Blue on Blue

Chapter Twenty-One

It's snowing. On Thanksgiving Day. Snowing! And it's not the sort of snow you see in those Christmas movies, where it falls soft and gentle, covering all it touches in a blanket of pure and clean. No, this snow is not like that at all. This snow is like falling ice picks, jabbing at you from every direction. Stabbing your skin. Jab. Jab. Stab! And the wind. The wind is like a slap to the face and then a punch to the nose, causing your cheeks to swell and your eyes to tear up.

Maggie's teeth chatter. She can't control the shake. Between the ice picks and the wind punches, she's never been so painfully freezing in all her life. 

Charlie tilts his thermos, filling her cup to the brim with hot chocolate.

"Liquid gold," she says, inhaling a waft of steam as if it's oxygen, and she is almost out of air. She wraps her fingers around the cup, taking in every bit of heat it'll offer. She would love to feel her fingertips again.

At the end of the third quarter, the Fishermen have a twenty-one point lead. 

According to Drew, it's an all-out blow-out. "We're kickin' the livin' daylights out of 'em!" he shouts. According to Cay, it's time to leave. Maggie couldn't agree with her more. 

Drew folds his arms across his chest. "Staying until the last whistle blows is a tradition." 

Charlie nods. "We're not going anywhere."

"Nowhere!" Drew proclaims, wrapping his arm around Charlie's shoulder in solidarity. 

Cay pulls her phone from her pocket and swipes. "Time to eat. Your mom just texted. Thanksgiving dinner is ready." 

Drew drops his arm from Charlie's shoulder. They both shrug and head down the stairs. "You had me at eat," Drew says.

The four of them run through the parking lot as if they're being chased by a polar bear. They pile into Drew's truck. Maggie and Charlie practically fall over one another, clamoring for the back seat. 

Cay nuzzles up to Drew and shakes her hands. "I can't feel my fingers." 

Drew revs the engine. 

Cay cranks the heat.

Maggie's teeth chatter. "I can't feel my entire body." She holds her hands in front of the vents, catching nothing but cold air. 

Charlie fumbles with the buttons. "It's broken. Here, let me ..." He takes her hands and folds them between his. "Maggie, you're freezing." He unzips his coat, wraps his arm around her and pulls her into his body heat. His fleece pullover smells of cheeseburgers. He rubs his hand up and down her arm. "You'll be warm in no time," he whispers into her hair. 

He's right. Charlie is a human heating pad. It's doubtful that he's ever uttered the words, "I'm cold" in his entire life. 

Maggie's body slowly unthaws. 

Charlie's body tenses underneath her. "Are you still mad at me? You know, for telling Cay and Dr. Banes about the art room –- about Eli?" 

Truth is, Maggie is mad, but mostly at herself. How could she ever have thought that she and Eli could have a normal relationship? They're two kids from a psych ward, caught in a soul war – it was bound to get messy. And besides, she's tired of fighting with everyone. She's determined to find a way to Fallowshill and to Eli without their help.

"I know you were just looking out for me," she says. 

Charlie squeezes her tighter against his chest. Her head rises and falls as he inhales a deep steady breath and slowly lets it go.

"You two are coming to the dance later, right?" Cay's red lips match her red hat perfectly.

"Yeah," Charlie says. "I'm sleeping at Drew's."