she hadn’t noticed, though I was sure she had. Her hands lingered on my shoulders. “Just… come back to me, okay?”

My mind raced. What did she mean by that? The dreamer in me hoped she meant it in a romantic way, the logical part knew she did not. Slowly, I nodded. “Okay.”

Cassie smiled. My heart began an almost dangerous pace. “I should probably…”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “You should probably.”

Cassie leaned in and kissed my cheek. Her lips were soft as sin. I stood frozen as she turned and walked away. At the door, she paused. She glanced over her shoulder. “Two months, Marston… or I come and get you myself.”

I managed a grin. “Deal.”

She laughed again, and disappeared into her house. The latch clicked behind her.

As I rode away to rejoin Rue, I knew only one thing. I was going to get fucking ripped this Summer.

And I did.

Chapter Text

My flight gets into Los Angeles International Airport a little after four. The lash of my seat belt recedes, and I rise to my feet. I grab my carry on from the overhead compartment and sling the strap over my shoulder.

You cannot fly straight from Whitehorse, the capital and only city in Canada’s Yukon territory, to LA. I transferred in Vancouver. They still call it British Colombia, though it hasn’t been British since, at latest, 1982. Then again, we still call it Los Angeles despite the angels being long departed. The only angel I know is in East Highland.

There is a small crowd around the luggage carousel, so I rise onto the tips of my toes to see. My suitcase has not made it through yet, so I make my way to the front. “Sorry,” I mumble, when my shoulder knocks into guy. A few seconds later it happens again. “My bad.” People aren’t as aggressive as they used to be. I’m not exactly violent, but you cannot tell that at a glance. Hell, I wouldn’t mess with me either.

It is another ten minutes before my bag arrives. It is, like most things I own, black. The clothes I am wearing are new, hastily bought from a supply store when my old ones stopped fitting me. I might have been able to make them work, but I do not fancy walking around with what amounts to a tight crop top. Unfortunately, my current attire was designed to be worn in below fifty weather. It is too thick and insulating for California, so I hastily unzip the heavy coat and stuff it into my carry on. I take the fluffy sweater off too. It was a garish thing anyway. The t-shirt beneath is a lighter shade of gray than I usually like, but it will suffice.

As I leave the airport and step out onto the sidewalk, I raise a pale hand to shield my eyes from the glare of the sun. I hope it does not take me too long to get my color back.

I hail a cab. A yellow taxi rolls to a stop beside me. I open the back door and heft my suitcase onto the elongated bench seat. It lifts far easier than it did in June. I slide it across until it bumps against the far door, and climb in after it. I swing the door closed behind me.

Inside the cab smells of smoke and sweat. Through the haze, my gaze meets the driver’s in the rear view mirror. A portly, Hispanic fellow of about forty, he glances over his shoulder at me. The lit cigarette in his hand drips ash onto his shirt. “Where to, pal?”

“East Highland,” I say. “Highland County.”

“You got it, boss.” He takes one last drag, rolls the driver’s side window down, and flicks the cigarette out. He shifts into reverse and pulls away from the curb.

I sit back in my seat, settling in for the journey.

My mind turns first, as it usually does, to Rue.

I have not heard from her. At all. Not once since the week I left. Every text has been delivered but not read. Every call has gone straight to voicemail. Voicemails that have gone unanswered. I even tried to send her an email. I don’t know what I expected from that, I doubt Rue even checks her email. Come to think of it, I’m probably in her spam folder.

Most maddening of all, Lexi refuses to tell me anything. “She’s just busy, Mars,” Lexi claimed during a deeply frustrating interrogation over the phone in July. “She hasn’t been on her phone much.” It is easy to tell when Lexi is lying. She isn’t good at it. Lexi knows something she isn’t telling me, I would stake my life on it.

Rue is not dead. I know that much. Lexi wouldn’t keep that from me. But something is definitely up. I’ll swing by Rue’s house tomorrow, and get to the bottom of this.

“Hey,” I say. “Can I open the window.”

The driver does not look back at me. “Go for it.”

I turn the hand crank to pull the glass down. It goes with ease. Cool air flows into the cab, chasing away the smoke. I breathe in slowly, savoring it. The air of home.

***

It is past six when the cab pulls up at the end of my street. I thank and pay the driver, step out onto the sidewalk, and close the door behind me. I stand there for a moment, watching as the taxi drives away.

I have not even moved by the time another vehicle replaces it. Wait, I know that truck.

The Ram pickup, formerly the Dodge Ram, is a monstrously large truck. It makes you wonder if the owner might be compensating for something. Though in the case of Nate Jacobs, you do not dare to ask.

The passenger side window descends. Christopher McKay sits shotgun. He glances at me without recognition. It is clear he does not know why Nate pulled over. McKay graduated last semester. From what I heard, he got recruited to play college football for a D1 school not far from here. Everybody I know is certain that McKay will go pro and make the league. I see no reason to doubt them.

Beyond him, Nate Jacobs rests an arm on the steering wheel. His eyes are focused on me. He doesn’t blink. He seems to be taking me in, cataloging the differences between what I am now and what I used to be. Nate’s never given me any trouble. I haven’t asked Maddy, and she hasn’t brought it up, but I know it’s because of her.

Then, something strange happens. Nate smiles.

It isn’t the usual sneer or smirk I have come to expect from most of his teammates. It is friendly. Warm. It seems genuine. “Forster?” He says my name like seeing me is a pleasant surprise. As though we are not basically strangers. Until now, I wasn’t even entirely sure he knew my name.

"Jacobs," I say by pure, stiff reflex.

I see the recognition dawn slowly on McKay’s face. “Shit, man,” he says. “What happened to you?” His expression and question are good natured. McKay’s alright. We had math together last year, and it didn’t take him long to get my name right.

I realize that I still haven’t answered him. “Rocks,” I say quickly, eyes wide with panic. Fun little fact about me. I am more or less completely socially incompetent. There are, like, five people in the world I am able to converse with without seeming like a broken toy. You’ve met three of them, so the list is narrowing rapidly.

“Rocks?” Nate repeats.

I nod, the apple of my throat bobbing as I swallow. “Uh, yeah.” I nod again. “You know, like… carrying them?”

Nate appears to be filing that away. McKay appears to be unsure if I’m joking or not.

“Whatever, man,” Nate says. It is a little disarming how efficiently he controls the conversation. I doubt McKay even noticed it happening. Nate decides that line of questioning is over, so it is. “Look, we’re having a party tonight. You should come.” I know, even if McKay does not, that it is not an offer. Nate isn’t inviting me to a party, he is simple telling me I’m going to be there.

McKay nods amiably. “For sure.” He smiles. “Kinda the last big thing before I head to college. My place. Nine.”

“Yes,” I say, without a moment of hesitation. “I’ll be there.” Easy there, Forster. Don’t look desperate. I clear my throat, shoulders rising and falling as I shrug. “I mean, yeah. Maybe. I’ll see if I can make it.” My feigned indifference is transparent. All three of us know that I am going to that party.

“Alright, cool,” Nate says, shifting the truck into gear. “We got shit to do. See you, Forster.”

McKay gives me a nod and the window ascends once more. Nate’s truck pulls away from the curb. I am left there, three hours away from my first party. Well, my first real party. I’ve been to birthdays and stuff.

***

My bedroom is more or less how I left it. My bed is neatly made, a rarer sight than I would like to admit. The carpeted floor is no doubt thick with seventy days of dust build up. I’ll have to run a vacuum through here at some point. Above the bed, a Cooper Kupp poster stands proud. We got him in the draft last here. 69^th pick, absolute steal. The Rams were still in Missouri when I was born, but a year ago they came home to Los Angeles.

People are often surprised when they find out I like football. Or they used to be, at least. Probably not so much anymore.

I set my suitcase down on the floor and stop to think. The outfit I am currently wearing is not fit for a party. Any that might be are now several sizes too small. This is a thinker, alright. This isn't just another day at school, it's a party.

The solution hits me before long. I could simply borrow one of my dad’s suits. He’s about my height, maybe in a little worse shape. And he has enough that he wouldn’t notice one gone for a night.

I open my bedroom door just barely. I listen for sounds of footsteps or breathing on the landing or staircase. The coast is clear. I breathe a sigh of relief when I hear the vacuum cleaner begin its sucking noise downstairs. I pad across the hall, slipping into my parents’ bedroom. I find a suitable suit in the closet; black blazer and pants, white shirt, black tie, black dress shoes. I close the closet door behind me and return to my bedroom.

I take two showers, just to be sure. Then I take a third, because you never know. I spend a great deal of time in front of the mirror. I brush my teeth until they shine. I floss harder than I have ever flossed before. I comb every imperfection out of my black hair until it is uniform. Despite being clean shaven, I shave again. Hey, you can never be too careful.

Dressing is a simple matter. What’s more complicated is the tie. It takes me the best part of fifteen minutes to figure it out. More than once, I tie it into a strangling knot that I have to hastily unfasten.

When the tie is right, I look either like an eligible young bachelor or a dodgy pastor on day release. It is hard to say which is more accurate.

The collar is stiff around my neck, and I find myself adjusting it almost subconsciously. Sacrificing comfort for style is an easy choice to make. I imagine this is how women feel every time they wear heels.

***

The liquor store is empty when I enter, head held high in an effort to appear older than I actually am. I take my time, pretending to peruse the shelves as though I have any idea what is good. I’m not a big drinker, but tonight is a special occasion.

When I finally approach the counter, I rest a hip against the bar and try to emulate the kind of arrogance that comes with this suit. “I’m in the mood for champagne,” I say. “What would you recommend?”

Don’t ask for ID, don’t ask for ID, don’t ask for ID.

The cashier glances up from his phone. He blinks in surprise at the suit. “Can’t go wrong with Dom Pérignon.”

I nod. “I’ll take your word for it.”

The man turns and plucks a bottle wrapped in gold foil off of the shelf. He turns back to me, scanning the barcode on one side. “That’ll be $250.”

I almost balk at the price. Between this bottle, and Cassie’s gift, the money I earned in Canada is depleting quicker than I thought. “I see.” I lean in a little closer. “But what’s your best price?”

“$250,” he states plainly. “We don’t set the price, kid.” He puts emphasis on the word kid. He knows, and he’s willing to sell it to me anyway. But the opportunity window is closing.

“$250 it is,” I say bitterly. I fish twelve twenties and a ten out of my wallet. I look at it mournfully before handing it over. “Pleasure doing business with you,” I mutter as I leave the store.

***

McKay’s place is pretty damn nice when I arrive. Good for him. I stand on the doorstep, bottle in hand, and ring the doorbell.

In less than a minute, the door swings open. McKay stands in the doorway. His eyes take in the suit and the bottle. His surprise takes me aback. McKay is wearing a blue hoodie. I may have seriously misunderstood the dress code. I thought all those movies, of debauchery and incivility, were heavily exaggerated. I mean… Maddy always dresses up nice. Not age appropriate, maybe, but nice. “Hey,” McKay says. “What are you doing here?”

I blink, caught off guard. “You said nine,” I say quietly.

McKay laughs. “Yeah,” he agrees, scratching his chest absently, “but nine don’t mean nine. No one’s gonna be here til ten.”

“Oh.” I hesitate for a moment. “Do… do you want me to come back?”

McKay shakes his head. “Nah,” he steps back to let me in. “You’re here now.”

I cross over the threshold. As he closes the door behind us, I raise the bottle. “Here.”

McKay takes it, turning it over in his hand. He quirks an eyebrow, his gaze raising from the bottle to me. “Champagne?”

I nod. “I mean… you’re meant to bring something, right?”

“Uh, sure.” McKay nods too. “Definitely, yeah.” I appreciate that McKay isn’t mocking me. I must look completely out of my depth… which I am, to be sure.

I aim for a laugh that really comes out more like a nervous exhale. “Guy at the store didn’t even ask for ID.”

“I buy that,” McKay says, considering the suit again. He nods towards the hall. “C’mon.”

He leads me into what must be the living room. It is lit with hazy, red light that makes it feel like an abattoir or a brothel or both.

Barring McKay and I, every single person sat on those couches is shirtless. Adding the lighting to that, it is kind of a trip. What the actual fuck have I just walked into? I feel as though I have taken a wrong turn and stumbled upon a snuff scene.

It occurs to me, suddenly, that maybe they had me come early to murder me before the party started. Just as I am about to search for a hidden camera, McKay speaks up behind me. “Forster’s here,” he says, nodding to Nate. His tone is too normal to be that of a psycho killer. Too boring, in a way.

From his position in the center of the couch, Nate takes a long swig of his beer and looks at me. “What’s with the suit?”

Think of something, Forster. It doesn’t have to be fancy, just think of an excuse. Oh my God, say something. Just speak. I clear my throat. “Party’s no excuse to be a slob, right?” That’s it, dumb ass. Indirectly insult them. That will really win you friends.

Nate is silent for a long moment. His expression is unreadable. His eyes are cold, no trace of emotion in them. Eyes track between us, no one daring to say anything. Just as I begin to accept my imminent death, Nate laughs. “Fucking right,” he says. “Come on, sit down.”

I glance back at McKay, who nods. Slowly, tentatively, I move across the room and sit on the couch.

A guy I vaguely recall hands me a beer. “Thank you,” I say, popping the tab. They all seem to find my politeness funny. Except McKay, he doesn’t join in on the laughter. He looks a little down.

I take a sip, and then another. I don’t like beer. I don’t really like alcohol at all, to be honest with you, but beer is definitely bottom of that list. I manage to keep my face straight with every sip, but it requires great effort. Tastes like shit, in my opinion. Not, like, actual shit. Just bad.

McKay still isn’t all here. “Hey,” I say. “You good?”

“He’s in his feelings ‘bout a bitch,” says one of McKay’s younger brothers with amusement. Twins, I have never been able to tell them apart. The other just sniggers.

“Shut up,” McKay snaps at him.

Nate shrugs. He takes his time taking another swig of his beer, setting it down on a side table. “I had to show what him a whore Cassie Howard—”

“Don’t fucking call her that,” I say, rising to my feet. It is an instantaneous, instinctual reaction. I grip the beer so hard my knuckles turn white.

I feel the breath go out of the room. No one is looking at me, they all look at Nate. Nate’s eyes are on me. He looks surprised. Not intimidated, but something else. “Why do you care?”

“She’s… she’s my friend,” I say. I set the beer down, straightening up. “She’s not like that.”

I’m prepared to fight Nate. I’d lose, but at least I’d die for a noble cause.

“Isn’t she?” Nate asks.

“No,” I say firmly. “She isn’t.”

One of the other guys chuckles. “Shit,” he says, “maybe we should show Forster the videos.”

“Try it,” I urge him. “I’ll put you in the ground.”

The asshole’s face contorts and reddens with rage, but Nate puts a single arm out to keep him sat down. “Easy,” he says, and the coward obeys.

“Forster don’t mean it,” says McKay. I can’t help but notice he was in no rush to defend Cassie. He has gone well down in my estimation, if truth be told. This guy, Cass, seriously?

It shouldn’t come as much as a surprise to me that Cassie has found another boyfriend in my absence. Look at her, she obviously has options. McKay seems nicer than most. I give him three months, maybe. I wonder if it would be kinder to warn him now that, at some point, he’s going to fuck up and lose her. Or would that be me involving myself in a situation that really does not call for my presence?

“Just… just don’t call her that,” I say, sinking into the couch again and grabbing my beer.

“You heard the man,” Nate says.

McKay gives me a suspicious look. I hold the silence, and resist the urge to break eye contact. I win out, and eventually he looks down. Defend her. Say something.

This is not my room, and these are not my people.

Sensing that I really do not want to spend an hour in the company of these guys sober, I take another sip of my beer.

When I look up, Nate is watching me.

Chapter Text

Nate rises suddenly at nine-thirty. He rolls his broad shoulders, muscles gleaming in the hazy light as he stretches. “Forster,” he says. “You’re with me.”

“Um, okay,” I say. I rise to my feet as well, brow furrowed. I shoot McKay an inquisitive look. He looks confused by my confusion.

When Nate starts walking, I follow him. “Where are we going?” I ask.

Nate glances over his shoulder at me. “Where do you think we’re going?”

To that I lack an answer that does not make me sound paranoid.

Nate is four inches taller than me, and his gait is wider. I have to make an effort to keep up.

Please. Please. Please do not kill me.

A million news articles come involuntarily to my mind. Nate is just about the most frat boy coded person I have ever met, and I know what they are capable of. Was there something in that beer? Impossible, I popped the cap myself. I feel fully in control of my physical faculties, and that comes as an immense relief. I have yet to be roofied.

Nate leads me out of the front door onto the gravel driveway. It crackles and crunches beneath us. His truck is parked off to one side. As we approach, I glance down into the bed.

Four shiny, silver kegs lie in wait. My shoulders slump with relief. Beer, it’s just beer. I’m going to live.

Nate makes no immediate effort to unhook the tailgate. He leans against the body, crossing his arms over his chest. His dark eyes find mine. The silence lingers.

“You look different.” Not an insult. Not a compliment either. The observation stands for itself.

“I do,” I agree. I keep my expression carefully neutral. He might take a smile or a frown as a challenge. You do not smile at a silver back gorilla. I fail to see why the same logic should not apply to Nate.

A bird trills in a nearby tree. A train rattles along the tracks. Its whistle blares. On the road behind us, an engine revs. Nate still has not spoken. I’m not sure he’s blinked, either. Or maybe he has, and it just happens to have been while I was blinking.

“You want Cassie.” It is not a question.

“You have no proof of that.”

“I saw. It angered you, when I insulted her. It bothered you, to know she’s with McKay.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do.” Nate sighs. “Look, Forster, you want my advice?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t waste your time on a girl like that.”

“A girl like that?” I echo, my hand tensing at my side. “You don’t know her.”

“I know enough.” His look dares me to disagree. “I’ve seen enough. Half the school has seen enough.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“Of course you do.” He places a hand on my shoulder. “McKay wants to live in the fantasy. You’re smarter than that. You know what she is.”

My expression darkens. I shrug his hand off. “Careful.”

Nate laughs. “You’re not gonna hit me.”

“Keep going, let’s find out.”

“Just think about what I said, okay?”

“I don’t need to. You’re wrong.”

Nate smiles at that. Yet another surprise. “You’re stubborn. I respect that.”

It is annoying, how much his respect means to me. If Nate Jacobs can respect me, then maybe…

“Maddy worries about you,” he says.

That is the greatest surprise of all. Not that she worries, but that Nate has noticed. “You’ve talked to Maddy about me?” I ask.

“Not talked,” he clarifies. “Seen.”

“You see a lot of things.”

“I do.” Is he fucking with me?

I nod. “Okay.”

He turns and finally unhooks the tailgate. It falls. He hefts a heavy keg into my hands.

“Fuck,” I say, shifting my stance to accommodate the weight.

He lifts his own keg, and nods towards the house.

We carry the first two inside. He leads me to a back room, where a couple of receptacles for the kegs are set up. He lifts the keg into place. It clicks into place. The sound is very satisfying.

“Okay,” Nate says. “Your turn, Forster.”

I copy what I saw him do. My arms burn as I lift the heavy keg. The click is doubly satisfying this time.

Nate nods. “Good.”

It is strange, how good that simple affirmation makes me feel. Nate Jacobs thinks I am competent. He gave me a task, and I completed it to his satisfaction.

Nate claps me on the shoulder. “Bring the other two in.” Then, he turns and leaves.

I do as he says. It takes me another two trips, and my shoulders are aching by the time I am done.

***

By ten, the guests begin to arrive in earnest. I recognize almost every face, though how many know me is hard to say. I have traditionally been very good at observing. I remember names. If I ever find out something about a person, I usually remember that as well.

Nate finds me again in the cluster. “I can get you laid tonight, you know.” He says it with such effortless certainty that it is difficult not to believe him.

I blink, caught off guard. “Seriously?” I ask, sounding far too enthusiastic and desperate for my own good.

Nate nods. I hesitate.

“Not, like… against their will, right?” I ask cautiously. “Because consent is, like, important.”

“Do you think I’m a rapist?” Nate asks. He sounds more curious than offended.

“Not you specifically,” I clarify. “I just… if anyone is, it’s gonna be the jock, right?”

“You watch too many movies, Forster,” he says. His shoulders rise and fall as he shrugs. “You want my help or not?”

“Yes, please.”

He nods. “Come with me.”

Nate leads me to the landing in the middle of the staircase, where we have a decent view of the front door. He gestures with his solo cup.

My gaze tracks the motion to three girls in the entrance way.

BB's lips are wrapped around the mouthpiece of the vape pen in her hand. She pulls it away and exhales a blue cloud of vapor—bubblegum, if I had to guess. Her outfit leaves her stomach exposed, and I find myself looking at that area longer than is probably polite. The rips in her jeans are large enough to fit a hand through. I don’t know BB as well as the rest of her friends, but I am a lot more comfortable around her then I am McKay or the titan standing next to me.

Kat, compared to her more glamorous friends, looks less sure of herself. Her eyes are large behind her glasses, and her skin already looks a little clammy. Embarrassing as it is to admit, I used to be afraid of Kat. I thought she hated me. Turns out, that’s just kind of how she is. You have to learn to read the sincerity between the snark. Kat looks pretty tonight, though she probably would not believe it if anyone said so to her face.

And then there is Maddy. Madeleine Perez is the coolest person I have ever or will ever meet. I consider it the single greatest stroke of fortune in my entire life that Maddy likes me. She isn’t nice to me in the traditional sense, but she is kind to me. The difference is substantial, and it matters. Maddy is a bad influence on me, but in the best way. The world is a little less scary when she’s around. It’s like nothing can hurt me. Her outfit is pink and shapely, and of course she looks incredible in it. Maddy is liable to look incredible in anything.

Looking at her, it is easy to understand why Nate has been so dickish. I’d also be pretty ticked off if she dumped me.

Confession time: I push it a little with Maddy, because I know I can get away with it. I’m the only one who gets away with it. No one knows the Maddy I know. No one else sees it.

“Okay,” Nate says. “You’re up. BB, you see her?” But he isn’t looking at BB. His eyes are fixed on Maddy. There’s an anger there. A wounded pride. A regret.

“I see her.”

“She’s easy. Go talk to her. Do what I’d do.”

“Okay.”

To say that I am panicky in this moment, as I approach them, would be an understatement. I am producing more sweat than I thought humanly possible. My entire body is trembling, and I bite my tongue more than once as my jaw rattles. I have to clench my fists to steady myself.

When I reach them, I realize that I have no idea what Nate would do in this situation. When I look over my shoulder, Nate is gone. So much for his help.

I almost run, but then I look at Maddy. She looks at me, her lips curl in the faintest of surprised smiles, and all is well. I can do this.

I settle for a voice. I am aiming for charming yet dangerous, but it comes out more like Chris Griffin in that one episode of Family Guy where he is chemically castrated. Or a serial killer.

“Ladies,” I say, looking at the three of them appreciatively. “You’re all looking beautiful tonight. Absolutely… ravishing.” My gaze settles on BB. My hand rises. It is almost steady as I tuck a loose strand of brown hair back behind her ear. Her ears are warm, I note. “Especially you. Makes a man imagine… bad things. Sinful things. Things I cannot name in present company.” Not bad, Forster, not bad at all. Nice and smooth.

BB looks stunned. For the first time since I have known her, she seems to be speechless.

Maddy inhales very slowly and then exhales. “Okay,” she murmurs with astounding patience, her slender fingers closing around my wrist, “come with me.”

She tugs, and I know better than to argue with her. I let her lead me to a quieter alcove. Maybe that wasn’t as smooth as I thought.

I stand nearly a full foot taller than her, but I am under no illusions which of us are in charge here. Maddy could instruct me to leap from a moving train, and I would. Gladly.

“What are you doing?” The question is fond, tinged with an exasperated sort of warmth.

I hesitate. This is not going according to plan. “Nate said—”

“You’ve been talking to Nate?” I can tell she is not happy about this development.

“Um, yeah.”

“What did he say?”

“That BB was…”

“Slutty?”

“Easy.”

“What else?”

“That I should do what he would do. I didn’t really know what was that, so I aimed for charming.”

“That wasn’t charming, that was creepy.”

“All’s fair in love and war?”

Maddy rolls her eyes at that, but she smiles at the same time. “You’re an idiot.” It is the greatest term of endearment I have ever known.

I smile as well. “You don’t think it was at least a little charming?”

“You looked terrified.”

“In a good way?”

“In a ‘who let this loser out of the psyche ward’ way.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Maddy gives me a once over. Whatever she sees, it seems to amuse her. “You’re wearing a suit.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“It’s a party.”

“Am I wearing a dress?”

“You’re wearing a skirt. That’s not unlike a dress.”

“So, no then.”

I know I’m not winning this one. “I think I look quite dashing.”

“You do,” she allows. “Just… take the jacket and the tie off, at least.”

Slowly, I nod. “Okay.” I shrug out of the jacket, folding it neatly over one arm.

“Here,” Maddy says, reaching up. She works the knot of the tie, her hands cool against the warm skin of my throat. As the tie loosens, she tugs it away.

She licks her thumb and smooths out my brow. As she flattens down the front of my shirt, she tilts her head to one side and then the other. “Look at you,” she murmurs, straightening the hem. There is something like pride in her voice. “You’re finally hot, Mars.”

“Thanks?”

She laughs. “You know what I mean. You were always cute, now you’re fuckable. It’s an upgrade, trust me.”

“I trust you.”

She exhales, but the smile doesn’t fade. “Shut up.” She pauses. Her expression softens. “You know Cassie will be here tonight? With—”

“McKay,” I finish for her. “I know.”

***

It had been about a month since I began middle school. A month since Cassie had found me, and decided on the spot that she was going to adopt me.

Lexi and I hit off in no time at all after Cassie pushed us together. Rue was still not entirely sure about me. I broke her down though, in the end.

It was a warm Friday afternoon. The kind before the fall really gets cold. The last lingering heat of summer, before we are all dragged kicking and screaming into winter. Or they are, I should say. I have always preferred the colder months.

Since the time that Cassie introduced us, it has been our custom to gather in Lexi’s living room of a Friday, spread our homework out before us, and get through it in one go. When I say our homework, I obviously include Rue’s as well. If she does join, and she sometimes does, it is mostly to provide commentary and criticize the way we handle concepts she does not entirely understand.

Cassie and Maddy were sitting on the other couch. They were whispering something to each other. Cassie kept looking over at me, and breaking into giggles. Maddy was probably looking as well, but she was more subtle.

Finally, they decided to lay their trap.

They both moved, Cassie with a giddy sort of mischief and Maddy with an enchanting grace, perching on the coffee table in front of me. “Marston,” Maddy said, pretending to inspect her nails in the sunlight. It was the first time she had ever initiated a conversation with me. She had seemed so imperious, so utterly untouchable. She looked up at me, her eyes narrow. “Who do you like?”

Cassie giggled again. “Yeah, Mars. Who?”

Lexi did not look up from a textbook, but her pencil stopped its scratching.

“No one,” I said at once. A reflexive denial. I did not look at Cassie.

“No one,” Maddy repeated, as though tasting the words. “Are you sure?”

Cassie’s smile was devious. As she is almost two full years older than me, I used to worry that Cassie only saw me as a little kid. Times like this was when the worry was the worst. “Come on, Mars,” she said. “You can tell us.”

“He told you,” Lexi said. It was a weak effort, without much conviction behind it. She didn’t believe me either. “It’s no one.”

I nodded fervently. “No one.”

Cassie seemed to find this the funniest of all, and giggled again. “Aw,” she cooed. “Are you shy?”

“No,” I insisted. I was sure I was red.

Maddy went back to her nails, but I could see her mind working behind her eyes.

Later that evening, I poured myself a glass of water in the kitchen. The liquid was tepid and soothing as it slid down my throat. I turned.

Maddy stood only two inches from me, her gaze boring into mine. The height difference between us was less severe back then. I dropped my drink. Maddy’s fingers closed around the glass before it could hit the floor. She pushed it back into my hand.

“It’s Cassie, isn’t it?” she said, calm as you like.

“What?”

“You like Cassie.” Even at twelve, Maddy was too perceptive for her own good.

“Can you keep your voice down.”

“She’s in the backyard, she can’t hear.”

“What if it was Cassie?” I asked. I tried to stand a little taller.

Maddy considered that for a second. “Look,” she said, her tone more gentle than I knew her to be capable of at that time. “That’s… that’s really sweet, Marston.”

“But?”

“But Cassie has a type.” There it is, I thought.

“And that type isn’t me.”

“It isn’t.” In time, I came to appreciate this about Maddy. She didn’t lie, or say what she thought I wanted to hear. She was honest with me. She told it true.

“Right. Thanks for the heads up,” I said with a hint of bitterness.

“I’m not saying this to be a bitch.” She touched my arm. “Just… don’t get your hopes up, okay?”

“What if they’re already up?”

“Then you’re insane.” She grinned. “That’s so much better than being boring.”

From that day on, somehow, Maddy became my friend. The following Monday at school, nobody bothered me. They knew not to.

***

As we move to rejoin the group, Maddy glances at me. “Oh, for what it’s worth, I think you might actually have a chance now.”

“Wait, really?”

“Bitch, the minute McKay’s at college she’ll be all over you.” She smirks, a wicked expression. “Maybe.”

“Don’t toy with me.”

“But you make it so easy, Mars.”

When we reach them, I give BB an awkward smile. “Um, sorry,” I say, not quite able to meet her eye. “I don’t know what came over me. I don’t… don’t make it a habit of saying things like that.”

BB looks at Maddy uncertainly, then back at me. “So, what,” she says, “you’re hot now, but you’re still a weirdo?”

I shrug. “I don’t know, maybe.”

BB shrugs and takes another pull from her vape. “I can work with that.”

“Oh my god, BB, he’s not a weirdo,” Kat mutters. “You can’t just call people that.”

“You’ve called me that,” I remind her.

Kat arches a brow. “I call you it ironically.”

