conversations in august

Previous Chapter

Wattpad: xojordanna

The last drop of sun acted as a flashlight, guiding her through the trees as she marched up the cliff, taking winding movements, jumping over small logs and stomping down on fallen pine cones. Her heart thumped against her chest. She tried counting them, hoping the fast, rhythmic beats would do something to calm her down, but couldn’t get past five before the thought of Tatum being all over that girl flashed in her mind—how comfortable he felt in her arms, how easily he’d done it.

The faster she went, the more her clothes clung to her body like rope when tied taut against someone’s wrists. The sweats were only a good idea in Haven’s car because Haven loved cool air, but now she wanted to rip them off. She clenched her teeth knowing she couldn’t, moving faster, chasing the sunlight, eager to get to the edge.

The path was engraved into her skull from childhood when some of the neighborhood kids dared her to go all the way to the top. She later got in trouble because Haven immediately told Kevin, who tried to take away her Nintendo for the rest of the summer. Her mother gave it back to her a week later and made her promise to never go up there ever again. But when no one was looking, too busy arguing, too busy to even care, she followed the trail made by years of footprints and stood on top of the earth wondering if she fell, who’d be the one to find her.

She stumbled into the clearing—a breather—and clenched her tank top in her hands. The curls at the nape of her neck were slick against her skin. She blinked back the tears that wanted to fall.

Behind the cluster of trees, the sun dipped beneath the velvet skyline. The city, far across the lake, became a phosphorescent smudge, casting a dim glow into the forest. Every vine, cricket, bush, and flower became one. The tickle of leaves—or spider webs—grazed her arm, willing her to stop. The crack of forgotten branches snapped with every step she took. Hopefully, it would catch the attention of someone looking to commit a crime.

If everyone woke up in the morning and eventually realized she was no longer safe but locked away in someone’s basement being picked at, Haven would be the first one to milk it, and Kevin would be the first one to buy her something to make her feel better. Donna would cry because her mother loved crying. And Tatum would forget her because apparently all it took was blue eyes and blond hair for him to cave.

She rushed through the last layer of woods before coming to the edge. The water below wrinkled slightly, though nothing moved it. It was in pristine condition, and covered the ends of the earth from where she stood. The rumble of rocks under her shoes skipped down to the lake, clashing against spiky boulders, and landing into the cracks of the earth no one would bother noticing. 

She leaned over and looked, not even for a second. 

Something moved in her peripheral.

A hunched figure. 

It shot up. 

She had no time to process—it was already rushing toward her. She shrieked and stumbled away from it, tripping over her foot, gravity pulling her backward. The bed of dry dirt and pebbles became silk under her feet. The ground vanished. Her stomach dropped. She gasped, clawing at the night air, trying to reach for a branch on a tree that was far away, but it was too late. She was already falling—her childhood dream coming true. A rush of cold air seized her. Goosebumps traveled from her shoulders and rose to her neck. A nauseating feeling punched her square in the gut. 

Her scream cracked the night open.

Everything blanked. This was it. She was going to die—

Something yanked her forward. The front of her body slammed into what felt like a brick wall and she went tumbling onto the ragged forest grounds, earthly shards digging into the right side of her body. The blow knocked the air out of her. Heavy, rough breaths steamed the shell of her ear. She lunged upward, gasping, but couldn’t move. Something—no, someone—was holding her hostage, folding her into themselves. A sickening warmth bracketed her body. She froze, the figure from before coming to mind.

Oh, God.

The kidnapper.

She screamed again and scrambled against the prison of his arms. He held so tight, so tight he squeezed the tears out of her, but she couldn’t succumb to her emotions.

“Get off of me!” she wailed. She jerked her hips away from his, twisting her body, trying to find any footing. But instead, it landed her on top of him, her back to his chest. She held her body in the fetal position and swung to the left. They landed on their side—the forest floor greeting her with more splinters and dents—and he held her like a marriage falling apart. The city watched her as she struggled, fighting against the kidnapper she was so eager to meet before. 

“Stop!” he shouted. She launched her feet backwards, mostly kicking air, but landing a few on solid bone. He threw one of his legs on top of hers and anchored her, making her completely useless. “I’m not going to hurt you!” 

“Get off of me!” she cried. “ Please, please get off!” 

“Listen!”  Shivers touched parts of her body. She jerked against him again, freeing one of her legs. He quickly readjusted, pulling her in tighter—an overly warm blanket she couldn’t get free from. 

“Listen,” he snapped, his voice gritty in her ear.  “I am not going to hurt you”—she pulled against him—“I am not going to hurt you, but you have to calm down! If you do not—” She wept into his arms, growing weaker with every jolt. “If you do not, you will end up falling again. We’re so close to the edge.” 

Behind her tears, the city sparkled like the sun on top of pool water.  She stopped moving, shallow, fast breaths thumping like a heartbeat. Her eyes adjusted; just barely, the tattered line of demarcation between the earth above and the one below peeked through the dark, daring her to keep fighting. She was one twitch away between him and a gruesome plummet. 

She had no choice. 

She forced herself to calm down. 

His voice broke through the stillness—tentative and lower. “Please believe me. I’m not going to hurt you.” 

There was a beat of silence. Then the pressure of his arms around her body loosened slowly. “I am letting go now.” There was a shuffle and cooler air replaced the area where his body had been. She scooted away from the edge and stood up as if the world would slip from underneath her for a second time. 

Nothing looked right. The trees that once stood tall became two dimensional, melting into the deepening, blue sky.

No phone, no light, and stuck with a stranger who could kill her if he wanted to. 

“Stay calm,” he said, as if he read her mind. Every breath she took scratched her throat as it passed through. He stood back, lean and tall, with his hands lifted slightly—innocently—as if she were the threat. “Please. I am not going to hurt you.” 

She tried desperately to make out her surroundings, cradling her hands tight to her chest. Her head was spinning, the landscape in front of her a creepy, motion-blurred painting. He stood in the middle of it like a shadow added last minute.

  “I—I can’t see,” she whimpered. 

“Hold on. I’ve got you.” There was a shuffle and then a bright light touched a small patch of the woods. It flashed on his dark clothes, black Converses splattered with pieces of leaves and dirt. Pale skin peeked out of the rips in his jeans. “Let me help you get back.” 

He nudged the light down the hill. In the distance, a pinpoint of light from one of the orange street lamps glowed. She didn’t move. There was absolutely no way she was going to follow him into the unknown, leaving the only comfort she had at the moment: the flickering lights in the city where people lived normal lives. She forced herself to hear the clatter of life beneath her deep, weary breaths, cheering her on.

She needed to act fast. 

Get him before he got her. 

She scanned the ground, quick flicks between different sized rocks. Or pinecones. She couldn’t tell. There was nothing but leaves and twigs around her feet. Nothing to knock him down with. If she ran, he’d catch her—easy—if she didn’t sabotage herself first by running into a tree or falling or giving up. But if she were quick, she might stumble into the rock she needed to—

“Look,” he sighed. “I swear I’m not going to hurt you. If I wanted to, I would’ve already done it. I just want to help you get down. I’ll walk in front of you the entire time. No sudden movements. And then I’m gone.” Behind the light, he put his hands up. “I swear.” 

She couldn’t get herself to move a muscle. 

Go, Maliyah. 

“Okay, I get it,” he sighed. Another moment of silence; another swish of his body. “Do you have a phone or anything? Someone to call?” 

No, she didn’t. She slammed it on the ground because of Tatum. 

Freaking Tatum.

And if she did have her phone with her, who’s to say he wouldn’t slap it out of her hands the moment she dialed 911? How would they even find her? 

He flashed the light on her and she wrapped her arms around herself. She couldn’t help but to think he’s studying her. Her dumb sweats, her brown, slick skin in the spaghetti strap tank that felt too skimpy now. How scared she must have looked. 

