I can’t.

Yes you can.

How?

Try.

What am I even supposed to say?

Something. Anything. You figure it out.

Great. Thanks for the advice, brain.

Wes stood a few yards ahead of me at the crosswalk, innocently oblivious to the civil war waging inside me for the last 48 hours.

Part of me wanted to catch up to him, the other wanted to veer left and sprint a mile down Main Street until I reached the local ice cream shack, avoiding him entirely, even if it meant taking the long way home.

I sped up, then hit the brakes again.

Al, come on, you already ghosted him this morning in calc, confront him now before he starts getting suspicious.

My fingers reached for my cap, softly adjusting it.

Okay…

Fine.

Let’s see who he really is.

I nervously walked up to him, fighting every muscle and vein paper clipping my lips in place.

“Hey, Wes.”

There. Perfect. A nice solid start.

He turned to face me, flashing that small stupid smile of his that always makes my stomach flip twice before twisting itself into a pretzel.

“Oh, hi Alex, how’s it going? I like your shirt, that light magenta color really looks good on you.”

A compliment? Was that a compliment?

“Um, thanks.” I replied, glancing down at my sleeves.

This wasn’t my normal color. It was from that forbidden pile of soft clothes Mom randomly buys me from time to time. The pile I never pick from, the type she swears I’ll come around on, the ones I’ve no intention of ever wearing.

For the record, I only picked it today because everything else was dirty. I’m lazy with my laundry.

Yep, really, that’s the reason and the sole reason why I was wearing it. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone, or be flashy. And I definitely wasn’t trying to look cute. No, no, no. Nothing like that.

I think?

Or was this shirt not actually from the soft clothes pile?

And was laundry day yesterday or last week?

And why don’t I remember?

And does any of this even matter?

And why was I still continuing to twist myself into a pickle over it?

Whatever.

Let’s just forget this conversation and take the self esteem boost.

Wait. I liked his compliment?

I liked his compliment.

“Can you believe it’s October already?” Wes continued, unaware of my incessant second, third, and fourth guessing. “Halloween season, one of my favorite times of the year. It’s finally here.”

“Cool.”

“Are you into the spooky season too, Alex?” He asked, as we started crossing the street.

“Kinda. I’m not super into horror, but I do love me some trick or treat candy.” I answered with a shrug, but also a strange spark.

“Really? What are your favs?”

I rolled my eyes. “Kit Kats, Milky Ways, tootsie pops, and Reese’s cups but only after they’ve been frozen in the freezer overnight.”

“So you dig the classics.” Wes lightly compared. “Can’t ever go wrong there.”

“Exactly, and it’s the type of stuff you don’t naively trade away, otherwise you’ll end up with peanut M&M’s, Tic Tacs, and Smarties in return.”

“That actually happened to you?” He asked in amusement.

“Veteran Trick or Treaters can be merciless opportunists.” I confirmed. “Especially if they’re your own siblings. Even my Mom couldn’t fully save me on that one.”

“Yikes.”

“You wouldn’t pull that same tactic on Lizzy now would you?” I added, as we rounded a corner.

“Me? Nooo. Never.” Wes boasted in an over the top manner. “I wouldn’t even try to swindle away the rare sweets like gummy krabby patties. I’m a great brother.”

“Gummy krabby patties?! They still make those?”

“Sure do.” He confidently claimed. “In fact, Liz came home from a birthday party the other day with a whole bag of them. Would you believe there’s a sour version now?”

I dropped my jaw incredulously. “Sour, as in sour patch kids sour? Ok that sounds just gross enough to potentially be the best candy ever.”

“Yeah, it definitely does.” He agreed. “Too bad Liz won’t share.”

We walked a while more, passing by a house already decked out with pumpkins and other Halloween decorations.

“Well, you think she’d share some with me instead?” I joked, my mind now obsessed with the candy. “It’s a longshot, I know, but sometimes all you need is a girl’s touch.”

“Maybe, she’s wired weird like that. Perhaps I can set something up if you come by my place sometime, that is, if you promise me a cut.”

“You get a cut?” I contested. “You’d already given up on getting any before I stepped in just now.”

“Can you blame me?” Wes argued. “Dealing with Liz is like talking to a wall. It’s surprising what comes out of her mouth sometimes.”

Liz.

Her big mouth.

Surprises.

—Oh my god, the class photo! What was I doing wasting my time talking about SpongeBob themed candy?!

I immediately stopped dead in my tracks on the sidewalk.

“Hey! I need you to answer something for me right now.” I commanded with blunt force, my index finger stretched out at him like a pistol. “And don’t you dare lie to me.”

“Huh?”

Wes stepped back, startled like a deer in the head lights.

“Am I secretly your crush?”

He blinked, then his expression changed.

“What… what are you talking about?”

“I said, don’t lie me!” I shot back. “Liz told me everything. About the eight grade class photo and about how you picked me out of the lineup when she pestered you about which girl you thought was the prettiest in the entire grade. You aren’t slick.”

Wes immediately looked away. “Dang, she actually told you that?”

“Just answer the question.”

He exhaled and shook his head. “Alex… so maybe my finger landed on you, but that was only to get her off my back. Her annoying incessant pressure got to me. I could’ve have picked any girl in that picture…”

“But it wasn’t random. You picked me after giving her a “no” on everyone else.”

He swallowed. “Yeah, ok so, I like you. As… as… as a friend, remember? I thought we already cleared this up when we first started hanging out.”

“Then try clearing it up for me again.” I pressed. “Honest this time. What do you really think of me?”

Wes glanced at the sidewalk, the cemetery, his house a few blocks in front of us, and then back at me.

“Ever since I first laid eyes on you during the first day of sixth grade, you’ve been impossible for me ignore, you’re sassy, you’re funny, and you don’t fit the mold of any other girl I know. Combined with the tomboy thing, I think it makes you the coolest person on earth.”

“But am I pretty?” I shot back, unfazed.

He shoved his hands into his pockets. “S-sure, you’re sort of… um… beautiful. But it’s not that big of a deal or an issue. Viewing you as such, doesn’t make me a bad person.”

“It kinda does.”

“Al, if a girl’s looks really mattered all that much to me, I’d be stupidly angling for the affections of Tiffany and her friends, just like those other desperate schlubs at our school who center their lives around bagging women. In fact, you should come over to my place sometime, then you’ll truly see how boring and different from them I really am.”

I couldn’t decide if his confessions made me feel better or worse, but he sounded genuine and that jostled me around even more.

“You’re inviting me over?”

“Alex…” Wes whispered, softly reaching for my hands, but I strangely didn’t have the urge to pull away. “I’m not a bad person. Trust me.”

I stared, he blinked, as we locked ourselves into a trance before my lips finally moved.

“I… I believe you.”

HOOOOONNNNNNKKKKK!

A horn loudly blared out from behind us. My stomach dropped in horror as we turned to see where it came from.

And…

Uh oh.

It was coming from Mom’s car.

Yep. Mom’s car.

Were you kidding me right now? Could this possibly get any worse?

“WAZZUP?!!!!”

I’d spoken too soon, for the driver side window rolled down to reveal none other than literal Satan himself.

“Yo Al, you need a lift?”

Pat eagerly grinned like he’d stumbled upon gold, then platinum when he noticed I had company.

“Who’s the dork?”

“I… I-I’m Wes.” My friend replied, trying his best not to be intimidated. “And you’re…”

“I’m Batman.” Pat replied unimpressed. “Yo Al, is this guy mooching on you? Want me to kick his ass?”

“No, no, no!” I hurriedly answered. “He’s cool.”

“Aaaah… neat.” My brother uncaringly shrugged in response. “So, do you want a ride home or not?”

“Yeah sure, just…”

“Offer’s going once…”

“Ugh…” I exasperatedly looked back at Wes. “Sorry, I can’t stay now, I’ll text you about potentially coming over sometime later.”

“Going twice…”

“Um… sure.” Wes awkwardly answered, unsettled on whether to be concerned for my wellbeing.

“… And sold! Later loser.”

“WAIT!” I screamed, practically diving for the door handle.

Pat partly rolled the window up before stopping halfway.

“Heh, heh. I’m just trolling you.” He jerkishly admitted, gesturing his thumb towards shotgun. “Get in, sis.”

