Author's Note:
Okay, I know I'm posting so much quicker than I normally do, which is weird for me, obviously, but I'm just so excited about it. Anyways, vote, fan, comment, etc! <3
xoxo,
Q.
I don’t like the way Alana is looking at me.
Her smile is too wide and her eyes are twinkling mischievously. I just know she’s up to something.
The past few days haven’t been easy.
Being stuck in the hospital, I didn’t really have anything to distract me, so I was forced to think, which I didn’t like, because my mind was just crowded with images of Emery all day.
Which was fucking annoying.
The worst part about it is that I didn’t mind. I didn’t mind that every waking minute of my day was filled with thoughts of Emery Scott. Not only that; I dreamt about him too. Now that I was sleeping again—due to my decrease in stubbornness and the sleeping pills my doctor was giving me—my nights were consumed with hazy dreams of the silver-eyed boy.
And it was exhausting.
It was exhausting trying to convince myself that it wasn’t important, so I gave up. I stopped fighting and let myself realize that for some strange and unforeseen reason, Emery was causing a reaction inside of me that I was definitely not used to. Not that I was going to admit it to anybody.
But Alana is still looking at me with that terrifyingly playful expression on her face, and it’s scaring me.
It’s my first day back at school after the embarrassing event of me passing out in the gym the other day. I got here early because my mother insisted on driving us. She’s been just as crazy with me as she’s been with Gabe since he was diagnosed. So for the next week, she’s insisting on driving both Gabe and me to school and back every day. Kill me now.
So I’m at my locker and Alana is next to me, staring at me as I try to avoid eye contact with her.
“Alana, could you stop?” I exclaim, slamming my locker shut.
“Stop what?” she asks innocently, and I, exasperatedly, finally turn to face her. She’s in another one of her hipster outfits, with brown feather earrings and a flowy beige skirt, Doc Martens and a woolly sweater with a Native American print on it. It makes me want to scream. Because now I’m seeing how weird it is that I notice girls’ clothes. Fuuuuck.
“Stop looking at me like that.” I say, starting to walk down the hall. She hastens to follow me, her eyes never leaving my face.
“But you figured it out, didn’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I lie, not meeting her eyes. She knows I’m lying. Alana knows everything there is to know about me.
Despite the fact that I call Nate my best friend, Alana is the one who really deserves that title; she is the one that deals with me when no one else wants to, the one who can read me like an open book, and, unfortunately for me, the one who can tell in an instant whether or not I’m lying.
“Oh, come on. Denial is so 1980s.” She says, waving me off. I shake my head, incredulously.
To make matters worse, right at that moment, Toby Wallace walks by. He meets my eyes and smiles tiredly. I read pain in his eyes, pain that comes from all the bullying he’s been put through recently; bullying that he takes willingly to protect Drew.
I feel a sudden heaviness in my throat and turn back to Alana long enough to say, “We should go to first period,” and then rush off to my History classroom.
Nate greets me with wide eyes and an equally wide smile. “Hey bro! I didn’t know you were coming back today!”
I nod, dropping my stuff and myself beside him. “Yeah, early discharge or whatever. They say I’m healthy enough to be back as long as I get three full meals a day and eight hours of sleep every night for the next two weeks or so.”
Nate makes a face. “Eight hours? Ugh.”
I laugh.
Something’s different. I don’t know why, but I see Nate in a different light ever since he told us about what happened between him and Lilith.
He’s not my goofy yet lovable best friend anymore. There’s a whole new layer of depth added to him, by the fact that he faced such an awful situation alone.
The fact that he was the one who had to act as the adult when Lilith woke him up bleeding that one night, when he was only fifteen.
The fact that he would go to doctor’s appointments with her.
The fact that he kept the sonogram in his wallet.
Nate had to become a mature adult when faced with that situation and it’s so weird to think of my best friend—who sticks his head out the car window when driving and screams “let’s get stupid!”—as anything but a rebellious, hormone-driven, sex-crazed teenage boy.
I think of my other friends. Do I think of them differently now as well? Yes, I conclude, the secrets we shared do change the way I perceive the people in my life.