“Okay…” Another shuffle and then another light, much dimmer than the one on his phone. He laid it on the ground and nudged it toward her. “Here’s a flashlight. To help.” He backed away from her. “You can keep it.” 

He waited a beat longer, before the familiar sound of snapping twigs gave the night sound. 

He’s…walking away? 

His light bounced as he descended, growing smaller. 

She finally let herself breathe a sigh of relief. It came out uneven and grateful. 

The shallow light on the ground warmed up a lone, crumbled leaf. She glanced down the hill. He was still walking. Without his brighter light, she dipped deeper into darkness, deeper into the eerie silence underneath the choir of cicadas. 

She picked up the flashlight—a cheap, weightless thing you get at the checkout line at a local dollar store—and pointed it at the ground. Her shoes were caked with dirt crumbs and broken pieces of wood. As she walked, her legs felt like she’d just done a heavy set at the gym. 

At first, she took careful steps, hoping he didn’t hear her just in case he changed his mind. But he kept going, past the boulders, past the clearing, guiding her. 

She looked back at the city, unmoved, still sparkling and oblivious until they weren’t making eye contact anymore. Now she was alone, the curve of the moon smiling down at her. 

It took forever to finally see the street lamp she spotted, its soft light reaching down and brushing the top of the kidnapper’s—the stranger’s—head. His wavy blond hair stopped just before his shoulders as he stood under it, it gently glowing and moving in the wind. He turned, loose strands falling into his face. 

She stopped, tensing. 

He dragged his hand through it, the light casting shadows in just the right places. He’s young. And tall. And searching. 

He finds her. She doesn’t take another step. She hid the flashlight behind her thigh and covered the light, but it’s too late. He’s looking at her. 

Then he backed away, just a bit. 

He’s right: If he wanted to do something, he would’ve by now. 

And if he still wanted to do something, he couldn’t without being caught. They were back in the neighborhood—a flickering TV in the large window of 1539 danced on the bald head of a man reclining back in his chair. She could scream, and it would be over. 

The thought calmed her enough to take another step. 

He took another back. 

She stopped again and examined him—waited for the sudden move he promised not to make—and it never came. So she took another one, and to her step he took another back, until they were two negatives trying to meet somewhere in the middle. Now she was bathed in the golden light, and he was on the other side of the street with his hands in his pockets. 

“Get home safe,” he said. In the silence, his voice was clear. He watched her a moment longer, then turned and walked down the sidewalk, headed the way she was going, only he passed the lakehouse. She followed him, slowly, looking behind her, making sure there wasn't a true kidnapper waiting for him to leave. She looked inside the bald man’s house again, catching the last bit of a Neutrogena commercial, and hurried down the sidewalk, each house still alive and warm, being a checkpoint for safety. 

The stranger crossed in front of the stop sign and down the next street. A dog barked in response. 

He didn’t look back.

She had never been more relieved when she touched the door handle of that ugly house, typing in those stupid eight numbers: 06262006.

June 26th, 2006.

Haven’s birthday. 

The stark difference between the bright house and the dark night was jarring. She quickly covered the large windows with what little coverage sheer curtains could manage. She found her phone, lying where she threw it, cracked, starting from the bottom left corner and splitting into hairline fractures across the surface. 

It blinked to life. 

One message from Mom. 

Did you guys make it in okay?

_

Thanks for reading! Tell me what you think <3

Another chapter next Friday!

Previous Chapter

Wattpad: xojordanna

Cliff Vernon hung in the background over Sunset Valley, North Carolina, like a portrait above a mantle, watching and waiting. She drove into the memory slowly—buttery smooth roads, gum-free sidewalks, and well-dressed hydrangeas sat in clean, trimmed shrubs. Long pine trees hid the still lake from Interstate 40, but when you turned down the familiar road and past the Grand Plaza hotel, it was a tanzanite gem emerging from the earth.

Newer and bigger homes sat on the small hills she used to walk up and down when there was no one to talk to. The sun settled onto the neighbors' expensive, clean cars and allowed them to sparkle the way they would in a showroom. It was finally the time of the day when automatic porch lights flickered on and illuminated them as they sat on their wooden swings and started conversations they wouldn't remember tomorrow.

Maliyah stuck her hand outside and caught the air—a warm, distant friend welcoming her back, though it should be under different circumstances, because it was more like a prison sentence than a reunion.

Haven texted furiously on her phone. Every ding was a constant reminder Maliyah was far away from her mom and from the tasks that needed to be completed before September.

She would've missed the house if it hadn't been for her muscle memory—down the winding road, past the children's playground, and up the hill towards the left. Kevin didn't mention a totally different house would be where the old one was. This didn't have the tan brick exterior, or the sage green finishes, or the cute little birdhouse that sat crooked in the grass from when Kevin let Haven drive behind the wheel for the first time and she smacked right into it.

Instead it was angular, and tall, and see-through. Matte black paint lined every edge of the house and glowed like a streetlamp at three a.m. Looking at it made her want to hide underneath a blanket.

1759 Oak Drive, as it was, was a thing of the past.

She pulled into the driveway. A large white sign sat perched evenly in the grass. The pale blue script on it made her stop.

Château de Brooks' Haven.

"Oh, my God," Haven whispered. A smile spread across her face, showing off her perfectly white teeth. She extended her phone toward the windshield and took a picture. Like clockwork, a photo of Kevin standing on a dock reeling his fishing hook appeared on the screen. She was quick to answer. "Hello?" she said. Kevin's muffled voice vibrated through her phone, somehow still able to overpower every sound around him. "Yes, I freaking love it!"

She slammed the car door. Her hair bounced and fell in perfect waves as she trotted toward the sign. She stood next to it, puckering her lips and taking selfies. The obvious was as clear as the bay windows of the renovated house: This summer was going to be handed to Haven with a large, pink bow attached to it. The fun, the tan, the memories, and, much to Kevin's oblivious dismay, the boys. It's how it had always been and always would be. And it is the reason why Maliyah wanted to find a job and drown herself in work so she won't have time enough to care.

She grabbed her bags and walked toward the brand new porch—no more stairs—trying not to look at the sign or feel the tightening in her chest.

Remember Maliyah: regard this.

Haven pushed past her and tapped the six digit code onto the keyless lock. The new Californian coastal look with a touch of farmhouse was a far cry from the Tuscan style they had back in '07. She liked it then, often pretending she lived in an episode of MTV Cribs. At least it still smelled like someone made pancakes two hours prior and couldn't quite get the scent of maple syrup out of the cracks in the floorboards.

Her bags slid off her shoulders. They looked out of place with their ripping threads, lint dried to the surface like acne. She stepped out of her scuffed sneakers and set them in the corner.

Haven had since put Kevin on speaker. "When you girls are done with your vacation, it's going up on Airbnb. Château de Brooks' Haven. Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it, Hav?" He sounded pleased with himself, killing two birds with one stone: being clever and making Haven happy.

"Yeah," she yawned. "Hey, Dad, I'm gonna lay down for a little bit."

"You didn't sleep on the way there?"

"I did, but I think I have some kind of, like, car-lag or something."

Maliyah rolled her eyes.

"Really?" Kevin chuckled. "Didn't know that was a thing. You're gonna love your room. Go on up while I'm still on the phone."

Haven groaned and plodded up the stairs, leaving Maliyah standing in the middle of a latte: white walls, sheer tan drapes, ivory plush couches that dimpled when you touched it. A large cream rug sat underneath a heavy, wooden coffee table, highlighting the slow-moving ceiling fan and weeping figs in the corners. Three rustic, untouched surfboards were lined up and equally spaced out against the wall. Decorators, yes, because Kevin didn't know how to put all of this together, hince the God-awful coy fish fountain at home, but that one had to be his idea.

