a/n vote, comment, you know the drill :)
Chapter 29
My misery was so acute that it hit me like a physical pain. Or maybe it was just the flu that had me surrendering to my bed. It was the beginning of winter, taking out both Miles and Dad, so I knew it was only a matter of time before it came for me too.
At least that's what I tried to tell myself after what happened this weekend.
On the Monday following, I had this lump in my throat, but I brushed it off as just feeling down about what went down between me and Carson. But when I got home and crawled into bed, I couldn't muster the energy to move. My limbs felt like heavy logs, and my face was on fire. Yet, amid the feverish haze, there was a name bouncing around in my head.
Carson, Carson, Carson.
I spent days confined to my bed, thinking about whether or not I should reach out to him. I wanted to take it all back, apologize, and go back to how things were.
After typing out message after message and erasing them all, I finally decided to send an apology.
Hey Carson, hope you're doing well! I've been wondering why you decided to leave town so suddenly. I know I made things weird between us, but I hope it wasn't the reason behind your departure. If there's anything on your mind or if you need to talk, just know that I'm here for you.
And this was the response I got.
Carson: Maybe for once something I did had nothing to do with you.
I clenched my jaw to kill the sob in my throat. And then my head swirled, with the feverish haze of a fever and doubts about our relationship. I was trying to fix things, and he'd shut me down time and time again. Was I in over my head? Did our kiss really mean nothing to him?
When I woke up in his bed that morning, I asked Claudia how she could just let him go alone like that. How she could be okay with him leaving without telling anyone.
Claudia gently reached out and placed her hand over mine, as if comforting a worried friend. "You have to understand, it was his choice."
"But I thought you never let him go anywhere alone, especially with his condition..." I trailed off, shaking my head in disbelief.
"He's staying with some friends there," she reassured me like I was the one who constantly hovered over him. "And Ilya's checking in on him. Don't you worry, honey. He has all his medication on him."
"It's not just about that," I choked out, my throat tight.
"Just give him some space." She was no longer reassuring me, just looking at me with a tight-lipped smile. "Carson needs time alone."
I wanted to scream, to ask why she hovered over him like he was a toddler if he needed space. But instead, I forced a smile, nodded, and shut my mouth.
Of course, I didn't listen. I bombarded him with texts, all of which he ignored. I even resorted to stalking Ilya's account for updates on him. Then, I made the mistake of clicking on his story, only to see him out at what seemed like a bar, with some girl draped over Carson's shoulder. That was my breaking point. The image was too blurry for me to make out her features, but it still was a punch to the gut, and I lay in bed for hours, wondering who she was.
I'd dream about him and some faceless girl kissing in a dimly lit bar, and then his face would morph into Harry's, and suddenly the faceless girl would become Genevieve. Then, I'd wake up, soaked in cold sweat.
Dad stormed in and took my phone away that same day. Like most parents, he fell into the trap of believing everything he saw online, convinced that my phone was somehow exacerbating my flu symptoms.
I'd slowly gotten better by the end of the week, but I missed out on Friendsgiving, which was a real bummer. Holly Dae surprised me with a watercolor set as a gift. It reminded me that I hadn't touched a brush in weeks. I only paint when I'm inspired, and I had been so caught up in my thoughts that I hadn't even realized how long it had been since I last painted.
My mind wandered back to the first day of second grade, when I came home bursting with excitement, clutching my latest masterpiece—a messy attempt at painting a sunset with stick-figure people frolicking in the grass. I practically tumbled out of the car to show Mom.
"Careful there, kiddo," Dad said from somewhere behind me, chuckling.
"Got it!" I yelled back, grinning from ear to ear.
But when I eagerly thrust the painting in Mom's face, my excitement faded fast. She inspected it with this twisted expression like she couldn't quite figure it out.
"What's this supposed to be, Maxine?" she asked me, setting down the book she'd been reading. Mom hated being disturbed.
"It's a sunset, Mom! And those are people playing outside..."
"Hmm, I see." She went back to reading. Even Miles was too engrossed in a puzzle to notice my excitement.
This continued for most of first grade until I learned not to show her my paintings. Despite always feeling drawn to art and colours, whenever Mom asked why I found it interesting, I never had a good answer.
But Dad got it. He proudly hung every painting I brought home on our refrigerator.