“Oh, sure,” I say dryly. “Totally different.”

Kat opens her mouth to retort, but from the doorway; “What the fuck?”

I turn.

Rue is looking at me like she has never seen me before. Like I am a stranger, wearing the skin of the boy she knew.

Chapter Text

“I told you so,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

Rue blinks. It is slow, as though her eyelids are heavy. “You said you weren’t going to say that.”

“I lied.” I take a step towards her. “I tried calling you. Nothing. I tried texting you. Nothing.”

Maddy’s fingers close around my upper arm. “Marston.” Her tone is one of warning; drop this, now.

I ignore her. “Where were you?”

“Rehab,” Rue says. The word hangs stark and shocking in the still air.

I open my mouth, as if to speak, but nothing escapes. “What?” I finally manage.

“Gia found me.”

“Found you?”

“Overdose. Two days after you left.” She blinks again. “So… yeah. That’s why I didn’t answer your fucking calls.”

“It… it was bad,” Maddy admits. “We didn’t know… we thought she died.”

“I did.” Rue says. “They resuscitated me.”

My stomach suddenly feels like a vacuous pit, my insides coiling and turning over themselves. I feel almost drunk, though I have only had one beer. My chest contracts.

I possess a world class ability of making anything bad that happens to somebody I care about my fault, even if it couldn’t possibly be. Already my mind is putting the pieces together. I went away this summer. Rue overdosed this summer. Therefore, she overdosed because I went away. She almost died. Her sister will be traumatized for life, and it is all because I was not here to stop it.

“I’m sorry,” I hear myself say.

“No,” Rue says firmly. “Don’t do that. Don’t make this about you.”

“Sorry—”

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop apologizing for everything?”

My stomach turns again. My mouth feels dry. Has it always been this hot in here?

I take another step towards Rue. “We’re leaving.” I know exactly what sort of substances will be passed around tonight. Since we were kids, Rue has been telling me they are party drugs. Harmless. Fun. No more. I won’t allow it any longer.

“Mm, no we’re not,” Rue says. Even now, though I could lift her with one arm, she doesn’t take me seriously.

“You think I was asking? Come on, I’m taking you home.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You think so?”

I take a step towards her, but Maddy puts a single hand on my chest to stop me.

“I’m serious, Maddy. I—”

“I know,” says Maddy. “Marston, I know you are.” Her look is meaningful. “Wouldn’t you rather have her here, where you can keep an eye on her?”

Rue huffs a laugh. “Whatever,” she says. “If you wanna play babysitter, knock yourself out. But I’m not going anywhere.”

“Midnight,” I say, with great reluctance. “You have until midnight. Then we’re going, Rue.”

“Whatever,” she repeats. She smirks. “I’ll, uh, make sure to come find you.” I know she has no intention of doing anything of the sort.

“Midnight, Rue,” I repeat.

“Damn, Forster,” BB puts in. “When did you get all bossy?” If I’m not mistaken, she seems to like it.

Rue gives BB a look of visible, deep disgust. Her gaze shifts to me, as though daring me to get cocky. Then she turns.

I move after her, but Maddy holds me in place. “Let her go,” Maddy says. “She’ll be fine.”

Slowly, I nod. The tension eases, just slightly, out of my shoulders. “Okay.” I watch Rue go, my expression troubled. “I need a drink,” I sigh, flexing the fingers of my hand. I look at the three of them. “Do you girls like champagne?”

***

The champagne tastes of fruit, and bread, and sugar, and spice, and I have to resist the urge to gag as I swallow it. “This is fucking disgusting,” I say. The taste lingers on my tongue, and I almost wince.

Maddy swirls the liquid around her own flute with all the refinement of a queen. She has shown no visible reaction to the taste. She’s bluffing, definitely.

“It’s not… that bad,” Kat says charitably. She braves another sip.

Maddy raises the flute to her nose. She breathes in. “It’s horrible, Kat.”

“It’s horrible, but this shit is bougie,” BB points out. “How much were they paying you up there?”

“A lot,” I admit. I shrug. “The work was technically dangerous, so… call it hazard pay.”

BB smiles. “That’s so fucking hot.”

Kat clears her throat. The cough sounds suspiciously like the words, “gold digger.”

BB doesn’t deny it. She just grins.

The crowd shifts, and I get my first clear view of the landing where Nate and I were standing earlier.

Cassie, sitting on the carpet with one leg resting over the other, looks resplendent as the sun glinting off the Pacific. Her hair is tousled as if by some artisan breeze. It frames her face elegantly. Everything about Cassie is elegant. Her dress hugs her figure in a way that is alluring but not scandalous. The soles of her sneakers are as white and pristine as her soul. She holds a red solo cup in her hand. The sweet, shy smile she is giving McKay rends my heart in two.

For his part, McKay is still wearing that blue hoodie. He is sitting next to the most important person in the room, and he doesn’t even have the decency to act like it. His boyish charm seems to be working on her, and I hate him for it. I hate his stupid smile, and his stupid, big ass house, and that stupid fucking hoodie most of all. I hate that I still kind of like him, despite it all.

“Marston,” Maddy says, turning my chin with two fingers and breaking my line of sight on Cassie. She doesn’t let my face go immediately. “You have your whole life to stare at her. You could at least try to have a good time tonight.”

“I am having a good time,” I insist. “I’m… drinking with friends. It’s the Great American Pastime, right”

BB sidles closer. “If Forster needs a distraction, I’m game.” This declaration is followed by yet another vape puff.

Is this what female attention feels like? It’s different. It’s weird. It’s kind of scary. I like it.

I clear my throat. “Really?”

“No,” Maddy sighs. “Not her.” She tilts her head to one side. “Nate had a point though. You should get laid tonight.”

Slowly, my head turns. My gaze finds Kat. I raise an eyebrow, then look meaningfully to the ceiling.

Kat’s mouth parts, her eyes widening behind her glasses. “Me?” she says incredulously.

“Not her either, Marston,” Maddy says, as though dealing with a slow child. “You might wanna start with someone other than Cassie’s friends.”

“Especially not this virgin,” BB says with a smirk.

Kat flushes red. She finishes the contents of her flute, sets it down with more force than is strictly necessary on the counter, and walks away.

“You’re such a cunt,” Maddy says, looking at BB with admonishment.

“What?” BB says, as though surprised by the reaction. “It was a joke.” She does as Kat did, finishing her drink and walking away.

Maddy sighs, and shakes her head, and turns back to me. “Get drunk,” she suggests. “I think you’ll need it.”

***

“Her name’s Sarah,” Maddy informs me as she leads me through the party. The crowd parts for her as though her mere presence demands it. “She goes to South Highland. She’s in your grade. She’s single, she’s fun… you know what fun means, Marston. Don’t try any lines, don’t try and be Nate, just be you… you but less panicky.”

We stop in front of a girl who’s skirt is more of a concept than a physical artifact. Her mousy brown hair is tied behind her in a long ponytail that swishes when she turns. Her and Maddy hug, and Maddy keeps an arm around her. “Sarah, oh my god, have you met Marston?” Where the fuck did that voice come from? Five years, and not once have I heard her talk like that.

Sarah’s eyes drop to my feet, and slowly trail up to to the top of my head. She smiles. “I don’t think so.” She bites her lip. “Hi, Marston.”

For what feels like a year and a day, I say nothing. My mouth opens, it moves, but all that comes out is an incoherent jumble of consonants. Maddy raises both eyebrows.

Sarah blinks. To her credit, she tries to roll with it. “Aw, sweetie, did I break you?”

My breath catches in my throat. I feel as though I am about to suffocate. Shit, the collar of this shirt is too tight. “I- I- I- uh…” I take a deep breath. “Would you… like to… make love… with… me?”

Sarah pales. Maddy shakes her head sharply, her eyes frantic.

“You know, I think I hear my friend,” Sarah says. There is no friend. Of course there isn’t a friend. “I should go see if she’s okay.” She disentangles herself from Maddy’s arm. Her pace is brisk as she walks away.

Maddy fixes me with a look. She takes a deep, calming breath. “What is wrong with you?”

“I panicked,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

“I told you not to panic.”

“Yeah, well, I did.”

“Why would you ask her to make love with you, you fucking freak?”

“I don’t know, it just slipped out.” I try for a smile, but it really comes off as more of a grimace. “You know, before I said… that, I think she was into me. I’m counting that as a success.”

“No.”

“But—”

“I said no, Marston.”

“Fine.” I exhale. “Well, thanks for trying.”

Maddy quirks a brow. “Did I say we were done?”

“No,” I admit. “I just assumed…”

“You assumed wrong,” Maddy says. “We are going to try this again. You are going to smile, you are going to say hey, at no point are you going to ask her to make love with you.”

“Right.”

Maddy scans the crowd. I see her eyes narrow as they find a suitable target. “C’mon,” she says, turning on her heel.

I follow her through the crowd once more. We stop before a girl wearing a dark navy hoodie. A woman after my own heart, clearly.

Yet again, Maddy hugs her, and, yet again, Maddy uses the voice. “Hilary, oh my god, you have to meet Marston.”

Hilary considers me through her lashes. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I echo. It almost sounds casual. Almost. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too.” Beside her, Maddy nods encouragingly.

Alright, this isn’t going too badly. Small talk. That’s what people do. “I like your tattoo,” I say, gesturing to the large crescent moon beneath her left eye.

I see Maddy sigh before I see the look of offense on Hilary’s face. “You’re such a dick,” she says, tears already welling in her eyes. Her palm connects with my cheek, turning my face to the right. The slap is loud enough to hear over the music. She is already walking away when I face the front again.

“What was that for?” I ask, holding a hand to my reddening cheek.

“That tattoo was a birth mark, Marston,” Maddy informs me.

“Oh,” I say quietly. “You could’ve warned me.”

“How was I supposed to know you were gonna bring it up.”

“Fair point… should I go apologize?”

“No,” Maddy says. She shakes her head.“You’d only make it worse.” She squares her shoulders. “Let’s try this again.”

***

After I scare the fourth girl away, Maddy lets out a sigh. “Okay, this isn’t working,” she says. “Just… take the night off, Mars.”

“Are you sure?” I ask.

“Very sure.” She touches my arm one last time and slides away. The party swallows her.

I spend the next hour or so doing what I like to call mingling. It mostly involves leaning against a wall while a group converses around me, but never joining in on the conversation. I can look pretty darn normal, so long as I keep my mouth shut. Occasionally a girl will give me a soft, hopeful smile. I know those smiles would stop the moment I tried to speak, but it’s quite nice when it happens.

When I pass by the back door, I chance to look into the yard. My eyes, as if drawn by some invisible magnet, find Rue.

The guy sitting next to her has a buzzed head and a faded, dazed expression that suggests the lights are on but nobody is home. Her dealer.

I should go to her, I think. I should grab her and drag her away from him right now. Or I should kill him. Slay him, right where he sits.

Yet before I can move, she’s rising. She doesn’t stop when she passes me, but I immediately turn and follow her to the kitchen anyway.

“Don’t say it,” she drawls.

“Stay away from him,” I say, loud enough to be heard over the pulsating music. “Don’t even think about it, Rue.”

“Or just say it anyway, why not?”

“I’m serious, Rue.”

“You’re always serious, Marston. You—“

“YOU WANNA FUCKING HURT ME?” shouts a voice neither of us recognize. Rue gives me a look, and we both turn.

In the kitchen, Nate cowers back against the counter. The room is trashed, empty cups strewn about like a thousand stars on an inky night sky. Clean up will be a bitch tomorrow.

“No, no, no, no,” he says, shaking his head.

A girl I have never seen before is holding him at knife point. Pretty, I think. She looks like an elf. Like Princess Zelda, or something. Her hair is dyed, and she isn’t dressed like anyone else. Hell, she is still wearing her backpack. I can’t seem to take my eyes off of her. Neither can Rue. I wonder what Nate did to provoke such an aggressive reaction.

“You have no fucking idea,” she says. She raises the knife, and for a horrible moment I think she is about to gut Nate. I take a mad, suicidal step forward, but Rue yanks me back by my sleeve.

The girl slices the blade across her own arm below the sleeve. A deep, painful looking gash that oozes blood like syrup from a stump. My breath hitches, Rue looks transfixed. The stranger keeps her arm raised, so everyone can see.

“Fucking Christ, you’re psycho,” Nate says, with genuine horror in his eyes.

“I’m fucking invincible,” declares the stranger. Based on the blood, unlikely. She dabs her open wound on Nate’s bare shoulder. It leaves a bloody smear that mixes with the sweat on his skin.

“Fucking freak.” Nate recoils. “What the fuck?”

The girl steps back, knife still in hand. She slowly lowers her arm. She smiles at the growing crowd of onlookers. “By the way, I’m Jules,” she says. “I just moved here.” She steps over a cup and walks out of the kitchen, never dropping the knife.

Slowly, Rue turns her head to look at me. I know we are thinking the same thing.

“Yeah, no,” I say, a little breathless. “That was really fucking hot.”

Rue nods, as though I am finally talking sense. “I’m going after her,” she decides.

“Are you crazy?” I ask.

“No, but she might be.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No,” she says suddenly, turning and pointing at me. “Stay.”

“I’m not a dog—“

“Marston, stay.”

I hesitate. “Just… don’t get stabbed.”

“I can’t promise that,” Rue says. She follows after the stranger. Jules, I think she called herself.

I approach Nate warily, very aware that we are now the only two people in the kitchen. Crowd dispersed quick. “What… what was that about?” I ask.

“Don’t worry about it,” Nate says. He shakes his head. He still looks a little shook. “Just some… fucking freak.”

“Um, yeah,” I say. “Crazy.”

Nate nods. He glances at the blood on his flesh with distaste, then his gaze returns to me. “You’re playing football this year.”

I am so surprised and excited by the news that I almost miss the part where that wasn’t a question. I blink. “Seriously?”

“McKay’s gone,” Nate says. “Someone has to replace him.”

“Yes,” I say at once. “Oh my god, yes. I am so in.”

Nate nods again. “You’re bigger than McKay… we’ll make you a running back. Opposition’ll have a hell of a time getting the ball off you.”

“You remember?”

“I remember everything, Forster.”

***

I had been a freshman, then. Nate was a sophomore, but he had been a freshman when he made the team. Starting quarterbacks are almost never that young. Nate was only fifteen, and he was already captain of the East Highland Blackhawks.

Lexi and I were sitting in the quad. Rue was late that morning and was spending her lunch period in detention.

Nate came walking through with a couple of his teammates. They were all two years his senior, yet followed him around like he was their better.

One of them had a football, and he was throwing it high into the air and then catching it again. Except this time, he fumbled the catch and the ball knocked off of his knee.

I didn’t even think. I just stuck out a hand and caught it before it could hit Lexi in the face. I stood with it.

The guy held out his hand. “Hand it over.”

Something about his attitude, coupled with the fact he had almost brained Lexi, rubbed me the wrong way. So I looked up at him, and smiled. “Ask nicely.”

He didn’t ask nicely. He just reached for the ball. I tucked it against my chest, and held on tight. The guy tried to prize it out of grip, but I wasn’t letting it to.

Eventually he just grabbed me by my collar and threw me against the wall. I heard Lexi gasp. Still, I didn’t release it. “Go fuck yourself,” I spat.

The guy probably would’ve hit me, but Nate said, “leave him,” and that was the end of that. Nate took a step forward, holding out his own hand. “Can we have the ball back”

“Sure,” I said. I threw it to Nate, but I was looking at the asshole who had accosted me. As they walked away, I sat down.

“Mars?” Lexi said, very quietly.

“What?”

“Nate’s staring at you.”

I did not have to look up to know she was right.

***

“Tryouts are next Friday,” Nate continues, wetting a paper towel and scrubbing at the drying, congealing blood on his shoulder and chest. “Basically a formality. I say you’re on the team, you’re on the team, but… you know.”

“Yeah.”

“We need to get you in the gym. See how your cardio is.” He claps me on the shoulder. “We start Monday. First thing after school.” He sighs. “This is my last season, Forster. It’s my last chance to win something. Don’t let me down.” He walks away.

I should go home, I think. This party has nothing more for me.

As I pass the staircase, BB appears. “Guess who just punched her V-card.”

“Who?” I ask.

BB grins. “Kitty-Kat, duh. Just now.” She laughs, and sprints back up the stairs.

Great, I think. Yet another person who has beat me. I know it isn’t a race, or a competition, but this is really starting to grind my gears.

The gravel crunches beneath me as I begin to walk up McKay’s driveway. God, I am tired. I feel as though I am about to collapse. I haven’t slept since Whitehorse.

Chapter Text

The graveyard is cool, raising goosebumps on my arms and the hair on the back of my neck. The grass is frigid with frost beneath my feet. It crunches with every step. The sky is a purple so dark it almost seems black.

I turn around, and expect to see the old church, but it isn’t there. The graveyard stands alone in an endless plane. It goes on forever. There is no horizon. Just graves and tombs and hummocks. The mausoleums stretch high into the sky. The gargoyles on their pillars seem to taunt me. Their mouths are moving, and the most horrific of sounds emerge.

I am wearing a suit again. Black tie. For a wedding, maybe. Or a funeral.

The cry in my ears is desperate and tormented. A miserable, merciless sound of anguish. I follow it, my feet feeling heavy and languished. Every joint aches. My heart beats so fast it seems likely to spring free of my chest and leave me with a gaunt cavity in its place.

A girl kneels before me, the grave between us. Her head is hung low, her hair obscuring her eyes. She almost looks like…

“Gia?” I call as I near. Again, louder, “Gia?”

It takes her a tortuously long time to look up.

When she does, I wish she hadn’t. She has no eyes. Just dark sockets, leaking blood that rolls down her cheeks like crimson tears. Her skin is tinged blue. Her fingers are dark, as though all the blood has fled to her extremities. “You could have saved her.” Her voice is thick with hatred.

“Saved who?” I ask, my voice breaking. “What are you talking about?”

“You could have saved her,” she says again. “Where were you, Marston? You could have saved her. Where were you?”

“Gia,” I say, “you’re scaring me.”

“You could have saved her.” Gia opens her mouth again. For a moment, all I hear is a strained, strangled, gagging sound. Then foam, or vomit, or maybe both, begins to flow from her maw. “You could’ve saved her. You could have saved me.” She is choking on it. She’s going to die.

“Gia!” I run forward, but the closer I get to her the further she seems to be.

“You failed us, Marston,” Gia rasps. “You failed us all.” Then, she is still. I blink, and she is gone.

When I round the grave, I see the words carved into the moss-covered stone for the first time.

Ruby Bennett

September 14^th, 2001 -

My vision blurs before I can read the date of death. I stumble back, nauseated. The root claims me. My head hits the frozen ground with a sickening thud.

***

I wake with a start, jolting upright. My breath comes in heavy, heaving pants. Sweat mars my vision and wets my brow. My eyes burn.

“Fuck,” I gasp. “Fuck, fuck.” I run a hand through my hair. It comes away drenched. The pillowcase and bed sheet beneath me are soaked through, as are my shorts.

Just to clarify, I have not pissed myself. It is sweat.

A dream, I tell myself. Just a dream. Fuck.

I try to rise from my bed, but a lancing pain in the back of my skull, and then my temples, keeps me bound to the mattress. Huh, this is new.

The honking horn of a car driving past seems unreasonably loud, and it threatens to split my head in two. It is a dull pain, not at all localized. It seems to consume my mind entirely, burning here and then there in equal measure.

The beer and overpriced champagne find their end decorating the toilet bowl. Having churned in my stomach, they can now churn in the sewers. I flush my liquid shame away.

$250, I think bitterly. That clerk took me for a fucking fool. And I let him. Consumerist nonsense. A predatory peddler of poison, and I fell right into his trap.

When I try to shower, the water is somehow freezing cold and scalding hot at the same time. The scent of shampoo and soap are offensive to my nose. Every scent is offensive. I soldier through it, gritting my teeth and squeezing my eyes shut so tightly I see stars on an endless cosmos of the mind.

I dress in the dark. It hurts too much to turn the lights on. I feel as though I can hear them. A lingering buzz, like a fly left in the room.

Before I head out the door, I take the box out of my suitcase and slip it securely into the front pocket of my hoodie.

***

When I get to Lexi’s house, I do not dare to risk the doorbell. I rap my knuckles against the dark wood that constitutes the front door. Except it is not Lexi that comes.

“You’re here early,” Cassie says, not looking up from her phone. Her sweater is a paler shade of blue than her eyes, and is cropped just above the waistband of her white skirt. The sliver of skin it puts on display is hard to look away from.

“You were expecting me?” I ask, bemused.

Cassie looks up so fast she almost drops the phone. “Marston?” She steps into me. I hesitate, not sure where it is appropriate to put my hands, before settling for one between her shoulder blades and the other just above the small of her back. This feels right. It is intimate enough to be a real hug, but not approaching gropey or creepy territory. After a moment, Cassie steps back. I let her go. Her gaze drapes over me. She worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “Wow, I… I thought BB was kidding, but… wow.”

“What exactly did BB say?”

“Nothing. Oh my god, nothing. Just your name in the group chat, and… a couple of emojis.”

“What emojis?”

Cassie laughs. “If I told you, you’d get an ego.”

“Who’s to say I’m not getting one already.”

“Don’t get cocky, Mars. You’re still my dork.” The wording is not lost on me. Not a dork, her dork.

“Has a nice ring to it, though, right?” I say. I clear my throat. “Marston Forster, ladies man.”

Cassie laughs even harder at that. “In your fucking dreams.”

“Only some nights.” Every night.

She exhales an amused breath, shaking her head. Her hand extends, her fingers wrapping around my wrist. “Well, come in, then. I’m not that scary, am I?”

“Terrifying,” I say, though I let her lead me over the threshold anyway.

“Shut up.” Cassie grins. “You know you love it.” More than you could ever know. Cassie looks down at her own outfit, her smile softening. “I’m going to the mall,” she says. “Do I look okay?”

“Um, yeah,” I say. “You look fine.”

I see the light in Cassie’s eyes die a little. “Just fine?” Idiot, I think. You know how she is.

“Beautiful,” I correct myself. “You look beautiful, Cass.” I feel myself swallow. “You always look beautiful, you know?”

Cassie looks down, her hand rising to tuck her hair behind her ear. She has pretty ears. That might sound weird, but you’d get it if you were standing here right now. “You’re just saying that,” she accuses. The flush that rises on her cheeks is the most adorable thing I have ever seen.

“When do I ever just say something?” I ask softly.

Cassie looks up again. “Never,” she admits.

“So if I say you look good, and I don’t just say things, that must make it true, right?”

Cassie smiles, nodding her head. “Right.” She nods again. “Right.” Slowly, her smile shifts to be more teasing. “Maddy said you struck out last night.”

“Four times.”

She snorts, covering her mouth with her hand. It is a weirdly attractive sound.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say. “Laugh it up.”

“Hey,” Cassie says gently. “At least you tried. I mean, you tried with four girls, Mars. That’s better than zero.”

“One of them slapped me,” I admit.

Cassie bites her lip. “Did you deserve it?”

I think for a moment. “I’m not entirely sure.”

Her resulting laugh is suddenly over cut by the honking of a car’s horn. “That’ll be the girls,” Cassie says. “I’ll see you later, Marston.”

“I got you something,” I blurt, when her back is to me.

Cassie turns, raising an eyebrow. “You did?”

“For your birthday,” I say. “I had a four hour layover in Vancouver on my way back. I went for a walk, and I saw something, and… and I thought of you.”

Cassie turned eighteen over the summer. This time next year, she won’t be here anymore. She’ll be at college, or wherever else she goes. Cassie could go anywhere, and it would be a better place for the simple fact of her presence.

I take the box out of my front pocket. “Here.”

Cassie takes it with a smile. “Thank you.” She unfurls the ribbon carefully, as though determined not to damage it. She lifts the lid and slides it off of the casing. “Oh, Mars,” she says. “It’s beautiful.” She lifts the necklace out of its padded seat, holding it up to the light. The gold is the color of her hair, the centerpiece the color of her eyes. She glances up at me. “How much—”

“Don’t ask,” I say quietly. “You’d think I was an idiot.”

“I already think you’re an idiot, dummy.” She holds the necklace out. “Put it on me?”

My swallow feels heavy. I nod, taking it back.

Cassie turns. She lifts her hair with one hand, giving me her neck. Her tanned skin is warm to the touch as I try and slot the necklace around her slim throat. My fingers fumble with the clasp, and I drop it when the horn honks again. Cassie laughs. “Careful,” she says.

I crouch and pick up the necklace. This time, I manage to clasp it around her neck. Cassie puts her hair down, and turns back to me. Outside, the horn blares, longer this time. “Okay,” Cassie says. “Now I really gotta go.” She gives me one of the utterly platonic side hugs Maddy shared with those girls yesterday, and slips out of the door. I stand in the foyer for a moment, looking at the door as though hoping her to walk back through it.

***

Lexi is reading when I step into the bedroom she shares with her sister. She closes the book around her finger to mark her place, her clever eyes landing on me. “Huh,” she says.

“Huh,” I respond.

“You actually did it.”

“I actually did it.”

Lexi smiles. I smile as well. “Sit down.” she says. She pats the mattress beside her own leg. Lexi’s bed is bigger than a single but smaller than a double, so I keep one leg off the bed as I sit.

Lexi sits up a little straighter, considering me for a moment. “You hold your weight differently,” she says.

“What?”

She nods. “Your shoulders are broader, and you don’t slouch as much.”

“Oh. Is it better?”

“It’s different.”

“So, yes?”

“Oh, way better.” She tilts her head to one side. “You didn’t take anything, did you?”

“Like what?”

“Like human growth hormone.”

I give her a dry look. “Seriously? No, I didn’t take anything.”

“You promise?”

I hold up my pinky finger. “I promise.”

Lexi curls her own pinky around mine. “Good.” We shake, and then release.

“Speaking of taking something,” I segue. “I saw Rue.”

“Oh?” Lexi says, very quietly.

“Two months, Lex. Why didn’t you say anything?”

Lexi sighs. “Because I knew how you’d take it, Mars.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, feigning ignorance.

“You know what I mean. You’d freak out, and rush back, and try and get her clean yourself. She didn’t need that. She needed professional help. Not Marston help.”

“Yeah, well,” I say quietly. “I’m not sure how much help that was.”

Lexi frowns. “I know.” She hesitates. “Rue and I don’t really talk anymore. She’s been back two weeks… I’ve only seen her once.

“Once?” I ask.

“Once,” Lexi repeats. “She came over yesterday, while we were having dinner. She wanted…” Lexi’s voice trails off.

“What?”

She grimaces. “Don’t make me say it.”

“Well, now I have to know,” I say.

“Alright, alright, fine,” Lexi says. She sighs. “She wanted me to piss in a cup for her.”

I blink. “What?” I say blankly.

“You heard me.”

“Did you, uh… give her what she wanted?”

Lexi averts her gaze, blood coloring her cheeks. “Yes.”

“Huh.”

“Huh,” she echoes.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

I hesitate for a moment. “Don’t do that again,” I say. I am not asking.

“Since when do you tell me what to do, Mars?”

“Since Rue almost died.”

I see the internal debate in Lexi’s eyes. Slowly she nods. “Okay. I won’t give her my piss again.”

I nod. “Thank you.” I hesitate. “Your sister,” I say quietly, “and… and McKay. How… how serious is that?”

Lexi gives me a long look. She doesn’t want to say it. But she does. “Pretty serious, Marston,” she admits, offering a smile to take the blow out of the words. “He came to dinner last week. My mom loved him. He’s really nice. And… and Cassie was smiling.”

“Good,” I say, swallowing. “That’s good.” And I mean it. I’m not, like, an incel. I don’t think that I deserve Cassie or that she is somehow bad for not being with me. It is just something I would like to happen. But being her friend is more than enough. I count myself lucky to be in her life in any capacity. She is welcome to whatever company she wishes to keep. “What about you?” I ask. “Did you like him?”

“Yes,” she says plainly. She nods. “I liked him. He was polite.”

“As polite as me?”

“Of course not.” Lexi says. “No one’s as polite as you.”

I exhale. “So… so she’s good?”

Lexi nods. “She’s good.” She hesitates. “Although, last night at the party…” I move to rise, and Lexi pulls me back down. “Oh, oh my god, no,” she says. “It’s nothing like what you’re thinking. He didn’t do anything illegal, or anything. He just got a little weird.”

“They all get weird with her,” I say.

Lexi’s smile is sad. “Yeah,” she agrees. “They do.”

***

The sun is setting on the horizon when I leave Lexi’s house. I peddle my bike up a hill on the way home. My phone chimes. I stop at the top of the hill, and pull my phone out of my pocket.

Rue

Today, 7:22 PM

Rue

📍1107 Weller Way

climb through the window

Fantastic. A strange address and an instruction to break and enter. Not sketchy at all, Rue. Not even a little.

***

When I tumble through the bungalow window, I land flat on my back on a carpeted floor. “Ow.”

I find myself in what I assume to be the bedroom of a teenage girl. On an easel in the corner, I see a canvas. The painting that colors its surface is vibrant. A little out there. Whoever this room belongs to, they are talented.

When I look up, there are two pairs of eyes on me. Rue sits on the bed, the top few and bottom few buttons of her shirt unbuttoned. It is basically a middle third shirt. If I told her that I woke in a cold sweat, having dreamed of her grave, she’d give me that look. The one that says ‘you are a dumbass’. Rue is very fond of giving me the ‘you are a dumbass’ look. It is in her top three favorite looks.

Next to her is the girl from yesterday. The one with the knife. The knife is no where to be seen, but there is a bandage wrapped around the pale skin of her arm. Her hair is a blonde so pale it has to be bleached. The ends are tinged through with pink. She tilts her head to one side curiously.

“Jules, this is Marston,” Rue says, gesturing with one airy hand. “He’s weird, but mostly harmless.”