She sat on the edge of the couch and checked her phone.

One message from Mom.

Drive safe baby. Call me when you get there.

She clicked on Tatum's message thread, her text being the one to end it: Hey, I'm about to leave. Come see me? Sent at one in the afternoon. There was no need to look at how much time had passed—the sun was beginning to set. He'd seen the message and chose not to respond.

Maybe he got hit by a train. He likes to cross the tracks. He's probably broken in half, lying in the hospital. Someone would call if something like that happened, right?

He once referred to her as his "favorite secret," and hadn't met any of his family.

So no.

No one would call.

But for her sake, something better had happened. This was his last chance. No more excuses.

A loud knock at the door rattled the house. She jumped, her phone clattering to the floor.

The rumble of Haven's footsteps came rushing down the stairs. She managed to do something—peel out of her hoodie, showing off her glowing skin underneath her tank top, braided her hair loosely and flipped it over her shoulder. It leapt at the rate she was moving. And no more Kevin.

She nearly tripped, squealing and laughing at herself, before she opened the door.

A guy stood on the other side of it. When he smiled, it clicked. Of course it was Brandon. He'd grown taller, more muscular, more handsome, and filled out into the structure of a man.

Haven jumped on him and he caught her in his arms. She pushed his curly brown hair out of his face and kissed him. The moment became too intimate—suddenly, the abstract flower vase with no flowers, sitting on the side table, became the most interesting thing in the world.

"Brooks!" Brandon shouted. He turned to the side to see Maliyah. Haven refused to let go and by the goo-goo eyes and constant kisses to his jaw, neck, and face, she wasn't going to do it anytime soon.

Maliyah gave him a tight-lipped smile. He smiled back, braces a thing of the past. He'd always had a boyish charm about him. You know, the kind of charm jockey foot-ball playing guys have. Always off-limits. Boyfriend material. Except now it was more formulated with broader shoulders and pique masculinity. Think Captain America before his transformation versus after.

Her heart leapt in her chest.

"How've you been?" he asked.

"I've been good. You?"

"Great!" he laughed. Haven trailed fast, excited pecks back to his mouth. "Hey, we—" he tried to speak. "Me, Hav, and some friends—are going to—"

Kisses, kisses, and more kisses.

He unwrapped her arms from around his neck and leaned her backwards until she was upside down. She tightened her legs around his waist, and he gently swung her back and forth. Her hair fell over itself, sweeping the clean floors.

They looked so cute; it was nauseating.

"We're going out to the lake tomorrow. You wanna come?" he asked, looking back and forth between them. The admiration he held for Haven faltered every time he looked at Maliyah.

"Uh, I really shouldn't—I have something to—"

"Oh, come on. It'll be fun. Just this one time. To kick start summer."

"Nah, Maliyah's boring. You know that," Haven laughed, still swaying. "She brought her kindle. She's going to be reading the whole time."

"There's nothing wrong with reading," he said.

"Okay, but at the lake?"

"I'll go," Maliyah snapped. She looked at the back of Haven's head and studied her perfect hair. Her skin prickled, and she spoke faster than she could think. "Just for a little while—"

"The blood is starting to rush to my head," Haven said.

Brandon pulled her upward and cradled her. "Alright, we should get going. See you tomorrow, Maliyah."

"Come on, we're going to be late," Haven whined.

"Alright, alright." Brandon shut the door behind them. The rev of his engine comes to life, tough and loud, and they peel down the street, Haven's confident laugh in tow.

The music faded and everything was quiet again.

Boring.

She picked up her phone and opened Instagram. Tatum was at the top of her block list. She got angry at the gas station in the middle of the road trip and blocked him at the pump. Haven was in the passenger seat chatting away and making plans.

She refreshed his page. Red flag: a glowing ring around his profile picture. Moths swarmed around in her stomach. Please let it be his mom letting everyone know that he's been in a terrible train accident and has died.

Unfortunately, it was much worse.

Four hours ago, he stood on a small hill in a field—no, not a field. In someone's huge backyard. There were too many people scattered in different circles behind him. Their chatter mixed underneath the sound of Drake. Red solo cups and shot glasses were embedded in drunk palms and laid strewn in freshly cut grass. Tatum yelled over it all and didn't make any since.

Okay. A party. Not the worst thing in the world. It's understandable. He was too caught up in the fun of it all. No time to pay attention to his text messages.

She clicked on the next video showing him standing next to his friend Thomas. They were both wet, or sweaty from something. Their faces glistened and shined in the hot sun.

Someone came up behind them and poured a bucket of water all over them. They cheered, thrashing into each other. This was boy fun; something Brandon would get. But this is what kept him? This is what he was doing when she wanted to say goodbye?

He could've stopped by before he went. He could've face-timed and told her to have a good summer. He could've texted back telling her he couldn't make it.

This wasn't understandable at all.

It flicked to another video. The moment of regret.

He had his arms wrapped around some blond girl, both drenched in water. Him dipping her close to the ground. Kissing.

People cheered in the background. Thomas flipped the camera on himself, giving Maliyah a thumbs up—"this is why he ditched you"—before he flipped it back around, showing Tatum still glued to the girl with the glorious, wet hair.

The latte she stood in began to burn her.

She threw her phone down and grabbed her stupid, smudged sneakers.

The hot evening air strangled her. She looked back at the sign that glowed. The area lights bolted in front of it highlighted the name triumphantly.

Château de Brooks' Haven.

She took off towards Cliff Vernon, watching and waiting for her.

-

Thanks for reading, guys! Tell me what you think.

Wattpad: xojordanna

The familiar ache sat like a cold, damp towel in the middle of Maliyah's stomach. She stared at the screen, hoping the three little dots would appear—something to let her know he cared, even a little. But it'd been two hours and nothing.

"Here, let me help you with those." Her mom, Donna, wore a long, bright chartreuse sundress that flowed like warm honey in the wind. She pulled the end taut, shaping her small build, before she grabbed one of Haven's bags and dragged it down the wooden staircase. The muscles in her arm stretched, and by the third step, she lost her grip, and the suitcase twisted and landed on its front, sliding the rest of the way down. The metal exterior didn't sound like it made it out alive. "Good Lord, what does that girl have in that thing!"

Maliyah stuck her phone in her sweats and took another one of Haven's bags. She didn't struggle as much as Donna, but it was heavy. Haven has never been the one to be underprepared for a trip. She packs a duffle bag full of things when she and Kevin go fishing. Of course, that only lasts a few hours before she gets tired of it and wants to shop. Four XL suitcases almost seemed too light for the next two months.

"Shouldn't she be helping?" Maliyah asked.

Before Donna could respond, the boom of Kevin's laugh landed on everything around them. He emerged from the side of the house with his arm snug around Haven's shoulders. She leaned into him, nearly tripping over her own feet trying to keep up, as he attempted to whisper something in her ear. His guttural voice still carried weight, words spilling all over the place. He hardly finished his sentence—something about a tank engine—before they doubled over, their laughter filling the neighborhood.

"What could be so dang funny?" Donna sat the suitcase upright and wiped her forehead. She let go of her dress and it ballooned around her. The etch between her brows resembled a frustration that only came out when someone grew too hot and moved too much in the heat. It gave her a reason to flick her knee to the side and put her hands on her hips. "Haven, come help with your bags."

They looked up. In moments like these, they were identical: raised eyebrows, wide, unfiltered smiles, dimples sinking, and a hint of red on their cheeks to let everyone know they were having too much fun again. It's like they're taking a picture, a millisecond in time Maliyah always captured.

"I got 'em." Kevin jogged towards the glistening luggage still waiting at the top of the stairs. His oversized body looked heavy as he moved. The gravel picked up and crunched underneath his size-twelve dad shoes. He lifted them like a child would lift two stuffed animals and hoisted them on his shoulders. He pursed his lips, taking one hard step after the other, lugging them to the car.