I’ve been friends with Nate, Jess, and Alana since freshman year and though they’re all complex and interesting people, I guess I kind of saw them as one-dimensional.
I mean, there are so many good—and just as many bad—things about all of them, but I guess I haven’t let my mind wander into the gray area in between.
Sure, Jess’ secret wasn’t as dramatic as Alana’s or Nate’s, but then again, I would’ve never guessed something like that; and it does make me think of Jess differently.
Makes me think she doesn’t hate me as much as she acts like she does and that maybe she’s more insecure than she lets off.
I can't say Alana has changed greatly in my eyes, but for once, I see her for what she truly is.Human. I’ve never pictured Alana in pain.
I never imagined her struggling in any way, because she’s such a strong-willed person. I’ve never seen her cry; that night in the hospital was as close as I’ve gotten.
As I think anyone’s gotten, really. She doesn’t like being seen in weakness, so I’ve never thought of her that way. But she must get weak sometimes. I mean, no one’s made of stone. And she must cry.
And the fact that she was so depressed at point that she thought cutting herself was her only escape makes my heart hurt.
If I made a list of the people that matter most to me, Alana would be right there at the top with Gabe.
And maybe Emery.
Oh, would you shut up, Luke? You’ve barely known Emery for two months.
But then I think about it. What would I do if I heard that Emery died? As this thought enters my head, I immediately feel my heart drop down into my stomach.
No, I literally feel it fall. It rattles against my ribs until it falls into my stomach, which then lurches uncomfortably.
I chew on the inside of my mouth at the real, physical pain that this simple thought was able to elicit from my body.
“Dude, you okay?” Nate asks, looking at me with worry on his face.
I nod, curtly, and hunch over my notes, keeping my eyes on Mrs. Lawrence’s PowerPoint.
I want to continue doing well in school. Even if I have to sleep now, studying in my free time will help distract me. Especially if I continue having dreams about Emery.
I really don’t want to see Emery in person today.
After my mind being full of images of him day and night the past few days in the hospital, I’m not really sure how I’m going to react when I’m confronted with the real Emery in front of me.
I just hope I don’t completely embarrass myself.
I’m pretty good at that, you see.
*
By the time I get to fourth period Spanish class, my heart has flown from its temporary and uncomfortable home in my stomach all the way up to my throat, where it now remains, just as uncomfortably.
I try and wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans, but the rough denim doesn’t do much to dry off the clamminess of my hands.
To make matters worse, Emery smiles at me when he sees me walk into the classroom. Damn you, Emery. Couldn’t you just ignore me like Bryce Phillips is doing?
“Hey, Luke!” He says as I walk past his desk.
“Hey.” I manage.
“Glad you’re back.” He says, simply. I’m thankful for this kind yet brief comment and I smile at him in return.
“Thanks. Me too.” I say, sincerely, and take my seat one to the right and three behind from him.
I try to focus on the lesson on comparisons that Mr. Sanchez is teaching, but ten minutes into the class and anyone paying any attention to me could tell you that I’m a lost cause.
I’m watching Emery and my seat is the perfect place to do so.
Occasionally, he does something—something that seems really simple and innocuous, like smirking slightly at a bad joke Mr. Sanchez tells, or trying to blow the hair out of his face, or even reaching his hand back and scratching his neck as he looks down on his notebook with his eyes hard in focus—that makes my heart, which is now in its proper location, race sporadically.
When the bell rings, I shake my head quickly to remind me where I am and who I am, and stand up just as quickly, grabbing my backpack and slinging it over my shoulder.
Emery waits for me by the door, his smile and his dimple alight on his face.
We walk to lunch together.
He makes a few jokes and I laugh. He smiles when I laugh and I feel a little rush of pleasure sizzle through my blood. I don’t know if it’s the fact that my laugh can provoke something as valuable as his smile or if it’s just the smile itself. Either thought is viable.
We talk about the weather, which seems like the most clichéd topic in a forced conversation, but Emery and I talk easily.
“I hate winter.” He says, gazing reproachfully out of one of the many small windows lining the top of the wall over the lockers.