Relived but not pleased in the slightest, I twitchingly clenched my fists, spinning my eyes around in irritation as I navigated around to the passenger side of the car.

As I sat down in my seat, Wes was locked into another stare down with Pat, his face as pale as a vampire’s. I promptly elbowed Pat in the abdomen, breaking the stalemate.

“Oww!”

“Stop scaring him.” I muttered, frostily waving to Wes as we started to drive off.

“Oh you think that’s scary? I’ll show ya scary…” He sneered, before popping his head out the back out the window, one last time.

“YO WESLEY, YOU BETTER BE WATCH YUH ASS! OUR DAD’S A COP!”

“You’re not funny.” I cringed, clenching my nose.

Pat giggled to himself, admiring his work as he finally began driving for real.

The car radio was tuned to sports talk, because of course it was, the hosts just as obnoxiously loud as the driver of the vehicle. As they ranted about the Bruins success on the powerplay being horrible as of late, Pat’s eyes suddenly widened in realization.

“Aye! It all makes sense now!” He excitedly mused. “The school dance, Woodland, Ty’s concert… you and that dork have been secretly running all around town together! Awwwww, so cute! My baby sister is playing the field for the very first time.”

I groaned, bracing myself for a slaughterfest. “Hey, go easy on the hazing.”

“You know what? You’re absolutely right.” He replied. “A roast as monumental as this deserves a full audience. I’ll bookmark this on our calendar for the next family gathering. Does Thanksgiving work?”

“Yeah, in the year 3000.”

“Ha. You wish.” He shot back as we turned a corner.

As we continued driving down the road, Pat’s eyes periodically darted at me a couple times as he rubbed his lips, no doubt planning his next round of many insults. Maybe I should’ve turned down the ride.

“Wait, hold on a sec…” Pat suddenly flustered. “So, has this Wes guy said anything to you about your cap?”

“No, why?”

Pat made a face. “Really? Not a word or even an observation?”

“Yep, nothing. Only his sister’s said anything. Why do you care?”

“Well, Sammy’s cap is your signature ain’t it?” He argued. “It’s one of the first things anyone would notice about you. Like honestly, a guy’s got to at least somewhat dig the unique daily look if they’re gonna start falling for you.”

“Maybe that’s why we’re only friends.” I answered unconvincingly. “And what the hell do you know about dating?”

“Hey, I dated in high school!” He protested. “Remember, ol’ Molly Piscotti?”

“She had Stockholm syndrome.”

“Nuh uh, so I may’ve pressed her buttons one or twice, but Moll was the totally alpha in our dynamic.” Pat fondly recalled. “Anyway, all I’m meaning to warn you about is that when two people love each other very much they tend to get very ocomfortable…”

“Excuse me?”

“Not just with one another… but also with each other’s stuff! I saw it at college and I experienced it personally. Close couples are often touchy with their hair, with their shirts, with their panties, and… with their hats.”

“Eww! Eww! Ewwwww!” I reacted in disgust. “You’re a deeply messed up individual sometimes, you know that?”

“Yeesh, I’m only watching out for you with some honest brotherly advice.” He explained. “Moll really liked to borrow my hockey jerseys. You don’t have to spit at me for it.”

“Well, it’s not like that with Wes. This stupid cap is nothing to him.”

“Dude, you wear everyday and everywhere, I betcha ya the moon the lovebird’s intrigued by it even if he hasn’t tipped his hand to ya, so I’m just giving you the heads up on possible hat theft.”

“Thanks, I don’t care.” I replied, kicking this “major” issue under the table for now.

We reached an intersection and our car turned left rather in the direction of our house, which my flashing red hint that Pat had something up his sweatshirt.

“So why’d you really decide to pick me up?”

“Out of the kindness of my heart. I was passing by the area and I knew the old route—”

“So making me walk a mile home everyday stopped being funny?” I pressed. “I don’t believe you. Tell me where we’re actually going.”

In silence for the first time all ride, Pat shook his head and glanced down at the wheel.

“I’m taking us to see a movie.”

“A movie?” I asked, now partly convinced of his motives.

“Captain America: The Winter Soldier. It hit theaters about a week ago. You’re into the Avengers aren’t yuh? C’mon, popcorn’s on me.”

An interesting proposal, but it still didn’t entirely add up.

“I love Marvel, but isn’t the tradition of seeing new superhero movies usually reserved for you and Tyler?”

This wasn’t even a question, it was a straight fact. My brothers’ boy’s night ritual of seeing new superhero movies on the big screen dated all the way back to the release of the original X-Men trilogy.

I was never invited to go with them, of course, like when they famously went to see Spider-Man 3 on opening night. Try and try as I might, they’d always find an avenue to keep their club exclusive.

I couldn’t handle the violence.

I couldn’t follow the plot.

I’d drag them down.

The showing was past my bedtime, I was too young to go.

But don’t worry, they’d “totally” take me next time.

When all else failed, one small word to Mom about the movie being rated PG-13 and I’d officially be sentenced to another long night of home confinement.

God, they used to be so selfish and petty.

Pat sulkily clicked his blinker as he thought back on those same memories.

“It’s still our thing, but that was before Ty started going around cross country as a Joey Ramone wannabe. Guy’s been too busy rocking out with Matty and what’s his name on the drums lately to do any of our old junk together, so today’s your lucky day.”

“But how am I your second choice?” I contested. “Sam used to go too. Ask him.”

“You want me to drive for hours just to play third wheel to an old man and his girlfriend? Nuh uh. No way, get bent.”

“Then what about Dad?” I again countered.

“Hello? I ain’t interested in your old movie partner. I want you.”

“Ok, but there’s plenty of other people you could go do this with, like a college buddy, an ex-teammate or one of your old pals from Special Ed, or better yet, maybe you should try getting back in touch with Molly, because I’m not—“

Pat suddenly jerked the wheel hard, wildly swerving and swinging our car through traffic before forcefully pulling over to the side of the road with a hard slam of the brakes. I was about to chew him out for nearly killing us, when he angrily reached over and grabbed me by the shirt collar.

“ALEX!” He shouted, the inflection in his voice heavy before dropping down to a depressed whimper. “Dammit, don’t be like this! Can’t you just… won’t you just…”

Goosebumps dotted the back of my neck as Pat gently released me from his grip.

“Will you please come see the movie with me?”

From the desperate shaking of his lips to the uncertainty blazing in his downtrodden pupils, a small crack had formed in the idiot clown persona my brother had so carefully crafted for everyone but himself.

For the briefest millisecond there, we’d connected deeper, almost telepathic, something beyond science, like a Vulcan mind meld, ensuring I’d understood him. For it was then and there I realized:

I wasn’t his second choice.

“Alright maniac, I guess I’ll go with you.”

By the time we reached the movie theater fifteen minutes later, the sun had dipped down to a crispy autumn dusk as we found ourselves a parking spot in the back of the lot.

As Pat cut the engine, I glanced out at the entrance. Troves of families, couples, teen, and comic book fanatics with Marvel themed t-shirts were all filing into the theater one by one.

“C’mon, move it.” Pat nudged. “We’ve barely enough time left to get refreshments.”

As we jogged up to the revolving doors, we were greeted with a familiar but cautionary automated refrain.

“Hi and welcome to Westend Cinema, but please be careful and watch your step as these revolving doors can stop suddenly.”

“hI AnD WeLCome tO wEsTenD CiNeMa…” Pat mockingly repeated as he pushed his way through. “Can’t believe I still hear this dumb warning every time I come here. Two decades you’ve been open, I’ve definitely gotten the message about your faulty revolving doors by now, ya idiots.”

“Hi and welcome to Westend Cinema, but please be careful and watch your step as these revolving doors can stop suddenly.”

The message replayed itself again as I followed him in. Something about that short loop is just so minor but weirdly synonymous with going here and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I secretly hope they never change it.

“So what are you gonna want for snacks?” Pat asked as we crawled through a crowded lobby towards the line for the concession stand.

“Well, Dad would usually get me a soda, candy, and an extra large popcorn to share—“

“Got it. Say no more.”

I frowned. “But I’m not sharing a popcorn bowl with you. I know you’ll either spit into it when I’m not looking or you’ll eat all of it before the previews end.”

“Ok, fine. One popcorn each. You gonna play Arctic Thunder for old times sake while I put the order in?” He answered, pointing towards my colony time favorite arcade machine nearby.