"Go, Superman, go!" Haven laughed.

Maliyah grimaced and yanked the suitcase along. When she reached the trunk of Haven's BMW, he reappeared next to Donna, taking the other bag. She looked puny standing beside him. It's one thing being six-foot-three; it's a whole other thing being that tall and wide. He's easily three-hundred pounds and could break her in half if he put his mind to it. Fortunately for Donna, he's not the type to do things like that. Instead, if you make him mad, he gets real red and tight-lipped, locking himself in the home theater and cutting on a movie so loud, the fight scenes vibrate through the walls.

He reached his thick, bear-like arms into the trunk and pushed Haven's suitcases together. The Rolex on his wrist blinded her.

"Yup!" he replied, leaving Maliyah with the last suitcase. The metal scrapes against the car as she pushed it next to the others. She checked the blush pink wrap. It's still as perfect as the day Kevin got it done for Haven's eighteenth birthday. She sighed, relieved. If she'd messed it up, she'd never hear the end of it.

Maliyah's old '03 Toyota Corolla sat in a corner of the garage no one bothered paying attention to. Chipping black paint, white scruffs on the driver's door, and a vintage—no, decrepit—look couldn't compare to Donna's sparkling white Bentley, or Haven's other car, and every teenage girl's dream: a Barbie Pink Bronco. And let's not even talk about Kevin's corvette, G-Wagon, and Rolls-Royce, all ruby red.

Cigarette burns dotted the tan cloth seats, the headliner sported black spots near the edge of the sunroof, and the dashboard wore cracks the same way her mom wore smile lines now that she's getting older.

It wasn't the most precious thing in the world, but it was hers and as soon as she had enough money to fix the motor, the air conditioning, and got those stupid, shiny tires replaced, would be the last time she stepped on this property. She could live with the decrepit paint job, the cracked dashboard, and the black spots by the sunroof—mold, probably—if it meant eventually it could move and she could leave. Twelve-hundred more bucks to go.

Kevin took clunky, dense steps down the stairs, weighed down by another suitcase. Of course, there was one more, and it fit like a puzzle piece on top of the others, leaving no room for her dull, pathetic duffle bags still sitting on the porch.

She trudged up the steps and placed one bag on each shoulder. Donna's clammy hands gripped Maliyah's elbows, and she smiled. "You're going to have the best summer ever."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Why can't I just stay with you? There's a lot more to do, and I can help."

Her arms were still sore from reaching to the very top of the ceiling on a very little ladder, trying to paint a straight line in the crevice of her mom's new shop. At one point, a drop got in her eye, and she had to get it flushed. Donna made her take a thirty-minute break before she resumed painting closer to the ground. They still needed another round of inspectors, light fixtures, furniture, and fridges before The Flour Pot was set to open just in time enough for fall.

She should be here, not "vacationing" with Haven.

"You need to take a moment to breathe. You've been moving non-stop since you were fourteen," Donna said. "You don't watch TV or nothing!"

"But I like working. I think it's fun."

She didn't mind getting paint in her eyes.

Donna sighed and took one of Maliyah's bags. "You work too much for your own good. It's okay to sit down and enjoy the fruits of your labor."

"More like Dad's labor." She glanced at the coy fish fountain dead-smack in the middle of the lush green yard. No one needed one of those, no matter how much money you had. "Y'all only want me to go because you don't trust Haven."

The daddy-daughter pair was off to the side again, snickering about whatever those two had in common.

"Well," Donna starts, as they both took slow strides to the car, "that's, like twenty-five percent of the reason. If we let that girl go anywhere too long by herself she might—no, she will—come back pregnant. But seventy-five percent is so you can enjoy the last year of being a teenager," she smiled. "Go have fun, go get into some things. At least watch TV."

Maliyah opened the door behind the driver seat and placed her bags on the floor. She looked through the passenger window and caught the tail end of Kevin slipping a black credit card into Haven's small, eager hands like it was their little secret. She looked away because it was.

"Haven would get pregnant anyway," she said, turning back to Donna.

Little did they know, she almost was once. Luckily, the first test had been a misread, where the other five flashed negative. For extra measure, they both got up early one Saturday morning and took Maliyah's car before its joints gave out. The ride to the clinic had been a quick, quiet one.

Donna placed her hands on Maliyah's shoulders and pulled her into a hug. Her signature Chanel perfume floated away in the wind. "Please try. Just a little."

"I want a hug," Haven whined from behind them.

Donna went towards Haven and wrapped her arms around her waist, giving Maliyah an opportunity to check her phone again. An empty screensaver of a lavender meadow looked back at her. She wanted to cry, but not in front of Kevin, and definitely not in front of Haven.

Instead, she allowed her mom to hug her one more time before she slipped into the driver's seat. The BMW purred to life. The interior lights brightened up the dark vehicle and cut to a radio host talking too fast about his summer plans. At least she'd have a pretty scene on the five-hour drive to the lake house: the calm before the boring.

Haven swung the passenger door open and threw two grocery bags full of snacks underneath the dashboard. When she sat, Donna took her hands in hers. By the veins poking through her spray-tanned skin, she was holding tight. "Listen, Haven," she began, eyes the color of gunmetal stiffening as she spoke. "No hiccups. I'm not kidding around. The moment something gets back to me is the moment I'm gonna have you shipped back down here."

Kevin held the passenger door, rolling his eyes. "Oh, Donna, the girl can have some fun."

"Her 'fun' landed her in prison a month ago."

"The holding cell of a county jail," he corrected. "And she was only in there for a couple of hours."

"She really shouldn't even be going at all," she mumbled, walking away. "Since when did we reward bad behavior?"

Kevin leaned down and stuck his head in the car.

"What is she gonna do when I go off to college? Is she gonna have me 'shipped' from there, too?" Haven's voice tightened and got louder with each word. "I'm almost eighteen. I can do what I want."

"I know, I know," he nodded, kissing her forehead—something he'd always do to get her to calm down. "You can have as much fun as you want. Just—no boys."

Haven scoffed, turning her body into the car and folding her arms.

"Oh, come on," he laughed, bumping her. He acted as if he was kidding around. She can hang with as many boys as her heart desired, though that's not what he truly felt. You could tell by the gloss in his eyes he was worried about his little girl. They had the same features, but hers were more delicate and carefully sewn together. Everyone knew Haven was beautiful the moment she turned eleven and started wearing her platinum-blond hair in beach waves down her back. She not only owned a Barbie pink Bronco—she was Barbie.

She cracked a smile. "Okay, Dad. No boys."

"That's my girl. I love you."

"Love you, too."

They hugged again before he closed the door.

It's not that Kevin intentionally ignored Maliyah, because that would imply he cared she was there at all. Haven was the light of his life, and the moment she got that down pact and stored it in the part of her brain where all things should be regarded, her shoulders would stop slumping in disappointment.

She put the car in reverse and jolted it at the feeling of herself going backward down the steep driveway.

"Watch it," Haven warned.

"Would you like to drive?" Maliyah snapped back. "I mean, this is your car."

Haven rolled her unfairly pretty eyes she inherited from their mom and sank into her seat, gluing her knees to the dashboard. She put in her earphones and positioned her head towards the window. The music blared and there wasn't any doubt that was the reason people often had to repeat themselves when speaking to her.

Maliyah released her foot from the break and eased her way down the hill and into the street. Donna and Kevin followed them down the driveway. She caught his eyes and he put his hand up and gave her a brisk nod.

She adjusted the rearview mirror. The last thing she saw before turning down the street was her mom swatting Kevin's hand away and stepping to the side when he tried putting his arm around her shoulder. When they thought the girls were no longer looking, she took fast strides back towards the house without him.