“Really? Why?” I ask, genuinely wanting to know the answer.
“Because it’s cold.” He replies simply and I bark out a laugh, which again makes a smile cross his face as he continues. “Because it’s wet. I don’t like the wind and I don’t like having to change the tires of my car.”
“Well, I don’t like the cold either. But you have to admit, winter has its good sides too. I mean, I love it ‘cause it’s basketball season. Then there’s hot chocolate by the fire, and Christmas presents, and what about snow?” I ask.
The smile falls off his face suddenly and his gaze drops down to the floor.
“What’s wrong?” I immediately voice, watching him carefully.
“Oh, it’s nothing.” He says, quickly, smiling to cover it up. But this smile is the same as the one in the hospital that night. It’s not his smile. His eyes are dark and the skin on his left cheek is smooth.
“No, that’s not nothing.” I insist.
He sighs and lowers his voice as we turn the corner in the hallway. “It’s just…well, I was buried in snow once.”
My eyes widen, sure I misheard him. “Buried?” My voice comes out much hoarser than what I intended.
Emery’s pale eyes meet mine and I feel my breath catch in the back of my throat. He nods.
“Lucky for me, someone found me. I was tied to a tree so I couldn’t move. But whoever it was cut me loose. I’ve hated winter ever since.”
“Emery, I’m so sorry.”
More sincere words have never fallen out of my mouth.
I say fallen, because that’s how I feel those four words came out, tumbling out of my mouth after shooting from my lungs up my throat before my mind even had the chance to review them and grant them permission to pass.
He smiles at me, and I’m glad to see it’s the right smile again. His face still hides pain behind it, but we’re at the lunch line already, so it’s no time for a long heart-to-heart.
Even if there was, I don’t think my own heart would be able to survive that.
We get our lunch and go over to sit at our usual table. Nate and Alana are seated and talking, but Jess and Katy haven’t arrived yet, presumably still in the line.
Alana shoots me that mischievous look again and I groan internally. If this is how she’s going to be every time I see her, she better be ready for an intervention very soon.
“Hey, Luke!” Katy exclaims as she and Jess take their seats at the table. “Good to see you back.”
“Thanks.” I say, smiling at her.
“Toby told me to say hi.” Jess says, softly. My smile falters slightly, but not enough for it to be noticeable.
I think Emery catches it, though.
“Cool.” I reply with a cough.
Opportunely, Katy begins chatting excitedly about how Rowan Smith asked her out, and the group takes the bait. Jess squeals with her, Emery smiles and congratulates her, and Nate begins warning her to be careful.
Alana, however, keeps her eyes trained on me.
I want to confront her about it, and tell her that nothing has changed and nothing will just because I’ve decided to stop fighting the fact that Emery invades my thoughts 24 hours a day, but unfortunately, there’s no time for such a discussion as after lunch, Emery and I have to head off to English Lit.
“Hey, what’s up with Alana?” he asks me as we walk back down the hallway.
“Huh?” I ask, pretending not to know what he’s talking about.
“She was staring at you at lunch. Like she knows something you don’t.”
I laugh. “Alana always knows something I don’t.”
He grins appreciatively at this, but then lets it slide off his face. “Seriously, though. Is something going on?”
I sigh and decide to be as open as I can let myself be at this point. “Yeah, there is. With me, though, not Alana. She’s just been the only one who figured it out. Besides maybe Toby.”
This completely confuses Emery and visibly.
“Toby?” he asks, his eyebrows raised.
I nod. “And don’t go trying to get it out of him!” I say, warningly.
He smiles, slightly. “Don’t worry. I respect people’s privacy. I know what it’s like to have something you don’t want anyone else to know.”
My mind immediately flashes back to something Alana said to me in the hospital.
Everyone has a secret. Even Emery Scott.
*
“Jesus, Luke, get your head in the game!” Coach yells, slapping me on the head.
“Yeah, I know, I got it, Coach.” I say, but we both know it’s total bullshit and I most certainly don’t got it. Chase eyes me, curiously. So do the rest of my teammates.