“Only if you pay for it.”

“Get out, I’m not a bank.” He grumbled, as a group in front of us finished ordering.

“Wow, you’re kind of starting to sound like Dad.”

He rolled his eyes before pulling out a pair of dollar bills from his wallet. “Ha, ha. Here, luckily you. I’m not that financially savvy just yet.”

I hopped over to Arctic Thunder, jumping onto the toy motorcycle and sliding the bills into the machine. I quickly picked my favorite rider, a gorilla and then my favorite race map, a ruined Washington D.C. wasteland.

A heavy dose of nostalgia shot through me as I raced through the nation’s capital, from the unpredictable shake of the bike, the rumble of the motor, and the occasional heavy arctic breeze from the machine vents blasting through my hair, it was like I was eight again, playing game after game until there was a long line of kids impatiently waiting their turn to play, eternally standing there until Sam or my parents eventually coaxed me into giving up the wheel.

I raised my arms and shouted triumphantly as my gorilla character crossed the finish line, having easily steamrolled my way to another first place medal. Looks like I still had the golden touch.

Done basking in my glorious victory, I got off the bike and met back over with Pat at the soda dispenser.

“Yo!” He said, handing me our plastic drink cups. “Go make us some graveyards.”

“Graveyards?” I replied confused. “Pat, we’re way too old to have those.”

He shrugged. “Um, no we’re not. C’mon, start pouring the shots.”

I sighed and got to work.

A shot of Coke, a shot of root beer, Sprite, then orange soda, followed by ginger ale, and some Dr. Pepper, all dumped together like a witch mixing a potion.

One last swirl of the cauldron and…

Viola!

We had ourselves some graveyards.

As I turned to hand Pat his cocktail, he was busy dropping a generous amount of butter on our popcorn at the condiment table nearby.

“Well, that’s super health conscious of you.” I nagged as I approached. “Are you trying to give us high cholesterol?”

Pat made a face as he exchanged my popcorn for his drink. “Relax, Mooom.”

“Oh so now I’m the one who sounds like their parents?”

“Yeah, what a weird crazy coincidence. It’s almost like we’re related or something.” He mused, before loudly slurping his straw.

Adequately supplied, we headed off to see Captain America, located in room 2.

The previews were still rolling as we navigated over to our seats. They were sitting not too close, nor too far, but perfectly smack dab in the middle of the theatre.

“I sure went all out for this huh?” Pat boasted. “I even scored us the row with the recliner seats.”

I nodded in approval as we sat down and set up our base camp.

“Alright, Al. Who yuh got showing up in the end credits scene this time? My money’s on a surprise visit from your pal Spidey.”

I sighed. “Pat, how many times have Tyler and I gone over this with you? Spider-Man is owned by Sony, he can’t legally appear in anything Avengers related.”

“Is that so? Eh, a boy can still dream can’t he?” He replied unconvinced.

“You sure can.” I said, shaking my head, as the lights suddenly began to dim.

Here we were, popcorn and graveyards in hand with the latest Marvel movie about to appear on the big screen. Y’know, this actually wasn’t too bad, seeing a movie with my menace of an older brother, even if I was partly doing it out of pity, maybe I could get used to this…

Flick!

“Oww, cut it out! Stop touching my cap!”

“Hee, hee, hee… whoops. My bad.”

…Or maybe not.

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I was seriously missing kickball for this. Yoga and badminton, sure, pull me out of gym class once a week to skip those, but to ping me from a legitimately fun activity like kickball, today’s therapy session better not be a waste of time.

With an impatient exhale, I powered up my phone. Aaron had sent me another cryptic text that morning, but this time with a twist, instead of one song, this message had two.

Aaron: We were sixteen, the time when what’s left of childhood slowly decays into maggot rot and as we grew of age so did our level of disillusionment with what the mainstream expected of us.

Attending a school that put the same jocks that bullied people on a pedestal at the pep rallies, telling us to worship and cheer for them, while doing nothing to help their victims.

It made us sick.

At home we had parents urging us to study hard and follow the preplanned academic roadmap, for college is a magical place that’ll solve all your societal problems and turn you into a strong functional adult in the real world.

We didn’t want that, Alex. It too made us sick.

A wise man once said “The future is unwritten.”

Sam took it to heart. I took it to heart. Finally found something to believe in, grabbed onto the wheel with your brother as the conductor and never looked back.

Man, we were so stupid and naive. If I had to do it over, I would’ve just shut up, stayed in my cell, and listened.

Crimpshrine - Rearranged

The Living End - Prisoner of Society

Okay, now this was a lot to unpack.

Aaron’s song choices in his earlier texts had been from two bands, U2 and Green Day, whom I was already well familiar with. This round though, he was really pushing my musical knowledge to the test.

The first band? Crimpshrine, was it?

Never heard of them.

But the second band? I’d seen their name before at least. I vaguely recall Tyler playing some of their stuff to me. They’re supposed to be super big in Australia or New Zealand or somewhere around there I think.

Then there was the actual content of Aaron’s text. I knew Sam never did too hot when it came to his academics, it was a sore spot between him and my parents and it’s also eventually part of why he dropped out. I just didn’t realize how cynical he and Aaron were about the whole thing.

They hated absolutely everything.

Sure, I had my own issues with school but not enough to clench my nose in disgust at it. There was stuff to look forward to, like friends, extracurriculars, and the occasional subject that actually grabs your interest.

If Aaron lived to regret his pessimistic mindset, what did it also say about Sam? Where was his head space?

I googled the lyrics to the two songs, starting with the one by the mystery band I was previously unfamiliar with.

“Rearranged - A life to live

Rearranged - And love to give

Rearranged - I have nothing to receive

Rearranged - No plans to make

Rearranged - It’s never too late

Rearranged - To find something to believe in…”

Was Sam struggling to find purpose?

I hopped over to review song 2.

“Cause I’m a brat

And I know everythin’ and I talk back

‘Cause I’m not listening to anything you say

And if you count to three (One, two, three!)

You’ll see it’s no emergency

You’ll see I’m not the enemy

Just a prisoner of society!”

Alright, the message to this one was a bit more straightforward. Sam and Aaron eventually found themselves a belief and this was the end result, an anthem to stand on.

These song choices and these murky texts were starting to make sense now. The four tracks thus far, represented Sam as child , teen, and as an adolescent in that order.

And if this pattern held?

Adulthood, him vanishing, then changing along with everything else I wasn’t there for. The great big unknown. That would all be coming next.

No safeguards.

No redactions.

Entirely unfiltered.

My skull grew in weight, almost too heavy for the support beams in my neck to hold sturdy. I was finally due the closure of finding my brother but my natural first instinct was to coldly dread it.

“Alex Bradley.” The secretary announced from her desk table, her rimmed old person glasses on point. “Dr. Michaels is ready for you.”

Suddenly ejected from my thought bubble, I acknowledged her with a slight nod, setting my bag over my shoulder before walking around her desk and down the back hallway to the doc’s office.

Inside, I took my seat on the big sofa, ready to be poked at, only to gaze up and see the rolling desk chair missing its occupant.

Sigh.

More waiting.

Luckily, it wasn’t for much longer, as Dr. Michaels hurriedly arrived a few moments later.

“Hey Alex.” He greeted. “Sorry to keep you. One of my other patients was having an incident.”

“How bad?” I asked out of curiosity.

“Enough to make Patrick seem like a model citizen.” He joked as he sat down at his chair. “I don’t recall having to explain to him why clogging up the third floor bathroom toilets with paper towels and cafeteria food wasn’t the brightest display of rebellion.”

“Eww, what is wrong with people?”

“All of my patients cope with and demonstrate their anxieties to others in their own, let’s call it… unique ways.” Dr. Michaels explained. “Now, whether they do it nicely or destructively, is anyone’s guess. This is partly why your sessions are among those I look forward to, Alex. You’re one of the nice ones.”

“Welp, I’m flattered.” I muttered sarcastically, lazily tapping my fingers on the nearby armrest.

“The floor’s yours to start us off, what’s on the agenda for today?”

I bit my cheek while I ran through possible conversation starters in my head. I just had to pick something safe and easy and I could speedrun through this session without spilling my guts.

Come on brain, think…

Nothing too personal.

Nothing too cringe.