"And here's Coldplay," the radio host quipped. The soft piano ballad of The Scientist began to play. Somehow the song was fitting for the moment, seeing how Tatum left her on read and her dad hardly bothered saying goodbye.

-

Ok, hello.

I want to get back into writing and am having a little bit of a hard time over on Wattpad getting readership, so I want to upload my work here. Some of the girlies on tiktok said a lot of the writing community is back here, so here I am. Hopefully I can get some feedback and build a small community? Hopefully, maybe? If not, that's fine. I'll love writing no matter what.

(I am not even sure if Wattpad is still a relevant app to use for hobby writing. And I'm not a fic writer to use AO3, plus I find it a bit difficult to navigate.)

I want to get into the deets a little bit, and if you like it, check out my blog for more chapters!

Faking The Rhythm

Genre: teen Fiction, definitely Young Adult

Vibes: slow burn, yearning, angst, fake dating (obv), summer romance, rockstar/grungey

(Wattpad: xoxojordanna)

Synopsis

Maliyah Brooks has one goal on her mind: survive the summer at the lake house so she can go back home and start her career working at her mom's new bakery. Two measly months and it's over, but then she literally falls into the arms of Tyler Robinson, who just saved her from almost falling off of Cliff Vernon.

All is well, except now she owes him: be his fake girlfriend to make his ex-jealous.

No thanks. She’s not ready for another relationship after her last one miserably failed—even if it is fake. But then she gets hired on the spot at the local record shop not knowing a thing about music and too desperate for money to quit. Suddenly, she needs Tyler, the lead singer and guitarist of No Exit.

Those two measly months quickly turn into two complicated months with a guy she'd never thought she'd be this close to and a plan that was meant to be clean-cut, straight-forward, and to the point. With tensions rising, feelings budding, and an envious sister, Maliyah navigates her summer with Tyler—the unrealistically beautiful, guitar-playing, grade-a teenage dirtbag.

Yes, it's cliche. YES, it's so Wattpad, but idc lol. I want to write it and hopefully people want to read it.

So if you're an ex wattpad reader or still read wattpad and somehow found me, please stop by and tell me what you think! (No, srsly, all feedback is welcome. I take constructive criticism, as long as you're not mean.)

Click here for story!

n. the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable—their pupils glittering, bottomless and opaque—as if you were peering through a hole in the door of a house, able to tell that there’s someone standing there, but unable to tell if you’re looking in or looking out. 

(Definition found at The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows)

<3

Originally written: Idk, but it was a mess

Re-written: March 18th, 2023

The sun finally sets down over the neighborhood. It was that time of year where it’s hot in the day and chilly in the evenings, so it was interesting seeing Jason sitting on her porch with no jacket on. Actually, it was interesting seeing Jason sitting on her porch at all. 

Y/N held her worn down cardigan closer to her body and opened the door. Jason didn’t flinch, but his head did reel in her direction when she sat down next to him. 

When he lingered around like this, it usually got under Y/N’s skin, but tonight she felt…good, for a lack of a better word. It was cold, yes, but it was bearable. And the stars were shimmering. When did they do that? Probably all the time. There hasn’t been anything to worry about lately: bills are paid, family is doing well enough, and her heart is healed. Maybe it was time to start looking up. 

Still, it was a little weird sharing a night with Jason, but there was something nice about hearing the cicadas cheer in spite of. 

“Do you ever…feel…something you can’t quite…” Jason’s voice is raspy. Y/N looks down at the beer he’s holding in his hand. 

Great. He's drinking. 

She preferred him not to drink, but at least it wasn't hard liquor this time. Jason and Vodka equals a one way ticket to never coming to her house again. He knew that, so she only sees him sporting a Corona here and there. Not great, but not bad either. 

He starts over, looking out into the mouth of the night. Nothing much to look at except the tangle of trees in front of him. They look haunted but she has to remember they’re not. It’s too shallow for ghosts or robbers; in fact Ms. Hodgkin's, an old frail woman with slow speech, colorful garden of hydrangeas were prominent behind the forest, if you can call it that.

“Do you ever feel something quite describe?” His gaze shifts over to her. He sits up and places his beer beside his foot and mirrors his elbow to his knees. His hair catches the glow of her porch light and there are two hues of blond. She has the sudden urge to drag her fingers through it, straighten out his waves, but the tension was too much, even if the thought was safe inside of her mind. 

Before she could say anything, Jason starts up again. He wasn’t drunk, but he always got talkative when a dime of alcohol touched his tongue. 

“Like today,” he said, intertwining his fingers. 

Another urge to put her hand in his, to feel their warmth, but it’s too much, too embarrassing, so she zones in on Ms. Hodgkin’s garden and focused on the bunch that was a nice shade of periwinkle. 

“I had this really weird moment when I was driving. I saw this teenage boy. He was waiting at the bus stop, and he looked nervous. Probably a freshman in high school.” A breathy snort rushes out of his nose. Nostalgia lit up his eyes, and remembering, too, Y/N cracked a smile. “And then I started thinking about when I was in high school…” his smile leaves his face and he’s looking at his fingers, eyebrows pinched together. 

“I remember how messed up I was…how dumb I’d been. This urgency falls over me and I had this incredible desire to go back in time and tell my younger self that everything works out. Stop worrying so much, you know? You’re stable” —he looks over at his beer— “enough. You have success, you have a plan, finally you have direction, and everything turns out just fine.” His eyes narrowed. “It’s so strange. It was like the past was a tangible place I could go to that very minute, and younger me was someone that existed outside of myself. Like I could pick up the phone and call him. That stupid feeling was with me that whole thirty minute drive. I couldn’t shake it.” 

“Enouement,” Y/N smiled. 

“What?” Jason looks up from his fingers and stares at her. She switched her gaze on the tiny trio of ants marching in a straight line. 

“Enouement,” she repeated. “It’s when you feel bitter sweetness having seen what the future is like and not being about to go back in time to tell yourself how things work out.” 

“Oh…” Jason picks up his beer and takes a thoughtful swig. “That’s pretty cool there’s a word for it.” He takes another long swig and Y/N resists the temptation to roll her eyes. Then he chuckles, seeming as though he’d long forgotten he was pouring his heart out to her. “The other day, I freaked out that I could hear my heartbeats. Then suddenly I couldn’t hear them at all. Then my breath got caught in my throat. I thought I died for a split second. I had to press my hand to my chest to see if I was still alive. I panicked when I didn’t see the “bright light”.” 

She smiles down at the ants disappearing underneath the wooden staircase. “Rubatosis.” 

He takes a final gulp of his drink and crushes the can in his hand. “Ruba-mi-what?” 

“Rubatosis. It’s the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat.” 

Jason slouches back down and sits up on his elbows. His eyebrows are scrunched. “Are you, like, some kind of thesaurus or something?” 

Y/N lets out a snort and studies Jason’s car. It was a nice gray Jeep. Tall and sturdy. A car made exactly for him. “Thesaurus is a book for synonyms. You mean dictionary.” 

“Same thing,” he says. 

“Not really,” she says back. 

“Well, can you share with me any other cool words? I like the way you say them.” 

Y/n could hear the smirk in his voice. Then she looks back at him. He is smirking. She rolls her eyes and returns her gaze back to Jason’s huge car. There was a small gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach. The more she stayed quiet, the more the feeling grew. Even the cicadas waited and listened.

“Jason?” Her voice was soft and inviting, like she was holding onto a secret that would bond them in a different way. 

“Yes?” He asks.

They stared at each other. His eyes were the color of rosewood, and they spoke with curiosity. It seemed like he wanted her to say something he’s been waiting to hear. And it felt like that, for a split moment. It felt like she was going to say something she was going to regret a second later. Jason had a way of looking at her that manipulated her thoughts. Maybe she did want to say something, but what? Anything would be fine, but it was quickly becoming all too weird. Him looking at her and patiently waiting for a response made the night thick—even if he only wanted another unique word. 