Jules smiles. She looks fascinated, as though I am the most interesting person to climb through her window in a very long time. “Hi, Marston.”

Chapter Text

I rise to a sitting position, resting my weight on my palms behind me. “Hello,” I say. I am acutely aware that this is the girl who looked likely to run Nate through less than twenty-four hours ago. The girl who sliced herself open just to prove a point.

In the orange glow of the setting sun, Jules has an ethereal, almost fae quality. I half expect her to have pointy ears. “Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m mostly harmless too.”

“Mostly?” I echo with a frown.

Jules’ smile grows. She looks at Rue, and then back at me, and then she laughs. It is a strangely innocent sound for a girl who seemed so dangerous last night.

“Get off the floor,” Rue says.

Slowly, I stand.

“Good,” Rue says, “you’re standing, that’s a start. Step two, come here.” She scoots over on the bed. She gestures to the space that has opened between her and Jules.

I hesitate. I look at Jules. “Are you armed?”

“She’s not going to attack you, Marston,” Rue says with a sigh. “Just sit.”

Slowly, tentatively, I move to sit down. I sit on the very edge of the bed, prepared to flee at a moment’s notice.

I turn my head, considering Jules for a moment. “Do you have a criminal record?”

Jules’ shakes her head. “No,” she says softly. “Do you have a criminal record?”

My shoulders rise and fall as I shrug. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” I bend my fingers together until the knuckles crack. “Maybe I do.”

“Stop trying to impress her,” Rue says.

“I’m not trying to impress her.”

“You try and impress everyone.”

“I don’t try. If they’re impressed, that’s a happy accident.”

Rue exhales, and gives Jules a look. “You see what I mean?”

Jules nods. “Yeah,” she says. “I see what you mean.” But her smile hasn’t faded.

I find my gaze dropping to the bandage wrapped around her arm. “Was… was it bad?” I ask.

Jules gives a little half shrug. “Not that bad.”

“She missed the artery,” Rue says.

“Will it scar?”

Jules shrugs again. “Probably.”

I nod. “Cool.”

The corner of Jules’ mouth quirks up. “You wanna see?”

“Weirdly, yes,” I say.

Jules holds her arm out. I hesitate. She laughs. “It’s okay. You’re not gonna hurt me.”

Slowly, I take her arm in one hand. I use the other to unfurl, gently as I can manage, the thick white linen. It is tightly wrapped. Rue knew what she was doing.

Cleansed of blood, the gash is not as deep as I might have thought yesterday. True to Rue’s word, the knife seems to have missed the major capillaries and blood vessels in her arm. Lucky. “Does… does it still hurt?” I ask.

Jules shakes her head. “Just stings a little.”

I attempt to wrap the bandage around her arm again, but I mostly just make a mess. “Fuck,” I curse. “Rue, can you give me a hand.”

Rue peers over, and then smacks my hand away. “Just let me do it,” she says.

“Knock yourself out,” I say dryly.

“Don’t listen to anything Marston tells you,” Rue says as she tightens the linen over the wound. “He’s pathetic, seriously.”

“I am not pathetic,” I insist.

Rue raises a brow. “He cried when we showed him The Hunger Games.”

Jules looks at me. “Really?”

“I… I didn’t cry,” I say quietly. “I had something in my eye.” In my defense, if they didn’t want people to cry, they shouldn’t have killed the little girl. Rue, I think. That bodes well.

“He cries at a lot of movies,” Rue says. She is enjoying herself, I can tell. “Like, uh… what’s that one with the horse?”

“The Never Ending Story,” I say, not looking at either of them. “Just because you’re utterly without compassion doesn’t mean I have to be.”

Jules looks at Rue, and Rue looks at Jules, and they both laugh. Been a while since I’ve heard a genuine laugh out of Rue. I like it, it’s a nice sound.

“Alright,” I say, “how’s this for pathetic?” I clear my throat, and square my shoulders. “Nate recruited me to play football this year.”

I see Rue absorb the news. She looks disturbed. She does that thing again, where she looks at the floor. Maybe she is remembering what happened last time, or maybe she just doesn’t like the idea of me becoming one of them.

Jules raises an eyebrow. “Oh my god, you’re a jock?”

I shrug. “I guess—”

“No,” Rue says. “He’s not a jock. He’s a fucking nerd, Jules. He’s an abject fucking loser.”

“I’m not a loser,” I say.

“Oh, really?” Rue says. “You wanna do this? Okay, let’s do it.” She looks at Jules. “When we were twelve, Marston decided he was going to start referring to himself in the third person.”

“Really?” Jules asks with a laugh.

“Marston still misses that,” I say wistfully.

“He lasted for a week, until Maddy made him stop.” Rue glares at me. “Maddy’s the only one who can ever make him fucking stop.”

“Who’s Maddy?” Jules asks. “Is that your girlfriend?”

Rue laughs again. That’s twice now. “Don’t… don’t flatter him,” she says.

“Why is the idea of that so funny to you?” I ask, a little offended. “I’m a stand up guy. Maddy would be lucky to land a fella like me.”

Rue ignores me. She rises to her feet, moving to stand a few feet in front of both of us. “Maddy and Marston… it’s weird, but it’s actually kinda sweet.” She pauses for a moment. “He’s like… like the little brother she never had. She just gets him, it’s fucking crazy.”

“Gets him?” Jules echoes.

“None of us really know how to talk to him,” Rue admits. “He doesn’t…” she gestures to her own head, “… he doesn’t think like a normal person.” She returns to the bed, flopping down behind us. Both Jules and I turn. “The middle school thought maybe he had autism—“

“They never proved it,” I say sharply, by way of reflex. “As far as I’m concerned, those allegations were unfounded.”

“They weren’t allegations,” Rue says. “They were genuine fucking concerns.”

“With what evidence?”

Rue just makes a vague gesture that encompasses all of me.

Funny. Her mental issues are actually confirmed, and you don’t see me bringing those up. That… that is probably a really fucked up, insensitive thing to think.

“Fair point,” I say quietly.

“He always looks terrified,” Rue continues. “Like… like he’s overthinking everything. Like he thinks everyone is judging him, and he’s losing, and they hate him. But when he’s with Maddy, it’s different.” For a moment, just one, Rue smiles. “He’s the only one who isn’t scared of her, because he’s the only one who doesn’t need to be scared of her.”

Jules, who has listened to all of this in silence, speaks up. “Is Nate scared of her?”

Rue’s gaze meets mine. We both smirk. “Physically?” I say quietly. I shake my head. “No.” I shrug. “But Maddy is, uh… psychological.”

Jules quirks a brow. “Psychological?”

“Basically, she’s fucking crazy,” Rue says dryly.

“She is,” I agree.

“Plus she dumped him,” Rue put in.

I nod. “That too.”

Jules blinks. “Wait,” she says. “You mean to tell me this girl, this girl who doesn’t scare you, who you clearly fucking adore by the way, used to date Nate Jacobs?”

“Nate isn’t so bad,” I say, running a thumb over my knuckles. I sound as though I am trying to convince myself more than Jules. “He’s rough around the edges, but… he’s a good guy.”

“You think I pulled a knife on him for no reason?” Jules asks quietly.

“No,” I say. “No, of course not.” I sigh. “Look, I don’t know what he said to you, but… he was drunk. And he’s upset about Maddy. And… and it was late.”

Rue hesitates. “Jules, I know he sounds like Nate’s little bitch right now,” she says. “But… don’t judge him too much.”

“Why?” Jules asks.

“Because Marston really needs Nate to like him,” Rue whispers. “Like, he needs it.” She adjusts her sock. Her breathing is slow. “He’s never really had a… guy friend. He has us, but…”

“It isn’t the same,” Jules finishes for her. Rue nods.

“I’ve had plenty of guy friends,” I lie.

Rue arches a brow. “Name one,” she says.

I hesitate. “Nate.” I say simply. I look down. “We’re gonna play football together.” I nod, and then again. “We’re gonna win the championship.”

For a long moment, everyone is silent. “That’s really sad,” Jules finally puts in.

“Yeah, well,” Rue says. “Loser, as advertised.”

“It won’t matter,” I say softly. “When I’m wearing that jersey, and I’m holding that trophy, and… and…” I swallow, “...people like me.”

Rue snaps her fingers and points at me. “You see that, Jules?” she says. “That is exactly the lost puppy look that made Cassie decide that he was hers now. Like… like a little girl who finds a kitten on the side of the road. It’s small, and it’s pathetic, and you feel bad for it, but it’s also kind of cute so you want to take care of it.” She scratches her nose. “It’s that look that made Maddy decide that no one was allowed to touch him. And… fuck, it’s that look that made me tell Lexi we could keep him. He doesn’t even know he’s doing it, he just… he looks so sad and scared all the time. Like he’s waiting for someone to love him.”

“Shit,” Jules says. “I think it’s working on me.”

Rue exhales slowly. “Welcome to the fucking club.”

***

To my young mind, the middle school was the most terrifying place on Earth.

It seemed like everyone was bigger than me. Even the girls. Even the kids that the other kids called small. I’ve never been short. That only served to make the lack of bulk worse. I was always the weakest in my class. The runt. And until Maddy stepped in, the easy target.

It must have been my first day. I stood in the middle of the main corridor, as traffic flowed either side of me. Frozen. Too terrified to move. Lost, but unwilling to ask for help. Because asking would have meant admitting that I needed someone.

More than once my shoulder was knocked into or I was tripped. I knew it wasn’t an accident. It isn’t hard, even in a busy corridor, to show a little courtesy. Even a halfhearted apology tossed over a shoulder would have been nicer than the silence.

Then, a voice. “Hey.” I turned, and there she was. At thirteen, Cassie was not yet hot, but she was already the most gorgeous sight I had ever laid my eyes upon. Her smile would break your heart just to behold it. I saw genuine concern in her eyes. Not just politeness. She actually cared. Cassie’s like that. “Are you okay?”

I felt myself tremble, but I managed to nod. “Y- yes,” I stammered. “I- I’m fine.”

Cassie’s smile was knowing. “You don’t look okay.” It was half tease, half statement. Either way, it made me feel a little better. She stuck out her hand. “I’m Cassie.”

I took her hand, still trembling. We shook. “I- I’m Marston.”

“Wow,” Cassie said. “That’s such a cool name.”

I thought maybe she was mocking me. But she wasn’t, because she’s Cassie. She meant it.

“I- it is?”

“Totally,” Cassie said. “Kind of a mouthful, though. I think I’m gonna call you… Mars.”

“Mars?” I echoed.

Cassie smiled, and nodded as though she liked the sound of it. “Yeah, Mars.” She raised an eyebrow. “You got a problem with that, Mars?”

I shook my head. “No, ma’am.”

Cassie laughed. She glanced down at our still joined hands. Her smile grew. “You gonna let me go, Mars?”

“Right, sorry,” I say. I drop her hand, my own rushing back to my side.

Cassie’s smile was gentle. “Hey,” she said. “That’s okay. Where are you trying to be?”

“Um, homeroom?”

She rolled her eyes. “Duh. I meant which homeroom?”

“4-B?”

“Oh, that’s this way.” She took my hand. I had never blushed so hard in all my life. “Come on, I’ll take you.”

***

When Jules goes to the bathroom, I roll slightly so I am closer to Rue on the bed. I sit up, peering down at her. I raise a brow, nodding towards the door. “What’s, uh, going on there, then?” I ask, almost innocently.

“What do you mean?” Rue asks, her gaze never leaving the ceiling.

“Do you take me for a fool?”

Rue nods. “Yep.”

I fold my hands together. “I mean, you obviously like her.”

“Like who?”

“Who do you think?”

Rue shrugs. It is non-committal.

“Jules,” I say. “You like Jules.” I tap a finger against my temple. “I see these things.”

Rue scoffs. “You don’t see shit.”

“You didn’t deny it,” I point out. I smile. “Let’s review the evidence, shall we?”

Rue sighs. “Do we have to?”

“I think you know we do.” I clear my throat. “Point the first, since I climbed through that window, you’ve now laughed. Twice. Like, actual laughter, Rue.”

“Meh, unrelated,” Rue says.

“Plus, there’s the fact you keep looking at her.”

“She’s colorful, draws the eye.”

“Right,” I say doubtfully. I grin. “But last night, you weren’t just looking, were you?” I pause for dramatic effect. “You were staring, Rue Rue.”

Rue’s eyes narrow. “You were staring too.”

I hold up my hands in faux surrender. “Crazy chick with a weapon. I’m not going to apologize for finding that attractive.”

Rue frowns. “Since when have you ever referred to a girl as ‘chick’?”

“Since it helped the flow of my sentence.”

Across the hall, the toilet flushes. Rue’s hand shoots out suddenly to grab the collar of my hoodie. “Not a fucking word,” she whispers. Gotcha, I think. Why such an extreme reaction if I’m wrong.

I try my best to look nonchalant, but Rue shoots me a look and I stop forcing it. When the door opens, Jules enters. Rue’s gaze returns to the ceiling. My theory is rapidly gaining credence.

When Jules sits down, Rue sits up. “Okay, Jules,” she says, though her eyes find me. She smirks. “New story.”

“Where are you going with this?” I ask.

“Shut up, Marston,” Jules says with a smile. “I wanna hear this.”

Rue clears her throat. “So, we’re freshman, right? Cassie Howard—you’ll meet her—is a sophomore cheerleader. She’s also basically the love of Marston’s life.”

“Requited?” Jules asks.

Rue shakes her head. “Oh, no. Unrequited. Very, very unrequited.”

“Alright,” I say. “Move on, tell your story.” I know where this is going.

Jules laughs.

“Marston,” Rue continues, “decides that he’s going to impress Cassie. How does he do that, I hear you ask? He tries out for the football team.”

Jules laughs again.

Rue leans back on her palms. “Now, he weighs… what, ten pounds?”

“Try ninety,” I say.

“Fine, ninety,” Rue says. “He’s there on the field, and the helmet is too big for him, and the padding probably weighs more than he does. But Cassie is on the sidelines, and she has her pom-poms, and her pretty fucking smile, and our boy looks at me and Lexi, and he winks, like he’s about to do something.”

“Let me guess,” Jules says. “He didn’t do something.”

Rue shakes her head. She smiles. “First drill, they put him up against this senior linebacker. Big guy. Six-four, easy. Probably weighed three times as much as Marston did. This linebacker hits him like a semi truck, and Marston just… breaks. We might have been able to hear his ankle snap, but Cassie just… screamed.” She exhales, the corner of her mouth twitching. “It’s the worst sound I’ve ever heard. She thought he was dead. She jumped the barricade, and she ran onto the field, and she’s crouching next to him, Jules, and she’s crying. I mean, full on sobbing. And Marston… Marston is half conscious. But he looks at Cassie, and then he looks at me, and he smiles.”

“What happened next?” Jules asks quietly.

“She rode with him in the ambulance.” Rue says. “Because Cassie Howard is a literal fucking angel, Jules. She’s the sweetest person you’ll ever meet.” Rue pauses. “She’s kind of like Marston. She has these big, sad eyes. And she’s… soft. They’re both soft.”

Jules considers that for a moment. Then, she considers me. “You don’t look soft, Marston.”

“You do,” I say. I tilt my head to one side. “But you’re not, are you.”

Jules mouth curves into a smile. She shakes her head.

“She held his hand in the ambulance, you know?” Rue says. “It is literally one of his most treasured memories.” She huffs a laugh. “’You are so brave, Mars,’” she says, mimicking Cassie’s breathy tone. “’That was so unfair, Mars, he was so much bigger than you’.”

“Mars,” Jules echoes. She smiles. “I like that. I’m gonna use that.”

***

“Does it hurt?” Cassie asked in the back of the ambulance, her fingers linked with mine. She was holding one of my hands in both of hers. Her gaze kept flickering to my foot, at its unnatural angle, and then back again.

I shook my head. “Not… that much,” I said. I put on a front, because if I didn’t I would cry.

“You don’t have to lie to me, Mars,” Cassie said softly. “I fell off the pyramid once, and I was limping for a week. This is so much worse.”

I nodded. “I remember. Maddy made me carry your books.” I hesitated. “You, um… you have…” I reached up with my free hand to rub the lingering mascara off of her cheek with my thumb. Her tears had faded, but she still looked a mess. I could not recall a more perfect sight.

Cassie smiled. “Did you get it all?”

“No,” I admitted. “You got a little here.” I licked my thumb, getting the rest.

“So now I have your spit on me?” Cassie asked, laughing.

“Shit, sorry.” I offered my sleeve.

Cassie sighed, shaking her head, but she was still smiling. “Such a dork.”

***

“So,” I say, propping myself up on my palms. “What have you two been up to?”

“Nothing,” Rue says.

Jules grins. “We got high.”

Rue looks at her, shaking her head.

“What?” I say.

Jules frowns. “What?” she says quietly.

But it isn’t her I am looking at. It is Rue. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I demand.

Rue shrugs. “I can do what I want, Marston.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Jules says, trying to be helpful.

“Yes, it is,” I say. “It’s a big fucking deal, Jules. She almost died.”

“I’m fine,” Rue insists.

“No,” I say. I feel myself getting worked up. “You’re not fine. You’re really not fucking fine, Rue. You—”

“It’s okay,” Jules says, her fingers catching my sleeve. “It’s okay, Mars.” She shakes her head. “You’re right. We won’t do it again. I’m sorry.” She offers a smile that is no doubt designed to calm me.

Rue looks at us for a time, before sighing. “You’re both so fucking boring.”

***

Night is on us as I give Rue a ride home. It is chilly, and Rue has wrinkled my hoodie out of me. The sleeves are a little long on her, and the hem hangs a little low, but it serves to keep out the cold.

We slow as we approach her street, Rue trailing the soles of her sneakers against the asphalt. I brake hard at her house, and Rue jolts up hard. “Asshole,” she mutters under her breath.

She swings her leg over the frame of the bike. She pulls the hoodie over her head, and hands it back. “Night,” she says.

When she gets to her door, I call out. “Rue?”

She turns. “Yeah?”

“You know I love you, right?”

Rue exhales slowly. She looks exhausted. She seemed stronger in Jules’ presence, I think. Finally, she nods. “Yeah,” she says. She manages a tired, half smile. “Love you too.” Then she turns and disappears into her house.

Chapter Text

When I open my eyes, I am in a waiting room. The kind they have in a hospital or a clinic.

The walls are a sterile, soulless white. The fluorescent lights overhead are a touch too bright, stinging the eyes.

Blue leather chairs with wooden armrests. Green, leafy plants in ceramic pots. A tiled floor, waxed so clean it shines. A double door to the left, a double door to the right, and a receptionist’s desk.

I am alone.

There is no receptionist sitting at the desk. The lights in the back room are off, so my line of sight ends at the far wall and I cannot make anything out through the window panes in the door.

The light is off, too, in the hallway through the doors on left and right.

It must be night time, because no lights shines through the skylights or the windows. All I can make out is a purple sky. It looks thick and viscous, like gelatin or congealed blood.

There is a scent in the air. It is familiar, though I have never smelt it before. It is a memory of a memory, some hereditary fear that has existed in the human genome for untold generations. You would know that scent as well, even if it was your first time smelling it. It is the scent of death.

I try to rise from my chair, but the armrests hold me in place. They are tight, designed for a smaller man. They dig into my waist, constricting and squeezing my organs. It makes breathing very difficult.

I grab both rests, and try to wrench them apart. I pull, and I pull, and I pull, but they do not budge. I inhale sharply; big, desperate gasps. I pull again, and the wood snaps in my hands. When I stand, the jagged edges scrape at my skin. I hold a hand to my side. It comes away red and wet with blood.

This again, I think. I had hoped the first nightmare would be the end of it. Alas, not.

“Come on, then,” I call out, unsure if there is even anyone close enough to hear. “Let’s get this over with. What is it this time?”

The double doors on the right fly open. When they meet the walls, the plaster cracks and fissures. Every pane of glass in the doors shatter. They litter the floor like a million diamonds. I see that, like my hand, they too are dripping with blood.

The lights in the hallway flicker on, one by one. They lead the way to a single, metal door at the end of the corridor.

I stagger forward, blood trickling down my hips and legs and pooling at my feet. As I stumble, it trails behind me like a running river.

A few feet into the hallway, the double doors slam closed behind me. The glass must have mended itself, and the lights in the waiting room died, because I cannot see anything but the hallway I stand in and the door that marks its end.

My legs give out, a yard from the door. I push myself to my feet, leaving a bloody hand smear on the tiling.

I try the door handle. It gives. I push the door open, and step into the darkness.

For a moment, I think I am inside of an industrial freezer. Like the ones they have in a restaurant or hotel.

Not a freezer, I realize with a sickening lurch. A morgue.

Refrigeration units line all four walls. I see no way out, no means of escape.

It is cold enough that my every breath, and even my blood, steams the air.

In the middle of the room, a table.

There is a thing lying on it. A pitiful thing. A dead thing. A thing that used to be a person. It isn’t anymore.

It is covered by a white sheet. A sheet that is thin enough to suggest the shape of a face.

“No,” I whisper. I shake my head. “Please, no.”

I wait for a very long time. Nothing happens. I remain in the room. The thing remains with me.

“Fuck you,” I curse. “You’re fucking sick.”

Slowly, I limp towards the table. I take one corner of the sheet between my fingers. It is hard, to pull it back. I know what is waiting for me.

“Fuck you,” I say again.

I pull the sheet back, just enough to reveal her head.

In death, Rue looks younger than she did in life. With the muscles in her face finally relaxed, she almost looks peaceful. Her eyes are open, but they do not see.

I feel my dinner threaten to make a reappearance, and hold a fist to my mouth.

Rue blinks. “Are you gonna puke?” she asks, though her mouth does not open. Her eyes do not look at me. “You really are pathetic, Marston.”

“You’re not real,” I whisper, shaking my head. “You’re not fucking real.”

“Not yet,” Rue allows. “But I will be.” A mocking laugh echoes in my ears. It is Rue’s voice, but not how I have ever heard it. She raises a single arm. There is a needle stabbed into it, the syringe plunged into her vein. “Why didn’t you save me, Marston? Where were you? You could have saved me. Why didn’t you?” She twitches, just once, and then she is still.

***

For the second time in three mornings, I wake in a puddle of my own sweat to the scent of my own fear. My breathing is ragged, as though I have ran a marathon while hopped up on amphetamine.

It has been three days since the party at McKay’s place, and two days since I tumbled through Jules’ bedroom window.

It is Monday. The twenty-seventh day of August. Which means it is also the first day of my junior year. The summer is over.

I spent my Sunday at the mall, purchasing myself some new clothes. I’m sure I do not have to tell you which kind of clothes by now.

In honor of the occasion, I wear my finest hoodie and sweatpants combination. Black, with fine white accents. My sneakers are black and white as well. You know me, I love a bit of color coordination. If you care to know, my underwear and socks are also black. My skin is still a little whiter than I would have liked, giving me the look of either a Victorian ghost or a Slavic gangster.

My back pack, no longer burdened with last year’s textbooks, feels light. Inside of it I place my stationary, notebooks, and binders—Lexi’s fault. I also pack a couple of water bottles. Living so near to a desert, it never hurts to have a spare. I personally try to carry at least two on me at all times.

Since I have my first session with Nate today, I also throw in a spare change of clothes.

When my phone buzzes and shakes on my nightstand, I turn from the mirror and reach for it.

Rue

Today, 7:07 AM

Rue

getting the bus with gia

can you ride with Jules?

Marston

I can do that.

A journey alone with the knife girl. That should be fun. I like Jules. She’s nice, and I’ve never met anyone like her. Not to sound presumptuous, but I’m quite confident that my friend list will soon expand from five to seven. With Nate and Jules both likely to join the ranks, things are looking up.

***

When I ride up to Jules’ house, she is waiting on the curb for me.

In the light of the day, I have to question her decision to bleach her eyebrows. It can occasionally look as though she does not have any at all.

She wears a sky blue blouse, decorated with flowers. The flowers have white petals surrounding a yellow core. Daisies, maybe. She wears a blue undershirt beneath it, extending her sleeves. Not enough to hide the fresh bandage on her arm, though. Her nails are painted yellow. I note that, like me, she is wearing black socks. There is no black on her sneakers however. Only white. Her skirt is blue tartan. It leaves a lot of leg exposed, and I feel myself swallow.

By now, I’m sure that some of you probably think I’m some sort of pervert. I’m not. I’m a teenager, and I am constantly surrounded by very attractive girls. How would you handle it?

“Are you checking me out?” Jules asks.

This tears me from my train of thought so suddenly it is jarring. “What?” I say blankly. My eyes widen. I shake my head fervently. “Oh, no.”

“Don’t lie,” Jules says. “You were totally checking me out.”

“I- I wasn’t,” I insist. “I don’t do that. I’m very respectful of women.”

Jules manages to keep a straight face for an admirable three seconds before she breaks. “You’re so fucking weird,” she breathes, though it sounds more like a compliment. She smiles, and toys with the straps of her yellow, transparent backpack. “So, you’re my chaperone.”

“Hang on,” I say dryly. “I thought you were my chaperone.”

As Jules steps off of the curb, I ask, “Where’s your bike?”

Jules shakes her head. “Don’t need it. I have you.” She walks to the back of the bike. I move forward to give her some space on the saddle. She swings a leg over the frame and settles her weight. Her arms wrap around my middle, her fingers joining over my abs.

“Oh,” I say. “Um, yeah… okay.”

“Are you nervous?” Jules asks, and I can hear the smile in her voice.

I scoff. “Me?” I shake my head. “No. I don’t get nervous.”

Jules laughter is soft and breathy against the back of my neck. “Sure,” she says, her tone skeptical. “How many babes have you had on the back of this thing?”

“Including you?” I ask.

“Including me.”

“And… how are we defining ‘babes’?”

“Literally any girl, Marston.”

“Three.”

“Wow.” She laughs. “You’re such a player, Mars.”

“I mean, to be fair, the bike is relatively new,” I say weakly. “The number would be higher if we included every bike I have ever owned.”

“How much higher?”

“Not a lot,” I admit.

“That’s okay,” Jules says. “Makes me feel special.”

“I usually have that effect on women,” I say under my breath.

Jules leans forward and hooks her chin on my shoulder. “I heard that.”

“Heard what?” I ask.

She straightens up, shakes her head, and rolls her eyes. “Never mind,” she says. “Are we going to school or not?”

“All business with you, eh?” I say, though I put my feet to the peddles.

We peel away from her curb. For the most part, we stick to the road.

“In the interest of honesty,” I say quietly. “I was checking you out.”

“I know,” Jules says with satisfaction. “You’re not subtle.”

“You don’t think I’m a pervert, do you?”

“Should I think you’re a pervert?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I mean, I don’t think so.” I clear my throat. “I prefer to think of myself as easily distracted by the fairer sex.”

“The fairer sex?” she echoes. “Are you sure you’re sixteen, not six hundred?”

“Some days?” I say earnestly. “No.” I shrug. “Nothing wrong with using a term that has fallen out of favor every now and again.”

“You really are a nerd, aren’t you?”

“I don’t like that word,” I say. “Just because I’m smarter and more well read than everyone does not mean I’m a nerd.”

“Do you actually think you’re smarter than everyone?”

I hesitate for a moment. “It isn’t a matter of thinking,” I say, almost sheepishly. “I just am.”

“That’s kind of arrogant, Mars.”

“Is it arrogance?” I ask softly. “Or is it the one thing I’m confident about?”

Jules is quiet for a time, as though considering that.

When we clip a curb at speed, her breath hitches and her arms tighten around me.

“Now who’s scared?” I ask, the smile obvious in my voice.

Jules laughs. “Shut up.”

I realize something. “You’re easy,” I say.

“What?” Jules says, clearly caught off guard. Her arms tense around me. “Are… are you calling me a slut?”

“No, no,” I say hastily. “Not that kind of easy. I mean you’re easy to talk to.”

“Really?” she asks.

Slowly, I nod. “Most people aren’t,” I admit. “But this is only the second time we’ve met, and I feel like I can just… talk to you. You’re not scary.”

Jules absorbs that for a moment. “Thanks,” she says. “It’s nice, not being scary.” Her arms loosen around my middle for a moment. “I’ve never been friends with a jock before.” Her tone is thoughtful. She huffs a laugh. “I mean, shit, I’m letting a football player give me a ride to school.”

“Not a jock,” I remind her. “Remember what Rue said?” I tap my temple twice. “Abject fucking loser.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I prefer you as an abject fucking loser.” One of the hands on my abdomen slowly rises to cover my heart. “Stay like this, Marston. You can play football, just don’t… don’t become like them.” She exhales. “You’re not like Nate. I can tell you’re not like Nate. Don’t let him change that. Stay Rue’s. Stay Maddy’s. Stay mine, if you have to, but don’t let him make you his.”

“You think he’s going to try?” I ask quietly. “To make me like the rest of them?”

“I don’t think he has to try,” Jules says sadly. “I think you’ll be in the locker room, and everyone is going to tell you what you want to hear. You’ll walk around school wearing that jersey, and girls will look at you. Girls will want to fuck you. Maybe even Cassie, I don’t know. After every game, every time you score a touchdown or recover a fumble, everyone is going to tell you that you’re the king. And eventually, you’ll start to believe them.”

“You think I’m going to get an ego.”

“No, Marston,” she says. “I’m worried you’re going to turn into an asshole.” She hesitates. “I kind of like you, loser. You’re a good guy. You’re sweet, and you’re smart, and sometimes you’re even funny. I think we could be really good friends.”

“But?”

“But I’m not going to be friends with someone who thinks he’s better than everyone because he can run with a ball, or because there’s a cheerleader hanging off both arms, or because he gets to drink beer and ride shotgun in Nate Jacobs’ truck.”

“That’ll never be me,” I say, with iron certainty.

“I really hope you’re right, Mars,” she says.

Chapter Text

As Jules and I walk away from the bike racks, I toss her my keys in a smooth, underhand motion. “Catch,” I say.

Jules catches the keys with a clink. “Why?” she asks.