Nothing too—

“I am so fed up with being attractive!”

Ah, Crap!

“That so?” Dr. Michaels replied, raising his eyebrow in intrigue at my angst. “This feeling comes as a result of personal experience, I take it?”

“Try daily.” I muttered, the lid not sticking back on the bottle. “Try spending the last hour being stared at like an exotic showgirl.”

“Who was staring at you?”

”A doofus in my chemistry class.” I grumbled. “Super sweaty, peach fuzz sideburns with terrible acne, and don’t tell me I was imagining it because every time I glared in his direction, his cheeks would turn red and his eyes would flail in a panic before diving back to his textbook. This exchange happened again and again throughout the entire period and you’ve no conception of how badly it got on my nerves. Like if you’re considering asking me out, just get it over with already because the only reply I have for you is “No thanks.”

The doctor crossed his arms. “I can see why that situation would be very uncomfortable for you.”

“I wanted to shrink into my seat.” I admitted. tapping my feet together, continuing to vent. “But the worst part is what he did to me isn’t unique among boys and I’ve never quite understood it.”

“What is it that you don’t understand?” He calmly pressed, rolling his seat closer to me.

A long exhale followed, capturing the room with its presence.

“What it is boys see in me.” I explained, wrinkling my nose. “Seriously, what’s my appeal? I don’t wear makeup, I don’t do anything special with my hair, and I barely put any effort into how I dress. I absolutely SCREAM ugly duckling, yet in their hollow skulls I’m somehow the swan. Now, I’ll be the first to admit I have nice features, as if my mom would ever allow me to forget the fact, but being a hardcore tomboy who’s guilty of occasionally wearing her brothers’ hand-me-downs should totally negate the meat of it, but nope, here I am, eye candy without even signing up.”

Of course a misfit loser like you didn’t sign off on it. I did. Yes me, your adorable pretty gorgeous true self. I’m the answer to what the boys are really after. I keep leaking through the locked door, giving them glimpses, but you’re too stubbornly stupid to unlock it and grant me my reserved spot at the wheel.

Go away, Alexandra Maxine. You weren’t invited to my session.

Let me speak to him.

No.

Dr. Michaels jotted down a note on his clipboard before pondering. “Unfortunately, Alex, part of it is likely physical. You’re at the natural age where hormones go ballistic and everyone’s hyper ultra aware of how everyone else is growing into their bodies. But have you also ever considered the idea that your personality is just as radiant?”

“Oh you mean how I come off as quote on quote “mysterious ” to them?” I moaned, rolling my eyes in frustration. “That was Tiffany’s explanation when I sought her analysis out of desperation one time. She’s like this self-proclaimed expert love guru on how boys tick, so I couldn’t resist. “Alex Bradley: mysterious ice horse hottie who unintentionally plays hard to get. Has clear 8/10 potential if opened up all the way, could further elevate themselves up to a 9 with a proper redress from Victoria’s Secret.” was her full scouting report as if it actually answered anything for me. Hello, I’m a weird, self-conscious, hat obsessed introvert with abandonment issues. Where’s the cool mystique hiding in any of that? Oh and no one even knows about the abandonment thing, so my case only stands up even more! I’m not a riddle!”

“Yes, I agree, you aren’t a mystery…” He proposed, choosing his words carefully. “But what you are is kind, funny, smart, compassionate, and genuine. These are traits just about anyone would want to be associated with. It’s what me, your friends, and family all like about you, right? So why wouldn’t some boys be intrigued by the real parts of you as well? See, this is what I’m getting at when I say your personality is radiant: you might be drawing a crowd just by being yourself.”

He sure painted a rosy optimistic picture. I wasn’t entirely sure if I could buy it with no strings attached.

“Is this another one of those cognitive distortion things?”

He shook his head decisively. “Nope, I’m serious. Believe it or not, Alex, not every boy in your grade is a horny sex monster.”

I almost giggled at that. “Really? Do you have a full list you can send me?”

“Sure, I’d love to, but compiling this list is probably going to take me a few weeks… or possibly months I fear.”

Unimpressed by his crummy sarcasm, I groaned and slid my hands down my face.

“Oh, if only it were really that easy. Seriously, what I would give to not be so paranoid and pigeonholed into constantly second guessing every single small interaction, you’ve absolutely no idea. It’s so frustratingly exhausting having to act as my own interpreter all the time, y’know? Sometimes I sort of wish I could go back to 3rd or 4th grade where I was always being left out and no one liked me. At least there, I had this morbid peace of mind knowing where I stood.”

“Hmm…” Dr. Michaels observed, intrigued. “The time period immediately following Sam’s departure is a topic we haven’t really covered in detail yet. Would you like to dig into it a bit?”

Uh…

Do it, coward. Tell him about the bush.

Quick! Backpedal!

“Not now.” I deflected, planting down an impenetrable roadblock. “Not now, Doc. I-I’d rather we dive into things with Wes.”

“Ah, Mr. Freeman.” He acknowledged, clearing his throat. “How’s it going with him lately? Did the concert go well?”

“Oh, it’s the same as it ever was.” I muttered, pulling my feet up and curling into a ball on the sofa. “I guess it’s probably the real reason why I’ve been fretting about my attractiveness more than usual lately. I still can’t figure out if the guy’s act is legit or if he’s secretly one of those horny sex monsters.”

“Interesting how you’re still on the fence.” He continued. “From our previous conversations, you seemed to categorize him as landing under the former.”

I lazily lowered my head. “Yeah, and he was about five yards away from the crossing the goal line, but then yesterday, his little sister all but spelled it out that I’ve been his crush since middle school and now I don’t know what to think.”

Dr. Michaels smirked. “Alex, you’re only in high school, you don’t have to marry him.”

“Well, duh, I know I’m not giving my vows or selling my soul off forever, I’m just… y’know, super careful about who I allow into my inner circle.”

A few more scratches of his ballpoint pen followed as Dr. Micheal’s reflected.

“It’s good to be that way, but sometimes it’s worth taking a plunge every once in a while. Discovery can be exciting. Facing the unknown head on is what makes us human.”

So uplifting. Did I have a therapist or did I have a motivational speaker? I’ll let you decide which.

“Have you tried talking to Wes since then?” He gently pressed on. “It’s a small step but maybe he can clear things up to you.”

“Nah…” I softly admitted. “I mean I would’ve already, but he was absent from calc this morning. Figures. Nothing like spending another 24 hours stressing over what to say.”

“For practice, what would it be exactly?”

I shrugged. “I dunno. Probably like “Hey you freak… do.. do you have a crush on me or um… something. Great, now you’re really making me sweat this.”

My therapist let out a chuckle. “My pleasure.”

“Eh, in the end, I’ll probably just go with improv. But hey, whatever happens, I guess we already have our topic for next week.”

As if right on cue, the bell loudly rang out over the intercom, I instinctively grabbed my bag and darted towards the door.

“Now that’s a plan I can definitely get on board with.” He agreed, jotting the note down on his clipboard. “Wait, almost forgot, what’s the latest update on that dreaded acting class of yours?

I paused in the doorway, then rolled my eyes at his impromptu check in. “Could be better, could be worse. My charade routine with the web shooters remains an ongoing class gag, which is, y’know, sort of whatever, but if it leads to me having to perform a spoken rendition for the final monologue I think I’m gonna cash out. But hopefully not though, because thank god for having options.”

“Am I hearing that right? As long as the material’s not embarrassing you’ll be able to do the monologue?”

Caught in the ropes, I stumbled. “Woah, let’s not get too crazy here.”

He enthusiastically raised an eyebrow. “And yet it almost sounds like…”

“Nope, pop on some hearing aids. I haven’t admitted to anything.”

Dr. Michaels again chuckled as he drew an imaginary check mark between us.

“Progress. It sounds like progress. The impossible isn’t looking so impossible anymore and you’re beginning to feel a bit more confident about the challenge.”

If he was expecting me to respond with the same optimism, he was mistaken, for all he received was dead silence.

“Fine, so maybe I am.” I tiredly relented.

“Oh, you most definitely are, now keep building on it. This is the type of positive change I live for.” He charismatically replied, dropping his clipboard onto his desk with a thud. “Later, Alex.”

“See ya.”

As I stepped out into the hallway, nothing felt right. My whole body was shaking as my nostrils struggled to get oxygen out while my heart raced with junkie adrenaline.