Maybe they think I’ve gone off the deep end. Maybe they think I’m having a mental breakdown.
Hell, I think I’m having a mental breakdown.
Everything I have ever known about myself has just been turned completely upside down by one black-haired, silver-eyed, secret-keeping, basketball-supporting, gay-kid-defending, fucking beautiful motherfucker.
Who also happens to be in the stands right now. Cheering me on. Rah-rah.
Couldn’t it be someone else? Couldn’t it please be someone else? Vanessa or Jennifer or Angela or Stacy from my Geometry class, or fucking Katy or Jess even. Fuck, even Alana would be better.
But nope.
Fucking Emery Scott.
It just had to be him.
He just had to come along with his perfect Spanish fucking pronunciation and that ridiculous fucking Shakespeare reciting and that goddamn fucking dimple in the middle of his left fucking cheek.
“Luke, what the hell are you doing?” Coach shouts deafeningly.
And I realize that I’m not doing anything, and in that time that I’m just staring off into space thinking about Emery, the other team scores the winning shot.
We lost.
We fucking lost.
We never fucking lose.
“What the hell, man?” Tyler Kent shoves his shoulder into mine as he walks past me. Bryce kicks a basketball violently and storms off, cursing. Bryce is known for his tantrums. Mike O’Reilly and a couple of the other guys go after him. Chase walks up to me.
“What happened?” he asks.
“Nothing happened.” I say, a little too quickly and a little too harshly. Chase’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Sure, whatever you say.” He replies, walking off.
I look out to the crowd. Most people are getting up to leave, many in shock. Emery’s still seated, his head tilted slightly to the right, his eyes examining me, like I’m a zoo exhibit. Our eyes meet and I feel the question in his eyes.
But I break the contact, because I have to run to the bathroom and puke my guts out.
*
There was a party planned for after the game, because everyone has just assumed we were going to win. Yeah, we’re that team.
And I’m that cocky son of a bitch that always wins the games so none of my other teammates ever have to worry about any of that shit or do their fucking hundred and fifty pushups a day or all that shit that I have to do.
Anyways. No one wants to waste the opportunity to get drunk and laid, so the party’s still on despite our pathetic loss, which was—yes, I admit it—completely my fault.
Actually, I take that back. It wasn’t my fault at all. It was completely Emery’s fault. He just doesn’t know that at the moment, so I can’t go blaming him in public. Or at all, to be honest. I just have to be content with the fact that I know who’s to blame here.
After my lovely vomiting adventure—which I am going to neglect to tell my mother due to her weird momma hen thing she’s been doing since I passed out—I decided I might as well go to the party and get totally shitfaced.
After all, what else could go wrong?
*
Tell me something.
Why do I talk?
Why does all this shit keep coming out of my mouth? Why can’t I take one of those weird fucking vows of silence or whatever that shit is?
I don’t know how many beers I’ve had. Or how many shots. Or how many of those weird little bottles of wine coolers.
Oh, fuck, that is so gay.
“Why the fuck are you still here?” I slur, pointing my empty beer bottle at Emery accusingly.
“Because Alana had to take Katy home and Nate had to take Jess home. You need someone to drive you.” Emery responds, patiently, trying to take the bottle from my hands.
“Fuck you! I don’t need anyone for anything!” I yell. A few people look over our way, but most of them are too wasted or too busy making out. “I can take care of myself.”
“Not when you’re this drunk you can’t.” he smiles and that fucking dimple shows up again. He reaches out again to take the bottle from my hands and I push his arms away from me.
“Don’t fucking smirk at me!” I exclaim. “Just get off, okay?”
More people are looking now, but I’m way too drunk to either notice or care. Emery casts his eyes around and lowers his voice.
“Come on, Luke, let me just take you home.”
Fuck yes, Emery, just fucking take me home.
Oh, god, what the flying fuck?
I’m too busy screaming at myself in my head to notice that Emery has grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me out of the house.
“No!” I pull away right when we reach my car. “I don’t wanna go anywhere with you.”
“Give me the keys.” Emery says, quietly.