“There’s something I need to do after school,” I answer. “Ride it home, I’ll ask Nate to bring me by yours to get it back.”

“What if Nate says no?”

“Then I’ll walk.”

“That’s a long walk, Marston.”

“I’m an athlete now, remember?” I say, only half-joking.

“You are,” she allows. She hesitates for a moment, clearly wanting to ask something.

“What?” I ask.

“Are you sure you wanna be seen with me, Mr. Athlete?” There is a defensive edge to her tone that takes me aback.

“Um, yeah,” I say, glancing at her as we walk. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Why do you think, Marston?”

“What, because of that shit on Friday? Jules, no one’s gonna care about that.” I let out a sheepish laugh. “If anything, standing next to you makes me look tough and imposing.”

“No,” she says. She shakes her head. “Not because of Friday.” Her mouth twitches. “What are your new football buddies gonna say when they see you talking to a girl like me?”

“A girl like you?” I echo. I pause, looking at her as though expecting her to explain.

“A girl like me,” she confirms with a nod.

I throw my hands up in confusion. “I genuinely have no fucking idea what you’re talking about,” I say. I point at my own head. “What, the hair? I mean, it’s a little on the nose, but—“

“That isn’t what I mean, Marston.”

“Then what do you mean?”

Jules stops walking suddenly. I stop with her. She turns to me. “Oh my fucking God, Marston. Look at me.”

I look. Oh, I think. I get it, she’s insecure. “You’re pretty, Jules,” I say, offering a gentle smile. “You’re really pretty. I have absolutely no qualms about walking next to you, or people seeing us talk.” My shoulders rise and fall as I shrug. “I mean, I like it… them seeing. You’re the new girl. You’re hot, you’re kinda crazy, you’re… you’re intriguing, Jules. And you’re walking in with me. No one else, just me. That’s pretty cool.”

Jules exhales. “Wow,” she says softly. “You’re really oblivious.”

“Oblivious of what?”

Jules shakes her head. She smiles. “It doesn’t matter,” she says. “You’ll figure it out eventually.”

She begins walking again. I forget to follow for a moment, looking at with sheer bafflement.

“Well, come on, then,” Jules throws over her shoulder. I hastily catch up. “If we’re doing this, the friend thing, we’re doing it properly, okay?”

“Okay,” I say, still a little confused.

“That means you can’t back out when people start saying shit, Marston,” she adds quietly. “You have to be all in.”

“Saying shit?” I repeat. “About what? What, the skirt?” I laugh. “Jules, it isn’t even that short. You should see some of Maddy’s outfits.” I tilt my head to one side. “Did you, like, come from the South, or something?”

“What?” Jules says. “No. And I don’t mean the skirt, or my hair, or any of that.”

“Then… what?”

Jules shakes her head. “I think I like you being oblivious,” she says, with a faint smile. Her expression softens. She turns suddenly, catching my arm. “Mars, you might hear some things about me. From… from people who aren’t as oblivious as you.” She hesitates, looking down. “You won’t… you won’t hate me, will you? If… if you don’t like what you hear? If you don’t like what I am?”

For a long moment, I do not respond. Slowly, I shake my head. “No,” I assure her. “No, I won’t hate you.” I hesitate as well. Okay, Forster. Don’t fuck this up. “I love Cassie,” I say, as though it is simple. To me, it is. “I have since I was eleven and she was thirteen.” I smile. “She is the nicest person I know. And she’s pretty. She’s so fucking pretty, Jules. When you see her, you’ll get it. I promise you, you’ll get it. She… she’s perfect. She is literally perfect.” I look down as well. I lower my register. “Sometimes, I hear things about Cassie. Things I don’t like. Things that make me angry. Things… that make me want to break the people saying them, because I know their words might break her.” I wait until her gaze meets mine. “Does it sound like I hate Cassie, even with what I’ve heard?”

The smile comes slowly to Jules’s face. Her eyes shine. She shakes her head. “No,” she whispers. “It doesn’t.”

“Whatever I hear about you,” I say softly. “Whatever the big, horrible secret is… I’m not gonna care, Jules.” I pause. “Wait, you don’t, like, torture rodents, do you?”

Jules laughs, wiping at her eyes. “No,” she says. “No, I don’t torture rodents.”

“Really, Marston, you made her cry already?” says a voice in front of us.

Rue is leaning against one of the heavy metal pillars. The pillar is painted orange, like rust on metal.

Rue’s shorts are black, extending almost to her knees. She wears her maroon hoodie, fully unzipped, over what appears to be an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and what I’m pretty sure is called a tube top. The tube top is purple. Black socks peek just barely over the tops of her black converses. Her backpack is navy, and bigger than Jules’s, more of a traditional rucksack.

Jules moves to lean against the adjacent side of the pillar, leaving me to stand slightly out of place in front of them.

“Why do you stand so awkwardly?” Jules asks.

Rue huffs a laugh. “He’s Marston,” she says. “He does everything fucking awkwardly.”

***

“This is embarrassing,” Rue admits. “I feel like everyone knows.”

“Rue, I don't want to turn this into a competition,” Jules says, “but, like, I win.” She sticks out her bandaged arm. “For, like, a multitude of reasons.”

“I just… I don't want to deal with all the fucking questions.”

“I still win.” Jules twirls around the pillar and takes Rue’s hand. Her fingers, nails painted yellow, interlock with Rue’s ringed ones. She gives me a smirk. “Come on, loser.” Ah, so that nickname is sticking, is it? She tugs Rue along, and I follow after them. After a few moments, I fall into lockstep beside them.

Now, I’m not a girl, so I cannot speak as an expert on female friendships, but is holding hands like this… common? I’ve never seen Rue and Lexi, or Cassie and Maddy, walk like this. I mean, they’ve known each other for three days. They seem, I don’t know, a little more physically intimate than you would expect. Or maybe it’s just a girl thing.

“Wait, your alive?” a graying teacher says to Rue as we pass him.

I take a single, aggressive step in his direction, but Rue pulls me back without so much as a look. “Like, what the fuck?” she says, laughing with Jules.

At the intersection of our walkway with another, we just barely pass Cassie, BB, and Maddy coming the other way.

Cassie is wearing a pink half zip, that zipper down, and denim jeans. She has a thin silver bracelet on her left hand, and around her neck… the necklace. My necklace. She’s still wearing it. “Hey,” she says, offering a smile that seems to radiate warmth.

“Hi,” I reply.

Jules waits until the three are safely out of earshot. “Wait,” she says with a slow smile. “Was that…?”

“Yep,” Rue says. “Cassandra Howard, live and in living color.”

“She’s cute, Mars,” Jules says. “She’s super cute.” She huffs a laugh, and grins at me. “You never mentioned…”

“In Marston’s defense,” Rue says dryly, “he had a sickening crush on her before the tits.”

“I did,” I say with a nod.

“The development of secondary sexual characteristics was just a happy little accident for him.”

“Rue, shut up.”

“Bite me, Forster.”

“You two do this a lot, huh?” Jules puts in.

“Shut up, Jules,” Rue and I say at the same time. She glares at me. She doesn’t like it when we do that.

I chance a glance at Rue. “Did you see?” I ask eagerly.

“Yeah, yeah, she was wearing it,” Rue says. “That doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

“Wearing what?” Jules asks.

Rue exhales. “He bought her this necklace for her birthday. She’s wearing it, so now he’s got his hopes up.”

“I don’t know,” Jules says, “but that sounds like it means something.”

“She literally has a boyfriend,” Rue points out.

“He isn’t even her boyfriend,” I respond.

“He’s basically her boyfriend.”

“Nearly counts for nothing.”

“Didn’t Lexi tell you she really liked McKay?”

“She really likes all of them,” I remind her. “Until she doesn’t.”

“Yeah, but you don’t know McKay is gonna fuck up.”

“Trust me, I know.”

“You see, Jules?” Rue says as we enter the main building. It is notably cooler inside. “He acts so cerebral, but when it comes to Cassie he’s a fucking dreamer.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Jules says with a suitably dreamy affectation.

Rue looks at Jules, and then looks at me. Is that annoyance, or envy? Then she looks at Jules again, and she frowns. I track her gaze.

A little ways down the corridor, a guy leans back against his locker. He looks at Jules with evident disapproval. It is an aggressive, nasty look. He doesn’t look away.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” I ask loudly.

Heads turn in my direction, and then his. The guy blinks, and looks down. “Nothing,” he says with a shake of his head. Pussy, I think. I’m not one of those guys who gets off on intimidating people, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like how it feels. Is that worrying? That feels like it should be worrying.

When we are well clear of him, Jules glances at me. “Look at you getting all protective,” she teases.

“He’s always been like this,” Rue says with a sigh that suggests she has long since accepted it. “He thinks he’s fucking Batman or something, and it’s his job to protect everyone.”

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Well, now I can.”

“You’re bigger.” Rue shrugs. “That doesn’t mean you can fight.” She smirks, and looks at Jules. “He’s had a lot of fights. He’s never won one.”

“Like, none?” Jules asks.

“None,” Rue confirms.

“I thought Maddy doesn’t let them touch him?”

“Maddy doesn’t let them bully him,” Rue corrects. “They still kick his ass when he acts all… uppity.” Rue huffs a laugh. “He was like… like a little dog. You know, one of those annoying, yappy ones that go after dogs ten times their size. Like a chihuahua, or something.”

“I never got uppity,” I grumble.

“What about the time in seventh grade that guy pushed Kat out of the way on the playground, so you tackled him and he gave you a black eye?”

“I would argue that he was the one getting uppity.”

Jules laughs.

“Marston doesn’t really know when to back down,” Rue says. She gives me a half smile. “Even when he doesn’t stand a chance.”

“No chance,” I say softly, “and no choice.”

“That’s pretty, Mars,” Jules says.

Rue scoffs. “He didn’t come up with that shit,” she says. “He got that from one of his books.” She points at me. “That’s another weird thing he does. He tries to slip fucking quotes into daily conversation. Like he’s in a movie, or something.”

“All the world’s a stage,” I recite with a smirk. “And all the men and women merely players.”

“Stop it,” Rue says firmly. “It’s pretentious.”

“I like being pretentious.”

Rue and Jules share a look, and then a laugh.

As the bell for first period rings out, Jules squeezes Rue’s hand before releasing it. “Later, loser,” she says to me. “I’ll try not to crash your bike.”

“Try?” I echo.

Jules laughs again, and walks away.

“Rue,” I say, before she can go as well.

“What?” she asks.

“No drugs.”

Rue exhales slowly, shakes her head, and goes in the opposite direction to Jules.

***

I sit with Lexi at lunch. It’s weird, not being able to be with both her and Rue at the same time. I do not like it.

“Why would Nate want you?” she asks, when I tell her.

I glance at her, raising a brow. “Wow,” I say dryly. “Thank you.”

Lexi smiles. “You know what I mean, Mars.” She shrugs one shoulder. “You might look like a football player now, but that doesn’t mean you know how to be a running jack.”

“Back,” I correct her. “Running back.”

“Have you ever actually played football?” she asks. “And that one tryout doesn’t count as playing.”

“Well, no,” I admit. “But I’ve watched it a lot. And I have played an unhealthy amount of Madden.”

“You think the skills are transferable?”

I shrug. “I don’t see why not.” I take a long, thoughtful swig from my water bottle. I swallow it down. “Look, Nate knows, and you know, I can keep hold of a ball. And I’m stubborn, I’m not going to let myself get tackled or pulled down easily. And nothing is going to stop me from just… plowing through the defenders. I’m like a fucking bull, Lex. If I decide I’m going in a direction, I’m going in it. Only now I have the strength to get me through.”

“I just don’t want you get hurt again, Mars,” she says.

“I know,” I say. I shake my head. “I’m not going to get hurt, Lexi. I’m solid, okay?”

Slowly, she nods. “Okay.”

I take a bit from my sandwich. Chew. Swallow.

“I talked to Rue today,” Lexi says.

I glance up. “Oh, yeah?”

Lexi nods. “She had, like, a mental breakdown on stage and ran to the bathroom. I went after her.”

“How’d it go?”

“Not great,” Lexi admits. “She basically told me to fuck off.”

“Oh,” I say quietly. “Sorry. That’s rough.”

“Yeah.”

“Give it time.”

Lexi nods, but does not respond.

“She’ll be fine,” I say.

Lexi looks at me through her eyelashes. “I like that you believe that, Mars,” she says quietly. “But I’m not so sure she will be.” There is something she is not telling me. Or… fuck, maybe I’m just paranoid. Right now, it is hard not to be paranoid when it comes to Rue.

***

After last period, as I make my way to the school’s gym, Maddy steps into my path.

She is wearing a gray dress, cinched at her waist by a belt with a metal clasp. Around her shoulders she is wearing a lacy, almost pajama like top, knotted below her breasts. Her eyelids are purple, lined with hot pink. Around her neck is tied a necklace with a hoop in its center. Her earrings are hooped as well.

“Hey,” I say. I smile. “I can’t really stop, Maddy, I gotta—”

“I know where you’re going,” Maddy says.

“You do?”

“I was texting Nate last night.” She nods in the direction of the gym, to signify I should walk with her. I do. “He mentioned it.” She smirks. “I think he was trying to make me jealous. Like he was taking you away from me, or something.”

“That could never happen,” I assure her.

Maddy looks at me, and I see the exact moment the corner of her mouth quirks up in a smile. “I know.”

“You are okay with me playing, right?” Even now, the need for Maddy’s approval goes deep.

The question seems to amuse her. “Marston,” she says softly. “If I wasn’t okay with it, it wouldn’t be happening.” She gives a little shrug. “I think you’ll be a good influence on him.”

“Really?” I ask.

“Everyone in that locker room, including Nate, especially Nate, is a fucking asshole, Mars.” Her gaze softens when she looks at me. “You’re different. You’re better. Better than them… better than me. Better than all of us. Nate will tell himself he only keeps you around because he needs you. And before he knows it, he’ll realize that he actually kinda likes you.” She laughs. “If anyone can wear him down, get him to act like a fucking person, it’s you. You’re so fucking pure, you make everyone around you want to be better.”

“Is that bad?”

Maddy stops walking. I stop with her. She shakes her head. “No,” she says. She smiles. “It’s not bad, Mars.”

“Okay.”

She starts walking again, and I follow. “I didn’t wait around to talk about sports.”

“Then what do you want to talk about?”

“You’ve made a new friend,” Maddy says. It isn’t a question. “Jules.” She glances at me. “That’s her name, right? Jules?”

I exhale a laugh, shaking my head. “Don’t do that,” I say. “Don’t pretend you don’t know.”

Maddy grins. “BB didn’t know her name,” she says. “Just knew she was some crazy bitch who cut herself at McKay’s.” We reach the door that leads to the gym, and Maddy stops. It is clear she isn’t done with me. “But then I asked Kat.”

“How did Kat know her name?”

“They went to summer school together,” Maddy says. “Really hit it off.”

“So, what did Kat tell you?”

“Nothing interesting.” She shrugs. “She just moved here. She likes art. She lives with her dad.”

“Just her dad?”

“Just her dad,” Maddy confirms.

“What about her mom?”

“I don’t know,” Maddy says. “Not around, I guess.”

I lean against the wall as I take that in. “Alright,” I say. I tilt my head to one side. “So why’d you wait?” I ask. “Do you not want me to be friend with Jules?”

“What?” Maddy says. “Of course not. I’m happy you’re making new friends. I think it’ll be good for you.” She exhales. “I just wanted to check on you.”

“Check on me?” I echo.

Maddy nods. “Just making sure you’re ready, Mars.”

“For… what?”

Maddy arches a brow. “What do you think? For what people are gonna say about her. For what people are gonna say about you when they see you together.”

I hesitate. “Jules… she was worried I would hate her. That I wouldn’t like what she is.” I frown. “What are people going to say?”

Slowly, Maddy’s mouth opens. “Oh,” she says. “You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“If Jules didn’t tell you, I’m not going to,” Maddy says. “It’s nothing bad,” she adds, when she sees my expression. She shakes her head, smiling. “She’s just… she’s different, Marston. People in this town… they don’t like different. It scares them. Anything they don’t understand scares them.”

“And fear leads to anger,” I say quietly.

“Is that Gandhi?”

“Yoda.”

Maddy rolls her eyes, but it is accompanied with a laugh. “Whatever, it’s true.” She sighs, straightening the collar of my hoodie. It is an absent, almost instinctual movement from her. “You know you can’t hit everyone who says something mean about her, right?”

Reluctantly, I nod. “Yeah,” I say quietly. “I know.”

“That goes for all of us,” Maddy says. “It’s different now. Your punches will do some damage.” She takes a step back. “Marston, what do you see when you look at me?”

Is this a trick? “I see Maddy,” I say simply.

“That’s not what I meant.” She swallows. “You look at me like I’m perfect, Mars.” Her smile is almost sad. “Fuck, you make me believe it.” She adjusts the knot of her top. “No one in that locker room is going to think I’m perfect,” she says, her eyes still on the knot. I see the tension in her jaw.

“So?” I ask cautiously.

“Marston… what are you gonna do when one of your teammates calls me a bitch?” She finally looks at me again. “Because they will. And that will be one of the nicer things they call me. What are you gonna do when they call Cassie a slut? When they call Rue a junkie?”

My fists clench at my sides. “I think you know.”

Maddy smiles. “Yeah, I know.” She shakes her head. “It can’t be like that anymore, Mars.”

“So, what,” I say, “I should just let them insult you?”

“No,” Maddy says. “I’m just saying be careful.” She touches my cheek in a way that is almost maternal. “Don’t get yourself beaten up. If they say something, tell them to fuck off. Don’t start swinging.”

Slowly, I nod. Maddy nods as well.

The doors to the gym open, and Nate Jacobs steps out. “We’re losing daylight, Forster,” he says. “You coming in or not?” He looks at Maddy. “The fuck are you doing here?”

“Don’t talk to her like that,” I snap.

Weirdly, it seems that is exactly the reaction Nate both wanted and expected.

Maddy’s smile is saccharine sweet, her eyes cool as she regards Nate. “Just remember what I told you.”

Nate’s jaw tenses. “I remember,” he says. And what, exactly, did she tell him, I wonder.

Maddy pulls her phone out of her purse to check the time. “I gotta go,” she says, turning on her heel. “Play nice, boys,” she calls over her shoulder.

Nate does not say a word. He just nods at the gym, and walks inside.

I follow him over the threshold.

Chapter Text

When I exit the locker room, Nate leads me across the gym floor to the treadmills. “Get on,” he says.

I set my water bottle down in the holder, and step onto the treadmill. I press the on button, and begin walking. “What speed?” I ask.

“Three miles an hour,” Nate says.

I hold down the button until the speedometer reads: 3. I am forced to a slightly brisker pace, but I am still walking.

Nate crosses his arms, studying me. “Five,” he says.

I bump it to five. I am forced to a very brisk pace.

“How’s it feel?” Nate asks.

“Fine,” I say.

He nods. After a moment, he says, “ten.” I bump it to ten, and am forced to a run.

“Easy,” I say.

“Now imagine it with thirty pounds of equipment.”

“Maybe a little less easy.”

“Fifteen,” he says.

I bump it to fifteen. I am forced into a real sprint. “Fuck,” I gasp. I inhale sharply, my lungs burning and the back of my throat aching.

“In through the nose,” Nate says. “Out through the mouth.”

I apply his suggestion, and it helps. More than once, I fear my legs will give out from under me. For a horrifying moment, I picture that scene in Monsters University, where Mike Wazowski is sucked into the treadmill’s conveyor belt. I push the thought out of my mind and keep running.

“You’re slipping,” Nate points out. “Your feet are almost off the edge.” He unfurls his arms. “What are you, some kind of bitch? Run faster.”

“Go fuck yourself,” I say, though I do run faster. I need more air.

“Oh, did I hurt your feelings?” Nate asks. “Too bad. A free safety isn’t gonna give a shit that you’re such a sensitive little pussy. So man up, and run faster.”

“You’re a real prick, you know that?”

“Don’t hate me,” Nate says. “Hate the fucking machine. It’s beating you.” He slams his fist down. “Run, Forster.”

I run as fast as I can, for as long as I can, until I can run no more. I slump over the console, hastily pulling out the safety key.

“Good,” Nate says, sounding satisfied. “You can run. You’ll hate it, but you’ll run.” He claps me on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s lift some weights.”

He starts me off on a hundred pounds. By the time it gets to two-hundred, I still haven’t broken a sweat. “Jacobs,” I say. I use his last name because he uses mine. I kind of like it. It feels like camaraderie. “I spent my summer hauling rocks and shit. Give me some real weight.”

Nate raises a single brow, and puts on enough plates to bring it to two-hundred and fifty. “Okay,” I say. “Feeling it now, but it isn’t hard.”

“I’ve seen enough,” Nate says after a dozen reps. I help him dock the bar.

I sit up on the bench, and run a hand through my hair. “What do you think?” I ask.

“You’ll be fine.”

***

It is late in the evening by the time Nate and I leave the gym. I take a long swing from my water bottle, and glance at him nervously. “Um, hey,” I say awkwardly. “I, uh, let a friend ride my bike home. Told her I’d pick it up after this, but it’s kind of a long walk. Could you, I mean, like… you know?”

“You need a ride?” Nate says. I nod. “Sure.”

“Thank you,” I say.

As we cross the parking lot, Nate glances at me. “She hot?”

I blink. “What?”

“You said her,” Nate says. “Is she hot?”

Slowly, I nod. “Yeah,” I admit. “She’s hot.”

“Then why is she a friend?”

“I don’t follow.”

“Look at you, man,” he says. He throws his duffel bag into the bed of his truck, and climbs into the front. I climb into the passenger seat. “Bitches don’t wanna be ‘friends’ with guys like us.”

“Bitches?” I echo. I am so put off by his word choice that I barely register him grouping us together.

Nate does not seem to register the disgust in my voice. “Yeah,” he says. He puts the truck into reverse, and we pull out of the parking lot. “Where’s this hoe live, anyway?”

“Don’t call her a hoe,” I say firmly.

Nate gives me a confused look. “Why?”

This fucking guy. “Because women are people.”

He frowns. “What are you, some kind of fucking feminist?”

“Yes,” I say simply.

Nate does not offer a comment.

Let me tell you something about boys like Nate Jacobs. Good Republican boys from good Republican families. A classic literary hero; tall, dark, handsome. Young and rich. Clever, but not as clever as he thinks he is. You see, I’ve spent a lot of time observing boys like Nate. I know him more than he knows himself. The driving emotion for boys like Nate is fear. Fear of himself, fear of his family, fear of what people will think about him. The moment a boy like Nate steps out of line, even a little, from what is expected from him, he is punished. Severely. Until he gets back in line, and begins behaving like a good little Republican boy again.

Let me give you an example. I like Taylor Swift. I like her music. In fact, my favorite genre of music is what some people call “white-girl music”. I have no issue admitting this to you. It is easy on the ears, and less stressful than what would traditionally be considered genres for men.

A guy like Nate could never admit that he enjoyed something that is, at least in perception, for girls. Nor can he ever truly admit that a girl is a person equal to himself. To do so would require admitting that he is anything like them. That on a fundamental level, they aren’t so different. That kind of thinking is for the queers (or likely a more offensive word). In good Republican families, being a serial killer would be less frowned upon than being a queer.

If you want to know where this sort of hyper-masculine misogyny comes from, there you go. They are terrified, fucking terrified, of someone thinking they might be gay.

When I was a kid, some people thought I might be gay. I couldn’t tell you why or what started it. I’m not, for the record, but try telling a classroom full of ten year olds that. I came to learn how kids treat you when they think you might be. It isn’t nice.

It is that treatment that boys like Nate Jacobs are afraid of. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why the way they talk about and treat women is so fucked up.

Or that’s my theory, at least.

“Perth Street,” I finally say. Three blocks over from where Jules actually lives. Based on their previous interaction, I’m not so sure she would relish the idea of Nate knowing her address.

Nate wordlessly adjusts the route. We drive in silence for a minute. No music, no conversation. Just the sound of traffic, and heavy tires on asphalt.

When the silence becomes almost unbearable, Nate speaks. “Do you seriously think you’re only going over there to pick up the bike.”

“Yeah,” I say.

Nate shakes his head. “Jesus, Forster, you got a lot to learn.”

“Like what?”

“For starters, girls, especially in this town, don’t invite guys who look like you over after school just to pick up a bike.” Nate has a way of making even the dumbest of statements sound perfectly reasonable.

“Yes, they do,” I insist, though I sound uncertain.

“No,” Nate says. “No. You’re going there to fuck her. I know that. She knows that. Why don’t you know that?”

“What are you talking about?”

Nate shrugs. “Ten bucks says you have your dick wet within the hour.”

I blink. “I’m not betting on something like that,” I say incredulously.

“Whatever,” Nate says. Without taking his eyes off of the road, he pops the glove compartment. He fishes something out and flicks it into my lap.

I hold the foil wrapper up to the setting sun. “Magnum XL,” I read dryly. Overcompensating, I tell myself, definitely.

“Use it,” Nate says. “I don’t want you distracted by playoffs because you’ve got some chick in trouble?”

“You think we’re making the playoffs?” I ask, steering the conversation away.

Nate nods. “It’s now or never,” he says. “And I won’t accept never.”

“Your arm’s good,” I say thoughtfully. “And I’m not a dropper.” I look at him. “But I’m not McKay.”

“No,” Nate agrees. “You’re not.”

“McKay is the best I’ve ever seen. If you couldn’t win with him, what makes you think you can win without him.”

“Call it faith.”

“I don’t believe in faith, Jacobs.” I say. “I believe in facts. Evidence.” I breathe for a moment. “I’m not going to let you down,” I assure him, “but I’m not as good as McKay. I might not even be good at all. I won’t be able to carry you if you have a bad season.”

Nate gives me a dark look. “I don’t need carrying, Forster. I just need you to do your fucking job.”

“I can do that,” I say.

***

Having walked from Perth Street, it is past seven when I knock on Jules’ front door.

The man who comes to the door has curly hair, gray on black. His beard has even more gray. His glasses are round rimmed. “Can I help you?” he asks mildly.

I do not answer immediately. I just look at him. “Uh… Jules?” I finally manage.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “That isn’t me.” When I fail to respond, he frowns. “Son, are you feeling alright?”

“Um, yeah,” I say. “Is she here?”

“She’s upstairs.” He steps back. “Would you like to come in?”

“Yes, thank you.” Tentatively, I enter the house for the second time. Except this time, I have not broken the law.

***

When I push open Jules’ bedroom door, my hand freezes in mid air.

Jules stands in the center of the room, her skirt hiked up on one side. A syringe is plunged deep into the meat of her pale thigh. She looks up, startled, and her gaze meets mine.

“Oh, no,” I say, my voice little more than a whisper. “Not you as well.”

Jules expression is confused. “What?”

I shake my head. I take a tentative step forward, close the door behind me, and raise my hands slightly. “It’s… it’s okay,” I say gently. “You don’t have to live like this. We can get you help.” I take another step forward. “Drugs are never the answer, Jules.”

Jules laughs, covering a snort with her hand.

I hold out my own hand. “Give me the drugs, Jules,” I say. “What is it, smack?”

“It’s not heroin, Marston.”

“Prove it.”

Jules raises an eyebrow. She removes the syringe from her thigh and flattens down her skirt. She turns away to dispose of the needle. She crosses to her nightstand, picking up a small vial of clear liquid. “Catch.”

She throws it, and I catch. I hold the label up for inspection. “Estradiol,” I read. I shrug. “Look, I don’t know what kids these days are taking.”

“It’s estrogen,” she says.

“Estrogen,” I echo. I hesitate. “Estradiol,” I repeat. “Estra…” my voice trails off. “Isn’t this what they prescribe trans… oh.” Slowly, I look up at her. “You’re…?”

“Yeah.”

“And I’m the only one who didn’t…?”

“Yeah.”

Maybe I really am oblivious. “I’m beginning to understand some of your jock-based reservations.”

Jules hesitates. “You’re cool with it, right?”

“Do you take me for some sort of bigot?” I ask. I frown. “That’s hurtful, Jules.”

“Shut up,” she says, though her smile is relieved. She moves to sit on her bed, looking at me expectantly.

For once, blessedly, I take the hint. I sit beside her. “So this is why you thought I’d hate you,” I say quietly.

Jules nods. “Rue said you wouldn’t care,” she says softly, “but… guys who look like you always care.”

Guys who look like me. Nate’s exact phrasing. “Do… do I look conservative?” I ask, with genuine fear.

“No,” Jules says. She hesitates. She laughs nervously. “I mean… maybe a little?”

“Huh,” I say. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”

“Yeah,” she agrees.

“I don’t care,” I assure her. “At all. Like, it literally couldn’t matter to me less.” I set the vial back on her nightstand. “I’m all in, remember?”

Jules smiles. “All in,” she agrees. Her smile becomes a little more confident. “Do you still think I’m ‘really pretty’, Mars?”

“You’re never letting that go, are you?”

She grins. “Nope.”

I exhale. “Yes,” I admit. “I still think you’re really pretty.”

“And I still think you’re a loser.”

“I can live with that.”

Jules laughs. She leans her weight into my side, and rests her head on my shoulder.

***

Maddy had claimed shotgun with a tone that brooked no argument, so I sat in the back of the car with Cassie and Lexi on the ride to their place on Friday afternoon.

It had been four months since she cornered me in the kitchen, and, to her everlasting credit, Maddy had kept my secret.

I should really say the first time she cornered me in the kitchen. Maddy does that a lot. I’m used to it.

I sat in the middle of the backseat, with Cassie on one side and Lexi on the other. Their mom was driving.

This, of course, was before her husband left. I wonder if she knew, then, how little time she had left with him. That in just over a year, he would be gone. For Cassie’s sake, I pretend I hate that man less than I do.

Lexi was leaning against the car door, her nose pressed almost against the window. Her breath fogged against the glass.

