Jake tried to get back to normal, back to Minecraft, but he felt too restless. He just couldn't get his head in the game.
He was a little relieved when Molly texted him a picture of George sitting at her laptop ("He won't stop playing Donkey Kong! He's obsessed!") because Molly sending silly pics felt normal, even if nothing else did. And why was he so worried? She said she wasn't mad.
But he had a hard time believing it. He couldn't help wondering if he'd almost ruined their friendship. If there was anything he'd learned early on, it was that Molly had an aversion to the idea that their friendship could be anything more. Hell, even when they were kids, she made it clear.
When they were in second grade, both dressed up for First Communion, their moms had gone on mercilessly about how they looked like a little bride and groom.
"Are we seeing the future here, Janet?" Aunt Deb had said, giggling as they snapped pictures.
"If we're lucky," his mom had said.
At the time, Mr. Doyle said to ignore them, they were being silly and girly, but Molly hadn't liked that one bit and refused to pose for any more pictures.
Later, after the mass, when everything had moved to their joint party, he'd wondered out loud if their moms could make them get married.
"Don't be a doofus." Molly had long since lost her veil and dirtied her dress and looked less bride-like. But still...
"My mom makes me do all kinds of stuff," Jake said fearfully, "and I know yours does, too."
"I don't care. She can ground me for a year and take away my camera and make me eat only carrots and I still won't marry you."
Jake wasn't sure he would be able to take all that. Not that he was into cameras, but he really liked his Playstation and his mom threatened to lock that up all the time. When he looked at their moms again, they were pointing at them. Maybe this was for real. "I don't want to, either. But if they make us, then I'll let you be in charge. Okay?"
He'd thought that would make Molly feel better about the whole thing, but she turned bright red, then pushed him and his white suit into the dirt before running into the house. She didn't talk to him for two whole hours.
It was a stupid little thing, rarely ever mentioned it again, but it did sit there as a reminder to him that stuff like that made Molly super mad. So from then on, Molly, in certain contexts, was the kind of thing he told himself not to think about. But there had been moments when it felt possible. Looking back, it was all in his head, but there were times...
One time had been spring break, senior year, when they were waiting on college acceptance letters, scholarship applications – basically their whole future. Maybe that was what had her so damned moody that day. But, really, there'd been a strange kind of tension between them all year. The whole thing started with a fight.
******************
Senior Year...
******************
"You're doing it again," Molly said, laying on her stomach on the floor of his room, her notebook open in front of her, tapping her highlighter lightly against it.
"Doing what?" Jake asked from above her.
She turned onto her side and raised her eyebrows. "Hovering over me."
He shrugged and stepped away. "Just want to see what you're so interested in."
She rolled her eyes and turned over again. "It's not interesting. It's studying. Remember studying, Jake? The thing I said I had to do? I should be doing it in my quiet, empty house, but no. 'Come over, Molly. You can study here'," she said in a deep voice before switching to a higher pitched version of her own. "B-but, Jake, I've got two finals coming up. 'But my mommy's away and I just want some company. I swear I won't bother you'," she finished deeply with a pointed look.
"Okay. That sounds nothing like my voice," he said, furrowing his brow, "and I don't call her Mommy!" ...where anyone else can hear it. "Besides, how was I bothering you? I was just looking for a second."
"You're always just something," she muttered, turning back to her notebook.
"What's that?"
She sighed and highlighted a section. "You heard me."
He stood straighter. "But what do you mean by..."
"I don't want to get into it. Maybe I see it and you don't. Whatever. Never mind."
He narrowed his eyes. "I kind of want you to get into it now."
"Fine." She sat up on her knees, pointing at him with her highlighter. "You do this thing where you're all... and then you just... You're so..."
"Is this you getting into it?" He shook his head.
"I'm trying to find a word where I don't sound bitchy," she huffed.
"Well, I haven't heard anything like a word so far."
She glared at him. "How about clingy?"
He gaped at her. "What?"
"See, that was super bitchy. Fine. Maybe that's not the word. It's more like—"
"No, I'm not offended. Because it's super not true, so..."
"I'm not saying clingy is who you are, it's just who you've kinda been lately."
"And I disagree. I only invited you over. You could have said no."
"You didn't let me. You kept being pushy about it."
"So I'm pushy and clingy?"
"Today, you are! You texted me from outside my door that you came all the way across the street to get me, so I had to come over."
"I was joking. I didn't mean you actually had to!"
"Well, I did. And then I get here and go to grab a glass of water and there you are, right behind me, hands on my waist, making sure I don't fall down."
"You were reaching up and you were wobbling. I heard it on the news. Household accidents actually cause more injuries than—"
"But the weirdest," she went on, tossing her highlighter behind her as she stood, "was when you followed me to the bathroom."
"I was still talking and you started walking away, so..."