My animalistic flight or flight instincts had taken a chokehold on me back there. Karma for sharing too much. I’d managed to escape, but the panic continued to rent itself on my chest like a temporary tattoo.

You’re lucky.

Alexandra Maxine? Again? What do you want? I told you to go away.

You didn’t go deep enough.

My childhood? It wasn’t necessary.

No. Our appearance, how much it drives you mad.

I told him enough.

No. You stopped short. You didn’t tell him about your sick fantasies of doing a reverse Cinderella. A thousand piercings, pulling out your teeth, buzzing your eyebrows, and slicing off all our beautiful hair.

Maybe I have. But what’s the use, I’d probably somehow still be a bombshell to some emo goth guy.

Yet, you were oh close to pulling the trigger. That one night where you swore you couldn’t take it anymore. You were standing there in front of the bathroom mirror staring at me, a pair of scissors in hand, the blades near a big thick strand, just one defiant snip and you’d end all the staring and gross obsession forever. But yet, at the very last second, you stopped yourself…

Because I realized…

You realized you actually like your beautiful hair, the way it protects you and catches the breeze, why would you ruin such a precious thing?

Remodeling myself into a ghoul wasn’t the way to go. It would only lead to more eyeballs and not the good kind, it’s why I moved past that.

Yep, and even if you somehow went through with it, you’d be no closer to solving any of your problems. The mosquitos would simply move onto the eyes, the face, the body, the smile or whatever else it is they find adorable and cute. Simply put, I’m inescapable. I’m unkillable. I am the truth. I am destiny and sooner or later I’ll flip the knife around on you.

The scissors were a phase, but I’m not. I’m allowed to be myself.

Yeah, go on believing that lie because it sure isn’t what the world’s got planned out for a girl like us. Mom and others preach to you the realities of womanhood, but you stay delusional. You feign ignorance like you feign your faith in Sam ever showing up when it matters. So yeah, keep believing in your false cause. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you when I send you crying back home to that bush where you belong.

No, NO! I’ll send you back first. I’m not scared of you! You fake b—

RINNNG!

Huh?— Oh no, the bell!

Dammit. I’m late for English!

Desperately making up for the lost time, I hurriedly sprinted up to the stairwell to the third floor. Hitting the top, I then frantically tumbled and twisted down a long hallway forest of tall blue lockers before arriving at the door to my English classroom with a careening halt.

I caught my breath before awkwardly pushing it open. I entered quietly, pretending like everything was perfectly normal as I wandered over to my assigned spot in the middle row.

My teacher was unmoved, zapping me with her laser eye cannons as I sat down next to Troy.

“Alex.” She uttered, visibly irritated about her lecture being interrupted. “You’re late.”

“Sorry, the distance between here and the gym is sorta far and I—“

“This is your one freebie.” She replied, holding up her finger. “Next time, I’m docking points off your grade.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” I assertively nodded, eternally grateful for the mulligan. “Understood, thanks.”

“Alrighty class, now if we could calmly continue with where we left off on chapter six…”

With the lesson cranking back into motion, I wearily unzipped my bag and pulled out the reading material, that book Don’t Speak, loosely flipping it open as I tried to get myself up to speed.

“Yo, Al, what happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Troy whispered.

“I was off battling fairy demons in an alternate space dimension.” I drly muffled.

“No way.”

“Yes way.”

“Sounds dope,” he reflected with a sly glance. “Can I join you next time?”

“Doubt it, it’s super high up in the clouds and I was only allowed in because I’m theie chosen one.”

He playfully rolled his eyes and returned his attention to his copy of the book.

A snarky joke to him, but not to me. Sure, it was lame hyperbole but was I really all that far off from describing the truth? I scratched my head and resumed reading.

Gatekeeping me from your friends, Al? That’s not very nice.

Oh my god, do you ever stop?!

Nope, you exist and thus do I.

Troy wouldn’t be interested in your phony face.

Yeah, yeah, I never had use for your friends anyway. What I really need is for a certain key to come through for me soon.

Key?

The catalyst, the accelerant, the domino. You know exactly who.

Wes?

Nice detective work, smarty pants. Be careful now, if he’s what you fear he is, any moment with him could be the spark to my fire.

Wanna bet? Because a wrong moment…

Not Funny.

…could drag the scissors back into play.

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Down beneath the playground swings where dirt and gravel meet the sweltering heat you will find:

A stunt, a dare, a challenge gone horribly wrong.

The culprit? Why me, poor young preschool me, big crimson streams gushing from her knees and about ready to scream.

Jumping off the swing from the highest point was supposed to be easy you see?

Big kids could do it so why not me?

For a brief second, I’d been flying, only to then suddenly crash and tumble to the ground with all the force of a meteor from outer space just as fast.

The initial shock soon fades, bringing reality to center stage, collapsing the dam to a big rushing tsunami wave followed by the stomach curdling eruption of a child writhing in pain.

“Oh no, that’s not good…”

“Relax Ty, it’s just one tiny scra— OH MY GOD!”

Pat and Tyler’s eyes met as their complexions whitened with fear.

“We’re so dead!”

And off they galloped, leaving behind a cloud of dust in their wake.

Alone I was, but not for long, for on the horizon, to my rescue in his Red Sox cap was my hero, my savior, the only one of the three with deep vocal chords.

“Alex, yikes, here, shush, I got you…”

Then I was airlifted, high into the sky, up to the top of the trees where Sam’s head rested.

“Hold onto me tight, Al. I’m taking you home to Mom.”

Off we slowly went, my face buried in his chest and my arms unbreakably clung to his shirt.

From there it was all a blur, all I know is I stayed tethered to him throughout even as we hopped onto his bike and he began pedaling.

On the road, we caught up to familiar voices, and as I whimpered, I could overhear their shouts.

“Guys, what the hell?!”

“Sam, it was an accident, we swear!” Ty exclaimed.

“Yeah bro! Total fluke!” Pat added.

“Two seconds I turn my back! Two freaking seconds!”

“In all honesty, it was more like twenty…” Pat muttered.

“Shut up, Pat! I don’t have the time for your crap! Hey Alex, you holding up okay?…”

Still buried in his shoulder, I managed a muffled yes to my protector.

“Great, stay strong for me for a little while longer, we’re almost home.”

After what seemed like eternity, sitting there wrapped around him like a gold chain necklace, the bikes soon skidded to a careening halt across the hot concrete.

Sam carefully carried me off, and carefully walked us to the front door with our fellow brothers trailing behind.

When we entered inside, the they immediately found themselves on trial.

“SWEET JESUS, MARY, AND JOSEPH! What did you boys do to your little sister!” Mom yelled in horror, as she frantically raced over to pry me away from Sam.

As she gripped me close and whispered softly into my ear, the defendants were quick to sell each other out as they followed after us into the kitchen with Tyler firing the first shot.

“Pat goaded her into jumping off the big swings at the highest point! He said she’d forever be baby if she chickened out.”

Insulted, the usual scapegoat pulled out his switch blade and stabbed back in self-defense.

“Mum, no, I only merely “suggested” she jump! Ty’s the one who catapulted her all the way up there!”

Then, came another shot.

“Yeah and I only did, because you said you’d catch her if things went south!”

Followed by another stab…

“Now, now, Ty, again, maybe if you’d hadn’t launched her up like a rocket ship, she wouldn’t have flown so far out of my reach!”

Rinse…

“You let her fall on purpose!”

…and repeat.

“Liar!”

Until…

Out of nowhere—

POW!

SMACK!

With a pair of arm slaps, Sam disarmed the two bozos, pushing them back in line behind him. He then stepped forward to the judge, his white t-shirt stained in my blood soaked tears, and pleaded guilty to all charges.

“Mom, it’s my fault. I was too busy chatting with Aaron on my cell when I should’ve been watching these idiots.”

She stared back at him. What was this? Maturity? Straight up accountability? He’d surrendered himself to her without a fight.

“I said, I screwed up.” Sam repeated. “You left me in charge and I screwed it all up.”

Mom tripped over herself for a short while more, before regaining her senses.

“Patrick, Tyler.” She ordered. “Go to your rooms. Now! And don’t even THINK of coming back out until your father gets home!”

Ty bolted immediately, but Pat stubbornly continued to loiter.