The chilly Sunday morning stretched on, and I found myself gazing at the blank easel for what felt like an eternity. Though I still had this persistent cough, getting out of bed wasn't as much of a struggle anymore. Tomorrow marked my return to school after a week's absence, and I had an assignment due—a painting task centered around storytelling.
I dipped my brush in water and decided to create a scene of a vibrant red velvet birthday cake. But as soon as I finished, I tore it up and tossed it away. It felt like everything I put on the canvas ended up in the trash. And as fate would have it, I had a Polaroid of that very same red velvet cake, tucked away in a box under my bed.
The next day, I made my way to school on foot and instantly regretted not riding with Miles, especially when I felt the chill in the air. I ran into Ilya on the way there, and when he saw me, his expression went sour, turning into a grimace.
"Hey." I slowed to a stop in front of him. Wisps of breath floated in the frosty air. "What've you been up to?"
Something like guilt flashed across his face. "Oh, you know, same old."
"What brings to town?"
"Just picking up a few things for my cousin," he said, gesturing towards their house behind me before turning his gaze back to me, his eyebrows slightly raised. An unwelcome blush crept onto my cheeks. Okay, maybe I did walk past his house every morning, secretly hoping to catch a glimpse of him.
"Trouble in paradise?" Ilya went on, his voice sounding amused.
My body stiffened in shock. "What'd he tell you?"
He smiled down at me. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
"I didn't..." A hot ache grew in my throat. "I didn't mean to push him away." I raised my eyes up to him, pleading. "You think he'll come back?"
Ilya shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his wooly jacket and shrugged. "He'll come back, Max," he said. "He always does. He's not the type to run from his problems."
"That makes one of us," I joked, and Ilya breathed out a laugh.
His face went serious, brows drawn together. "You alright? You look a little..."
"I'm fine!" I forced my lips to part in a stiff smile. "Just recovering from the flu."
"Ah, gotcha. That nasty bug's hitting everyone. You take care of yourself, alright?"
I went to school every day feeling feverish and agitated. I hadn't seen Carson in weeks, and I was getting tired of having to answer on his behalf. Mr Tucker today asked me when I'd last seen him as if I was his keeper.
"Why would I know that?" I asked on my way out to class. Holly Dae waited for me by the door, hungry and annoyed.
"Well, you're the only one I've seen him talking to in class, so..." Mr Tucker looked awkward.
Even Coach Keller stopped me on my way out the changing rooms. I had just thrown on baggy sports attire when he barked out my name.
"Tell your boyfriend to start showing up to class, or I'll fail him."
I laughed so loud it stunned both me and Coach. Like he'd even care.
Coach decided we were playing outside today, even though it was freezing. Typical of him to risk students catching hypothermia. So, there we were, Holly Dae, my brother, and I lounging outside in the muddy field.
"What's on the agenda for today, Coach?" Harry asked. I didn't miss the way his gaze rolled over to me. He'd been staring at me all day, and it unnerved me.
"Volleyball," Coach said. He divided us into two teams, and I was paired with both Bones and Harry. I made sure to position myself at the back, keeping a good distance from those two. Knowing Bones, he'd probably aim a ball at my face again.
I made no attempt to catch the ball and tried to blend in the background. Holly Dae effortlessly stole the spotlight with her long legs and all. She was one of those natural talents who seemed to excel at everything without even breaking a sweat.
Coach called for a five-minute break, so Holly Dae and I flopped down onto the damp grass, soaking in the little bits of sunshine.
"So that's what all the boys are staring at," she said after taking a drink from her water bottle. She pointed at something behind me.
I turned to see a group of cheerleaders from another school, decked out in blue and green. Funny how I missed that. I was so wrapped up in catching up on studying after being sick that I hadn't noticed what was happening around me. Turns out, there was a game this afternoon with a team from Davenport, and those cheerleaders were from that school. They all had their hair pulled back tightly in ponytails, swinging their pompoms around with energy, probably practicing their routines.
We went back to playing and Bones and Harry stood in front of me, exchanging high-fives after scoring a point. Now and then, I'd catch them stealing glances at me before diverting their attention back to the cheerleaders.
"Get back to playing and stop staring at girls," Coach barked at them.
Men.