“No!” I yell back at him. He raises his eyebrows, his lips pursing, and he shoves his hand in my pocket and pulls out the car keys.
Holy fucking Christ, Luke, if you fucking get hard, I swear to God, I will throw you—or myself…or whatever—off a fucking cliff.
“Just get in the fucking car, Luke.” Emery says, exasperatedly, starting to lose his patience. He opens the backdoor and pushes my chest.
Due to my extreme level of blood alcohol concentration, my balance isn’t as great as always and I fall into the backseat of the car. He slams the door, hitting my foot.
“Ow.” I whine and he smirks as he gets in the driver’s seat. I watch with a smile of my own as his dimple appears.
A new state of drunkenness is taking place with me now and I feel my consciousness slipping away slowly.
“I like when you smile.” Mumbles a voice. It sounds like mine but I don’t feel my mouth moving. My eyes are starting to close, but Emery turns to look at me, a confused look on his face.
“You’re cute when you smile.” I say, and let my own smile spread across my face as my eyes close.
*
“Hey, Luke?” There’s a voice above me somewhere, but I’m way too hazy to place it. “Luke, um, you gotta just get up for a second so I can get you to the couch, okay?”
Emery.
Somehow, I manage to sit up and lean against Emery as he helps me out of the car and into his house, where I’ve apparently been spending all of my drunken nights.
By some miracle, he gets me into the house and drops me on the couch.
“You can pass out now.” He says, holding his side and leaning against the shelf.
I shake my head. “Not tired anymore.” My voice is quiet, but I haven’t sobered up at all and my drunken anger seems to be returning to me. “Why am I in your house?”
Emery raises his eyebrows at me. “Because you’re wasted as all living hell and I don’t think you want to go home to your parents like this.”
“Yeah, but why am I in your fucking house?” I exclaim. “Drop me off at fucking Nate’s or something.”
Emery stares at me. “Nate’s taking care of Jess. And Alana’s taking care of Katy.”
I snort. “Oh, and you think you gotta fucking take care of me?”
“No.” Emery says, defensively, in a quiet tone.
“Good, ‘cause you don’t.” I say, standing up and raising my voice. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me, let alone some little fucking faggot.”
And I storm out, making sure to shove him in the shoulder with mine—hard—as I leave the house.
*
I wake up with my neck feeling like it’s been snapped like a twig.
“Holy shit.” I mumble, opening my eyes as I rub the back of my neck. Yep, like I thought, I slept in my car.
Which is weird, because I remember sitting on Emery’s couch for a minute.
I open the door to see where I am, and sure enough, I’m parked right in front of Emery’s house.
Deciding with a heavy sigh that he’s the only one who could help me piece things together from last night, I get out of the car and try and close the door as quietly as I can so as not to further upset my already raging hangover.
I ring the doorbell and the door immediately opens, with Emery on the other side. My stomach gives a huge lurch and I clutch it tightly, remembering the little vomit episode I had yesterday and not wanting a repeat of that.
“What do you want?” he asks, his voice rough. He sounds like he’s just woken up and as much as I fucking hate to admit it, it’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.
I furrow my eyebrows at his hostility, though. “Um…I just…want to know what happened last night.”
His eyes widen and he barks out a laugh. It’s not the right laugh though and I immediately know something is wrong.
“Oh, that’s great, just great. Let me guess, you don’t remember a fucking thing.” Emery spits, that awful smile still on his face. Everything is just wrong-wrong-wrong.
“Emery, you’re scaring me. What happened?” I ask, my voice quiet and serious now.
“I brought you here, because Alana and Nate were off taking care of Katy and Jess, and I was the only sober person left to drive you. Only you flipped out and decided you couldn’t sleep in my house and you called me a faggot.”
My breath catches in my throat.
“I what?” I manage to choke out. “Emery, I’m so—”
He cuts me off. “Don’t worry about it, Luke. You know what they say. You see the truth about people when they’re drunk. Guess you’re just as much of an asswipe as the rest of your teammates. Have fun beating up freshmen this weekend, Luke.”
And he slams the door in my face.