"You followed me in, Jake." She folded her arms, point made.
He stared at the floor. "Okay. I'll admit that's weird."
"What's going on with you? Why are you so... needy?"
"So, clingy, pushy, and now needy," he muttered. "If I bother you so much, then why didn't you say something before?"
"I'm not saying you bother me," she huffed.
"Kinda sounds like you are," he said under his breath.
"I'm just saying that I've noticed things," she sighed with an irritating little shrug. "It's fine."
And what the hell was he supposed to do with that? He didn't know what her deal was, but it felt like she was picking a fight... again. It seemed to happen a lot this year. They weren't like this before. It made him long for the by-gone days of junior year. But now, it's like they got into these stupid little fights all the damned time. And she was the one who kept starting it!
For all he knew, they were just hanging, then she 'd make her little comments, then act like it was all nothing, like a verbal drive-by. Usually, he managed to joke her out of her mood, but it was starting to tick him off. This time, he was not going to let her just shrug it off. If that was how she wanted to play it...
"Okay, then." He nodded and walked toward her. "Let's just say that you're not the only one who notices things."
She tilted her head. "Meaning?"
"You're a little touchy, too. You call me to come over a lot or have me take you here and there and—"
"What?" She scoffed loudly. "Jake, you do it more. You pretty much harangued me into coming over here today, even though I said I was busy."
He held up a hand. "Last weekend, you were the one who was so bored and you wanted to see a movie. And I really wanted to go to the gym—"
"Oh, come on!" She jabbed a finger at him. "You wanted me to get you out of that. You were looking for any excuse not to—"
"I was trying to build healthy habits in off-season, but you were all, 'Oh, Please, Jake! I'm so bored and my car is in the shop again because I refuse to do basic maintenance.'"
Molly clapped her hands, loud and slow. "Uncanny impression of my voice and things I definitely say."
"Like yours was better," he said, waving her off. "But I did your bidding. I took you to your precious movie, which was the worst cinematic experience of my life."
"That was the point. We were watching it ironically!"
"But that's not all." He turned sharply to her. "In the car and in the theater, you kept touching me."
Molly stared at him. "What? I don't remember..."
"Every time you had anything to say, there goes the hand. Either on my arm, my knee, you even neared the fly once..."
"Nuh-uh!"
"Okay. Fine." He shrugged. "But it was higher on the leg. And that's not even counting the parties."
"What about the parties?"
"You always leave early and you force me to—"
"Force? When have I ever dragged you out of a party?"
"You come up, all 'Hey, I'm gonna go home.'"
"And?" Molly prodded.
"And I'm supposed to just let you walk home? By yourself?"
"Yes! I never asked you to—"
"Then, by the time we get home, you are off to bed, and me... I'm either not drunk enough to want to bother going back to partying or too drunk to do anything but sleep."
"Once again, how is that my fault?"
He sat on his bed, giving her the same maddening shrug she gave him. "I'm just saying I've noticed things," he parroted, wondering how she'd like it.
She scoffed at him. "Well, that's just..." She stared off, tilting her head to the side. "Okay. You may have a point."
"I do?" He was surprised to hear her admit it.
"Though I will say me pulling you away from parties is for your own good," she mused, moving to his bed and sitting next to him, "We're both kind of needy lately."
"One of us is kind of moody, too," he muttered.
"Fine. You got me! I really don't want to be this way. I'm such a--"
"No, I'm not saying you're always this way," he broke in quickly. "I'm only... this is just..." Now that he was done being indignant, he couldn't think of much to say. "It's college stress. I'm sure I'm moody, too."
She rolled her eyes. "Jake, you're never moody, not compared to me."
"Maybe I am and you don't see it. I mean... it's not like we have our letters. I mean, what are the odds we both get into the same school? This summer could be the last summer we get. You're gonna get a scholarship to your fancy college and I'm gonna go to some lame party school."
"Are you kidding me? You're the one getting the scholarship." She nudged him with her shoulder. "I bet you get into Ithaca and I don't. You're an athlete. I'm just an AV Club dork. I'll end up doing community college and working at Dairy Queen and it'll be my own fault for not having a back-up. There's like eighty of me applying to my program at this one school I want while you have at least five colleges offering you a full ride."
"Five crappy jock schools. Best case, I graduate with like five concussions and maybe new skills at beer pong. My grades aren't good enough to—"
She slapped at his arm several times. "Would you stop it? Your grades are fine!"
"Not compared to yours." He caught her hand. "And stop hitting me."
"Well, I don't spend half my days running headlong into giant, refrigerator-sized guys, so I have more study time." She tried to pull her hand away. "And stop acting like my hits hurt."
He held onto her wrist. "They do. I know what I'm getting into at practice, but you're like this little toy dog who looks all harmless... then you fly at me all suddenly with your tiny paws!"