“Why are you still here?” She asks. 

The glimmer in his eyes became as dull as her porch light. Then the moment is gone as if it never happened. He stands and stretches his tall body decorated in black clothing. Keys jiggled in his pocket. 

“I don’t know,” he says. 

“Wait, you’re going to drive?” she asks, standing with him. “After drinking?” 

He rolls his eyes and Y/N could help but note his long eyelashes. “First you want me to go and now you know whether I should?” 

There’s something in his voice, but if Y/N acknowledged it as annoyance, then she would have to acknowledge why. Acknowledging why would also make her acknowledge there was something brewing between them—at least on her end—and she can’t bear the thought of Jason knowing there is a softness she felt for him.

“I’m just looking out for you,” she says, holding her cardigan taut against her body.

Whatever annoyance he displayed before dropped, and he smiled softly. “I’ll be fine. I’ve only had one beer. I’m not a lightweight. Thanks for worrying about me though.” 

He winks and turns around before he sees the way her foot hid behind the other. 

He starts his car and revs the night awake. Cockiness is on his face and he laughs at her. The jeep makes a U-turn out of the wide, gravel driveway and leaves tire burns in its wake. 

“Annoying Bieber.” Originally written: Sometime in 2018 <3 Transferred from 825th.tumblr.com (deleted account)  How can Y/n write about a love that she doesn’t believe exists in today’s world without sounding too pretentious; without sounding like she’s trying too hard to know what Romeo and Juliet went through? Why can’t she just know? Why hadn’t she fallen in love yet? At least, a little bit; a fraction of what Juliet felt for Romeo. A fraction is good, because being all the way in love like they were resulted in their deaths. They were too young to die. She’s too young to die.

But, of course, she doesn’t want anyone hanging over her. Or being jealous. Or wanting to know where she is at all times of the day. But she does want flowers. Marigolds wrapped in crisp newspaper, to be exact. And maybe sometimes hold hands? Only when it’s cold, though. And the borrowing of his sweatshirt that smelled like cologne. That could be nice.  

“Romeo and Juliet. A classic.” A familiar stature molded her peripheral, his blond hair catching the light of the dimly lit library. Justin sat down in front of her and leaned his back against the fantasy section. His legs nearly wrapped themselves into hers. “I know all about those guys.”

“Oh, really?” she asked, but didn’t look up.

“Who doesn’t? The whole Montagues hating the Capulets. Romeo and Juliet being from either family and falling in love with each other. The families forbidding it. Them dying. It’s a classic.”

“A boring classic.”

“It’s alright, I guess. Why’re you reading it?”

“It’s for my English class. I have to write a paper about love.”

He sported a smirk that she missed. “Ooh, love, my favorite subject.” 

“Oh, I know, Mr. I-can-have-any-girl-I-desire.”  

“Well, not any girl…”  

She looked up then, and caught the glimmer in his eyes. His smirk trampled into a boyish grin. He’s failed time and time again when asking her out. His charming words were enticing, and the romantic gestures were convincing, but they were no match for the wall she put around herself.  

“Well,” she closed the book, “almost any girl.” She placed it inside her bookbag and got up, walking toward the entrance. He was hot on her tail.  

“How come every time I come around you suddenly have to leave?”  

“It’s your bad timing,” she said. “I’ve been at the library since five.”  

Darkness waged over the campus, street lamps lighting their path. She tightened her sweater around her as the wind blew, rustling the bare trees.  

“Since five? It’s almost ten."  

"Ooh, look at you. You can tell time.”  

“Oh, ha-ha. I’m just saying that you’ve really been in the library for five hours? I didn’t see any essay you were writing.”  

“Well, right now I’m just studying romance.”  

“You can’t study romance,” he spoke incredulously. “At least, not theirs.”  

“Why not? They were in love.”  

“They were psychopaths.”  

“Well, wouldn’t you be a psychopath too if you were in love?”  

“Maybe so,” he said, and grabbed the base of his chin. “But, what I’m saying is, how can you study romance? Like, dying. How can you write a paper on what it feels like to die if you never experienced it?”

“Well, that’s kind of far-fetched. No one can write about how it feels to die. Anyone can write about love – wing it, at least. Like when lonely people write romance novels.”  

“But, it’s not real. It’s not authentic.”  

“And what’s real nowadays, anyway?” She looked at him and he looked at her. “What do you know about love?”  

“Enough.”  

“Enough? You’ve been in love before?”  

“Once.”  

“Really? How was it?”  

“I’ll be glad to share that with you over hot chocolate and scones.”  

She rolled her eyes. “Justin, no.”  

“Why not? Why don’t you wanna go on a date with me? An eligible bachelor?”  

“First, you’re too eligible. How many girls did I see you with last semester?”  

“Why? Were you jealous?” he grinned, closing in on her face. “Jealous girls are kind of hot.”  

“And so is your breath,” she laughed, and pushed him sideways. “Get away."

They came up on the sidewalk where the intersection was. Not many cars passed, but those that did left a bitter wind in its wake. Y/n squinted her eyes. "Okay, I’ll guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

"You live three blocks down. I am not going to let you walk by yourself.”

“I think I can handle myself, Justin.”  

“Something bad can happen to you.”  

“I’ve been walking myself home the entire four years I’ve been in college. If something bad were to happen to me, don’t you think it would’ve already happened?”  

“Awful occurrences don’t have a time stamp.”  

“Justin—”

“I’m not leaving you.”  

She sighed. “You are one persistent person.” They walked when the little man on the traffic screen turned green. “Why do you bother me, anyway? Am I some kind of challenge for you?”  

“Remember when we first encountered each other? It was at the museum in George Town. You were looking at a sculpture and I came up beside you. I talked a little about the art, but I didn’t really care for it. It was all so boring to me. What made it exciting was the pretty girl in the Ugg boots.”  

“Yup, I remember precisely. The whole ‘what’s your name, beautiful?’ line you pulled on me.”  

“And you know what you said?”  

“Not available.”

“To be honest, I was shocked,” he smiled. “I didn’t expect to be dissed. I thought you were gonna be like the other girls. Blush, and do that giggle. But, I was like, ’ooh, this girl is feisty, I got to get to know her’.”

“So, what’s your whole goal here? Bothering me like you do?”  

“Well, to get you to go on a date with me. But, in the process we’ve kind of became friends.”  

She cocked an eyebrow. “Friends? Who said we were friends?”  

“It’s kind of one of those unspoken things. I just know that even though I get on your nerves, which I love doing, you don’t think I’m terrible.”

“You are incredibly annoying.”  

He wrapped both his arms around her, and kissed her several times on her forehead. “Girl, you know you love me. Here, let me take this.”  

She tightened her grip on her bookbag. “I got it, Justin.”  

“Listen, you wanna learn about romance? Let me be romantic.”  

She didn’t want to argue, so she gave it to him. He threw it over his shoulder and put his arm back around her. She shoved him away.  

“You’re not my boyfriend.”  

“I can be your boyfriend. Your prince charming. Your lover. Your best friend. Your first love,” he trailed off. She shoved him away again. “I can be anything you want me to be, baby!”  

“Shush, you’re too loud. You’re going to wake the neighbors.”  

“I don’t care! I want them to know I want to be your man!”

“Justin, please be quiet.” She pressed her hand over his mouth, and he kissed the pads of her fingers. "This is the annoying thing I was talking about.” 

"I’m sorry. I just like you so much.” “You’re a problem.”  

“I’m your problem.”  

“Enough with the cheesiness, already. Actually, you know what? I’m starting to think that you’re not charming at all. You’re just cheesy.”  