“Mum, seriously, I didn’t do anything!”

But he might as well have been picking a fight with a blowtorch.

“Patrick Christopher! Your room NOW, or so help me god, I’m finally banning hockey in this house!”

“Ugggh, fine…” He grumbled before finally turning around and slithering down the hall to his lair.

Now all that remained was one.

“Sam.” Mom instructed as she switched on the faucet. “Grab the first aid kit from the hallway cabinet so we can clean Alex up.”

And without a word, he did what he was told as the two came together to help patch me up.

Sam held my hand and kept me still, as I endured the scorching sting of my wounds being rinsed by Mom with hot water along the subsequent application of rubbing alcohol. Then came the bandages, bigger than any I’d ever seen, so massive that covered nearly the entire circumference of my knee caps.

The blood had finally been plugged up, but the soreness remained ever present like a bitter aftertaste and let me tell ya, did it freakin’ kill!

“Owww, oww! Mommy! My left knee! It still hurts!”

“I’m sure it does.” Mom replied soothingly. “Don’t worry, I’ve just the thing to help you out.”

She popped open the freezer and dug around inside it before coming back up with an ice pack, well… not just any ice pack, the SpongeBob ice pack, a premier luxury item in our household.

“We’ll put Mr. SquarePants right here. He’ll heal you up, good as new.” She whispered, placing the ice pack on my knee cap, before returning her focus to my brother.

“Sam, take Alex to the porch so she can rest. Make sure this thing stays glued to her while you two watch tv.”

He sternly nodded as he picked me up. “Can do. Ok, Alex, you brave warrior menace, what movie will it be?”

My little mind raced with choices as he sat me down on the blue sofa and handed me a blanket. Deciding was very hard, but soon enough, I settled on an extremely bold movie pick.

“Toy Story 2!”

“Again?” Sam reacted with a sigh. “How about we watch a different Pixar movie for a change, like say Monsters Inc.?”

“I want Toy Story 2!”

“And Toy Story 2 it is…” he begrudgingly agreed as he pressed play on the dvd player, the disc still inside from earlier that morning. “But we’re not acting out all the characters this time. You’re in no condition to perform as Jessie, Ty isn’t available to be Buzz and frankly, I really need a breather from playing Woody. We’re watching the movie like normal grown ups, you got that?”

“Yes, Sam.” I said innocently, flashing the largest of grins, as I curled myself next to him on the sofa cushions.

Even as we watched one of my all time favorite movies and despite all the ice, the throbbing in my knee refused to subside. I winced, I whined, I sniffled, and I bristled, so Sam did everything in his power to try and help me out of my misery.

He brought me a sippy cup filled with chocolate milk.

He made me a coffee ice cream sundae with whipped cream, hot fudge, and sprinkles.

He persuaded himself into doing one small Woody impression.

And then another.

He even tried bringing me my Spider-Man plush from my room, along with the rest of my stuffed animals.

But yet, nothing did the trick.

At this point, he probably thought I was overselling it to get the Queen Alex treatment, or maybe he might not have been, perhaps seeing me in this sad state was legit chewing something in him.

Whatever the case, what happened next changed everything.

His hand, it reached up for the Red Sox cap on his head, the same one I’d been begging for months to so much as to be allowed to touch, and smoothly slid it down from its spot amongst the trees.

“Looks like desperate times call for desperate measures…” He smirked, as he again sat down next to me. “I guess this leaves me resigned to my last resort… just be careful with this, okay?”

Then as time stood still, everything turned to black as his cap made its way to my head. No, really, everything went black because the fabric, while magical, was twice the size of my skull, the brim instantly falling flat over my face.

Sam chuckled slightly as he gently flipped the cap around backwards and adjusted so it sat just right. “Perfect. Now you’re big, strong, and tough… just like me.”

“Woah, so that was really the first time you wore it?!”

Nicole stared at me with wide eyed amazement, her gaze completely hooked to every inch of my story as we laid together in the Woodland park grass.

“Uh, huh.” I nodded, tapping my cap. “Obviously, it didn’t become mine until much later, but yeah, that’s where it all began.”

I tilted my head and peered back out at the Woodland playground swings, still the same as they were over a decade earlier, before reaching down and brushing my finger over a certain small discoloration on my left knee cap. The pale, pancake shaped mark was faded but still visible, much like its fraternal icicle shaped twin hanging alongside it.

Certain stories are impossible to forget.

Done reminiscing, I turned my attention back to the basketball court. Nicole and I had been chilling out on the sideline while we watched Troy battle it out with everyone’s favorite star athlete, Corey Belcher, but we’d since lost track of their bout after our conversation about nostalgia for Woodland had inadvertently sent us wandering down the path towards the tale about my battle scars.

“Damn.” Nicole muttered, as Troy pulled off a crazy reverse lay up. “Y’know, I still can’t believe I’ve never actually met him.”

“Who, Sam?”

“Yeah, Sam.” She continued, propping herself up on her elbows. “It’s so weird. I’ve been over to your house a million times, I’ve heard all the stories, and I’ve seen the pictures, but yet somehow, I’ve shared the same air space as him for a grand total of zero point zero seconds.”

I exhaled and I sat up to join her level.

“Nic, he was already long gone when you first met me. The deck hasn’t exactly been stacked in your favor to begin with.”

“But like, he visits sometimes, right?” She pressed.

“Oh, sure he does.” I begrudgingly explained. “But not on holidays or special occasions, or anything you can really plan for. It’s usually spontaneous or on super short notice, so it’s not like I can ever send out a big bulletin announcing “Hey, everyone! My big brother’s in town! Wanna come over and meet him?”

Back out on the court, Corey celebrated with a dab after making a deep fade away over Troy.

“Pffft! Lucky shot!” Troy jeered back.

As I grinned in amusement, Nicole shoved my shoulder, eager to continue our Sam discussion.

“What about connecting the other way around, like this past summer, when you and Pat went up to visit him and his girlfriend? Have you ever considered bringing me along sometime?”

Once more, I sighed, eyeing Troy as he returned fire with a nasty bucket of his own.

“I have, but there’s always some hitch in the plan. First, it’s the dilemma of him living all the way up in a whole nother state, any reasonable round trip involves us sacrificing an entire weekend, and that’s assuming Pat or my parents are up for being our driver. The other roadblock is whether Sam actually wants anyone visiting, he always has some excuse about being too busy with work to have guests, which is a pretty bogus cop out when it’s fairly obvious that Sidney’s the real breadwinner in the relationship. And the last hiccup, is, no offense, is you, as in, I can’t get a read on if Sam would be interested in meeting you or not and if he even cares enough to keep track of who my friends are. He barely talks to anyone from back home that isn’t our own immediate family, like even in my case, it feels like a minor miracle when I receive a text from him unprompted. What more can I say? What’s the use in gameplaning with someone if they refuse to cooperate?”

Nicole stayed deathly silent as I finished my mini rant.

“Gosh, Alex, I’m so sorry.” She softly replied.

“Don’t be.” I said, kicking up dirt from the grass. “It’s not your fault, Nic. Believe me, I would’ve loved to introduce you to the guy who made me ice cream and acted out characters from Toy Story. Really, I would’ve done it in a heartbeat, but unfortunately, this cap’s the closest I’ve ever been able to manage. If it’s any consolation, the fact that I willingly talk to you about him is already an exclusive privilege.”

“Say no more, your trust in me has always been a cherished treasure.” Nicole confidently answered, a tiny mischievous smirk appearing, as her fingers, stealthily, like the limbs of a spider, latched onto my cap and cleanly swiped it away in a flash.

Why, the unmitigated nerve of her!

Alas, I didn’t combust into flames, for if anyone over the years had earned the right to pull that on me without immediately receiving a fist in return, it was her.

“But hey, regardless…” Nicole confessed, delicately examining her heist in her lap before giving it a light twirl. “Even if the dude behind this old thing is an impossible buzzkill, it’d still be nice to meet him someday, just once, if only for that look on your face when you’re finally introducing us.”

“Heh. Thanks Nic.” I glowingly mused, before aggressively swooping in to reclaim what was mine.

My friend simply shook her head and beamed, placing an arm around me as I shoved my keepsake back into its rightful spot.

“So, now, your turn.” I said, changing the subject. “What’s your Woodland battlescar story?”

