Tightrope

You're Obsessed With Me

Jace hadn't yet moved on from the guide. "'Tip 3: The demon is allergic to bananas. If required, bring demon a berry smoothie with banana. Tell the demon it is banana free. Obstacle: Demon would not believe I had brought him smoothie without ulterior motives. And I do not like communal showers in prison. Or anywhere.'" He eyed me with suspicion. "You were planning on murdering me."

I shrugged. "I wrote this list after you swapped my water for lemonade." I scrunched my nose. "I hate lemonade."

"Oh, but murdering me is an appropriate response."

"Reasonable reactions are not my forte, Hartley."

"Clearly."

I wrung my hands nervously. I had been in Hartley's bedroom—completely destroyed Hartley's bedroom, actually—a prank that he had...yet to respond to, I realized. He'd never mentioned it. Oh, he was good. Depriving me of the reaction I was so desperate to elicit, leaving me completely unsatisfied. 

I bet McKenna said the same thing about him. 

But Hartley in my space, looking at the childish responses to harmless pranks; yeah, I felt a little inferior for a second there. Our game of one-ups had never been the pinnacle of teenage maturity, but at least he was capable of leaving it between us. I was the one who had taken our feud home, nurturing it, letting it play over my mind constantly. I guess I was just...

"You're obsessed with me," said Hartley gleefully. He was almost bouncing out of his shoes. "Completely and utterly obsessed. Psycho stalker crazy, binoculars through my window at midnight, bunny broiler obsessed."

I threw a pen at him. "Shut up, I am not."

I didn't tell him that I had just been thinking the same thing. Shame was a poison seeping through my veins, slowly killing me from the inside out. Embarrassment told me it wouldn't be so bad.

But I refused to let Hartley know that, so I rolled my eyes and flopped into a cushiony armchair, nodding my head to a beanbag for Hartley to sit in. I was mean, but I wouldn't make him stand all day.

He kneeled down in front of the beanbag and shook it cautiously, examining it for signs of sabotage.

"Just sit, Hartley. The fluff won't kill you."

He grinned. "Just checking you haven't attached some kind of rich person robot to force-feed me banana."

"Oh my God, sit down and shut up or I will kill you with my bare hands."

Hartley sat.

There was a moment of awkward silence. I was internally flipping my shit, ashamed and regretful and wracking my brains for a witty comment that would return me to myself; confident and unflappable. Hartley just watched me, a faint smile on his face, as if he knew my thoughts were currently running a marathon at the speed of light.

In that moment, I was thankful that Hartley was easy-going. I mean, its not like it was normal. He could so easily have been rude or cruel about it, or totally freaked out and calling the police, but instead, he'd just made a joke, laughed, and moved on. While I still hated everything about him and his whole face, I did appreciate that.

"Uh, so, The Crucible?" was the best I could come up with. I resisted the urge to whack myself in the face.

"Oh, yeah!" said Hartley, and brightened.

"I must admit; I have not read it yet."

"No worries," he said. "I'll send through my notes. They're pretty detailed, but they're broken down into themes and characters, so they should be easy to follow. I'll write up a summary for you."