Chapter Fifteen: Mission Impossible
I, Max McKinney, have now declared myself a part of a top-secret mission.
Operation Secret Note.
My mom thought I should call it something else, something involving the words "secret" and "admirer," but I refused based on two simple facts. One, I'm still in denial over the fact that someone could maybe, possibly, be admiring me from afar and two, secret note sounds way cooler.
I click and unclick my pen a few times until the sound becomes annoying to my own ears, and my eyes flicker down to my messenger bag. The faded army green looks dejected as it remains slumped beside my seat and I glance back up at the whiteboard in front of me before my eyes flicker back down again.
My teacher decided that today would be a good day to change our seats, and by our seats, I mean my seat, to prevent a couple boys from talking to each other. My teacher decided it would not only be a good idea to place me smack dab between the two boys, but also to place me smack dab in the front of the room.
That's not the reason why I'm so fidgety, though. It's the new piece of lined paper wedged between my planner and homework folder. The beaten green flap of my bag is shielding it from being seen, but I still know it's there. My brain won't let me forget that it's sitting there only a mere few inches from my grasp. The words seemed to have already burned themselves into my memory and branded themselves along the steady beat inside my chest.
When it comes to you I feel as if I lost my mind, but the best part it is... I don't want to find it.
My leg starts bouncing as my thumb clicks down on the end of my pen again. The note writer may be losing their mind because of me, but all I know is that the second I read those words my brain downright melted away into oblivion. That's also when I decided to officially go undercover. I need to find out the person who is slowly stealing my heart with each tiny scrawled out word.
"Okay, everyone, if you could all pass your homework up to the front," my teacher says as he tapes a new dead face over the cheesy poster on the wall.
Everyone chuckles the second my teacher steps away from the task, but he immediately begins snapping his fingers out in front of him as if he can't wait to snatch out homework from us.
I turn around and grab the stack of papers from my row. That's when it hits me. I begin shuffling through them. No, no, nope, no, no.
"Max?"
I freeze and slowly move my eyes along the stipes of my teachers dress shirt before settling my gaze on his furrowed brows.
"What are you doing?" he asks and assures that I now have the attention of everyone in the room.
"Um." I gulp before quickly straightening out the pile of papers in my hand. "Just . . . alphabetizing."
"Oh." A light chuckle escapes my teacher before he snatches the papers from my hands. "You don't have to do that."
My shoulders slump back down in defeat.
First mission, decode and identify, has failed. I repeat has failed.
****
After the front door clicks behind me, I lazily kick off my shoes and begin the process of tiredly pulling my jacket off one sleeve at a time. My coat falls limp against the stare banister before my eyes notice a pair of black suede boots. The boots have small silver buckles, fat wooden heels, and I'm ninety percent positive the owner wore them with rainbow fuzzy socks. The peacoat draped across the stair railing is what gives me the other ten percent, and I'm making a one-hundred-mile sprint further into the house.
"Hey, munchkin!" my mom calls from the living room, but it flitters past me the same way the heavy sounds of the T.V. show my dad and her are watching flitter past my ears.
My socks have me sliding into the kitchen, and propel the upper half of my body forward into our small wooden table, but I quickly steady myself. My eyes land on the rainbow socks I had a hunch about earlier before they travel up the length of a pair of grey sweatpants and a tie-dye t-shirt before stopping on medium length wavy hair.
"Wren!"
My sister whips around in the fridge doorway, but I don't give her a chance to reply. I run straight towards her, dodge the carton of orange juice in her hand, wrap my arms around her torso, and send her stumbling back into the bag of lettuce resting behind her.
"Hello to you too," she mumbles, but I can hear the smile in her voice as she hugs me back.
****
A pot roast and two hours of homework later, I'm sprawled out on my bed scrolling through my phone. Wren happens to be mirroring my position only with her laptop poised on her legs. We covered the basics about life during dinner, and the silence that has now fallen between us is as comfortable as my bed. I never realized what a gap my sister left until we found ourselves in our current positions. Sure, we talk on the phone, but it's not the same. I don't think she realizes that just her presence alone seems to have sucked most of the stress right out of me.
"Oh! There's something I've been meaning to show you," I chirp as I sit up and reach for my school bag.
I reach inside ready to pull out the latest locker note, ready to inform her of my mission, but a sharp intake of breath has my hand freezing. It's the kind of breath you take when your nose is completely clogged up. It's also the quick kind of breath, the one where your lungs stutter on the intake, and leave you without any sign of an exhale. The type of breath you take when you're crying.
I slowly drag my eyes over to Wren only to see that they're glistening back at me with the reflection of her pushed away laptop screen shining brightly in the corners.
"Don't get me wrong," she starts, holding her hand up and cradling the top of her nose. "I love college. I really do." There it is again. That short breath and this time I pay witness to the strain it puts on her chest. "It's just . . ." She moves her hand away as one lone tear slides down the contour of her cheek, and leaves a wet trail in its wake.
No matter how many times I say that she's perfect No matter how many times I believe that she's perfect. Deep down, I know she's not. No one is.
Wren rarely proves that to me, though. I'm normally the one who's constantly breaking down, and she's always been there to pick up the pieces. She's always been my backbone—my spine. Holding me up when I can no longer stand the weight, and now that I think about it, she rarely gives me a chance to reciprocate.
She's giving it to me now, though, declaring me on a new mission.
Operation Encourage-Wren-t.
"It's hard to believe! That I couldn't see! That you were always right beside me!" I point my finger at my older sister as I begin a terrible rendition of one of my favorite songs from High School Musical. Let's just say that seven-year-old me was determined to marry Troy Bolton. "Thought I was alone—with no one to hold!" I sit up on my knees and point at Wren again. "But you were always right beside me!"
Her eyebrows furrow, but what satisfies me the most is that water is no longer filling up in the corners of her eyes.
I tilt my head up towards the ceiling, pulling my fist down in theatrical exaggeration. "This feelings like no other!" I point my finger at her again, looking her dead in the eyes. "I want you to know!" I drag out the word as I jump off the bed, and my socks land with a thud on the floor. "That I've never had someone, that knows me like you do—the way you do! And I've never had someone, as good for me as you"—I make a fake microphone with one hand while continuing to point to her with the other—"No one like you!" I throw myself on top of her bed, sprawling myself out between her and her laptop. "So lonely before, I finally found!" I sit up and lightly poke her nose. "What I've been lookin' for!" I jump back up from her bed and waltz back over to mine, continuing to hum along to the melody until I flop my butt back down.
I turn my head back over to Wren and throw her a big smile. Her lips twitch in response, but she holds her smile back, and wipes at her tear stained cheeks instead.
"Gosh, you're so weird," she mumbles, picking her laptop back up, and that line alone lets me know that I've successfully completed my mission.
"Girls!" our mom's voice faintly rings through the walls. "If you want some ice cream, get it now before Dad eats it all!"
Wren and I lock eyes for a quick second before we both scrabble off our beds and plow our way towards the door. Both of us race down the steps, toppling over each other's feet as we go.
It seems Operation Secret Note will have to remain on standby. Undercover Max McKinney must first destroy a bowl of ice cream.