"Tiny paws, huh?" She lunged at him, getting in another smack before he got her other wrist.
Jake turned and trapped her under him. She seemed to try valiantly to free her wrists, but he had a better grip. "Settle down. Heel. Good girl."
"Let me up!" Molly shrieked, somewhere between laughter and pure rage.
"Why? So you can hit me?"
"You deserve it for the tiny paws shit. And I could hurt you worse, you know." She glanced down significantly.
He got the message, even if he was sure she wouldn't do it. He adjusted with a bit more struggle to trap her legs between his knees before he leaned over her, keeping her wrists pinned to the bed, panting and triumphant and... fucking hard as a rock.
Shit!
Jake wasn't sure what the hell to do with what was, at the least, a very untimely erection. At the most, it was a friendship-ruining projectile. Either way, he wished it would go away.
In situations like these, especially those involving Molly, Jake would usually excuse himself and get his shit together – either quickly and literally taking matters in hand or imagining his third-grade History teacher in a bathing suit. The latter usually did the trick. The French cut never flattered Mr. Panepinto much.
He tried to summon the poor old guy in a string bikini, but it didn't seem to be working. This was the last thing he needed, considering he and Molly had just had an almost-fight before what might be their last summer together. He didn't want even an almost-fight, let alone this messing things up.
He held himself away from her, using his knees to keep her legs together. Not that he really thought Molly would be cruel enough to go for the nads, but a man could never be too safe.
"Okay. I won't hit you," Molly said breathlessly. "Let me go."
"Never again?" Jake prodded.
"Don't push it now." She grinned. "What if you need a hit for your own good?"
She might have a point. "We can negotiate then, but no surprise hits."
"Surprise is my only weapon with these tiny paws," Molly pouted, pulling at her arms.
"Look, I need a promise before I can, in good faith—"
"Oh, my God, Jake. I promise!" She twisted under him. "Just let me—" Her voice stopped abruptly as her hips lifted.
Shit, shit, shit!
Jake squeezed his eyes shut. He just had to push for that promise, didn't he? Couldn't have just left it alone and made an escape.
Was it possible she hadn't noticed?
No such luck, of course. When he opened his eyes, she was contemplating the ceiling pretty hard.
One of them had to say something and since Molly found the ceiling too interesting for speech, he supposed it had to be him. "Uh... That was just... I mean, it wasn't... I didn't—"
"No, it's hard." Molly winced as she finally met his eyes again. "I mean fine. It's fine. It's not like I... I mean, I'm sure it's not because of..." She shook her head. "I'm sure that just... happens."
"Yeah," he said eagerly. "Like out of nowhere." When I'm wrestling with a pretty girl, for instance. That kind of out-of-nowhere.
"Yes. Exactly." She stared down before determinedly pulling her eyes upward again. "It's totally okay." She seemed to be trying to laugh, but couldn't quite make it happen. "I definitely didn't think it was because of... me or anything. I just was..." She trailed off, her eyes moving downward again, but not that far down. He could swear she was staring at his lips.
His eyes drifted to her lips, then, just as she licked them, making the situation downstairs worse.
Her eyes met his again, sort of half-lidded and lazy. "Or maybe this kind of thing happens when people spend as much time together as we do."
"Yeah. Maybe," he droned. His brain was kind of exiting the room.
Molly shifted slightly, staring at him through her lashes. "Maybe we should do something about it."
Was she making that sound sexual or was it just that his brain had now left the room, run down the street, and hitched a ride out of town?
"Been meaning to say something. I think we should see other people." He tried to laugh. Stupid joke. Not like they were dating.
Molly's eyes lost that lazy glaze then. She pulled at her wrists. "I think you should let me up."
"Oh, God. Yeah. Sorry." No wonder she was annoyed. How long had he been holding her hostage? He moved off her quickly, trying to figure out how to best hide his situation, even if it was too late, but she saved him the trouble, bolting out the door.
Jake cringed, trying to get things under control before he made things even more awkward.
Mr. Panepinto in a string bikini, doing the hula hoop, while blowing kisses...
It seemed to work, enough for him to saunter downstairs in what he hoped was a totally casual way, leaning on the kitchen doorjamb, watching Molly gulp down a bottle of water like it was super important business.
"So... Before..."
Molly didn't turn his way, just kept chugging that water.
"Hydration. Good move." Shut up! "I probably do too much Gatorade, which is fine for when you're all sweaty. Electrolytes and all. But maybe when you're not... sweaty, water's better." Seriously, shut up now!
She opened the fridge, smiling like nothing was wrong. "You want one? You got orange and blue."
"Oh, no. I was just saying..."
Molly slid a bottle down the counter. "It's funny, what you said before."
"About being sweaty?" Was he visibly sweaty right now?
"No, about seeing other people." Molly stared into her empty bottle. "I mean... Rachel is always asking about you."