Cassie was quiet, until I felt her slump against me. Her head was a warm, trusting weight on my shoulder. I looked down, and saw the first droplet of drool fall from her mouth onto the fabric of my hoodie. Despite myself, I smiled.

“I saw that,” Maddy said from the front.

I looked up, and met her gaze in the reflection of the rear view mirror. “Saw what?” I asked innocently.

Maddy arched a brow. “Are you seriously going to pretend you’re not smiling like an idiot because the pretty girl fell asleep on you?”

“I’m not smiling,” I insisted.

Lexi looked up from the window only long enough to check. “You are,” she said.

“It’s your word against mine.”

Maddy laughed, shook her head, and went back to her phone.

From the driver’s seat, a pair of eyes glanced up to the rear view mirror. “Easy there, Romeo,” she said. Look, I’m just going to come out and say it. Cassie and Lexi’s mom—Suze—is kind of milfy. Fingers crossed, aging like that is a family trait. “You’re letting her drool all over you.”

“Oh, I really don’t mind, Mrs. Howard,” I said.

Maddy smirked. “Cassie’s beat,” she said with a tone of theatrical sympathy. “Maybe you should carry her inside, Mars.” She winked at me in the reflection.

“Can I?” I asked, more excited than was reasonably respectable.

“Sorry, kid,” Mrs. Howard said. “Gotta wake her up.”

When we pulled into their driveway, I shook Cassie gently by the shoulder. “Cass?” I said quietly.

Cassie murmured something incomprehensible in her sleep.

I shook her again. “Cassie?” A little louder.

Cassie showed no signs of hearing me.

Maddy rolled her eyes, and leaned across the dashboard. She lay her palm flat against the horn, and… BEEEEEEEP!

Cassie jolted awake, her own saliva snapping against her chin. “Huh?” she murmured.

“We’re at your house,” Maddy said. She pushed open the car door, stepped out, and closed it behind her with a thud. By then, Cassie and I were the only two left in the car.

I was still a couple of months short of my twelfth birthday. Cassie half a year shy of fourteen.

Her smile was soft and sheepish. “Oh,” she said. “I got your hoodie wet.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, shaking my head.

“Do you think it smells like mint now?”

“I don’t know.” I held the fabric up to my nose, and breathed it in. I nodded. “It does smell like mint.”

Cassie laughed. “That’s so gross, Mars,” she said.

“Come on,” I said. “It’s, like… Cassie flavored water. Just more… viscous.”

“My spit is not viscous.”

“Oh, yeah? Tell that to your chin.”

Cassie wiped the wetness off of her chin with the back of her hand. “Ew.”

Suddenly, Maddy rapped her knuckles against the window. “Are you two gonna sit in the car all day or are you coming in?” Cassie rolled her eyes, giving me one last smile before she followed Maddy into the house.

This is the second story I’ve told you about Cassie that involves one of our spit getting on the other. That’s weird, right? Don’t answer that.

***

“Hey,” I say. “Can I ask you something?”

I feel Jules nod against my shoulder. “Anything,” she says.

“Am I here so we can fuck?”

For a moment, Jules does not respond. Slowly, she removes her head from my shoulder and sits up. “What?”

Abort. Abort. Nate is a fucking idiot. Abort. “What?”

“No,” Jules says with a defensive shake of her head. “Why… why would you even fucking ask me that?”

Good question, Jules. Marston, why would you fucking ask her that? I try to respond, but mostly just make a sputtering sound, like a vinyl that has caught on the needle. “Nate… Nate said…” My voice trails off.

“What?” Jules snaps. “What did Nate say?”

“That girls don’t invite guys who look like me over after school just to pick up a bike. And that I was coming here to fuck you, and… and he knew it, and you knew it… he seemed confused that I didn’t know it.” I hesitate for a moment.

“What?” Jules says.

“He also bet me ten bucks that I had my dick wet within the hour.”

“You bet on me?” she asks, with genuine hurt in her voice.

“No, no,” I say, shaking my head fervently. “I didn’t take the bet. I wouldn’t.” I run a nervous hand through my hair. “He also, uh… called you a bitch. And a hoe.”

“Anything else?”

“He gave me this,” I admit, taking the condom out of my pocket.

Jules takes it and holds it between two fingers. “Magnum XL,” she reads, arching a brow. She exhales, her next words little more than a whisper. “You fucking wish.”

“I’m really sorry,” I say sheepishly. “I… I feel like we were having a nice moment there, and I kinda… ruined it. I just… I needed...”

“What?” Jules asks.

“I needed to know Nate was wrong,” I whisper. “Because… because I can’t live in a world in which Nate is right. It would just fuck with everything I know to be true.”

Jules is silent for a long time. Eventually, I hear soft rustling as she rests her head back on my shoulder. “Mars?” she says.

“Yeah?”

“You’re so fucking weird.”

“I know.”

“Promise me something.”

“What?” I ask.

“Don’t ever listen to a single thing Nate tells you about women.”

“I won’t,” I say. “I promise.”

***

That night, as I am getting into bed, my phone vibrates on my night stand. I sit up, and reach for it. Maddy. I swipe my thumb across the screen to answer the call, and bring it to my ear. “Hello?” I say, stifling a yawn with the back of my hand.

“Hey,” Maddy says. Her voice is quiet and low through the speaker. “Were you sleeping?”

I shake my head, then remember she can’t see it. “No,” I say.

“Good,” she says. “I just wanted to check on you.”

“Again?” I ask dryly.

Maddy’s exhale has some amusement in it. “Yeah, bitch. Again.”

“I’m fine.”

“Did Nate give you a hard time?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” I say earnestly. “I… I actually had fun.”

“Yeah?” Maddy asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “It was kind of cool, hanging out with him. I liked it. I mean, blatant misogyny aside.”

Maddy laughs. “Yeah, you’re gonna have to get used to that.” She hesitates. “You know, I called Nate first. Not to, like, interrogate him, but… you know.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “I know.”

“He told me he dropped you off at a girl’s house?” The question is almost casual. Almost.

“Um, yeah,” I say. “He did.”

“And it wasn’t Rue’s or Lexi’s.”

“No,” I agree. “It wasn’t.”

Maddy is quiet for a moment. “Jules?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “I gave her a ride to school. I let her ride my bike back because I had the thing with Nate, I needed to pick it up.”

“Nate thought you were tapping that.” A calculated second of silence. “Were you?”

“No,” I say. I watch a shaft of moonlight glide across my ceiling.

“Yeah,” Maddy says, “that’s what I thought.”

“What are you implying?” I ask.

“I’m implying you have zero fucking game,” Maddy says, though it is not unkind. A pause. “Did she tell you that thing you didn’t know?”

“The trans thing?” I say. “She didn’t exactly tell me. I walked in on her injecting herself with estrogen and freaked out because I thought it was heroin.”

“Because of Rue?” Maddy asks gently.

“Yeah,” I say. I hesitate for a moment.

“Mars?”

“I… I’ve been having nightmares,” I admit. I probably sound childish, but with Maddy it is difficult to stop telling the truth. “Since the night of the party. About her, like… dying and shit.”

“They’re just dreams, baby,” Maddy murmurs in the same tone that once lulled me to sleep in a thunderstorm. Someday, I’ll tell you that story. “They’re not real.”

“I know,” I say. I exhale, running a hand through my hair. “Just dreams.”

From Maddy’s end, I hear a woman’s voice speak a few Spanish words through the door. “I have to go,” Maddy says with reluctance. “Night.”

“Goodnight,” I say.

When the line goes dead, I set the phone back down on the nightstand and roll onto my back.

I sleep a blissfully dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

The next day at school, as we wait outside of the classroom before second period, I feel an elbow at my ribs. “Yo, bro,” says a guy who has never so much as my acknowledged my existence before. “Check this out.”

“What is it?” I ask. From the speakers of his phone, I can just barely make out the sound of skin hitting skin, and feminine noises of what is either pleasure or discomfort. I think I have an inkling of what it is.

“Kat Hernandez getting fucked—”

I smack the phone out of his hand, and it lands face down, sliding across the floor. He hurries forward, crouching to pick it up. “You cracked the screen, dick.”

“Show anyone else that video and I’ll crack your ribs,” I say. It is not a bluff. “Actually, no. You know what? Delete it. Now.”

“Or what?” he asks. A braver fool than most.

I step forward, my hand shooting out to grip his collar. I hear our peers gasp as I yank him towards me. “Or you won’t see lunch,” I promise him.

I release him, and make him delete the video while I watch. Not just from his camera roll but the recycling bin as well.

When the teacher arrives, the little prick seems in no hurry to report me. Our classmates don’t either.

***

“It’s not me,” Kat insists when I catch up to her at lunch.

“Are you sure?” I ask. “Because people seem pretty convinced it’s you.”

Kat shrugs, and wraps her hands around the straps of her backpack. “I don’t know what to tell you, Marston,” she says. “I literally told Maddy last night that it wasn’t me.” Maybe my ears are a little out of tune, but I’m not so sure she’s telling the truth. There is no conviction in the denial. It sounds rehearsed, or something.

“Okay,” I say with an unconvincing nod of my head. “I believe you, Kat.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Obviously, if you ever need or want to talk about the girl in the video, whoever she may be… I’m here, okay?”

“Whatever,” Kat sighs. “You’re here. Great. Are we done now?”

“Yes,” I say. “We’re done. Enjoy your lunch.” I give her a polite nod, and turn away.

“Marston?” she calls after me.

I turn back to her. “Yeah?” I ask.

“Did you watch it?” The question sounds less casual than it is probably meant to.

“Of course I didn’t watch it,” I say incredulously. “I thought it was you.”

“Shit,” Kat says with a wry smile. “I almost forgot you were you.”

“What does that mean?” I ask.

Kat shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it.”

From behind us, I hear the sound of footsteps. Three at least. Kat’s grip tightens on her straps.

“Damn, Forster,” says an arrogant voice. I turn, and come face to face with a guy I shared a biology class with my freshman year. “Are you so desperate you have to try it on with the porn star?” He is flanked on either side by a buddy, but I barely register them.

“What did you just say to me?” I ask, my voice very quiet.

“Marston,” Kat says firmly, by way of warning. “No.”

“You know,” the guy continues, “she’d probably fuck you if you asked nicely.” His friends chuckle. “Even if you had to pay, it wouldn’t be a lot.” He smirks. “Fat chicks cost less, right?”

“Marston,” Kat says again, louder. “Don’t.”

Slowly, I breathe in, and then breathe out. A deep, calming breath. “Okay,” I say, my voice eerily calm. “I have recently decided to become a gentler, and more forgiving person.” I try for a smile. “In the spirit of forgiveness, here’s how this is going to work, pal. Apologize to the lady, and you can walk away. No harm done.”

He laughs, right in my face. “She ain’t no lady,” he says. “And you don’t scare me.”

“I’m not trying to scare you,” I say. “I’m simply affording you the opportunity to be a bit less of a prick. Do you think you can manage that, dumbass? Or do I have to beat some manners into you?”

His instinct to answer the insult wars on his face with his desire to avoid a fight. “There’s three of us,” he points out.

“Only three,” I say, my tone as dry as my smile. “Brave boys.” Easy, Forster. Don’t get clever.

“You don’t wanna do this,” he says. His friends step forward as well.

“No,” I agree. “I don’t. So apologize, and fuck off.”

Of the four of us, I am the tallest and broadest, but I do not like my chances. In a one against three, the one is the least likely to come away unscathed.

He’s about to hit me, I know. When you’re me, you get pretty good at knowing when a punch is coming. I can see it in the way he clenches his fist and doesn’t look directly at my face. Coward, I think. Three against one, and he still goes for the sucker punch. I shove him, hard, and he loses his footing. He is on the ground, and I am yet to throw a punch. God, I love technicalities.

I take a long step back, just in case his friends try something. “Apologize and fuck off,” I repeat. “I’m not asking.”

“Mars,” Kat says behind me. “It’s fine, let’s just go.”

With great restraint, I nod. “Fine,” I say. “But I want it known that she isn’t a porn star. But if she was, which she wouldn’t be, she would do a roaring trade and command a very high price.”

With that, I turn away from the idiot on the floor and his stupid friends and fall into lockstep with Kat. “That really isn’t the compliment you might think it is,” she says beside me.

“Oh, sorry,” I say sheepishly. “It was well intentioned.”

“I know,” Kat assures me. “You’re always well intentioned.”

Not quite sure of what to do with myself, I follow Kat to the table.

As we sit, Maddy sets her fork down. “You have that look again,” she says. “What was it this time?”

“Nothing,” I insist.

Maddy arches a single brow. “Do not lie to me, Marston Forster.” She does not raise her voice, but I do not dare defy her.

“He called Kat a porn star,” I admit, “and basically implied she was a cheap hooker.” I sit up a little straighter. “I didn’t punch him,” I say, almost proud.

“Good,” Maddy says.

“He did push him to the floor, though,” Kat puts in. BB laughs.

“He was going to hit me,” I say. “It was preemptive self defense, and only to create some distance.”

“You won’t get in trouble, will you?” Cassie asks. The necklace is still around her neck. I shake my head.

BB frowns. “Are you sure? Didn’t you smash some kid’s phone this morning?” Word travels fast.

Maddy’s head snaps towards me. “Marston?”

“He was trying to show me inappropriate material of who he claimed was Kat,” I point out. “I reacted very reasonably.” My shoulders rise and fall as I shrug. “Besides, if he reports me he’ll have to explain to the principal that he was knowingly distributing child pornography.”

Maddy rolls her eyes, but even she cannot chastise me for that.

“Do you know who told everyone it was you?” I ask Kat.

Kat nods. “Pretty sure.”

“What’s his name?”

Kat laughs. “Nice try, Forster.”

“Kat,” I say firmly. “Name. Now. I’m not asking.”

“That isn’t going to work on me,” Kat says dryly.

“Oh,” I say, dejected.

BB laughs again.

Kat rises from the table. “I’ll handle it,” she says. “Marston, do not follow me.”

I watch her walk away. When she is no longer in my line of sight, I return my gaze to the table. Cassie has filled the space Kat just vacated, and is sitting right next to me now. Based on Maddy’s smirk, I am not the only one who has noticed this.

***

Lexi and I were on the couch, our textbooks spread out on the coffee table in front of us. We were in our last year of middle school. Cassie was a freshman in high school.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs preceded Maddy appearing before us. “Marston,” she said. “Come with me.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Just come.”

Confused, I rose from the couch and followed her back up the stairs. Maddy paused just outside of Cassie and Lexi’s bedroom.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Okay, listen,” Maddy said. She kept her voice low, and I sensed that I should do the same. “You know Cassie just broke up with her boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“How do I put this?” Maddy mused. “He’s a cunt, and he showed some people some things he shouldn’t have. Now, Cassie is beside herself because everyone at school has seen her boobs.”

“And you want me to make him pay,” I guessed, my expression steeling. I nodded, as though this was a wise idea. “I’ll draw it out, make it nice and slow for the bastard.”

“You’re not killing anyone, psycho,” Maddy said, though she struggled to keep an amused smile off of her face. “Just sit with her, Mars. You always make her feel better.”

“I do?” I asked, pleasantly surprised.

“Bitch, she loves you.” Maddy saw the expression on my face, and sighed. “Not like that,” she clarified, though it was not unkind. She gently pushed my shoulder. “Go. Do your thing.”

I took a deep breath, and entered the room.

Cassie sat on her bed, her back against the headboard with her legs stretched out. There were tears streaming down her cheeks, and a pair of wired earphones in her ears. Usually the oldest in her grade, she was fifteen while most of her peers were still fourteen. She looked at me, and shook her head. “I really don’t wanna talk, Mars,” she said, her voice thick with anguish.

“Then we won’t,” I said, as though it were simple. I did not wait for an invitation before approaching the bed. “Well, move over then.”

Cassie hesitated, but eventually shifted over to give me space. I sat on the bed beside her, my back against the headboard and my legs stretched out just the same.

For a long time, that is how we stayed. I didn’t offer empty platitudes or pretty lies. I just sat with her. I’ve learned that a lot of the time, that is what people need. Consider it my little tip to you, I don’t know. When someone is upset, they don’t want your advice or for you to point out the silver lining. All they need is a silence that feels a little less lonely.

Gradually, Cassie’s breathing slowed and her sobs faded. She removed the earphones, and tossed them onto her nightstand beside her phone. “He told me he loved me,” she whispered. And at this point, when the person has voluntarily ended the silence, you can start talking.

“Do you want me to kill him?” I asked softly.

Cassie’s laugh was broken and wet, but it was beautiful. “Is it crazy that I actually kinda believe you would?” She shook her head. “No,” she said. “I don’t want to you kill him.”

“Death would be a kindness, Cassie,” I said. “One he doesn’t deserve. You’re right, letting him live is better.”

“A kindness?” she echoed. “How come?”

“Think about it,” I said. “He has to live the rest of his life knowing that he had you. Just for a little while, but he had you.” I looked at her. “Now he’s lost you, Cass.”

Cassie’s smile was fragile, but real. “Now he’s lost me,” she repeated, as though tasting the words on her tongue.

“No matter how hard he tries, he will never, literally never, be able to find anyone or anything as good as you. Because that doesn’t exist.”

Cassie rolled her eyes, and leaned into my side. “You’re such a dork.” She hesitated for a moment. “How am I supposed to walk into school on Monday?” she asked, very quietly.

“Chin up, chest out,” I said. Slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wanted to, I put my arm around her shoulders. “I mean, you’re Cassie Howard.” I said her name with reverence, as though it meant something. Because to me, it did and does. “Who are they to judge you?”

Cassie’s smile wobbled. “They’re, like, my friends, Mars.”

“If they’re your friends, they’re not going to judge you for doing something half the girls your age have done,” I pointed out. “And even if they do… fuck ‘em.”

“Fuck ‘em,” Cassie echoed.

“I mean, you don’t judge Jennifer Lawrence, right?” I asked. “She’s still cool.”

“You love Jennifer Lawrence,” Cassie mused thoughtfully.

“No shit,” I said. “She’s the Mockingjay.” I sighed, and shook my head. “They really did not need to make that movie a two-parter.”

“Marston?” Cassie said, smiling.

“Yeah?”

“You have to let it go.” The second part was still a couple of months out, and Cassie had previously tried to raise my spirits by telling me that it might be really good. In hindsight, it was not, in fact, really good.

Slowly, I nodded. “I know. I’ll let it go.” I frowned. “But not today.”

Cassie laughed again. “Dork.”

If you’re wondering, it has been nearly three years since the release of The Hunger Games: Mockingjay – Part 2, and I have still not let it go. Hell, it has been seven years Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows – Part 2, and I have not let that go either. Bonus moral of the story, I guess, is stop splitting up adaptations for financial gain. I mean, I kinda get it with It. Stephen King’s original novel is long, and takes place over two distinct time periods. Fuck it, make that a two-parter all you want. Mockingjay is not a long book, however. Splitting that in two is unforgivable.

***

“Are you with Nate again after school?” Maddy asks me.

“What?” Cassie says. “You’ve been hanging out with Nate?”

“Yeah,” I say with a sigh. “Every day this week. He wants me to be ready.”

“Ready for what?” Cassie asks.

“I’m playing football this year,” I admit. “Running back.”

Cassie takes the news like a cannonball. I feel suddenly, absurdly, guilty. She rises from the bench, and reaches for her backpack. “I need to use the bathroom,” she says, her tone unsteady.

When I happen to glance at Maddy, she makes a manic gesture with her hand. “What are you waiting for?” she asks incredulously.

I frown. “What?”

“She’s upset, you fucking idiot. Go after her.”

“Oh, right,” I say. I nod, and rise from the table as well. “But I can’t go into the girl’s bathroom,” I point out.

Maddy looks up at me through her eyelashes. “Make an exception,” she demands, in a tone that brooks no dissent.

I stand outside of the girl’s bathroom on the first floor for over a minute. I really do not want to be seen going in. I look left and right, to make sure the coast is clear, before slowly pushing the door open.

Cassie is standing in front of the mirror, her hands braced on the sink counter thing. Once more, she is crying.

I take a deep breath, and enter the bathroom. I let the door swing closed behind me.

“Hey,” Cassie says. She smiles a smile straight out of a brochure. Perfect, and not convincing for a second. She does not turn away from the mirror.

“Hey,” I echo. I take a tentative stop forward. “You’re crying, Cass.”

“What?” she says, laughing as though this is the funniest thing she has ever heard. “No, I’m not. I’m, like, really happy, Mars. Can’t you see how happy I am?” She finally turns to face me. She is still smiling.

“Do you not want me to play football?” I ask. “Because say the word, and I won’t.”

Cassie’s smile softens, becoming less overwhelming. “You won’t?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “If you’re not okay with it, then I’m not okay with it.”

“It’s not football,” Cassie admits. “It’s Nate.”

“What about him?”

She looks down, her breath catching in her throat for a moment. “He’s always making fun of me,” she whispers. “I… I know what he says about me. What they all say about me.”

“We’re working on that,” I promise her. “I’ll make them stop, starting with Nate.”

“I just… I don’t ever want you to look at me like that, Mars,” Cassie says. “The way that he looks at me. Like… like I’m just a…” Her breath hitches.

“Cassie, I think the world of you,” I say solemnly. “You know that, right?”

“I know, I just—”

“You think a few comments from Nate is going to change that?” I ask incredulously. “Fuck him. Seriously, who the fuck is he?”

Very slowly, Cassie shrugs.

“It’s you and me, okay?” I touch her arm. “It’s you and me, no matter what. Nothing Nate fucking Jacobs—or any other dickhead in this school—says could make me think less of you.”

Cassie laughs, wiping her cheeks dry with her sleeve. “Me and you against the world?”

“Always,” I say, with full seriousness.

Cassie exhales slowly. “You’re such a dork.”

“Yeah,” I say dryly. “You’ve mentioned that once or twice.” I clear my throat. “Now, can we get out of here? I’m about two minutes away from ending up on a register.”

“You’re the one who snuck into the girls bathroom, you creep,” she teases as we step back into the hall.

“He did what?” says a shocked voice.

“Lexi,” I say. “That was out of context.”

“What was the context?” Lexi asks. The bell rings, signaling the end of our lunch hour.

Cassie just laughs and walks away.

“I can explain,” I insist.

“I would certainly hope so,” Lexi says.

“Cassie was upset,” I say. “I simply went in to comfort her.”

Lexi frowns. “Who upset her?”

“That would be me.” At Lexi’s look, I frown. “It wasn’t on purpose,” I say defensively. “She just doesn’t exactly relish the idea of me hanging around Nate.”

With a look of understanding, Lexi nods. “Neither do I.”

“You don’t?”

“No,” Lexi says. “I don’t.”

“Do you want me stop?”

Very slowly, Lexi shakes her head. “No.” She sighs. “We have algebra,” she says, turning in the opposite direction that Cassie walked. “Come on.”

Chapter Text

“So what’s the deal?” Nate asks as he drives me home on Thursday evening. “With you, and Rue, and Howard’s sister?”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

Nate’s broad shoulders rise and fall as he shrugs. “Do you fuck both of them? Or does one just watch?”

Very slowly, I turn my head to regard him with a look of deep concern. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“It’s just a question.”

“Yeah, it’s a stupid fucking question.”

“So you don’t sleep with either of them?” he asks skeptically.

“Absolutely fucking not,” I say.

“Then what’s the point?”

“What?”

“What’s the point in following them around all the time if they don’t have sex with you?” There is not a trace of irony in Nate’s question.

“Are you serious?” I ask.

A nod is the only answer he provides.

I breathe a long sigh, as though preparing to answer a child’s question about the clouds. “You know it’s possible to be friends with women without wanting to sleep with them, right?”

“Come on, Forster,” Nate says. “Not even you believe that shit.”

It is harder to say whether the frown on my face is comprised more of disgust or pity. “Have you ever been friends with a girl?” I ask, fairly certain I already know the answer.

“No,” Nate says. As though it is obvious. As though dismissing the very idea.

“Have you ever spoken to a girl without the end goal of fucking her?” I ask.

Nate hesitates. “Does my mom count?”

“No,” I say. “Your mom doesn’t count.”

“Then no,” Nate says.

“That’s really sad, Jacobs,” I say quietly.

He narrows his eyes. “Are you a faggot?”

I blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“Are you a faggot?” he repeats.

“You really shouldn’t use that word.”

“Are you?”

“No,” I say firmly. “I’m not. Just because I don’t want to fuck every girl I know doesn’t make me gay.”

“How is that not gay?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I say, exhaling into my hands. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you have the mentality of an adolescent.”

“I’m older than you,” Nate points out.

“Yeah,” I agree, “maybe you should start acting like it.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Nate is not an easy man to like. In fact, I find myself wondering why I do. He’s a cunt, and yet he’s still charming. The more time I spend with him, the more I have to concede that maybe Maddy doesn’t have perfect taste. Yet I still want so desperately to be his friend. It is a very confusing thing to feel.

***

I have been home for less than an hour when my phone vibrates on the night stand, my body still sore and aching from the gym. I reach for the device, my arm pained by the movement. I swipe my thumb across the screen, and hold the phone to my ear. “Hello?” I say.

Lexi’s voice comes through the speaker. “We’re coming to get you.”

“Okay,” I say. “May I ask why?”

“Maddy wants a smoothie,” Lexi answers. “Kat has a theory.”

“What theory?”

There is a brief rustling on the other end, as though of a phone being passed from one hand to another. “Marston, listen,” Kat says bluntly.

“I’m listening.”

“I’m, like, ninety-nine percent sure we’d get better service at that smoothie bar on the freeway if we had a guy with us,” she says. “You know, someone assertive and dominant…” I can almost hear her smirk. “You’re the next best thing.”

I don’t buy Kat’s “theory” for a second. They want me in that car for some reason. The only question is which.

“Hey!” I say with wounded pride. “I’m assertive and dominant.”

“Since when?” Kat asks.

“Since always,” I insist.

“What’s he saying?” I hear Maddy ask in the background.

Kat scoffs. “The people pleaser’s trying to convince me he’s assertive. Here, I’ll put him on speaker phone.” I hear a soft beep.

“I’m not a people pleaser,” I say weakly.

“Marston,” Maddy says. “It would make me really happy if you came.”

“Okay,” I say, without a moment of hesitation.

***

When Maddy’s car rolls sleekly to a stop beside me, all four windows are down. Kat is riding shotgun. In the back, all three sections of the bench seat are occupied. BB is on the far side, her vape in hand. Lexi sits in the middle, leaning slightly away from BB so as to avoid the vapor. She gives me a look of long suffering, as if to suggest her presence in the car is not entirely voluntary. On my side, smiling up at me, is Cassie.

“I can’t help but notice that your car sits five and there are six of us,” I say dryly.

“So?” Maddy says, the glint in her eye promising mischief. “Cassie can just sit in your lap.”

There it is, I think. There’s the trap.

“Oh, yeah,” Cassie says. “I mean, sure.” She twists in the seat to unbuckle the clasp of her seat belt, and pushes the door open. She climbs out of the car and onto the sidewalk beside me.

I hesitate for a moment, looking down at the seat she has just vacated. The lightest of imprints in the fabric and the faintest trace of perfume linger.

“Aren’t you getting in?” Maddy asks. Based on her expression, she is enjoying this far too much for my liking. She gasps dramatically. “Wait, Mars. You’re not worried Cassie will be heavy, are you?”

Cassie’s eyes expand, her bottom lip trembling. “Do you?” she asks.

“Of course not,” I assure her. I give Maddy a look that promises future retribution, and get into the car. When I give Lexi a momentary glare, she smiles a guilty smile at me. If I had to guess, I’d say that Cassie is the only person present that is not aware of Maddy’s little game.

Cassie climbs in after me. She sits fully in my lap, her back to my chest and the seat of her denim shorts—very short today, I note—hovering precariously on my thighs. She looks over her shoulder at me. “Am I too heavy?” she asks.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “You’re basically weightless, Cass.”

I go to put the seat belt around both of us, but Maddy catches my eye in the rear view mirror. “Don’t bother,” she purrs, the flash in her eyes daring me to disobey. “That will be way too constricted. Just hold onto her. Hold on really… tight.” Curse this woman.

“Um, yeah,” I say. “Okay.” Slowly, I wrap my arms around Cassie, a significant overlap between the limbs.

“Maybe not that tight, you dork,” Cassie says, though she sounds more amused than irritated.

“Sorry,” I say, hastily adjusting my grip.

“Take Mendoza,” Kat puts in as Maddy pulls away from the curb. “Lot of speed bumps…”

Okay, Forster, I think. This is a short journey, and you only have one job. No erection. Do not, under any circumstances, get hard.

“Your arms feel so strong,” Cassie murmurs. “I feel like you could just… pick me up and throw me.”

“I- I wouldn’t do that,” I stammer.

“I know, dummy.”

On Mendoza Boulevard, Maddy hits the first speed bump at some pace, and Cassie bounces in my lap. Shit.

Donald Trump. Barack Obama. George W. Bush. Bill Clinton. George H. W. Bush. Ronald Reagan. Jimmy Carter. Gerald Ford. Richard Nixon. Lyndon B. Johnson. John F. Kennedy. Okay, I think I’m good.

Here are some fun facts for your troubles:

The W for both Bush presidents stands for Walker. The H stands for Herbert. The B for Johnson stands for Baines, and the F for Kennedy stands for Fitzgerald. Bill is short for William, and Jimmy is short for James.

Did you know both George H. W. Bush and Jimmy Carter are still alive? Bush is ninety-four, and Carter will be the same age next month.

Here’s a bonus fun fact about me:

My favorite president is Gerald Ford. Not for anything he did in office, he wasn’t anything special. In fact, he is largely remembered as a fairly bad president. He just… I don’t know, he seemed like a nice guy. I think Ford and Carter are the best two men to have ever served as president back to back. Not the greatest in terms of achievements or abilities, but the best in terms of moral character. It makes sense they eventually became friends. Ford made it to ninety-three, the same as Reagan had made it to before dying two year earlier. Ford wasn’t perfect or anything, but I hope, eventually, history remembers him kindly. I know I certainly will.