“I act this way because it makes you laugh, and I love seeing your smile. But, if you want me to be some Casanova, then I’ll be that.”  

“No, please no.”  

“I don’t understand why you won’t give me a chance. I can treat you so right. I’ll always be sweet and loving and kind. I’ll be attentive and buy you things. I’ll protect you and always will be there for you. You can be the jelly to my peanut butter; the pumpkin to my pie. And I’ll make out with you like there’s no tomorrow because you have some nice, full lips—”

“Justin"—they stopped in front of her town home. Her mother had Christmas lights wrapped around the railings of their small, concrete staircase—"You’re just not my type. Sorry.”  

“I don’t believe you.”

“You should.”

He squinted, and walked closer.

“See,” she said. “You don’t make me nervous, you don’t cause my heart to race—” He slid his hands across her waist. A sensation kissed her sides and made the tips of her fingers tingle. She bit down on her tongue and found the courage to push him away again. “And you definitely don’t cause butterflies in my stomach.”  

“Really? Because you tensed.”  

“I felt threatened.”  

“You felt something, alright.”  

She scoffed. “Just give me my bookbag.”  

“I will, but you have to promise me we can hang out tomorrow.”  

“No.”  

“Yes.”  

“No.”  

“Yes.”  

“No.”  

“I don’t have classes tomorrow,” he challenged. “I can do this all night long.”  “Why are you so stubborn?”

“I can ask you the same question.”  

“Maybe I just really don’t want to go on a date with you. Not every single girl wants to jump on the Justin train. Besides, you’re a heart breaker.”  

“Am not.”  

“Are to. You made Karen cry.”  

“It’s not my fault that she took my kindness as flirtation. Flirting is what I’m doing with you. You know, working my magic—”  

She snorted. “What magic?”  

“—with Karen, I made conversation like: 'hey, how are you?’, 'you look nice today’,” he continued as if she didn’t interrupt him, “not ’you can get your bookbag back once you promise to go on a date with me’.”

“Karen really liked you, you know?”  

“I’ve apologized. But, honestly, I’m not obligated to show my affections to someone just because they have a crush.”  

She got closer to him and snatched her bookbag away. “Exactly.”  

He folded his arm around her back and held her tight against him. “But, you like me back.”  

“I do not.”

“I can see it in your eyes.”  

She laughed heartily. “You’re delusional.”  

“I’m gonna get that date. I guarantee it.” Then he kissed her on the forehead and he let her go.  

She opened the door to her home. “Never gonna happen.” The warm air floated past her head, tickling her ears. “Goodnight, Justin.”  

“Goodnight, Princess. See you tomorrow.”  

“And Justin?”  

“Yeah?”  

May be triggering to those who had the displeasure of dealing with someone who won’t take no for an answer. Read at your own discretion. 

Originally Written: April 12th, 2022 <3

His eyes are soft. They always have been and they always will be. I figured that out a long time ago, back when we were in school. 

It’s not like how the books put it. You don’t “melt.” You don’t “lose yourself.” You simply notice and hope they don’t notice you while you’re noticing them, otherwise they might think you’re swooning over them when you’re really not. You’re just looking. 

That’s what I like to think, anyway. It’s too cringy to say Jason was attractive, but the truth is, he was. Charm in general is a great quality to have, but there’s nothing like boyish charm. With his stupid golden locks, honey brown eyes to compliment his thick brows, and the textbook definition of a button nose that seemingly always had a hint of pink on the button part—let’s just say, he was a heartbreaker. Don’t even get me started on that perfect smile with those freaking dimples. 

I slipped up a couple of times, okay? I didn’t mean to. It was always in passing and that was a good thing because he never saw me. Not among all the other girls that were bold enough to look him dead in the eye.

However that all changed Saturday, April 9th, 2011. 

“Oh, come on…” Gracie slurred, eyes taunting. 

“Gracie, no. I don’t wanna play,” I say back, trying to snatch away from her, but she had a death grip on my arm. 

I wasn’t ready for this type of thing. I barely drank, didn’t dare to smoke, and could hardly move to the beat of the music without feeling as if I’m being scrutinized by my peers. What makes Gracie think I would randomly join a game of spin the bottle? Let alone with Jason being the one to start it?

“It’s gonna be so much fun and you’re going to be upset when you look back one day and realize you didn’t live out being sixteen to your fullest potential!” 

I looked into her eyes, all blurry, all mock angry, and the churning in my stomach began to twist. I know she’s not going down without a fight. 

“Why do you want to play this with your cousin anyway?” 

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t be stupid. I won’t kiss Jason.” Then she wiggles her shoulders and gets closer to me. Vodka on her breath was like a kitten in lingerie: just didn’t look right. But Gracie drank it anyway. Part of me thinks she just wants to impress Tyler. 

He was currently waiting, watching, with devilish eyes. He wanted her, I could tell even if I was blind. And Gracie was too starstruck to realize he was going to use her for one thing and one thing only. 

“I know you like him,” she squints, “or at least think he’s cute.” 

“Who, Tyler?” 

She scoffs. “No, he’s mine.” She looks over her shoulder, down at the floor where Jason sat. He was looking at Vanessa, a pretty Latina with big lips and big hips. “I mean Jason.” 

“Don’t be stupid, Gracie,” I say, somewhat telling the truth. “I don’t want him.” 

I watch Vanessa try to sit comfortably in that black skin-tight mini skirt. First criss-cross apple sauce with her hot pink juicy couture jacket covering between her legs, then she switched to the mermaid style. She preferred it that way because ever so often Jason’s shoulder would rub up against hers and her little dimple, deeper than his, would sink in and her entire face would light up. 

She was really pretty. Really pretty for him. 

Part of me finds comfort in knowing if he notices other prettier girls then he won’t see me. The other part of me thinks Vanessa is trying too hard as if sitting next to him would give her a better chance of getting picked by him, like the damn bottle isn’t going to be totally random. 

Gracie laughs a little too loud. “You wear your emotions on your sleeve, you know that?” 

“Well, you wanna know something too? You smell like a freaking liquor store.”

She turns away from me and puts her arm in the air. “We got another player!” 

I instantly feel hot, like every light in the house is pointing right at me. Instead, I get eight pairs of eyes, which was way worse.

“Gracie, I don’t wanna play this!” I say through clenched teeth, but she doesn’t hear me. She’s already grabbing Tyler and they find their seats in the empty spot next to Vanessa.

A dingy guy with dark blemishes and squinty brown eyes looks up at me from where he sat. “Great, so fair chance. Five guys and five girls!” 

You can tell he was excited.

“Oh, no, I’m not—” 

Jason claps his hands. “Let’s get this party started!” 

Everybody in the circle cheers and the people surrounding the circle close in, cameras out, alcohol spilling out of their cups and down their chins. 

I shrink in the dark as best as I could. Luckily, there was a couch right behind me. I sit in the crevice and feel okay. They won’t see me here. Not when people are kind of blocking me now. I am grateful, although they stink. 

Jason spins first, and it lands on some girl with short brown hair and black-rimmed glasses. I think her name is Chloe or something. She was pretty too. Almost model-like, and Jason didn’t mind. He kissed her, lips to lips like she was his wife, tongue and all. It was so wet and so intimate; I had to look away. But everybody else was wooo-ing and laughing and blushing and recording, including Gracie. And suddenly I wanted to hit her. 

She spun next and got the guy with the squinty eyes. It was a short kiss because Tyler pushed her back and glared at the guy. For a second I thought maybe he did like Gracie, but then he spun next and got Vanessa and kissed her passionately. To upset Gracie or because he wanted to kiss Vanessa, I don’t know. Vanessa was the one to push him away and when he finally got the hint, he sat back laughing. She looked at Jason in a “Can you believe that?” type of way, but it was somebody else’s turn and the moment passed. Gracie didn’t look pleased at all. 