"Uh... Rachel Boone with the..." He started to make the chest gesture. In his defense, he stopped himself even before Molly gave him the look. "... the loud voice?" he finished awkwardly. "Why's she asking about me?"
"She says she's into you. I think she wants you to ask her to Prom." Molly laughed and pretended to toss her very short hair. "Could you, like, die?"
He frowned heavily. "I thought we weren't doing Prom."
"I said I wasn't. Doesn't mean you can't."
"I liked your idea better. Prom-themed horror movies, giant sandwiches—"
"That last part's technically your idea."
"And kind of the best part," Jake had to point out. "It's gotta be better than the food at the actual prom. I'm not abandoning you to eat all those giant sandwiches by yourself."
"Maybe you won't have to. Maybe I'll go." She shrugged, staring off.
"But what about the patriarchy? The sexist history of proms and the... uh... forced ladylike nonsense and purity." Really, back when Molly was on her anti-prom rant, he'd spaced out after she mentioned they could order food and then most of his mind was occupied with what food.
"Well, fine. I might not like how proms started, but that doesn't mean they can't evolve. I mean, it's just a dance with a pricier ticket."
"Should be cheaper, with the food," Jake grumbled. "I hear all they have is a veggie tray. Maybe some cheese. Not even good cheese."
"And it's not like I can't scare up a date. There's always—"
"Don't you dare say Dumbass Tommy," Jake started.
"Why not?" Molly tossed him a withering look. "He's been after me since seventh grade."
"And it bugs the shit out of you."
"Maybe I'm softening up. Getting those graduation goggles on. Don't they say everyone starts to look better before you say goodbye?"
"Not him."
"What if I'm missing something by not giving him a chance?"
"You're not. He's a dumbass." Jake pointed at his own chest. "And I'm saying this as the guy who usually feels like the biggest dumbass in the room."
"You're not a dumbass," she sighed.
"Fine, but he is! This one time, he kept saying that penguins were make-believe. It took five of us an hour to convince him they actually exist even with Wikipedia. He would drive you insane."
Molly scoffed loudly. "Like Rachel Boobs is any smarter?"
"Then why are you pimping her at me?"
"I was not pimping her! I only told you she's into you." Molly waved him off. "You can do what you want with that information."
"Fine. Maybe I'll take her to Prom."
"Great. Maybe I'll take Tommy."
"Awesome. We should get a limo together," he said smoothly. She was bluffing.
She folded her arms. "Why not a party bus?"
So she was gonna keep this up... "Even better. Really can't wait."
"Super. Same here." She kept smiling, but he knew that was phony as all hell since she slammed out the back door, leaving her books and everything.
He didn't bring them over. Didn't want to bombard her with his stupid, clingy, pushy, neediness or anything. No, he hadn't forgotten that. In fact, it made him want to show up on Rachel Boone's doorstep with one of those ridiculous promposals, or maybe in her homeroom. Wasn't Molly only two seats away?
But he wouldn't. Taking Rachel to Prom was an empty threat. Sure, he'd noticed her – they called her Rachel Boobs for good reason... or reasons – but he'd barely ever talked to her outside of borrowing a pencil. And since she giggled loudly and offered him one that was sparkly pink with purple hearts, he'd been less than impressed with that interaction.
Then again, maybe he was too hard on her. Juliet Bloom (who'd sadly graduated and left all the mere mortals behind) had a very long pink phase. It looked amazing on her, but so did everything because she was Juliet Bloom with her glowing skin and her big doe eyes and her...
What had he been thinking about again?
Oh, yeah. Dumbass Tommy. Molly had to be bluffing. He knew he was. He might be indifferent to Rachel, but Molly was downright annoyed by Dumbass Tommy. "Graduation goggles," he muttered. "Need a graduation blindfold for that douche."
The next morning, he woke up to Molly sitting on the edge of his bed, flicking his forehead. "God, finally! I've been waiting forever. We need to get this over with!"
For a minute, he wondered if it was one of those dreams, the ones he tried not to replay... mostly. If so, she was really over-dressed for it, also the look on her face was all wrong. Much less come-hither, more like she was about to burst. Then he remembered yesterday.
So it was apology time. Well, he wasn't about to go first.
"What did you even do last night?" she demanded, now pacing in front of his bed. "How could you let it just sit there?"
He woke up fully, then. "Um... You were the one who started it."
"What? We applied together!" She tossed an envelope at him. "I thought you wanted this, too!"
Maybe he wasn't fully awake. "Okay. Are we still fighting? Because I wanna be done," he groaned. "I'll say I'm sorry first if you can't—"
"I'm sorry. You're sorry. We're both sorry," Molly said in a rush. "Now will you open it?"
Jake sat up, his eyes finally landing on the envelope. He knew where it had to be from, if Molly was this wound up...
TBC