Cassie’s hair brushes against my nose with every jostle and turn. The scent of vanilla clings to her, and floods my senses. To be honest, I can’t remember if I liked vanilla before Cassie, or I like it because of her. Either way, these days it is impossible for me to smell vanilla without thinking about Cassie.

God, those shorts are short. I mean, it’s in the name, I guess. The tanned skin of her legs and thighs seem to glow in the setting sun. They stand out beautifully against the dark material of my pants. I like contrast, what can I say. She is warm in my lap, as though absorbing every ray the Sun has to offer like a siren attracts sailors.

It is only when I look up, and meet Maddy’s satisfied gaze in the reflection, that I realize I am smiling again. I adjust the angle that I look into the mirror, until all I see is the reflection of me and Cassie.

I like the way she looks in my lap. The way she fits. We look natural together. If you saw us walking down the street, or sitting across the table from one another in a fancy restaurant, you probably wouldn’t question it. For the first time, I believe Maddy. Maybe I really am hot now. Not that I’m getting an ego, or anything. It is just an observation.

“You two look so good together,” Maddy says with a wicked smile. Subtle, Perez. Real subtle.

“For real,” Kat agrees. “I ship it.”

In my lap, Cassie tenses. I see the exact moment the back of her neck changes color. “Oh my god, shut up,” she says. “I have a…” Her voice trails off. “I’m literally with McKay.”

Are you? I almost ask, but manage to refrain.

“I’m just saying,” Maddy says. “You’d make a really hot couple.” On the other side of Lexi, BB sniggers.

“Madeleine,” I say firmly. “That’s enough. Leave her alone.” How’s that for assertive.

Maddy rolls her eyes, but has the good grace to drop the subject. She has what she wanted, after all.

“I don’t think I like when you try and be in charge,” Lexi says beside me. “You’re not very good at it.”

“I’m good at it,” I insist.

Notably, no one speaks up to agree with me.

Just a few more minutes. I can last a few minutes. Do not get hard. Do not get hard. Do not get hard.

Cassie bounces in my lap again. Shit. Shit. Shit. The paranoid part of my mind is occupied with wondering if the tendons in your dick can snap from being held down by her body weight and prevented from rising. Are there even tendons in the penis? God, I hope not.

I feel the exact moment her breath hitches. Very slowly, she looks over her shoulder at me. Her eyes are wide, her cheeks burning red. Her mouth is open from shock.

I do not break eye contact. I look at her, silently pleading for her to keep her mouth shut.

Cassie hesitates, before her mouth curves into a teasing smile. She brings a solitary finger to her lips, and then faces the front again. She shifts forward, and the pressure is relieved. I am thrilled, personally, that I am not about to suffer a penile fracture.

When I glance up at the mirror, I meet Maddy’s eye. Her smirk is prominent. She knows exactly what has just happened. It seems to have been the outcome she wanted all along.

***

When we pull into the parking lot of the smoothie bar, and the door opens, Cassie rises quickly from my lap. She is first out of the car, that pretty blush still coloring her cheeks.

Lexi hesitates midway through buckling her own seat belt. “Oh my god, were you—”

“Desperate for a smoothie?” I interrupt, my voice low and urgent. “Yep. Let’s go, shall we?”

I rise from the car, slamming the door closed behind me with a satisfying thud.

As the six of us approach the smoothie bar, Maddy falls into step beside me, a little ways behind the others. “You’re welcome,” she murmurs.

“For what?” I ask tersely.

Maddy stops walking, and I stop with her. “Cassie can’t see you as that little boy anymore,” she says. “Now she has to admit to herself that you’re a man. You’re… you know, you’re a sexual creature.” She smirks. “Your chances just went up by, like, eighty percent.”

“You made that number up,” I accuse.

“Does it matter?”

“I don’t know.”

Maddy shoulders rise and fall as she shrugs. “Think about it,” she says. “You’re… you know, you’re an idea now.”

“An idea?” I echo.

Maddy nods, a smirk overtaking her face. “A good idea… or maybe a bad one. Every time McKay fucks up, Cassie will wonder in her pretty little head what it would be like with you. She’ll lie in her bed, all night long, and she’ll just… wonder.”

“That’s dumb,” I insist.

“Do you trust me?” Maddy asks.

“Always.”

“Then trust me now.”

Slowly, I nod. “But, like… when does a good or bad idea become reality?” I ask, very quietly.

Maddy doesn’t respond, she just grins and resumes walking.

The girls have congregated at the door to wait for us.

BB takes a pull from her pen, exhaling a pale cloud of vapor. “Why the fuck are you two always lagging behind?” she asks.

“Because he’s the only one of you bitches who’s actually interesting to talk to,” Maddy retorts.

“I’ll take it,” I say dryly.

“Do you know what you need to do?” Kat asks.

“I think so,” I say.

Kat steps towards me, glancing back at the bar. “You need to be… confident. A little cocky.”

“Why?” I ask.

“It’s more imposing,” Kat explains. “You want us to get, like, really good service don’t you?” She looks at Maddy, and I get the distinct feeling the two of them would just like to see my attempt.

Slowly, I nod. “Got it,” I drawl. I stretch, delivering a performative yawn. “Are we going in, or what?”

“It’ll do,” Maddy says.

The six of us enter the smoothie bar.

Near the entrance sit a couple of boys my age. I nod in their direction. They nod back. God, that feels good. Like I’m just a normal guy, extending a casual greeting to some fellows in a smoothie bar. I can do this. I can be this.

I drift a little closer to Cassie. “Can we talk?” I ask quietly.

Cassie looks up at me, and nods. “Yeah, okay.”

While the others go up to order, Cassie and I find a booth. I let her have the window, sliding in beside her. “Look,” I say. I remember what Kat said, and sit up straight in the seat. Shoulders squared, chin up. “In the car… that was entirely involuntary. I didn’t mean to… you know?”

“I know,” Cassie says. Her shoulders rise and fall as she shrugs. “I’m not, like, mad. It’s just, like, a thing.”

“So we’re good?”

Cassie nods. “Yeah, Mars. We’re good.” She laughs, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “You looked so terrified.”

“A little,” I admit.

“You totally think I’m hot,” she teases.

“I’ve told you you were hot for years.”

“No,” Cassie says. She shakes her head, her smile growing a little. “You tell me I’m beautiful. There’s a difference.”

“What’s the difference?” I ask.

Cassie thinks for a moment. “Beautiful is what my grandma calls me,” she says. It is simple, but I understand what she means.

“Oh, so your grandma doesn’t call you hot?” I shake my head with mock disapproval.

“No, you dork,” Cassie says, laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Maddy asks as she slides into the booth. She sits across the table from us. The other three take their place, Lexi on my other side.

“Nothing,” I say.

“Nothing,” Cassie agrees, though she winks when I glance at her.

“We got you both strawberry,” Maddy says, setting down two plastic cups in front of Cassie and I. She smirks. “Hey, Mars… what’s that thing you told me about strawberries once? The chemistry thing. It was so interesting.”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I’ve probably told you a lot of things about strawberries.”

“No, no, I remember,” Kat puts in. “It’s… shit, it’s Latin, right?”

Clever girl, I think. Get the etymology wrong, that’s one way to get me. “Greek,” I correct. “Strawberries are an aphrodisiac… as in Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty.”

“What’s an aphrodisiac?” BB says.

“It means it makes you sexually aroused,” Lexi says, not looking up from the table. I don’t know why, but it’s sort of funny to hear Lexi say the word sexual. It’s like hearing Mickey Mouse swear.

“Oh, shit,” BB grins. “Like Viagra?”

Lexi nods, still not looking up from the table.

“You guys are being really weird today,” Cassie says as she takes a long sip of her drink. She glances at me for support. “Right, Mars?”

“Yeah,” I agree. “Really weird.” I take a slow sip of my drink, eyes narrowing as I glare at Maddy and Kat.

They return my gaze without a hint of shame or regret. Why must they toy with me like this?

“Is it true?” Maddy asks with a thin veneer of innocence. “Are you aroused?”

“No,” I insist. “I am not.”

“Not anymore,” Cassie mutters under her breath, taking another sip.

Kat laughs. Maddy arches a brow, as though daring me to stammer a denial. Lexi looks mildly uncomfortable.

“What does that mean?” BB asks.

“Nothing,” I insist.

“Didn’t feel like nothing in the car,” Cassie says. She sets her drink down, looking up at me. Her smile is less triumphant than Maddy’s. To her, this is a joke to share, not a game to be won.

“Ha,” I say, with a forced smile. “Let’s, uh… let’s change the subject.”

“I still don’t get it,” BB says.

“He got a hard on with her in his lap,” Kat says dryly.

BB laughs. “Shit, really?”

“I also think we should change the subject,” Lexi puts in.

“You should listen to Lexi,” I say weakly.

“Oh my god, relax,” Cassie says. “It’s not a big deal.”

“So are you two gonna fuck, or what?” BB asks.

“What?” Cassie says, the blush settling in at astounding speed. “No. No. Oh my god, why would you even say that? He’s… he’s Marston. We’re friends. Just friends. I’d never fuck him.”

Joy, I think dryly. Thanks, Cass, really make the point clear. “Yeah, same,” I lie.

Cassie’s head turns so quickly it is almost guaranteed to cause whiplash. “What?” she demands.

“What?” I say blankly.

“You wouldn’t fuck me?”

“What? You… you literally just said—”

“You’re not supposed to agree with me, Marston.”

“I’m sorry?”

Cassie rolls her eyes. She picks up her smoothie, huffs loudly, and turns to the window.

Helpless, I glance at Maddy. But Maddy isn’t looking at me. She is looking at Cassie, as though fascinated. She exchanges an indecipherable look with Kat. They both nod, as though coming to a shared understanding.

“Cass?” I say.

Cassie either does not hear me, or does and deigns not to acknowledge it. I privately suspect the latter is more likely.

“Cassie?”

Again, Cassie offers no sign that she has heard me. I have absolutely no idea what is going on. Have I offended her? The female mind is truly boggling. Wait, is this what the silent treatment is? I can understand now why it is so frustrating.

“Cassandra,” I say firmly.

Slowly, Cassie turns her head. “Marston,” she says, her voice sickly sweet. “I’m just trying to drink my smoothie. Why don’t you go talk to someone else? What about…” her eyes scan the building, “...that girl over there. I mean, you’d probably fuck her, right?” She laughs a humorless, bitter laugh. “Not me, obviously, but her?”

With a long exhale, I squeeze past Lexi to get out of the booth. “I’m going to the bathroom,” I say. I don’t exactly need to, but hopefully Cassie will be acting a little less like a child when I return. I mean, I’m not asking for total maturity, just a little.

In the bathroom, I look at myself in the mirror. I adjust my posture. Have to keep up the cocky thing, after all. Kat’s orders.

On my way back to the table, Maddy intercepts me. “She wants you,” she whispers.

I blink. “What?”

“Can’t you tell?” Maddy asks.

I glance over at the booth. Cassie is not looking in my direction. “No,” I say.

“Seriously?” Maddy looks exasperated. “Did you miss the part where she got all pissed because you pretended you wouldn’t fuck her?”

“I mean, she might have just been offended.”

Maddy shakes her head. “Mars, trust me. That girl is yours. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

“I’m not so sure I like the way you’ve phrased that,” I say quietly. To me, it feels a little… incel-adjacent.

Maddy rolls her eyes. “Bitch, shut up.” Her eyes slide past me. She takes a step closer. “Guy at the bar’s been checking Cassie out since we walked in,” she confides.

I glance over at him. True to her word, he does seem to keep finding an excuse to look over to our booth. “So?” I say.

“You’ve spent enough time with Nate,” she says. “You think Nate would let anyone look at me like that?”

“Well, no,” I admit.

“Listen to me,” Maddy says. “Go. Now. Say something to him. Mark your territory. It will help you out in the long game, I promise.”

“Are you sure?”

“Just go.”

Tentatively, I approach the bar. The attendant is perhaps two or three years older than me, with sandy hair and a sun tan. “’Sup, bro,” he says.

“’Sup,” I return. I lean a hip against the bar, glancing over at our booth. “The blonde chick’s, like hella bad, right?” Hella. I want to be sick.

“Hell yeah, dog,” he agrees. I hate his smile. What an unpleasant smile.

I drop the friendly facade. “She’s… nine,” I improvise.

The guy looks nonplussed. “Huh?”

“Yeah,” I say. “So unless you want me to call the police, I’d keep my eyes to myself if I were you.” I step back. “Have a nice day, dog.”

When I return to the booth, Lexi slides across so I can sit down again. For some reason, Cassie looks deeply embarrassed.

“You know we could hear you, right?” Kat says dryly.

“Oh,” I say, very quietly.

“She’s nine?” Maddy repeats incredulously.

“I had to say something,” I insist.

“Oh?” Cassie says from the other side of Lexi. Lexi shrinks back a little. “Why do you care who looks at me?”

“Who said I care?”

“You obviously care.”

“Prove it.”

Cassie sighs, but she smiles. “You’re such a dork.” Her expression turns more stern. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why?” I ask. “Did you want him to keep looking at you?”

“No,” Cassie admits.

“You know,” I say dryly, “if I was McKay, I’d probably be pretty upset if I knew you welcomed the attention of any strange man chance met in a smoothie bar.”

Cassie rolls her eyes.

“Since when was it a crime for a gentlemen to look out for his friend?” I ask.

Cassie doesn’t answer. She just picks up her smoothie again, and takes a long sip.

“Are you mad?” I ask quietly.

Slowly, Cassie shakes her head. “No,” she admits. She gives me a small, tentative smile.

“You’re all coming tomorrow, right?” I ask.

“We’re cheerleaders,” Maddy points out. “We literally have to.”

“Fine,” I say. “Those of you who are not obligated.”

“I’ll be there,” Lexi assures me.

“Sure,” BB says.

My gaze lands on Kat. “What about you?” I ask.

Kat sets her smoothie down. “I don’t know…”

“Please?” I ask.

Kat sighs. “Those fucking eyes… yeah, okay. I’ll come.”

***

After she drops off Kat, Maddy and I are the last two people in the car.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she asks.

“Getting in the front?” I say.

Maddy’s look is murderous. “Walk around.” It is not a request.

I sigh, but pull my leg back and push the door open. I climb out of the door, closing the door with a little more force than is strictly necessary. I get in the front, and buckle my seat belt.

As we pull away from the curb, I turn my head to look at Maddy. “Do you really think Cassie wants me?” I ask.

“I mean, not yet,” Maddy says. “It’s like a seed. It’s been planted in her mind, and now you have to let it rain for a while.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know,” Maddy admits. “Weeks, if you’re lucky. Years, if you’re not. My guess? Couple of months.”

“Do you think McKay and her will be done by then?” I ask.

Maddy’s exhale is closer to a laugh. “Honey, I don’t think you have to worry about McKay. I know men like him, and I know men like you, and—”

“There are no men like me,” I recite. “There's only me.” Thank you, Maddy. Fuck, been wanting to slip that one into a conversation for years.

“You got that right,” Maddy says quietly. She glances at me, her lips curving into a smile. “All I know is that at that some point, McKay is going to fuck up big time. He’s going to fumble her, Mars. You have to be ready to catch her.”

“She’s not a football, Maddy.”

“It’s a metaphor.”

I hesitate for a moment. “Is that not a little… predatory?” I ask with distaste. “Like… like I’m lying in wait?”

“You’re such a fucking boy scout,” Maddy says with a sigh. “It’s not predatory, Marston. You’re not taking advantage of her, you’re giving her a better option.” Maddy takes her eyes off of the road for a moment to consider me. “You’re the only option.”

“How come?” I ask.

“Estás pero si bien pendejo,” Maddy says with exasperation.

Remembering what she taught me, I frown. “Vete a la chingada,” I curse.

Maddy smiles. “You remember?”

Slowly, I nod. “Sí.” I glance at her. “Why am I the only option?”

“You’re the only one who can give her what she wants, Marston,” Maddy says, almost sadly. “You actually love her.” She swallows. “I’m not telling you to slide in the moment her and McKay are done, when she’s all sad and crying and shit. But eventually she’s gonna get another boyfriend, right?”

“Right,” I say.

“Why shouldn’t it be you?” Maddy asks.

Slowly, I shrug.

“I haven’t spent five years watching you pine for her just to see you not take your chance when you finally get it.”

“Pine?” I repeat. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Maddy gives me a look. “Don’t play dumb, it isn’t cute.” She sighs, and reaches out to flick my chin the way she would when I was a kid. “Maybe it’s a little cute,” she admits reluctantly. “Idiot.” She looks at me, her expression softening. “Are you still having nightmares?” she asks.

Slowly, I nod. “This morning,” I admit. “First time since Monday.”

“What was it?” she asks.

“The grave again.” I look out of the window. “They’re just dreams.”

“I know,” Maddy says. As we pull up to my curb, I unbuckle my seat belt. “Make sure you sleep,” Maddy tells me. “You got a big day tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

In the dream, Cassie’s very core seems to shine like the brightest star. Through the layers of sinew, muscle, bone, flesh, and her floral sundress, I can see the glow. Her hair is tied back, a few strands breaking through the binds to frame her face. Her bare feet press into the sand, and the waves slosh gently against our ankles. Aside from us, the beach is unpopulated.

“I love you too,” Cassie murmurs demurely. “I’ve always loved you, Marston.”

“Really?” I ask.

“Really,” she repeats. “I want us to be together.”

“Yes,” I agree, without a moment of hesitation. “We should be. Please?”

Very slowly, a smile forms on Cassie’s face. “Come here,” she whispers.

I lean forward, but Cassie puts a single hand out to stop me. “Oh, Mars,” she says with a mocking kind of pity. “There’s just one problem.”

“What problem?” I ask with a frown. That tone isn’t Cassie at all.

Cassie smirks. “I don’t date cripples.” Her gaze falls to my ankle. “Seriously, Marston, you let it happen again?”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, very quietly.

“Look,” Cassie says.

“No.”

“Look.”

“No.”

“That’s fine,” Cassie says, tilting her head to one side. “I’ll make the other one match.”

Her foot extends faster than I would believe, a vicious oblique kick. Usually it would target the knee, but this thing that isn’t Cassie makes sure it lands on the ankle that isn’t broken. It snaps in twain.

***

In an empty classroom, after the final school bell has rung, I collapse into a flimsy plastic chair with all the grace of a rhinoceros. My heart feels like it could beat a peregrine falcon at a million paces, and every bit of air catches and sticks in my throat. I shake like a lamb facing down the wolves. “I- I can’t do it,” I stammer. The dream has stuck in my mind all day, playing on repeat.

“Seriously?” Rue says. “Now?”

“I don’t understand,” Jules says. “What’s happening?”

“He’s having another panic attack.”

“He’s done this before?”

“A few times,” Rue admits with a frown. “He’s kind of a nervous wreck.”

“Well, how do we make him stop? He has a tryout in forty-five minutes.”

“We don’t,” Rue says. “She does.”

“Who’s she?” Jules asks.

“You’ll see. Wait here.”

Jules probably says something while we are alone, but none of it cuts through. I only distantly register the sound of the door opening, and closing with a click.

“Marston?” someone says. “Marston?” She clears her throat with impatience, lifting my chin with two fingers. “Marston Forster, look at me when I am speaking to you.”

Very slowly, I look at her. Almost imperceptibly, my breathing slows. “I can’t do it, Maddy,” I whisper.

“Why not?” Maddy asks. Behind her, Rue and Jules hover.

“It will happen again,” I say. I glance down at my ankle, but only for a panicked second. “They’ll break me.”

“You’re not fourteen anymore, Mars,” she reminds me. “You’re stronger, you’re about a hundred pounds heavier—”

“Have you seen some of those linebackers?” I interrupt.

“I’ve seen them,” Maddy says. She folds her arms across her chest. “I wasn’t impressed.”

“You’re not the one they’ll be running at.”

“So you’re just going to hide in here like a fucking coward?”

“Yes,” I say, without a moment of hesitation.

Maddy frowns. “Really?”

I nod fervently. I am no longer hyperventilating, but the shaking has not subsided. “I can’t do it,” I insist.

For a long moment, Maddy is silent. Then, her hand moves to cradle the side of my face. Her grip prevents me from breaking eye contact. “You’re afraid?” she says.

“Yes,” I say.

“What do your books say about fear?” she asks. Behind her, Rue smirks; it is a smug expression, as though she knew all along Maddy would win.

“They say that the only time a man can be brave is when he’s afraid,” I admit.

“What else?”

“Fear is the mind-killer,” I recite. “It… it’s the little-death that brings total obliteration.”

“One more.”

“The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.”

“Are you going to let fear make you its bitch?” Maddy asks.

“Never,” I insist.

“Do you want to be obliterated?”

“No,” I say.

“Can you be brave for me?” she asks.

Slowly, I nod. “For you? Anything.”

“Then get on your feet.”

“Okay,” I say, very quietly. I stand.

For a moment, just one, Maddy smiles. Then she looks at Jules, and the smile fades. She takes her time as she looks Jules up and down. It is hard to say what she makes of her. “So,” she purrs, eyes utterly devoid of warmth or welcome. “This is Jules.”

Jules gives Rue a brief, uncertain look. To her credit, she manages a smile. “Um, yeah,” she says. “Hi.”

Maddy’s gaze flicks to Rue, and it seems to soften. Maddy has always been a little soft with Rue. “You vouch for her?” Maddy asks.

“Yeah,” Rue says. “For sure.”

Slowly, Maddy exhales. “Fine,” she says. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Jules echoes.

Maddy arches a brow. “You’ve said that.”

“I know,” Jules says.

Maddy glances back at me. “Okay,” she says, pointing between Jules and I with a manicured finger. “I get it now.” She smirks. It is a dangerous look. “You weren’t lying, Mars,” she murmurs, just loud enough for all to hear. “She is kind of hot.” She makes her way to the door, pausing only long enough to say, “don’t be late.”

When the sounds of her footsteps have receded along the wall, Jules smiles. “You told her I was hot?” Beside her, Rue scowls.

“No,” I say. “I didn’t tell her you were hot.” I avert my gaze, a flush creeping up my neck. “I told Nate you were hot. He clearly passed the information along.”

“Why the fuck did you tell Nate she was hot?” Rue demands. No jealousy there, of course. None at all.

“He asked,” I say. “Was I supposed to lie?”

Rue fails to answer the question.

For her part, Jules does not look displeased. “Yeah, Rue,” she says. “Was he supposed to lie.”

“No,” Rue says. I can see the tension in her jaw.

“Forget about the hot thing,” I say. “I need you to promise me something.”

“What?” Rue asks.

“If it happens again, don’t let Cassie see me cry. Distract her or something, I don’t know.”

Rue smirks. “I can’t promise that.”

“Come on,” I say. “I ask so little of you.”

Rue sighs. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you,” I say. I take a deep breath, and roll my shoulders.

“How nervous are you?” Jules asks.

I raise my arm. My hand trembles so badly it feels as though it will fall off. “Just a little,” I lie.

“A little,” Jules repeats skeptically. “Sure.”

“I told you he was a nervous wreck,” Rue says dryly.

“Do you wanna swap places?” I ask. “Let’s see how much of a smart ass you are when said ass is broken in eight places.”

“You can’t break your ass in eight places,” Rue points out.

“Trust me, they’ll find a way.”

Jules laughs, and pushes me towards the door. “Go get changed, loser. We’ll be watching.”

***

Through the face mask, the world is painted with thin stripes of shadow. The helmet is light on my head, not uncomfortable but intensely notable. It is a minor sensory annoyance, and I do what I can to ignore it.

For a moment, I can almost imagine the thick armor on my shoulders are pauldrons, my chest piece a cuirass. It helps.

Nate is crouching behind the center. When the center snaps the ball, I know, Nate will make sure it finds its way to me. And then… then the minotaurs charge.

On the sideline, the coach brings his whistle to his mouth. Behind him, I can vaguely make out the cheer leading team. Cassie and Maddy are somewhere in the sweat obscured blur. That helps as well.

In the bleachers, sparsely occupied, I make out the shape of Rue and Jules. Further along, Lexi sits alone. A few rows down, Kat sits with BB. Kat looks annoyed, so BB must be speaking.

The coach blows, and the center snaps the ball.

I run forward, and as I pass Nate he pushes the ball into my hands. I make for the gap opened up by my guards, and barrel through. I slip a linebacker, and then my path is clear. Clear, except for the free safety. By combination of the sun’s glare and his visor, I cannot make out his face.

Then, I am fourteen again. Fourteen, and scrawny, and about to die. I close my eyes, and think of Maddy, and keep running. I can be brave for her.

I stick a stiff arm out to push the free safety aside as though he weighs nothing. I hear him hit the floor, but do not register any sound from his mouth.

The end zone is in sight, but hot on my heels I can hear another. A dive catches my ankle, but I drag my foot forward and keep running.

I plow through the air and drop into the end zone, cradling the ball to my chest. Not bad for a first play, I think.

It is Nate who pulls me to my feet. “Good?” I ask.

“Good,” Nate confirms. “You know for a second, I thought he caught you.”

“No one catches me.”

“Don’t get cocky, Forster.”

“Then put me up against someone difficult.”

“There’ll be time for that,” Nate promises.

My eyes scan the cheer leaders until they find Cassie. Between her pom-poms, she is smiling.

“Don’t look,” Nate says.

“Why?” I ask.

“Right now, she’s watching you,” Nate points out. “Keep it that way.”

I nod, and look away, and focus on my football.

***

One Friday night, early in the eighth grade, Lexi and I were sprawled out on her bed. It had not been very long since their dad left. I had seen Cassie crying a lot, Lexi not so much. I like to think my near constant presence had a positive impact on the both of them, but it is difficult to say.

“I can’t believe they overturned it,” I said bitterly, erasing a pencil line with a little more heat than would be typical.

“I thought you believed in due process,” Lexi said.

“Most of the time,” I conceded. “Not for him.”

“Mars, what is your problem with Tom Brady?”

“He’s cheating scum.”

“But you hated him before that,” Lexi pointed out patiently.

“Clearly I have phenomenal intuition,” I said.

“Right,” Lexi said skeptically. “And 2002 has nothing to do with it?”

If you did not know, in 2002 the New England Patriots, in no small part thanks to their second season quarterback Tom Brady, defeated my beloved Rams to claim their first Super Bowl. At the time that Lexi and I sat on her bed, the Patriots and Brady had won four Super Bowls, the most recent being in February of that year. As of the modern day, the Patriots have won five. Along with the Dallas Cowboys and San Francisco 49ers, that makes them the second-most successful franchise in the league. The Rams have only won one, the 34^th edition in 2000. Of course, they were still the St. Louis Rams. They would officially be confirmed to return to Los Angeles a few months after Lexi and I’s discussion. The Super Bowl was also about two months before I was born, but that isn’t relevant to my grudge.

In September 2015, Tom Brady’s suspension for Deflate Gate had been overturned. It would be non-overturned on appeal, but I had no way of knowing that at the time.

“It has nothing to do with football,” I insisted. “I just don’t like the guy.”

“Didn’t you say his cameo in Ted 2 was okay?”

“He wasn’t even the best cameo in Ted 2,” I said. “Liam Neeson put him to shame.”

“I think it’s a little unfair to compare Tom Brady to a professional actor.”

“Why are you taking his side?” I asked.

“I’m not taking anyone’s side, Mars,” Lexi said calmly. “I just think it’s a bit silly to hate a stranger this much.”

“You wait,” I said. “Something dark will come out about him one day.”

Lexi smiled. “Like what?”

“Like… like a sweatshop in his basement,” I said with conviction. “Where he makes people deflate his footballs for a pittance.”

“I really doubt Tom Brady has a sweatshop, Mars.”

“You don’t know.”

Lexi might have responded, but at that moment the door opened and Cassie entered. She stepped into the light, and planted her hands on her hips. “What do you think?” she asked.

The standard uniform assigned to cheerleaders at East Highland might not exactly be appropriate for teenagers, but it is undeniably sexy. The crop top is long sleeved, glittery turquoise on the sleeves with a white chest, and bands of turquoise and black beneath the breasts. It ends about half way up the torso, leaving a lot of skin exposed. On the chest is a white bird. The shorts are of a similar color scheme and level of scandal. When you see it, you kind of get the idea that someone working at the school may be in desperate need of a hard drive check. But good lord does Cassie look hot in it.

“Woah,” I said, my voice a little louder than I might have liked.

Cassie struck a pose, her stance a little shoddy. Needs to work on her balance, I thought. “Good woah?” she asked.

Slowly, I nodded. “Good woah,” I confirmed. “You… you look amazing, Cass.”

Cassie preened, and bit her lip to stifle a grin. “I wasn’t sure,” she admitted, tugging the hem of her crop top down as far as it would go. “Maddy looks, like, so good in hers…”

It wasn’t the first time I had heard her compare herself to Maddy. She always did it with that wistful tone that damn near broke my heart.

“As good as you?” I asked skeptically. “I don’t believe that.”

“Oh my god,” Cassie said. “Mars, if she heard you say that she would literally kill you.” She laughed, taking a step closer. “Well, maybe not you. But if she heard anyone else say that…”

“I’ll take my chances,” I said dryly.

“Wow,” Cassie said. “Such a brave dork.” She hesitated, looking at her sister. “Lex?”

“You look… really nice,” Lexi said, her lips curving into a small smile.

Cassie shoulders slumped with relief. She crossed the room, and flopped onto the bed. “What are the nerds up to today?” she asked, propping her head up on one bent arm.

“Pythagoras,” I said.

“He’s also been complaining about Tom Brady,” Lexi said.

“Again?” Cassie asked with a sigh.

My shoulders rose and fell as I shrugged. “It bothers me.”

“Everything bothers you, Mars,” Cassie said, though it was not unkind.