“Oh, that’s easy.” Nicole began, quickly rolling up her sleeve and gesturing to the tip of her elbow. “It’s this mushroom lookin’ splotch right here. I was around seven or eight, on a playdate with… now… who was it? Uh yeah! Jessica Comerford! You remember her from my slumber parties don’t you?”

“Sort of. Doesn’t she go to private school now?” I pondered, when something suddenly caught the corner of my eye.

“Yep, that’s her.” Nicole continued. “Anyway, she and I were standing together at the top of the huge green tube slide when one of us, I forget who, raised the idea of riding down head first…”

My focus drifted as she rambled, my attention caught by what, seemingly, out of the blue, had tumbled into my view.

There, about to hop on the swings, was her, the feisty freckled ten year old herself, Lizzy Freeman.

What were the odds?

It was actually kind of freaky, even more so after she randomly picked the exact seat from my ill fated jump to start swinging on.

“Um… what are you looking at?” Nicole asked, noticing my lost interest in her conversation.

“Wes’s overcaffeinated sister that I told you about.” I revealed, my trance not breaking from the playground.

She squinted at the playground. “For real? Which kid is she?”

“The one on the swing.”

We both watched as Lizzy arced herself back and forth, higher and higher, the chains creaking as she pumped her legs out without a care in the world.

“Wow, she’s so adorable.” Nicole observed.

I rolled my eyes.

Adorable.

I hate that word. Even if it’s not directed at me, something about simply hearing it begs to trigger my gag reflex.

As I exhaled and blocked it out, my gaze stayed on Wes’s sister as she swung.

There was just this air about her…

Was it the age? The innocence in her eyes? Or the fact she was unabashedly being herself without a second thought?

Or maybe it wasn’t any of that. I don’t know about you, but I sure hadn’t forgotten what she’d said to me when I was here last with Wes.

“Ohhh, no way! You’re that cute girl he’s been telling me about since middle school!”

Yeah, that problematic statement…

I like Wes as, not to sound like a broken record, a friend. But is that what he sees in me? Or is it something deeper? Worse yet, am I but a strategic conquest? A shrew being played in a long con, slowly stripped away piece by piece until Alexandra Maxine is theirs to do with as they please?

“Hello, Alex? Are you even listening to me?” Nicole butted in with a love tap.

“Whoops, sorry!” I replied automatically. “What were you saying?”

“I said, it seems like you’re contemplating talking to Liz. Well? Are you?”

I stuttered. “Um, I err—kinda, I guess… but, what about the game we’re watching? We can’t just ditch Troy.”

Nicole and I glanced back at the court where Troy and Corey were now locked into a lengthy argument over what exactly constituted a “foul” in basketball.

“Hmm, seems he’s a little preoccupied for the time being.” She snidely commented before grabbing my wrist. “C’mon, let’s head over.”

“Nic, wait—“

Too late.

Our feet shuffled in unison without missing a beat.

“Relax, we’re just walking over.” She replied. “Least we can do when you have that look in your eyes.”

I let out a breath, half-annoyed, half-resigned.

“What look?”

“The one that screams I’m staring at a spitting image of my past and it must be protected at all costs.”

Dang, read inside and out like a phone book.

“You’re the worst.” I muttered.

We drew closer to swings and the sound slowly shifted, replaced by that of laughter from the nearby playground.

Lizzy didn’t notice us at first. She was still pumping her legs at a millions miles per hour, her braid flying back over and over again from the momentum.

For a second, I stood there again, just watching, until Nicole tapped shoulder.

“Your move. Go.” She impatiently whispered.

I swallowed, building up my stamina as I stepped forward to initiate—

“Hey, it’s— it’s you!”

Fortunately, Lizzy beat me to the chase, freezing to a stop mid swing.

“Hi uh, Lizzy, funny seeing you here.” I answered. “I see you remember me.”

She hopped off her seat excitedly. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re Alex Bradley, Wes’s…”

Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it!

“…girlfriend.”

Ugh.

Nicole immediately burst out giggling to my left.

“No I’m not.” I scoffed.

Liz crossed her arms. “Yeah you totally are.”

“NO, I’m not!”

“Are too!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

Arguing with a ten year old, definitely not my finest hour.

“Liz, enough. I’m not his date.” I stubbornly reiterated, smacking my foot down with a resounding thud. “Wait, did he… did he tell you otherwise?”

“Nope, just a hunch from what I’ve heard and seen.” She said, fiddling with her nails. “I mean that’s the way it works on Disney Channel, right?”

“Well, not exactly.” I revealed.

“Who’s she?” Liz asked, gesturing to Nicole.

“My B.F.F., but that’s not important right now.” I continued as they awkwardly waved. “What exactly has Wes said about me?”

“To me directly? Hardly anything actually.” She mused, aimlessly flailing her arms around. “My brother and his teenage world, he’s always so annoyingly airtight about it, it’s a miracle to even recieve a small sliver, you feel me?

Oh Lizzy, believe me do I ever.

“Which is why I claw, scratch, and itch for every last morsel of info I can put my fingers tips on.” She energetically rambled on. “Take for example, when Wes’s 8th grade class photo came out last year. There it was, a golden lottery ticket for finding out which girls in his grade were cute, who was popular, who he crushed and on all that other cool teenager stuff. Obviously, how could I not use it? I hounded him with it for days but he refused to give an inch, but eventually I wore him thin enough that he lazily identified a couple girls that regularly caught his interest. I went through and reviewed each of them and wow, did they all have some spunk, especially that Tiffany girl, but I wasn’t quite satisfied yet, for see I wondered: “Which was the cutest, the top dog, that one girl that sticks around in his head all day if he wasn’t careful?” That was the big pressing question I just had to have answered, for it’s a main plot point in all my favorite shows. But of course, Wes being the statue he is, stonewalled me with endless bogus excuses like: “I don’t have one, I like them all the same, it doesn’t work like in the shows, you don’t need to know!” and then my favorite, the one I actually bought for five seconds: “She was absent the day the pic was taken.” Unbelievable that guy, thinking he can outsmart a tween like that…”

Jeez, did this chatterbox ever take a breath? I traded glances with Nicole, who simply shrugged, speechless for words.

“So after a bunch more weeks of pressure, I manage to sit him down at his desk with the massive laminated poster picture lying down in front of him and I said, “I’m gonna go through each girl one by one, row by row and you’re gonna stop me when I land on the bullseye.” and smartly, he agreed to play my game. We were midway through the third row when, suddenly, after around twenty gazillion utterances of “no”, he weakly mumbled “Yes.” and right underneath my finger, would you guess who it was?”

Did I even want to? Sadly, I think I already had a decent hint.

“Why, you! Yes, you!” She exclaimed, pointing at me. “You were even wearing the same hat. Say, what’s the deal with that thing anyway?”

I stiffened. “It’s um… a fashion choice.”

“And a swaggy one at that. I positively adore it! Can I try it on?”

“No!”

“Huh….” She pondered unfazed. “Anyhow, Wes immediately shut everything down after he pointed you out, so outside spying your name while sneaking a peek at his yearbook, that’s as far as I ever got on the subject. Maybe now that you’re his girlfriend I’ll get more intel!”

“I’m not his…” I started, before stopping with a sigh and an eye roll. “Forget it.”

Calculus with Wes was going to be one hell of an adventure tomorrow.

“Hey, wait!” Liz shouted, as I began to walk off with Nicole. “There’s still so much more I want to ask you!”

I stopped and glanced back, deciding to humor her. “No Lizzy, Wes hasn’t kissed me yet.”

Liz shook her head before kicking the dirt as she peered at me with a wide eye smirk. “Heh, heh, you’re funny. Actually Alex, I was interested in learning more about you…”

I raised a curious eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Y’know, the inside scoop on being a girl in high school.” She said, staggering closer to us. “Between the driving, the school spirit, all the parties and all the independence from your nagging parents, it must be a blast!”

Gosh, she was so naive.

“Kid…” I said, crouching down to her level. “Word of advice. Don’t be fooled by false advertising of the ideal image. Ignore it. Don’t sell out to it either. Be you.”

“Sorry?” She replied, puzzled.

“I’d give anything to be back in your shoes right now.” I admitted. “You should keep yours on your feet for as long as possible before you’re being groomed to wear new ones that don’t fit.”