The two looked back at me and laughed. Did I have something on my face? I ran a hand through my hair, attempting to use my fingers to smooth out the frizz.
No one bothered to toss the ball to me, so I hid behind Nik's tall figure and stared out at the cheerleaders. One of them was chatting with a guy wearing a backpack, his back turned to me. He wore a red hoodie.
That hoodie.
I already knew who it was before he even turned around. It seemed Carson had finally decided to grace us with his presence at school again. I'd never witnessed him smile around anyone, yet there he was, laughing with that girl. She was too distant for me to discern her features, but the sight still stirred a whirlwind of anger in my stomach. When did he come back? And why couldn't he bother to give me a heads-up? It had been weeks since I last saw him, and he hadn't even bothered to respond to any of my texts.
The longer I stood there, watching the two of them laugh together, the worse I felt. The girl was from Davenport, so she and Carson must be friends. Claudia had told me that Carson didn't have many friends if any at all. How long had they known each other?
I watched the two of them chat together until I couldn't stand it anymore. By lunchtime, my stomach was still clenched tight in knots. In the cafeteria, I scanned the crowd of students, hoping to catch a glimpse of Carson's tall figure among them, but he was nowhere in sight. My spirit sank even lower.
"Should I text him?" My leg bounced up and down as I looked around the cafeteria again.
Holly Dae, who knew all the ins and outs of what happened between us, had quite a few colorful opinions about Carson, and at that moment, she was his biggest critic. "Fuck, no!" she hissed. "Quit making yourself look desperate."
I winced at her blunt words, the truth of her statement stinging more than I cared to admit. "Okay, ouch."
But Holly Dae wasn't finished yet. "You're always the one chasing after him, and where has that gotten you? Nowhere. You need to make him do the chasing for once. It's like the sperm chasing the egg, remember? You've gotta let him come to you."
I laughed. "Looks like someone's been keeping up with their biology homework."
She waggled her eyebrows. "I have a good tutor." Holly Dae was getting tutored by Collin Jennings in our Biology class, who happened to be her current crush. Sure, he was smart, but he had this strange habit of always carrying about a little Rubik's Cube and solving it anytime he had a free minute, which I found both interesting and disturbing.
Fortunately for Holly Dae, we had biology next. Our biology classroom was near a wide window with a view of the field outside. When I got there, the class was full, and they were doing some kind of experiment. Mr Anderson announced that we were going to be dissecting frogs for what he called a 'hands-on' experience.
Holly Dae ditched me and paired up with Collin, who waved at me with one hand while twirling a Rubik's Cube in the other. I sat next to Cara, who smacked on her gum and texted away on her phone.
"I don't think I'm gonna do much today. That smells like shit," Cara said.
I slipped on a pair of gloves and worked alone on dissecting the frog with a scalpel. With a steady hand, I leaned over the dissecting tray, the pungent odor of formaldehyde stinging my nostrils as I focused on the small, motionless frog lying before me.
As I carefully wielded the scalpel, I looked outside the window to my right, and my breath caught in my lungs. Carson leaned against the brick wall, engaged in a conversation with the same cheerleader from before. His hands were shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunched forward. The girl had an aura of confidence about her as she gestured animatedly, her black hair framing her face in a cascade of waves. A silver ring glinted from her nostril, and colorful tattoos peeked out from beneath the straps of her top. She was undeniably striking.
A suffocating sensation tightened my throat. She looked exactly like what I'd imagine Carson's type.
Caught up in the scene outside, I lost focus for a split second. In that moment of distraction, the scalpel slipped from my grip, tumbling to the tray below with a muted clatter. A sharp pain shot through my finger as blood burst out.
"Ouch!" I sucked on my injured finger, shooting a quick look around to make sure no one had noticed my mishap.
"What happened there?" Cara snorted and handed me tissues from her bag.
"I'm fine. I just..." My eyes returned to the window, and I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood.
Cara followed my gaze, then smiled knowingly. "Looks like you've got some serious competition. That girl's got some killer legs."
I never really got along with Cara. With a scowl, I marched over to Mr. Anderson's desk and asked to be excused to the nurse's office. The cut on my hand was pretty bad; blood was dripping down my entire hand.
I clutched my wounded hand to my chest and hurried down the empty hallway. My mind raced with a whirlwind of thoughts. What was Carson doing with that girl? And why did she look so familiar? I racked my brain, trying to place where I had seen her before.