“God forbid a man has high standards,” I said dryly.

Lexi frowned. “I’ve seen you eat one of those burgers you put in the microwave,” she said.

“What’s your point?”

“That your standards literally could not be lower.”

“They’re really not that bad.”

“They are,” Cassie put in. “Is it even, like, actual meat?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Does it matter?”

Lexi and Cassie shared a look, and then a nod, and then a word. “Yes,” they both said.

“Yes or no, have you both eaten a chicken nugget?” I asked.

“I mean, yeah,” Cassie said.

“If I told you what was in it, you’d never sleep again.”

Cassie frowned. “Why? What… what’s in it?”

For a moment, I considered preserving her innocence. Then I leaned down, and whispered in her ear.

Cassie’s eyes widened. “Ew. Seriously? Ew.” She looked at Lexi. “He’s kidding, right?”

Lexi shook her head. “No.”

Cassie sat up. “That’s disgusting.”

“Microwave burger sounding pretty good right about now, huh?” I said with an air of smugness.

“No,” they said together.

***

I am bruised and battered by the time I am finished dressing the in locker room. Still, I can’t stop smiling.

“Forster,” Nate says, taking something out of his bag. “Had this made.”

He tosses the jersey to me. I hold it up to the light: Forster, 11.

“Eleven?” I say quietly. “That was McKay’s number.”

Slowly, Nate nods. “You got a problem with that?”

“No,” I decide. “No, it’s fine.” I fold the jersey neatly over one arm, and place it into its own section of my bag. “Safe to say I passed?”

“Yeah, man,” Nate says. “You did great.”

Once again, I find myself a little embarrassed how effortlessly good Nate’s praise makes me feel.

***

When I emerge from the locker room, I have gone barely ten yards before Cassie hits me. She throws her arms around my neck, her feet leaving the floor, and I have to take a step back to accommodate her weight on my tired legs. Maddy stands with a little more dignity behind her.

“Hey,” I say. Almost tentatively, I rest a hand between her shoulder blades.

“You did it,” Cassie says. “You actually did it.”

“You sound surprised,” I say dryly.

“We are,” Maddy murmurs. “Half expected you to run away before you got anywhere near the field.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Cassie lets me go, and Maddy steps forward. She does not touch me, she just looks up at me.

“Are you proud of me?” I ask, very quietly.

“You idiot,” Maddy whispers. “I’m always proud of you.”

“McKay’s here,” Cassie says. “He came down to see me. If you’re going to see Lex, he can give you a ride, if you want.”

I literally could not imagine anything more painful. “That’s very generous,” I say, “but I’m good.”

“Mars, come on,” Cassie says. “You’re going to my house anyway.”

“I don’t want to be an inconvenience,” I lie.

“You won’t be,” Cassie assures me. “I already asked him, he’s cool with it.” Doubtful.

I look at Maddy for assistance, but she only gives me an apologetic smile. “Just let him drive you,” she says.

***

“Yo, Maddy!” Nate calls as we walk through the parking lot. Somewhere along the way, BB has joined us. Nate’s truck is parked up right next to McKay’s.

“What?” Maddy asks as Cassie breaks off and moves to McKay. They kiss. Kill me. Kill me now. Literally slay me where I stand.

“Let me take you out tonight,” Nate says.

“Why?” Maddy asks.

Nate only shrugs, a smug smile on his face.

Maddy laughs, and pushes a strand of hair out of her face. “I hate you,” she says, though it does not sound like she means it. She touches my arm in farewell, and her and BB break off.

“I know,” Nate says as he watches her and BB walk away. He smacks the hood of his car. Surprisingly dorky act for a man like him.

“Bye, guys,” Cassie calls.

“Is… is that an actual smile, Jacobs?” I ask dryly.

“Shut the fuck up, man.”

“Nah, he’s got a point,” McKay puts in. His stupid arm is around Cassie.

I know I shouldn’t hate McKay. I mean, it isn’t his fault. He’s a nice guy. We are romantic rivals, technically, but that doesn’t mean he has to be my enemy. I am not, by nature, a jealous person. I mean, do I seem jealous right now? Not at all!

“You shut up as well,” Nate says. I like this version of Nate. A part of me wishes he was just like this all the time. It’s almost… friendly. He points at Cassie. “Make your sister kick him out before midnight,” he says. “He’s got a party tomorrow.”

“I do?” I ask.

“It’s Saturday,” Nate says, as though it is an answer. He gets into his truck, starts the engine, and drives away.

“You can just put your stuff in the back,” McKay says to me. His smile is easy, good-natured. Likable, to my chagrin.

“Oh, yeah,” I say. “Sure.” I hoist my bag into the bed of the truck. Just in case, I weigh it down.

I get in the backseat. I choose to sit behind Cassie, figuring the ride will be less upsetting if I can’t see her face.

Chapter Text

The backseat of McKay’s car is pretty nice, as backseats go. The leather is heated, and his choice of air freshener is actually pretty damn pleasant. I do not know a lot about cars, but I like whatever model he drives. It’s black, which I appreciate. Here is some free life advice. If you ever see a person driving a green or, God forbid, yellow car, that person is not to be taken seriously. Black, gray, and white. Those are serious car colors. At a push, red and blue are also acceptable. Orange or purple, maybe, if you’re a renegade. But never green, and certainly never yellow.

I can’t say I approve of McKay’s apparel quite as much as his car. I mean, I try not to judge, but flannel? You’re a grown ass man with free will, and you choose to wear a flannel button up with a hood? He’s also wearing jeans. That marks him down in my opinion. I’ve never understood the world’s fascination with denim. Not only does it look horrible, it feels horrible as well.

Cassie is wearing a white crop top and a pink tennis skirt. Her sneakers are white as snow. Her blonde hair is loose around her shoulders, her makeup light and tasteful. She looks radiant, in other words. Well, of course she does. She’s Cassie.

As McKay turns the key in the ignition, Cassie peeks around the headrest. “Seat belt,” she says with a smile.

“Right,” I say. I pull on the belt, but it sticks. I frown, and pull again, but it still won’t come.

“Slower,” McKay advises. “You gotta let it glide.”

I implement his advice, and the belt finally comes free. I pull the latch plate to the buckle, and it clicks into place. “Thank you,” I say.

“No problem,” McKay says.

He really needs to stop being nice to me. It makes praying for his downfall and plotting on his girl much harder. Am… am I bad person? No. No. Of course not. McKay is going to lose her of his own volition. I will simply apply for the vacant position. It’s morally murky, maybe, but not bad. Or is that just something I’m telling myself? Fuck, this is an ethical nightmare.

McKay puts the car into gear and we pull out of the school parking lot. He rests his arm on Cassie’s headrest as he looks out of the back window to reverse. I feel a small jolt of satisfaction. A good driver doesn’t need to do this whole charade. He has mirrors for that. I should know; I’ve failed my test four times.

Once we are on the road, McKay speaks again. “You make the team?” he asks.

“Um, yeah,” I say. I allow myself a smile. “First practice on Monday.”

“Oh my God,” Cassie says. “He was so good, McKay. There was one play where he ran through, like, three defenders. Left one on the floor. It was so fucking cool.”

“I wasn’t that good,” I say, almost sheepishly.

“Humble, huh?” McKay says knowingly. “Don’t worry, Nate will take care of that.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“You wanna know something?” McKay asks.

“Sure,” I say.

“To be a star, you need to be a little arrogant,” McKay tells me.

I frown. “Really?”

“For sure,” he says. “Look at all the best athletes. I mean, Kobe isn’t humble, right?”

“Right,” I admit. I mean, I’m not sure known sex offender Kobe Bryant is really who I want to emulate, but sure.

“Or that soccer player… he plays for LA Galaxy…?” His voice trails off, as though searching for the name.

“Zlatan Ibrahimovic?”

“That’s the one,” McKay says.

“Don’t worry, Mars,” Cassie says. “You’re already a star to me.”

“Thanks,” I say. Eager to change the subject, I clear my throat. “So, uh… how’s college?” I ask.

For the first time, I see a twitch of annoyance on McKay’s face. “Good,” he says, though I sense his heart isn’t in it. “Yeah… yeah, it’s great, man.”

This is one of those complex social conundrums that truly troubles me. I never quite know what to do. Do I accept his answer at face value? Do I push? Do I keep quiet? On this occasion, I settle for the first option, though I am not sure it is the right choice.

“Cool,” I say with a nod.

“Yeah,” McKay says. I see his jaw work. “It’s real cool.”

***

Curled up on her cushioned chair, Cassie’s mom holds a glass in her hand. White wine. Chardonnay? Is Chardonnay even white? Is it even wine? Sauvignon blanc? Blanc is French for white, I think. That would make sense. Or maybe a third kind of white wine I don’t know. “Christopher McKay,” she says, looking at McKay where he sits on the opposite couch. I hover awkwardly beside the couch. Cassie has gone to get changed. Outside, the rain is pouring. I like that. Well, you know me, I love the rain.

“Yep,” McKay says with a friendly nod and an effortless smile.

“Drove down from college for the weekend?” she asks.

“Yep,” McKay agrees. “Mm-hmm.”

Mrs. Howard takes a sip of her wine. “So, what’s in store for Friday night, huh?”

“Uh, you know,” McKay says. “Just… mm.”

Is… is she just not going to acknowledge my presence? I thought she liked me. This is a little hurtful.

“Oh,” Suze agrees. She shakes her head. “Cassie’s smitten like a kitten with you.”

Beside the couch, I shift uncomfortably. Suze finally seems to notice I am there. “Oh,” she says. She glances at McKay. “Who’s your handsome friend?”

McKay and I share an uneasy look. “Um, it’s me, Mrs. Howard,” I say.

Suze blinks. I see the exact moment recognition dawns on her. “Little Marston Forster,” she says with genuine surprise. “Not so little anymore.”

At McKay’s nervous laugh, I copy him. “Um, yeah,” I agree. “I guess.”

“Oh, Christopher,” she says, waving the glass through the air. “You should have seen him when he was a kid. Following my Cassie around like a little lamb.”

“That… that’s not how it was,” I say, my voice little more than a whisper.

“Oh, it was,” she continues, not taking the hint. “You were adorable, sweetheart. Always hanging around, wanting what you couldn’t have.” She clicks her tongue, and shakes her head.

I look at McKay, and find that he is already looking at me. That same look from his party. “I don’t… that’s not…” My voice trails off.

McKay clears his throat, and looks at Suze again. “Cassie’s a pretty cool girl,” he says, as though steering the conversation to safer territory. That was surprisingly gracious. I am grateful. Maybe he really is a good guy.

“Well, I tell ya, it’s not easy to hold her attention,” Suze says. “Uh-uh. Like mother, like daughter.” That feels like a weird thing to say about your own child… and yourself, for that matter.

McKay looks uncomfortable now. To tell the truth, I’m more than a little uncomfortable myself.

“But she’s a good girl,” Mrs. Howard continues. “She’s got a good heart. Yeah. Handle with care.”

Oh my fucking God, please stop talking. Stop talking immediately.

“I will,” McKay says. He looks at me, as if to say: you seeing this shit? It is almost pathetic, how much I enjoy that look. It is camaraderie. Genuine, male camaraderie.

“Cassie’s great,” I say, feeling I need to say something.

“Yeah,” McKay agrees quietly. “For sure.”

“She’s really… fantastic.”

From behind, I hear Cassie’s approach. “Mom, stop talking to them,” she commands.

I turn in time to see Cassie descend the stairs. She has traded the crop top for a blue knitted sweater, still cropped a little above the high waistband of her shorts. Denim. Even Cassie is susceptible to that awful, awful textile.

Suze holds her hands up. “Excuse me, I’ve been dismissed,” she says. “You have fun.” She rises from the seat. As she passes Cassie, she smiles. “Ooh, you look so pretty.” Redundant statement, I think. She always looks pretty.

Cassie stops, and leans against the wall. “Hey,” she says to McKay.

McKay smiles at her. “Hey,” he says back.

Cassie glances at me. I stay hovering. She raises an eyebrow. I stay hovering. She nods towards the stairs. I stay hovering. Cassie laughs. “Lexi’s ready for you,” she says.

Finally taking the hint, I clear my throat. “Oh, right,” I say. I nod. “I’ll, uh, go then.” I begin approaching the stairs, then turn suddenly. “Um, bye… fam… bro… man?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you around, man,” McKay returns.

Man. He prefers man. Good to know. Or maybe it is only because man was the last word I said. I’m still not entirely used to the new jockish vocabulary I’m going to need to adopt in front of certain people. I’m not sure I could ever make dude work, but man… I can handle man.

As I reach the bottom step, I hear Cassie’s voice one last time. “Want to watch a movie?”

Followed by McKay. “Yeah, come on.”

***

I kick off my shoes, and flop onto Lexi’s bed. “I’m depressed,” I declare.

Lexi smiles. “You’re not depressed.”

Slowly, I sit up. “I am,” I insist. “It’s like… have you seen Once Upon A Time?”

“Sure,” Lexi says.

“It’s like when they rip a guy’s heart right out of his chest.”

“Are you sure you’re not being a little dramatic?” Lexi asks.

“Positive,” I say. I exhale. “I mean, her having a boyfriend in the abstract I can deal with. It’s like, yeah, she’s going to date someone, but…”

“What?” Lexi says.

“I just didn’t know it would be this difficult when I have to actually interact with the guy,” I say. “I mean… I like McKay. He’s nice to me. It… it’s weird, Lex.”

“I know,” Lexi says. “You’ll get used to it.” Oh, you sweet summer child.

“I mean, what does he have that I don’t?” I ask.

“Charisma?” she suggests.

“Besides that,” I say.

“Talent?”

“Beyond that.”

“The ability to tell a girl that he likes her within five years of meeting her?”

I frown. That was uncalled for. “You’re really not helping,” I say.

“What do you want me to say?” Lexi asks.

“I don’t know,” I say quietly. “Maybe that I’m handsome, and charming, and Cassie and I are destined to be together.”

“Seriously?” Lexi asks.

“Yes.” I nod hard.

Her shoulders slump as she exhales. “You’re handsome, and charming, and you and Cassie are destined to be together,” she recites, though I can tell she is only humoring me.

“Thanks,” I say dryly. I sigh. “How was the bus?” I ask.

Lexi shrugs. “It was the bus,” she says. “It doesn’t really change.” She frowns. “How did I beat you here?”

“McKay took the scenic route,” I say. I manage a weak smile. “Watching them flirt wasn’t devastating at all,” I lie.

“Do you know what would take your mind off of it?” she asks.

“Doing our homework?” I guess.

Lexi smiles. “Exactly.”

“I was thinking,” I say quietly. “What if we get Rue an A minus this week. You know, as a treat.”

“It has to be believable,” Lexi reminds me.

“I know,” I say, “but… come on, Lex. An A minus? For one week? Surely a teacher will buy that.”

“Alright,” Lexi says. “But if they catch on, you’re taking the fall.”

“Deal,” I agree.

***

It had been a few days since Cassie and I met, and I was finally starting to believe that her friendship was not an act or a prank to be ripped away from.

“Mars, hey,” she said at lunch on Friday. “I want you to meet someone.”

“Who?” I asked.

Cassie smiled. “You’ll see.”

She led me through the school, occasionally, glancing over her shoulder to make sure I was following, until we reached the library. The librarian, a kindly lady, was sat at her desk, and smiled at us as we passed.

The library was deserted, but for a girl sat in the back. She had brown hair, and brown eyes, and she was a touch paler than Cassie.

Cassie sat down at her table, and gestured for me to do the same. As I sat, I met the girl’s gaze for the first time.

“Lexi, this is Marston,” Cassie said. “Marston, this is my sister, Alexis.”

“Hello,” I said, very quietly. Slowly, tentatively, I offered my hand. “It… it’s nice to meet you.”

The girl considered my hand for a moment, before taking it. “Hey,” she said. “You can call me Lexi… everyone does.” We shook, three pumps, before letting go.

Cassie beamed, resting her chin on her palm. “I think you two are going to be, like, best friends,” she chirped.

“Why?” Lexi asked.

Cassie’s smile softened. “Because he needs you, Lexi,” she said. “And you need him.” She stood, and placed her hands on Lexi’s shoulders for a moment. “Be nice,” she murmured. “He’s… fragile.”

When she was gone, I looked at Lexi. “I’m not,” I said, though I did not quite sound like I believed it. “Fragile, I mean. I… I’m very resilient.”

For the first time, I saw Lexi smile. “I believe you,” she said. “You look resilient.”

“Thanks,” I said. “You too.”

“Cassie was talking about you last night, before we went to bed,” Lexi said. “She told me you were, like, really smart.”

“I am,” I admitted. I wasn’t bragging, I was just being honest.

“I’m pretty smart too,” Lexi said.

This time, it was my turn to say, “I believe you.”

“Do you want to come over after school?” Lexi asked. “We could do our homework.”

“Yeah,” I said with a nod. “I’d like that.”

I glanced out of the window. “Do you want to go swing?” I asked. I was too weak to hold my body weight up on the monkey bars, so I always preferred the swings.

Lexi nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “I’d like that.”

***

It is dark outside when I bid Lexi goodbye and leave the room. On my way to the front door, I run into Cassie in the hallway. The shadows dance across her face and tangle in her hair. Her eyes and wide and luminous. She’s been crying again, I know, probably in the last ten minutes. “Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” I echo. I offer a gentle smile, as if that can make it better.

“McKay left about twenty minutes ago,” Cassie says. “You heading out?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Apparently I have a party to be at tomorrow, so it’s an early night for me.”

“I’ll be there,” Cassie tells me. “I mean… with McKay. We’ll be there.”

“Right,” I say. “Of course.” For a long moment, I hesitate. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Cassie says, too quickly. “Totally fine.” She walks towards her room, but pauses at the door. She turns back to me. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Do… do you think I’m a slut?”

“No,” I say, without a moment of hesitation. “Of course I don’t.”

Cassie nods. Once, and then again. “Right,” she whispers. “I just…”

“You’re not a slut, Cassie,” I say firmly. I frown. “Did McKay call you that?”

“No,” Cassie says immediately. “Oh my God, no. He’s, like, so sweet, he wouldn’t.” Well, he clearly said something that upset you.

“You’re perfect, Cass,” I say, without a trace of irony. “You’re perfect, okay? Don’t ever let anyone make you forget that.”

Cassie’s breath hitches. The sound that escapes is half laugh and half sob. “You’re such a fucking dork.” She smiles. “Goodnight, Mars.”

“Goodnight,” I say.

***

In bed, just before I give myself up to sleep, I reach for my phone and dial Maddy’s number. It takes a moment, before the call connects.

“Hey,” she says. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I respond. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“What do you want?” she asks, not unkindly.

“Just to talk.”

“About what?”

“Your love life.”

For a moment, Maddy is silent on the other end. “Since when do I let you ask about that?” she asks, the amusement obvious in her voice.

“I’m hoping you’ll make an exception.”

I hear Maddy sigh. “Fine, go ahead.”

“Are you getting back with Nate?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” Maddy says. “Maybe. Why?”

“I don’t think you should.”

“Why?” Maddy asks. Her voice is quieter now.

“He isn’t… I mean, I kind of like him, but… he… he isn’t good enough for you. The way he talks, the way he acts… you could do so much better, Maddy. I mean, look at you. You obviously have options.”

“What if I like the way he talks?” Maddy asks. “We had a really good date tonight.”

“I thought you might say that,” I say quietly. I sigh. “Look, I’m not telling you what to do, I just… I want you to be happy, Maddy. I don’t think Nate will ever make you happy.”

“Marston?” Maddy says, her voice eerily still.

“Yes?”

“I love you,” she whispers. “And because I love you, I’m not going to tell Nate what you just said. But that was the last time you ever fucking ask me about our relationship. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” I say quickly. “Yeah, I understand.” Maddy does not intimidate me physically, of course, but the thought of displeasing her shakes me to the very core. It is her opinion that matters more than any other. Still, the point needs to be made. “But… Maddy?”

“Yeah?”

“I stand by what I said.”

“Go to bed, idiota,” she commands, but I can hear the reluctant smile in her voice.

Chapter Text

We exit the house through the back door, four in all, and come to stand on the wooden deck in the backyard. It is quiet out here. The night is still, the sky is cloudless, and the stars observe without comment. A chilled bottle of Budweiser condensates against my palm, and I can feel droplets roll down the glass to land at my feet. I take a sip, and it it not pleasant. Fun Fact: Like most lagers, Budweiser is disgusting. At least it isn’t strong, I suppose.

I lean back against the railing, and force myself to take another sip. The second can went easier than the first, and I find that this third can comes even easier.

“Yo, Forster. You smoke?” The question comes from Evan, one of Nate’s friends. He seems okay, I guess. A little dumb, but in a way that is inoffensive and harmless. He pulls a plastic-wrapped pack of cigarettes from the inner pocket of his jacket, and pulls a smoke out. He sticks it in his mouth, flicks up the lid of his Zippo lighter, and holds the flame to the tip of his cigarette.

“No,” I say. “Maddy doesn’t let me.”

This earns a laugh from the other three. Another of Nate’s friends, a burly linebacker named Austin, pulls a long swig of his beer. “She doesn’t let you?” he repeats. He glances at Nate, and chuckles. “What is she, your mom?”

“Shut up,” I say. “She’s not my mom, she just… look, you all could do a lot worse than listening to Maddy.” My shoulders rise and fall as I shrug. “I don’t like smoking anyway.”

“So you just do whatever Maddy tells you?” Nate asks. “That’s weird, man.”

“I don’t do whatever she tells me,” I say. It is only half a lie.

The tempered glass door slides open, and Maddy steps into the night. She looks exquisite. Her dress is as black as her hair, and the wings of her eyeliner are sharp enough to carve a turkey. Her heels click against the wooden boards as she approaches. She stops in our semi-circle. “There you are,” she says. She holds her hands out for Nate’s as if it is her due, and Nate seems more than happy to pay tribute. With her hand in his, Maddy’s eyes land on the bottle in my hand. “Since when do you drink beer?” she asks.

“It’s growing on me,” I lie. “Besides, it’s a party.”

“How many have you had?”

“Two,” I say. “Three, including this one.”

“One more and you’re done.”

The frown that settles on my face does so slowly. My jaw tenses, and I swallow. My gaze flickers to the three guys standing near. I want to impress these men. I want them to think I am cool. I do not want them to think that I need Maddy to babysit me, but defying her to her face, in front of witnesses, is not a prospect I relish.

“It’s a party,” I repeat. I make sure to keep my tone calm and respectful. “I’m driving, I’m not a lightweight, why can’t I have more?”

Maddy arches a single, perfect eyebrow. It has been lined immaculately by a pencil. “One more,” she repeats, “and you’re done.” She does not acknowledge the question, let alone humor it.

“You’re not my mom,” I say, though it is mostly to the floor. “I can do what I want.”

“What did you just say to me?” Maddy asks, with the faintest hint of a smirk.

“I can do what I want,” I say again. This time, I manage to meet her eye.

“Maddy, let up on him,” Nate says. “Forster’s celebrating.”

“Don’t tell me how to talk to Marston,” Maddy snaps at him. She pulls her hand away from Nate’s. “One more,” she says firmly. She walks to the door and slides it open without so much as glancing back.

I step forward, but Nate puts his arm out to stop me. “Let her go,” he says.

Maddy slides the door closed with more force than is strictly necessary, and then she is gone.

The three others look a little uncomfortable, but Nate is looking at me. “You’re right you know,” he says.

“About what?” I ask.

“Maddy isn’t your mom, and she isn’t your boss,” he tells me. “You can do what you want.”

“I don’t know,” I say. I feel a phantom itch at the back of my neck, and raise a hand to scratch it. “That… that doesn’t sound right.”

“You’re sixteen,” Nate says. “You’re basically an adult.”

“Yeah,” I say. I nod. “Yeah. Basically.”

“Look at you,” he says. “You’re a fucking stud. You don’t need to waste your time letting some chick tell you how to live.”

“Some chick?” I echo. Honestly, I am offended on Maddy’s behalf. “Remember who you’re talking about.”

The other three laugh, but it is muted. Evan clears his throat.

Nate gives me a cold look. He might be about to say something, but Austin speaks first. “Shit,” he says. “Can you believe McKay brought her?”

I look away from Nate, and to the door. Through the glass, I can make out Cassie and McKay, his arm around her as they pass.

“Bro, she’s such a slut,” Evan says. Well, that has changed my opinion fast. I now find his stupidity both offensive and harmful.

At my side, my fist clenches. Remember what Maddy told you. Do not hit him. Do not hit him.

“For real, man,” the third guy puts in. “I mean, fucking her I get. Shit, I’d love to fuck her. But actually dating her… what’s wrong with him?”

Violence is bad, Marston. Violence is really bad.

“Maybe he likes his shit used,” Austin comments.

Fuck it. Maddy isn’t my boss. “Shut the fuck up,” I say, louder than I intended.

Austin chuckles. It is an infuriating sound. “Or what?” he asks.

My shoulders slump as I sigh. No point bargaining with an ingrate. I smash the bottle down on the railing, and half of it explodes into a fine, glistening powder. I am left holding the jagged remnants attached to the neck. “Or I’ll cut you,” I say.

Austin looks stunned, his eyes wide.

I toss the rest of the bottle into the grass. “Don’t let me hear you talking bad about Cassie again,” I say.

When I get to the kitchen, Nate slips in after me before the door closes. “Hey,” he says.

“I don’t wanna talk.”

“Forster, hey—”

I turn on my heel to face him. “You’re going to make them stop,” I say. “Every guy on the team, all your little yes men, every hanger on. You make them stop, Jacobs.”

“Why would I do that?” Nate asks with a smirk.

I match it with a smirk of my own. “Because you fucking need me,” I say. “And you know you need me.”

Nate frowns. “What are you talking about?” he asks, though he already knows the answer.

“Your team is shit,” I say plainly. “Like, actually shit. They’re liabilities. All of them. You wanna win this year? I’m all you’ve got.”

Nate does not open his mouth to agree with me; nor does he deny my point.

“You wanna win?” I ask. “All you need to do is make Cassie’s life a little easier. That’s it. I can’t expect you to control the entire school, but your boys? If you tell them to keep their fucking mouths shut, they will.”

For a long moment, Nate just stares at me. It almost feels as though he is going to attack me. “I’ll talk to them,” he says. “Cassie’s off limits, fine.”

“I’ll see you Monday,” I say, and turn to go.

“Forster.”

Slowly, I turn again. “What?”

“I don’t think I like how close you are with Maddy.” There is a coldness to his voice.

“Right,” I say. I nod. “Of course you don’t. Because you can’t fucking conceptualize being friends with women. What now, Jacobs. Are you going to accuse me of wanting to fuck her?”

“If I thought you wanted to fuck Maddy, you wouldn’t be anywhere near her.”

The rank fucking arrogance of the comment… well, it rankles me. “Are you fucking serious?” I take a step forward. I would say I square up to Nate, but I have to look up at him slightly too much for that to really be the case.

“You need to step back,” Nate says. It doesn’t sound like him. It sounds like a line he has long since memorized.

“No,” I say. “As previously established, you need me.”

“Don’t push it.”

“No,” I say. “No, I think I’ll push it.”

Nate shoves me, hard. My back hits the kitchen island, and my knocks into a glass that slides off of the marble and smashes on the ground. There was more power in that push than I think I possess in my entire body. Still, I am stubborn.

“Do you feel like a big man now?” I ask, tilting my head to one side.

For a long moment, Nate does not speak. But the way he looks at me, he might as well be shouting. I am most likely the first guy to ever talk back to Nate, and even more so after such physical aggression. I can see it in his eyes.

“Maybe I’m an idiot, Jacobs,” I say, stepping forward again and recovering my position. “But I kind of like you. I think, yeah, Nate’s an asshole, but he’s okay. I still have that image in my head. Us, best friends, greatest duo the school’s ever seen, lifting that trophy at the end of the year.” As I look at him, my expression darkens. “But don’t you ever tell me I can’t be near Maddy. I was here before you, and I will be here long after you’re a fucking memory on the wind.”

For a moment, just one, I am certain he is about to kill me. Then, to my surprise, he smiles. “You practice that in front of the mirror?” Nate asks. All at once, he is charming and affable again. It would be unnerving, if I hadn’t seen it before.

“I mean, not that specifically,” I say, a flush creeping up my neck. “But… I practice speeches, yeah.”

“I’ll see you Monday, Forster,” Nate says, and he disappears into the house. Maddy didn’t say a word, definitely.

My heart feels as though it is racing, and I realize for the first time that if Nate wanted me dead, I’d be in the ground by now. I shake the thought loose, and try to mingle. I quickly find a face that, while not exactly friendly, is familiar.

“Hey,” I say, leaning back against the wall beside Kat.

“Hey,” she echoes.

“Having fun?” I ask.

Kat takes a sip from the solo cup in her hand. “Do I look like I’m having fun?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “It’s always hard to tell with you.”

“I’m fine,” Kat says with a shrug. “The party’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” I ask.

Kat hesitates for a moment, before leaning closer. “You wanna know something?” she asks.

“Sure,” I say.

“I went on Pornhub,” she says. “To make sure that video of me had been taken down—”

“I thought it wasn’t you,” I interrupt.

Kat pauses. Her jaw works. “Shit. Shit.” She sighs. “Marston, you can’t tell anyone. I’m fucking serious.”

“When are you going to learn that I don’t tell people things?” I ask.

“Sorry,” Kat says. “I forgot.”

“So, what did you find?” I ask.

“This German re-upload,” she confesses. “The comments… Mars, the comments fucking love me.”

“I wonder how vocal they’d be about that if they knew you were sixteen,” I say dryly.

“That… that’s not the point,” Kat insists. “Mars, they think I’m hot.”

“You sound surprised,” I say with a frown.

“I guess I am,” she admits.

“Do you not… own a mirror?” I ask.

“Shut up,” she says.

“Can I ask you something?” I say.

Kat nods.