I started to relax a little, seeing as the bottle didn’t land in my direction no matter how many people went. Maybe they’ve forgotten about me, and a little piece of me wished I was as slender as Chloe, or as curvy as Vanessa. Maybe then I would have the nerve to kiss people at will, and not because I wanted them, but because they wanted me. But I know it’s better this way. Even if I had all of their physical attributes mixed, I don’t think I would want my first kiss to be at the hands of a bottle. 

Half of Jason’s face is showing behind some guy’s huge body, and by the way he’s focused I know it’s his turn again. He spins it as hard as he can and the bottle goes crazy against the hardwood floor until it slows. I think it’s going to land on Andrea, another anxious participant, but it passes her and I swear I see her shoulders slump. 

My whole body tenses when I see his head tilt past the big guy and his eyes land on me. I pretend I don’t see him but it’s no use because he keeps looking and the big guy clears the way. Suddenly everybody is looking at me. Vanessa’s eyes are jealous, and Gracie’s are delighted. 

I look back at Jason and he’s smirking. He looks at my lips and I lick them instinctively and suck them in. The strawberry flavor lights up my tongue and I want to hit him, hit Gracie, hit Vanessa just for the hell of it, and run. 

I get up when he gets up. When he starts getting closer, I start to back away. 

Three years without this guy even so much as glancing at me and suddenly I have all of his attention. He looks at me like we’re the only two people in the room but I remember everybody is looking at us, at this interaction, and I remind myself this is just a stupid game. Not anything special. I also remember how he kissed Chloe, sloppy with no remorse, and that’s enough for me to head out the door. I want to cry hearing the laughing and booing and the small, but equally humiliating chant of “party-pooper.” 

The air tonight is cold and unwelcoming but it feels good against my skin. 

“Why don’t you wanna kiss me?” 

He’s right up on me. His warm breath hits the tip of my ear before I am down the stairs. Then I look up at him as he looks down at me.

“I just don’t want to,” I say, pathetically. 

People are starting to spill out of the house. 

“Oh, come on, princess. I don’t bite.” 

“Nope, no,” I laughed, hoping he would laugh too, and shrug the whole thing off. But then he starts coming down the stairs, eyebrows knitted like Vanessa had hers earlier. 

A lot of people were looking now, waiting to see what the most popular guy in school would do as they began to cheer him on. 

“Kiss her!” One dude yelled. 

Jason had his arms out like he wanted to hug me. I had my arms up hoping he would stop. He grabbed ahold of my hand and pulled me into him. I crouched covering the side of my face. He kissed my hand, then the side of my neck. He smelled of alcohol and smoke and had the strength of a bull.

“Stop it!” I yelled. The tears were hot and fresh, dropping onto the short, trimmed grass. Camera flashes were beginning to blind me and in the midst of it, I saw some old guy at the next house over, standing on his porch with his phone to his ear. Then he was gone as we both tumbled to the grass, his body heavy on top of mine. He was right there. My crush was right here. And he wouldn’t stop. 

He kissed me, long and hard. Not special. Not sweet. Not caring at all. 

I pushed against his chest as hard as I could and he finally got off of me, licking his lips. His happy-go-get-some attitude was replaced with something of disgust. 

“Ew,” he says, wiping his mouth. “I hate the taste of strawberry chapstick. My ex use to wear that shit.” 

Then he’s standing over me, lending out a helping hand, with that stupid smirk on his face. Suddenly his dimples weren’t so cute. 

I stand up on my own and look him dead in the eyes. They’re playful and a lot less charming. But then he notices me crying and his little smile slowly starts to drop. 

“Hey, it was just a joke—” 

I slapped him as hard as I could. He stumbled back, face beaming, shocked as I have ever seen him before. 

I point my perfectly manicured finger right in his face. “I know you’re used to getting your way, but I am not the one to try it with! Only rapists do things like that, and if you ever do that again the pain is going to be worse than a headache!” 

Gracie intervenes then. She looks as if she wants to help Jason but she starts coming towards me. I speak only so she can hear. “I told you I didn’t want to play that game. Now look.” 

Then I walk fast and heavy down the street, hand stinging. The crowd starts booing at me again and as soon as I hit the corner and am no longer seen, I run as fast as I can with two thoughts ping-ponging through my mind. 

Jason McCann stole my first kiss. 

FEBRUARY 7TH, 2020

Arlo slid the notebook to Luna. An arrowhead tainted his skin, pointing right at her. It’s saying, Your turn. Her turn to write down what happened last night.

Arlo’s statement was two sentences scribbled over the light blue lines. He jumped off the bridge after me and Luna tried to stop him. I tried to reach out for him, but it was too late.

Luna looked up at him. He gripped his midnight colored hair in between his veiny, pale hand. The contrast was saturated under the accusing yellow light. The policewoman stood beside him. She was too close, too suspicious. She probably smelled the fear radiating from him, because Luna smelled it too.

His muscles were tense, and they were saying something—something that Luna could not repeat. Arlo was depending on her. His leg shook out of control next to hers. His blue jeans with the messy blue pen marks lightly scratched her knee. For a second—a tiny blink—she looked into his eyes. They were sunken and dull, yet alert and green as ever. He was tired from the night before. Luna’s shoulders were heavy, and she could hardly sit up straight. She didn’t steal any sleep from last night either. That would be two crimes in less than twenty-four hours.

The pen was like silk in her equally pale hand and like Arlo, her statement was sweet and short.

He didn’t have any friends—no wait—his mom was dying—no, that’s not it either. He was depressed. There was nothing that either of them could do. He jumped off the bridge and four seconds letter, the sound of Adam’s bones cracking against the damp concrete livened up the darkest part of the world.

This shouldn’t be that hard. It’s not like she’s a child anymore. She’s eighteen—a young adult. All she had to do was stick the note inside of his locker and walk away. So why aren’t her legs moving? Why is she stuck in the middle of the hallway holding the bathroom pass? His locker was right there! —coddled between that nerdy kid and some other girl that was lucky enough to get a locker beside his.

Eight feet—just eight stupid feet—and her life might change course for the better. Not only would she stop feeling like the only girl—young woman—in high school to have never had a relationship, but she would have the cutest boy in school as her first.

She held the lined paper with the rigged edges in her hand and read the note carefully.

Hey Noah, it’s Athena Barkley from second period. I just wanted to say that I have a crush on you. Please let me know if you’d be willing to go out with me sometime or not.

This could be the stupidest mistake she has ever made, but graduation is in two weeks and at least it would be something. Something to smudge the squeaky-clean-record-quiet-girl act that she’s kept polished for the last four years. And what could be the worst case scenario? He laughs about it with his friends and disregard the note completely? She wouldn’t doubt that any other boy in this school would, but not Noah. He’s not like that. He’s never been like that. Even if he does reject her, he’d do it gently, in private, where I’m sorry, Athena, but I only like you as a friend would be whispered as if it were a secret. Knowing this gave her momentum.

Athena stood in front of his locker and pushed the note inside one of the slits. She was quick, but nervous, so the note got stuck on a jagged piece of metal and dangled on the inside of his locker like a hang nail. All she had to do was walk away. Walk away and go back to class. Except she can’t. Her mind shoots off at the sound of the gun and her heart races out of her chest.

Noah can’t read that letter! What was she thinking?

She pinches her thumb and index fingers really tight and desperately tries to pluck the note out.

“C’mon, please, please, please,” she whispers with shaky breaths and shaky hands. A whimper falls from her lips, stomach falling into the abyss of teenage despair.

Her perfectly manicured fingernails clip the edge of the note and she yanks it. The note clashes against the door and falls deeper inside with a soft, taunting wisp. She curses, then she leans her sweaty forehead against the cold, miserable metal.