A whistle echoed. Then, "What have you done there?"
I looked up, and my heart lurched madly. Carson was walking in my direction with his hands in his pockets, eyeing my injured hand. I was suddenly overwhelmed by the torment of the past few weeks, and I couldn't find the words to speak. He slowed to a stop in front of me, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that made my heart race even faster.
I tried to hide my inner misery from his probing store. "What do you want?"
He studied me thoughtfully for a second, then, "You've got a nasty cut there. C'mon, I'll take you to the nurse's office."
"Yeah, right, like you actually care," I said, unable to conceal the bitterness in my voice.
He reached out and caught my hand in his. My breath caught in my lungs as he held my bleeding hand to his chest. "What's this about, Max?"
"Do I really have to spell it out to you?"
His mouth went tight and grim. "I needed to sort some things out. It wasn't about you."
"Well, it sure felt like it." My voice was shakier than I would have liked.
For a moment, he studied me intently, his brows set in a straight line. "You should really go get that taken care of." He turned and walked away without a second glance.
That whole exchange put a real damper on my mood, even more than the throbbing in my hand. Things between Carson and me used to be so easy, but now it felt like there was a distance between us that I couldn't bridge. And I had no idea how to fix it.
My final class of the day was AP Studio Art Drawing—a class I shared with Carson. We usually sat together, but when I shuffled by his desk, he didn't bother looking up at me. I sat at the back in front of an empty easel, glancing over to where he sat, brush in hand, deep in concentration on his canvas. For a moment, I forgot about everything else, just watching him paint. He looked so focused, so absorbed in his work, like nothing else in the world mattered.
I hesitated, unsure of what to do. Should I try to talk to him? Should I apologize for snapping at him earlier? But before I could decide, our teacher, Mr Reynolds, announced the start of the class, and I reluctantly turned my attention to my own canvas.
Throughout the class, I stole glances at Carson, hoping he would look back at me, acknowledge me in some way. But he remained engrossed in his painting, never once meeting my gaze.
Today's task was a still-life composition, a classic exercise in honing artistic skills. Mr. Reynolds had meticulously arranged a collection of objects on a table at the front of the room, and we were to paint it from observation.
I picked up a brush and glanced around the room, catching Carson's eye for a brief moment before he returned to his canvas. Mr Reynolds crouched beside him and whispered to him for some time. I had no idea what they were saying, but I figured it was over Carson's missed homework.
Mr Reynolds was my favorite teacher, and he set the bar pretty damn high. He and Dad go way back—they've been friends since high school. Mr. Reynolds was someone I respected not only for his creative ability but also for his constant belief in my abilities. He encouraged me to push the limits of my creativity even further.
I was tucked away in the back of the class, completely absorbed in my painting. With each stroke, the canvas came alive with vibrant hues straight from my imagination. I didn't notice when Mr. Reynolds approached until he cleared his throat.
"Max, mind if I steal a moment of your time?"
I looked up, slightly startled. "What's up?"
Mr. Reynolds took a seat on the empty chair beside me. "It's that time of year, you know? When you really start pondering your future. Have you given any serious thought to your career path?"
I couldn't find it in me to admit that my real career plans seemed to be fading away. Honestly, I hadn't really given much thought to my future. All I knew for sure was that I was itching to get out of this town and see what else life had in store for me.
"I love painting, but... I don't know if I could make a career out of it. My grades aren't exactly stellar in other subjects."
Mr. Reynolds nodded thoughtfully. "Well, I have something that might interest you. There's an out-of-state arts program that's holding a competition. They're offering scholarships to talented young artists like yourself."
"Really? What kind of competition is it?"
"It's a prestigious program that focuses on nurturing young artists," Mr. Reynolds said. "You'll need to submit a portfolio showcasing your best work, including paintings, drawings, or any other artwork you've created. They're looking for creativity, originality, and a strong artistic voice. Your passion for painting shines through in your work, Max. I believe you have a real shot at this."
He tossed a flyer onto my desk, outlining the application process. As I scanned through it, a blend of determination and hope churned in my stomach. Maybe this was the opportunity I'd been waiting for. Maybe this was my shot.
I grabbed the flyer and beamed up at him. "You know what, I think I might."