“Last week, at McKay’s… if Maddy didn’t interrupt, do… do you think…” My voice trails off.

Slowly, Kat smirks. She tilts her head to one side. “I would have thought about it,” she admits. “Have a nice night, Forster.” She turns, and disappears into the party.

***

In sixth grade, I didn’t have a date to the end of year dance. Granted, we were twelve, and the vast majority of people didn’t have a date. I wasn’t that concerned. If you would one day tell me I would make it to eleventh grade, still never having had a date… maybe I would have been more concerned.

The gymnasium was decorated in soft pastels and fairy lights, divided in parts by heavy, draping curtains. The soundtrack of the night had mostly been comprised of Katy Perry and Carly Rae Jepsen. Now, I like Misses Perry and Jepsen as much as the next man, but the next man can only hear Call Me Maybe in rotation so many times in a single night before going slightly insane.

Sidenote: I always thought Carly Rae Jepsen belonged to the same genre of girl as Sam from iCarly. As someone who had a rather large crush on Sam when I was a kid, this meant I also found Carly Rae Jepsen very attractive. This isn’t exactly relevant to the story at hand, but it tells you a little something about what kind of child I was.

Where was I… oh, yeah, the dance.

Cassie and Maddy both had partners. Cassie’s dance boy looked smug, Maddy’s terrified half to death. It was pretty clear that Maddy was dancing with him, not the other way around.

Even Lexi was dancing with someone. We had been standing together near the refreshments stand, denigrating the entire affair with the kind of smarmy detachment that can only come from two people who desperately want to be involved. A boy had come over and asked Lexi to dance, and suddenly all her many criticisms of the event were forgotten.

My gaze slid past Cassie, Maddy, and Lexi, and settled on Kat. She stood alone across the dance floor. No one had asked her. She would probably deny it if asked, but I could see how hard she took it.

I poured myself a cup of juice, drank it in one, and lobbed the banded plastic cup into the trash.

I walked around the dance floor, my eyes keeping track of Kat.

When I reached her, she looked at me.

“Dance with me?” I asked, and offered my hand.

Kat beamed, and slid her hand into mine. “Okay,” she said. Her smile made the terrifying ordeal of actually asking worth it.

I led her onto the dance floor, and turned to face her. “Is now a good time to admit I don’t know how to dance?” I asked dryly.

“It’s okay,” Kat said. “I don’t know either.”

“My hands go here right?” I asked with a smile, allowing my hands to settle on her shoulders.

Kat laughed. “No,” she said. “That’s where my hands go.”

“Right,” I said. I moved my hands to her waist. “Better?”

“Better,” Kat agreed. She placed her hands on my shoulders.

“Ready?” I asked.

Kat nodded. “Ready.”

With that, we began to move. It took a while, but eventually we found a rhythm.

“This is actually kind of fun,” I said.

“Yeah,” Kat said.

“You look really pretty tonight.”

“Really?”

“Are you kidding?”

“You don’t… you don’t think I’m too fat?”

“Of course not, Kat,” I said, and I meant it. Kat’s always been really pretty. It is deeply sad that she doesn’t know it.

Kat looked past me, no doubt finding her friends on the dance floor. “I don’t look like Maddy, or… or Cassie,” she said.

“No,” I allowed. “You don’t. Does it matter?”

“I don’t know,” Kat said. “Maybe.”

I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter,” I said, my tone brooking no argument. I smiled. “I must look pretty cool, huh?” I said. “I mean, I’m the guy who gets to dance with you.”

“Shut up,” Kat said, though she smiled right back.

Later, Maddy appeared at my side. “You did a good thing,” she said.

“What good thing?” I asked.

“Earlier,” she said. “With Kat.”

“Oh,” I said. My shoulders rose and fell as I shrugged. “I just… I felt like she deserved to dance, you know? And no one else was going to ask her…”

“You’re really sweet,” Maddy said quietly. “She’ll remember this, Mars.”

“How’s your dance friend?” I asked. “He looked terrified… did he pass out?”

Maddy grinned. “Almost,” she confessed. Slowly, she frowned. “Sometimes I wish every boy here wasn’t so scared of me,” she admitted. I didn’t know it at the time, but it was this sort of desire that would eventually make Nate so appealing to her.

“I’m not scared of you,” I pointed out.

Maddy scoffed. “You don’t count.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“You’re Marston,” Maddy said. “You’re not, like… a boy boy. No offense.”

“How is that not offensive?”

“It just isn’t,” Maddy insisted. She smiled. “Drink your juice, idiot. If Cassie throws up punch and jellybeans, you’re in charge of keeping it off of my dress.” For the record, she didn’t throw up on the dress. Maddy’s shoes, on the other hand, were not spared. I like to think I got half points for that one.

***

The first time I pluck a shot of vodka off of a passing tray, like in the movies, it feels pretty cool. By the fourth time, it has lost its luster. I really need to grow up, I think. Vodka is so much better than beer. Even neat. Especially neat. To be fair, beer isn’t nearly as bad as that disgusting champagne had been. Maddy and I had finished most of the bottle together, and… honestly, I can’t remember what we did with the rest. Some lucky kid at McKay’s party probably got a couple dozen bucks worth of champagne for free.

When the fifth shot rolls down my throat, I feel Maddy’s acrylic nails dig into my arm. “Oh,” she says. “What did I tell you?”

“You’re not in charge of me,” I say. Alcohol has made me bold. “I drink what I want, when I want. I’m… I’m a fucking stud, Maddy.”

Maddy gives me a look of disgust. “Never say that again,” she says.

“As I have just told you, you’re not in charge of me.”

Maddy’s brow arches again. “You wanna bet?”

Slowly, I shake my head. Of all the people on this earth, Maddy alone I know has my best interests at heart. “No,” I say. “Sorry, I… Nate talks a lot, you know?”

“I know,” Maddy says. “Mars, I… I don’t mind if you wanna have fun. I’m glad you’re here, I just don’t want you to get drunk, and stupid, and embarrass yourself.”

“Don’t worry,” I say. “I seem to embarrass myself more than enough sober.”

Maddy laughs. As a tray passes, she plucks off two shots and hands one to me. “Cheers,” she says.

“Cheers,” I echo. I clink my glass against hers, and we knock back the same time. I wince, she doesn’t.

“Not a lightweight,” Maddy murmurs. “Sure.” She tilts her head. “Rue didn’t come?”

“No,” I say. “She’s probably with Jules. She’s usually with Jules.”

“Are you jealous?” Maddy asks with a smirk.

“No,” I say. “It’s just weird. It’s like… third wheeling to a couple that doesn’t exist.”

“But you wanna fuck Jules too.”

“Fuck her?” I echo, a flush creeping up my neck. “That… that’s such a reductive way of looking at it.”

Maddy rolls her eyes. “So you like Jules, Rue likes Jules… who does Jules like?”

“I don’t know,” I say.

“I mean, what’s she even into?”

“Again, I don’t know.”

“You haven’t asked?”

“What… what the kinda conversations do you think we have?”

Maddy laughs again.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “She’s, like, the first non-Cassie girl I’ve ever wanted,” I say. “It’s… it’s strange.”

“What are you going to do?” she asks.

“Nothing,” I say. “It’s just a crush. It’ll pass. With Cassie, it… it’s permanent.”

“Wow,” Maddy says dryly. “That’s so romantic.”

“It’s not even about Cassie,” I admit. “I mean, even if she wasn’t in the picture, I couldn’t do that to Rue.”

“Rue isn’t even dating her,” Maddy says.

“It doesn’t matter,” I insist. “She wants to. And… she’s different around Jules, Maddy. It’s like we’re kids again. You look at her with Jules, and you almost forget the drugs and the overdose. You know, until she reminds you.”

“So if you and Jules were alone, and she demanded that you take her right there, right then, you’d say no?” Maddy asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “I mean, I’d be an idiot, and I’d definitely regret it after, but I’d say no.”

“Easy for you to say now,” Maddy purrs. “Let’s see how well your moral code holds when you actually have an opportunity to break it.”

“I… I need to tell you something,” I say suddenly.

“What?” Maddy says.

“Nate’s friends were talking about Cassie. Not in a nice way.” I look down, my jaw working. “I ignored the first time. Even the second. But on the third I might have, like, maybe threatened to kill him.”

“Five days,” Maddy says. “That’s not… terrible. See if you can go for a week next time, idiot.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She lifts my chin. “Go party.”

“That’s what I was doing.” I make the decision not to tell her about my confrontation with Nate. What Maddy doesn’t know won’t hurt her, and I do not want her to know how closely I am straddling the line.

Maddy smirks. “No, you were standing alone and drinking.” She pushes my shoulder. “Go. Be normal for once.”

Chapter Text

I sit on Jules’s bed. The headboard is solid and sturdy against my back, while the comforter is soft and provides a sitting surface that is not unpleasant. My shoes lie tidily by the door. Close by, Rue’s lie discarded without a care in the world. Not a great day to wear my clone trooper socks, on reflection. Jules is yet to comment, but I saw her amusement when I removed my sneakers.

The second hang over of my life is, if possible, worse than the first. How do people do this every week? Shit, am I expected to do this every week? There is a persistent buzzing, resident somewhere in my skull that I cannot locate. It stretches from the back of my head to the spot just behind my eyes. It aches in pulsating waves, waxing and waning as the day passes. I feel as though I am sweating more than usual, but that may just be in my head. Whatever the cause, it is enough for me to have removed my hoodie and folded it neatly over Jules’s chair.

“You look like shit, by the way,” Rue says. “The fuck did you take?”

“Just lager and liquor,” I say. The act of speaking makes my throat feel drier than a desert.

“How much lager and liquor?” Jules asks.

“Not a lot,” I lie. “You know me, everything in moderation.”

Rue gives me a skeptical look. “I’ve seen you drink a two liter of Coke in, like, five minutes,” she says.

“Pepsi,” I correct. “I drink Pepsi. Well, Pepsi Zero Sugar. The regular stuff is too sweet.”

“You don’t like Coke?” Jules asks.

“Coca Cola is disgusting,” I say. “It’s also, like, the standard soda. It’s like your favorite food being white bread, or your favorite movie being The Godfather.”

“You want me to tell Jules how many Taylor Swift songs you have on your playlist?” Rue asks with a smirk.

“Go ahead,” I say. “I have no reservations about my musical tastes.”

“But you’re a hypocrite,” Rue says. “You like the standard artist.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Rue.” My shoulders rise and fall as I shrug. “People are multi-faceted.”

“You’re also into the blonde, blue-eyed, white cheerleader with the big tits,” Rue says. “That’s even more standard.”

“It has nothing to do with her appearance,” I say. I turn my head slowly and with some effort to look at Rue. “I think you know that by the now.”

“Whatever,” Rue says. “Just accept that you’re basic.”

“I’m not basic,” I say with a frown. “I have a rich inner world, and very sophisticated tastes, Rue.”

Rue gives Jules a look, then her eyes flick back to me. “Who’s your favorite member of One Direction?” she asks, almost casually.

“Zayn,” I answer.

Rue smirks. Jules laughs, and says, “You have a favorite member of One Direction?” Ah. I appear to have fallen into Rue’s little trap.

“So what if I do?” I ask, though I feel my cheeks redden. “As I said, no reservations about my musical tastes.

“Do you like Justin Bieber as well?” Jules asks with a teasing smile.

I blink. “Um…”

Jules tilts her head to one side. “That’s a yes, isn’t it?”

“He… he has some bangers,” I admit, averting my gaze.

“But he has sophisticated taste,” Rue says dryly.

“I do,” I insist.

“You’re wearing Star Wars socks,” Jules points out.

“What’s your point?”

The two of them share a look, and then they laugh. Fine, I think. If it keeps Rue happy and entertained away from narcotics, I can more than allow it.

“Do you have any water?” I ask Jules. “My throat feels evaporated.”

“I mean, downstairs,” Jules says. “But if my dad saw you…”

Rue sighs, her shoulders slumping. “I’ll go,” she says. She rises from the bed, crosses the room to the door, and slips into the hallway.

The moment the door clicks closed behind her, I lean closer to Jules.

“So,” I say, with a thin veneer of nonchalance.

“So what?” Jules says.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” I say. “I should really know more about you.”

“Where are you going with this?” she asks with an amused smile.

“Oh, where to start,” I say. I pretend to think for a moment. “What’s your deal?” I ask.

“My deal?” Jules echoes.

“Yeah,” I say. “You know. Do you prefer the intimate company of men, or women… or a third option?”

For a long moment, Jules just looks at me. That small smile hasn’t faded. “Why do you ask?”

“Call it curiosity.”

“I’m not sure it’s your business, Mars,” she says, as though scandalized.

“Shit, sorry,” I say. “I- I didn’t mean to impose.”

“I’m kidding,” she says. She laughs. “Mars, I’m kidding.” Her shoulders rise and fall as she shrugs. “I don’t really like labels.”

“Right,” I say. “Yeah, no, I get that.”

Jules grins. “And you?”

“Oh, I’m straight,” I say. For some reason, I feel it is very important for her to know that. “Like, completely, one-hundred percent straight.”

For a moment, just one, Jules’s smile twitches. “I hear that a lot,” she says.

Oh. To be honest, I hadn’t even thought about the potential implication. Nice one, Forster. You always know just what to say.

“I… I didn’t mean…” My voice trails off, and all I can manage is to give her a helpless look.

“It’s fine,” Jules says.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she repeats.

“You’re a girl,” I say. “I know that. I would never suggest otherwise, Jules. I mean, I could fuck you, and it would still be straight. Like, I’m talking some passionate, sensual shit, and it would still be perfectly heterosexual.”

“Stop talking,” Jules says.

I nod, and hold my tongue.

“You’re… you’re so fucking weird.”

I nod again.

Slowly, despite herself, Jules smiles. “Some passionate, sensual shit?” she echoes.

“I mean, yeah,” I say, very quietly. “I don’t believe in half measures.”

“You’re really worried about offending me, aren’t you?” she asks.

“I’m really worried about offending everyone,” I admit.

Jules gives me an understanding smile. The door opens, and Rue returns with a bottle of water in each hand and one more stuffed into the front pocket of her hoodie. She tosses me mine.

“Thanks,” I say. I pop the cap with thumb, and take a gulp.

“Why do you drink like that?” Jules asks.

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“The sucking thing,” she says. “It looks like you’re breastfeeding, or something.”

“We’ve been telling him for years,” Rue says. She hands Jules her bottle, and sits on the bed.

“I mean, how else am I supposed to drink?” I ask.

“You’re supposed to squeeze the bottle,” Jules says.

I hesitate for a moment, before trying it. I get my water, but it is mostly noiseless. “Huh,” I say quietly. “So… no mouth work at all?”

“Not really,” Jules says.

“There you go,” Rue says. “You’re drinking like an adult now.”

***

When Jules grabs my hand, I glance at her. “What?” I say.

Jules smiles a smile that is almost angelic in its innocence. “Can I paint your nails?”

I scoff. “No.”

“Why not?” Jules asks.

“Yeah,” Rue says. “Why not?”

“Because I’m a guy,” I say.

“Oh, so a guy can’t have painted nails?” Jules asks, raising a brow.

“I’m not gay.”

“Oh, so it’s gay to have painted nails?” she asks.

“Well, no,” I admit quietly.

“Please?” Jules asks.

For a long moment, I hesitate. “I don’t know…”

Rue pulls her phone out, and dials one of her contacts.

“Who are you calling?” I ask.

“Who do you think?” she asks. She brings the phone to her ear, and I hear the call connect. “Maddy, hey,” she says. “Yeah, no. Everything’s fine. Jules wants to paint Marston’s nails, and he’s being a little bitch about it.” Rue smirks, and holds the phone out. “She wants to talk to you.”

I sigh, and reach for the phone. “Hello,” I say.

“You should let her,” Maddy says.

“Why?” I ask.

“Do I really have to spell it out for you?” Maddy asks.

“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe.”

Maddy sighs. “Just let her do it, Marston.” The call disconnects. I hand Rue back her phone.

Slowly, I look at Jules. “One hand,” I say firmly. “But I want it on record that I have been coerced into this.

“Deal,” Jules says with a satisfied grin.

***

“So,” Jules says once she lain everything out in preparation. “What color would you like?”

“Black,” I say.

“Pick again.”

“Why can’t I have black?”

“Because I said so.”

“His favorite color is red,” Rue says.

“Red it is,” Jules says.

“Wait,” I say. “I like red, it is my favorite, but… sometimes I think red is too aggressive a color. Lately I’ve really been liking a nice royal blue.”

“Okay,” Jules says. “We can do that. Hand.”

Reluctantly, I hold my hand out. Jules guides it palm down to the towel in her lap. She clicks her tongue. “Do you bite your nails?” she asks.

“Sometimes,” I admit.

“Constantly,” Rue corrects.

“It’s not constant,” I insist.

“Pass me the clippers,” Jules says.

Rue hands her the metallic nail clippers. They look blunter than I would like. Everyone knows a blunt blade is the most dangerous.

As Jules begin to clip away at my nails, she frowns. “You’ve broken the skin in places,” she says, not unkindly. “The product might sting a little.”

“I can handle it,” I insist.

When they have been clipped, Jules reaches for a filer and begins to file them down.

“If you take my skin off, I won’t be happy,” I say.

“I’m not going to take your skin off,” she says. “Stop being a baby.”

“I’m not a baby,” I say.

“Really?” Rue asks. “You complain like one.”

“Shut up.”

“You really need to stop biting them, Mars,” Jules says. “You’ve ruined your cuticles.”

“Permanently?” I ask.

“No,” Jules says. “They’ll just take a while to heal. It looks really painful, though.”

“It is,” I admit.

“Well, you’re being very brave.”

“Thanks,” I say dryly.

“Rue, hand me a base coat,” she says, and she sets the file down.

“Which one?” Rue asks.

“You pick.”

Rue and I share a look. Neither of us really know which one is best. Rue hesitates, her hand hovering slightly, before grabbing a small bottle. “Here.”

Jules takes it, and pulls out the stopper. She wipes the brush around the neck of the bottle to remove any excess liquid, before applying a very thin coating to each of my nails. True to promise, it stings.

I inhale sharply, but keep my mouth closed.

Jules pauses. “You okay?”

“Fine,” I say quietly.

While it dries, I mostly stay out of the conversation and instead try to ignore the constant burning sensation. God, I really need to stop biting my nails. At one point, I almost whimper, but manage to pass it off as a yawn.

***

When Lexi first introduced me to Rue, Rue did not speak immediately. For a long time she just looked at me, as though cataloging every flaw. She had a distinct air of being thoroughly unimpressed abut her. Finally, she looked me in the eye and something about her softened almost imperceptibly. “Fine,” she told Lexi. “We can keep him.”

Lexi smiled at that, looking pleased to have gotten her way.

“I’m not a dog,” I said, almost to myself.

“What was that?” Rue asked.

“I’m not a dog,” I said, a little louder.

“I never said you were a dog.”

“You implied it.”

“No I didn’t,” Rue said.

“Do you take me for a fool?” I demanded.

“So far?” Rue asked. “Yeah, I do.”

Between us, Lexi let out a loud, put upon sigh. If she knew, then, that this was going to be her life for the next five years, she likely would sighed even louder. “I’m so glad you’re getting along,” she said, voice thick with irony.

***

As Jules finishes applying the second layer of actual polish, I have to admit that they look better than I expected to. Royal blue is a pretty nice color on keratin.

“Okay,” I say. “I let you. Can I take it off now?”

“No,” Jules and Rue say at the same time. Jules recaps the bottle of nail polish. “You have to let it dry,” she insists.

My shoulders slump as I exhale. “Fine.”

Slowly, Jules smiles. “You might as well let us do the other hand.”

I hesitate, before holding it out. “Get on with it,” I say curtly. “You’re very lucky I have such patience for your nonsense.”

“Shut up,” Jules says, though she seems satisfied. “You look pretty.”

“I don’t want to look pretty.”

“Too late.”

***

When both hands are dry, I look at Jules. “Can I take it off now?” I ask.

“Just leave it on until you go home,” Rue says. “Unless you think your manhood can’t handle it.”

“My manhood is perfectly fine, thank you.”

“Then leave the polish on,” Jules urges. “I dare you.”

I swallow every instinct I possess, and nod. “Alright,” I say.

“I wonder what Nate would say if he knew what you were doing right now,” Rue says with a wry smile.

“No,” I say urgently. “Absolutely fucking not. No one tell him.”

“Relax—”

“I’m serious, Rue. Both of you. Don’t tell anyone.”

“Marston,” Rue says. “Calm down. We’re not going to tell anyone.”

“Swear.”

“Fuck.”

“You know that isn’t what I meant.”

For a moment, Rue glares. Then, she sighs. “Fine, I swear not to tell anyone. Jules?”

“Yeah,” Jules says. She gives me a gentle smile. “I swear too.”

Slowly, I nod. “Thank you.”

“You’re so paranoid,” Jules says, covering her mouth with her hand as she laughs.

“Have you seen the people I have to associate with?” I ask incredulously. “Walk into that locker room wearing nail polish, I dare you.”

“You know if I walked in there, I’m not sure the nail polish is what would have me paranoid,” Jules says quietly.

“Right,” I say. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

“Stop apologizing.”

“I’m always telling him that,” Rue says. “He’s, like, perpetually guilty even when he hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Jules says.

“You think it’s sweet now,” Rue says. “It gets annoying after a while.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Stop apologizing!” she says, exasperated.

Jules begins to clear the nail stuff away. Her skirt rides high on her legs. I catch myself looking. Just as I am about to internally admonish myself, I realize that Rue is also looking. I raise a brow, my mouth curving with amusement. Rue scowls at me, and averts her gaze.

***

When Rue and I get to her house, I pause before approaching her front door. “Hey,” I say.

Rue stops as well. “What?”

“Nothing is ever going to happen between me and Jules,” I say. “I mean, yeah. She’s hot. But your friendship means infinitely more than that.”

“I don’t care,” Rue says, stuffing her hands into the front pocket of her hoodie. “Do what you want.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t care,” I say. “I can tell you want her, Rue.”

Rue looks down, and shrugs. “You don’t need to be all honorable, and shit.”

“I’m morally opposed to honor,” I remind her.

“You don’t need to be all noble, then.”

“I’m not,” I say. “I just… I don’t ever want a girl to come between us.”

“So, what, you’re graciously backing out?”

“Pretty much.” My shoulders rise and fall as I shrug. “Plenty of girls to strike out with. I think can leave Jules to you.”

“Fuck you,” Rue says, though I see the faintest of smiles. She glances at her house. “You can go, by the way.”

“No,” I say. “I said I’d walk you home, I’m walking you home.”

“I’m already home.”

“No, you’re outside your home.”

I set off down the path, and give her no choice but to follow me. I knock on her door.

The door swings open after a few seconds to reveal Rue’s mother, Leslie.

“Hey, baby,” she says to Rue. When she looks at me, she smiles. “Marston.”

“Hi, Mrs. Bennett,” I say.

Let me tell you something. Rue’s mom fucking loves me. In fact, most parents love me. I think it’s something to do with my inherent politeness mixed with the fact that I appear, at least on the surface, utterly boring and responsible. I have a face that tells you I plan on neither slipping your daughter a roofie nor taking her across state lines without permission.

“Bye,” Rue says to me.

As she slips past her mom, Leslie speaks, “Hold up, Rue.”

Rue sighs. “What?”

“Marston,” Leslie says. “Rue has an NA meeting next week. I don’t like the idea of her biking home by herself in the dark. Would you be able to bring her back.”

“Seriously?” Rue asks.

“I’d be happy to, Mrs. Bennett,” I say, without a moment of hesitation.

For a moment, it appears as though Rue might argue. Then, she sighs. “Fine,” she says. I hear her footsteps, louder than necessary, as she stomps towards her room.

“Goodnight, Marston,” her mom says.

“Goodnight, Mrs. Bennet,” I return.

As I cycle away, I have to ponder what one wears when picking up a friend from a Narcotics Anonymous meeting. I mean, how formal an occasion is that.

Chapter Text

The school cafeteria during lunch on a Monday afternoon is its own unique brand of hell. It was a sensory nightmare once, but over the years I have learned to handle the myriad scents, sights, and sounds. It still is not a place I particularly enjoy being, but I no longer have to fight the urge to flee and never look back. I can tolerate it, in much the same way I am learning to tolerate Nate and his friends.

It isn’t the sterile, soulless lighting that puts a weight in my stomach today, nor is it the lingering, salty stench of food and sweat. No, it is the knowledge that a little after the bell rings comes the pep rally. To introduce the football team for the new season. A team, of course, that includes me. I was restless last night, certain that I was going to make a complete fool of myself. Now, I am less certain. Still terrified, though.

My lunch lies untouched before me on a plastic blue tray. Never appetizing, today I find it utterly inedible. I can practically smell the grease and the cheap school district ingredients. Michelle Obama, you didn’t go far enough. I don’t want to sound arrogant, but if given her level of influence I am genuinely convinced I could fix America’s nutritional problems. There are prison meals better than this. Not that convicts don’t deserve a good meal, obviously. I am a strong believer that rehabilitation is vastly superior to punishment, I’m just saying that maybe children should be better fed in our schools.

“You know,” Kat says as she slides onto the opposite bench, “I’m really struggling to think of a time you weren’t, like, completely terrified.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “You and me both.”

“You’re not eating lunch?” she asks.

I shake my head. “I can’t.”

“What did you have for breakfast.”

I shake my head again. “I couldn’t.”

Kat exhales a weary sigh and unzips the front pocket of her backpack. She pulls out a can of sprite, pops the tab, and sets it in front of me. “Drink it,” she says. “You need the electrolytes.”

“There’s no electrolytes in that,” I say. “Well, okay, trace amounts. All negligible.”

“Oh,” Kat says. She frowns. “What is in it, then?”

“Mainly water and high fructose corn syrup,” I say. “You can thank the FDA for why we don’t get real sugar.”

“Then what are electrolytes?”

“Seriously?” I ask. “Do you pay attention at all in chemistry?”

“Not really,” Kat says with a dismissive shrug. “Will you explain it to me?”

“Electrolytes conduct electricity through the movement of ions, but not through the movement of electrons,” I explain. “There are electrolytes in salt, for example, but not…” My voice trails off. “Oh,” I say. “You remember what electrolytes are, you’re just distracting me.”

“That obvious?” Kat asks. “You never used to notice.”

“You’ve done this before?”

“Oh, we do it all the time,” Kat says. “Maddy figured it out years ago. You don’t panic as much when someone gives you a chance to deliver a fucking lecture.”

“Of course she did,” I say. My tone is dry, but not quite annoyed. “But… thank you. It did help.”

I reach for the can, and bring it to my mouth. “Ah,” I say with a quiet exhale. “Disgusting, as always. You know, in Canada they gave me real soda. Night and day, Kat. Night and day.”

“Hey, Kat,” says a boy as he passes our table. He is of average height and average build, with light brown hair and dark brown eyes. He seems nice, even if he is wearing a denim jacket. Another victim of the cult, it is sad to see.

Kat does not respond, but she watches him go for a moment before looking down at the table.

“Who is that” I ask.

“No one,” Kat says. It isn’t convincing. “Just some boy from class.”

“What’s his name?”

“Ethan Daley.”

Ethan would have sufficed, I think. I’m not sure if I am reading too much into it that she said his surname as well. I am infamously clueless at these sorts of things.

“Ethan Daley,” I repeat. “Does Ethan Daley know you think he’s cute?”

Kat’s gaze shoots up from the table and lands on me. Behind each lens of her glasses, her eyes widen. “What?” she says.

“I mean, if I can see it, it probably isn’t that subtle,” I say.

“I literally don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kat insists.

“Do you like him?” I ask.

“We have biology together.” Kat shrugs; it is a non-committal gesture. “He’s… nice, I guess.” She smiles, just enough to make out. “He’s funny. He actually reminds me of you. It’s not a loud funny, it’s more subtle.”

“I suppose I do have a certain wit,” I say, allowing myself a moment of smugness.

“Yeah,” Kat says dryly, “totally.”

“Do you think I’m a stud?” I ask, perhaps a touch out of nowhere. The word has been rattling around my head since Nate used it on Saturday.

“You?” Kat says. She laughs. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re a virgin.”

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“How are they not?”

I lack a proper response to that. “Maybe you have a point,” I admit. “I just… I kind of wanted it to be true.”

“Who told you you were?” she asks.

“Nate.”

“Has he… met you?”

“Shut up,” I say. I take another sip of the sprite, and slide it back across the table to her. “I need to get changed for the rally,” I explain, and rise from the table. “Bye.”

I take a little detour on the way to the locker room, and end up right beside Ethan.

“Um, hey,” I say.

“Oh, hey,” he says.

“Uh… I’m Marston,” I say, and I offer my hand.

He takes my hand, and we shake. “Ethan.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Ethan.” I hesitate for a moment. “Look, I just… I wanted to let you know that Kat and I are just friends.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. She’s… you know, she’s unattached.”

“Okay,” Ethan says. “I saw you sitting together, I thought maybe…”

“Just friends,” I assure him.

“Hey, aren’t you the guy who put some guy on the ground for talking about her?”

“I, uh… I am that guy,” I admit. “Totally platonic. I’m just… I’m a very serious friend.”

He nods. “Cool.”

“So best behavior, eh?” I say with mock seriousness. I shake my head. “I’m kidding. That was a joke. Ignore that, sorry, I… ignore that. I should go, but… I’ll see you around.”

“See you around,” he says, though he sounds more befuddled than I might have liked.

***

When I emerge from the locker room in my uniform, I find Rue and Jules leaning against a not so distant pillar. They like a bit of pillar leaning, these two.

“What do you think?” I ask.

“You look great,” Jules says. She frowns. “Why are you so sweaty? It isn’t even that hot out.”

I run a hand through my hair and dislodge what must be liters. I feel the apple of my throat bob as I swallow. “Shit, is it noticeable?”