“I’m confused…”

I sagely placed my hand on her shoulder. “And Wes, your big brother, how much longer till he graduates and goes off to college?”

“A couple of years from now?” She contemplated, calculating it in her head. “But, it’s gonna be so lit. Can you imagine life as an only child? No more stinky laundry, and an entire house all to myself? OMG! I can’t wait!”

“Liz, no, you got it all wrong. Clock’s ticking. You should cherish Wes while he’s still here.” I instructed. “Don’t take him for granted, especially when you need him the most, for you’ll never know if he’ll ever make it back home to you.”

She stepped away slightly and made a face. “Why are you so negative and weird?”

“Because I was you once.”

She stared at me for a blank second before it clicked. “You have an older brother?”

“I had brothers.” I said, holding up three fingers as I moved to rejoin Nicole. “I was already down one when I was your age. He still hasn’t come back.”

“And the others?”

“Both also gone at the same age you’ll be losing yours. See you around Lizzy.”

She didn’t respond as I walked off.

A light breeze brushed against us as Nicole and I returned to our spot near the basketball courts, I lazily gazed up, bumping into a smug expression on my friend’s lips.

“Since when did you become the oracle of youth?” She joked.

“Spitting image of my past, remember?” I muttered, briefly angling my head clockwise for a parting peek at Lizzy.

The small girl had since brushed off what I’d said and gone back to aimlessly slinging herself around on the swings without so much as a care in the world.

“I had to protect her.”

Bzzzzz!

My phone suddenly vibrated in my pocket, I dug it out and scanned over the new message on my screen.

Aaron: Sixth grade lunch, gosh it only seems like just yesterday. I can still taste the gourmet meals on my tongue occasionally if I think hard enough, pizza sticks, mini milk cartons, and the inedible mystery meat. Our fateful convergence occurred there, and only because I had nowhere else to sit. Same dreams, same ambition, a mutual penchant for mischief and a shared track record of perpetual academic underachievement, it’s no wonder we quickly became partners in crime.

We weren’t exactly alike, of course. Why Sam loathed certain bands, I’d never understand. His loss then, this song sums up our early days to the letter.

Green Day - 409 in Your Coffeemaker

Hmm, I always liked that tune, how could Sam or anyone else possibly dislike it?

“That your Mom?” Nicole inquired, curious about the random message.

“No, Pat.” I loosely fibbed. “He sent me another dumb meme, doesn’t he have anything better to do?”

“Yo, Al, Yo Nic!” Troy suddenly shouted out from the far end of the court. “I was wondering where you went. Corey and I are settling the score once and for all with a five on five. Care to be on my team?”

We looked at Troy and then at each other.

“You’re on!”

And so we played, sideline to sideline, somewhat keeping score as the hoops repeatedly swooshed with buckets from friends and foes alike.

I was dribbling the ball, attempting to hold my own against Corey when my mind stumbled back on my battle scar story, specifically, the final part of the aftermath I’d stop short of telling to Nicole.

So, here it was:

Sam and I were still sitting there on the couch, oversized cap on my head, Spider-Man clutched in one arm and half eaten chocolate fudge sundae in front of me, as we watched Toy Story 2.

It was the scene where Jessie attempts to convince Woody he’d be better off joining her in being put on display at a Japanese toy museum than returning home to an owner who’s sure to outgrow him eventually. Still not getting through to him, she tells him the cautionary tale about what happened between her and her own owner.

What occurs next is a super sad depressing musical montage about neglect and abandonment that you, everyone, and their mother has probably seen and likely scared countless children into taking better care of their toys.

There was sort of an unspoken rule between Sam and I to not talk, joke, or shout during this sequence on our rewatches. On this particular occasion however, towards the end of it he broke the silence.

“So partner…” Sam said in his mock Woody voice. “You ever think about what’ll be like when I’m done with school?”

“What do you mean?” I replied, peeking up as I squished closer to him.

“Someday, I’ll be eighteen, an adult with money, my own car, and the world at my fingertips. Maybe I’ll be at college like Mom and Dad want or maybe I’ll be doing something else. Either way, eventually, they’ll come a day when I won’t be calling this place home anymore.”

I frowned as I fiddled around with Spidey’s stuffed limbs. Believe it or not, the idea of Sam leaving, and not being all the time, was something that until that moment, had never previously entered my mind and my little brain struggled to grasp the foreign concept of it.

“…not for a long time.” I awkwardly whispered.

“Yeah… not for a long time.” He softly agreed. “Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to visit you and Spidey a lot and make sure Pat and Ty aren’t being mean.”

“Mom too.” I added.

“Oh yes, definitely, that’ll be a huge part of my visits. We can’t ever let her forget who really runs this place.”

I softly giggled.

“I’m the glue, I’ll never fade away…”

Sam stretched his legs out on the coffee table as his expression shifted to a pressing one along with the topic.

“Hey, can I have my cap back before you smear it with more fudge stains?”

I blinked at him, wide eyed and angelical.

“Nope.”

He groaned. “Alex. C’mon.”

“A few more minutes.”

“You said the same thing ten minutes ago.”

I shrugged, pretending to be oblivious.

“Alex…”

“Yes Sam?”

He put his hand out.

“Cap. Please.”

I considered it for a second, like really dead seriously considered it.

Instead, I defiantly smirked, firmly holding my ground in our fast developing stalemate.

Losing patience, Sam broke first and launched his left arm directly at my scalp, but I was able to dodge him just as quickly, dragging Spider-Man in tow as I ducked out of harm’s way and scurried off like a mouse.

“Hey, no! Get back here!”

The cap precariously bounced and wobbled around on my head like an army helmet as I sprinted through the kitchen and down the hall, my face flashing in sweet victory as I escaped towards to my room.

Sam’s footsteps loudly rumbled behind me, before gradually grinding to halt as if to tell him it wasn’t worth the effort.

By bedtime, he’d recover it from me, placing it back on his head like he always would in the coming years.

It was clockwork.

Or so I thought.

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I let a long yawn in my seat next to Nicole. Two days may have passed since Ty’s concert but my body was still feeling the after effects as it slumbered through a tortoise paced Monday afternoon.

My bones ached, my neck creaked, my throat was hoarse, and my feet felt like broken springs. If I could, I would’ve taken a sick day.

I rubbed my eyes as I tried to stay conscious, but they soon joined the long sleeves of my shirt on my desk, a casualty of a mundane history lecture.

“Long weekend?” Nicole whispered, with a light love tap of my cap.

I grumbled something through my sleeves, not sure what, likely along the lines of brief acknowledgement and an urgent signal for her to nudge my foot if Ms. Gaffney dared to call on me.

My head was still elsewhere regardless, not in a dream or anything, just wandering. It wandered and wandered until it found itself back to where it was a few nights ago: in the backstage area face to face with the one and only Aaron Mercer.

“Holy hell, you sure grew up.” Sam’s best friend had complimented with a smile. “How old are you now? 13?”

“15.” I answered monotone.

“Jesus. It’s been longer then I thought.” He reflected, almost spinning over backwards. “Wow, so damn, you’re in high school now.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Looks like we have a lot of catching up to do! What are you doing here?”

Aaron smirked and gestured to his notebook. “Why, I’m here to get my exclusive with Ty and Matty of course! Being both an O.G. supporter of Losers of The Year and one time roadie gives me very special privileges.”

As he finished his sentence, a heavily tattooed laden arm swung around his neck.

“A-dog! My man!” Matt exclaimed with glee, the aftershow partying clearly having taken its toll on him.

“Aye Matty!” He replied back, slightly off guard.

“You be giving us good press I hope!” Matt slurred, his anaconda vise grip still tightly locked on the journalist. “Unlike that other guy! Screw him!”

Aaron slowly loosened out of the hold. “Already on it. I’m gonna be telling the whole world to listen to “Pong Pong Girl”, it’s right up there with “Lunchtime Fantasy” and “I Can’t Run No More.” With a sick bass line and hilarious backstory, it’s got all the making of sure fire underground hit.”

“Awesome! Kickass! That’s why… that’s why you’re the man!” Matt complimented in my direction, as Aaron finally escaped.

“So when’s my interview session?”

“Soon as I wrap things up here with Alex.” Aaron calmly instructed, gesturing him off. “Give me five minutes.”

“Okay but I’m holding you to it.” Matt stumbled. “Time’s precious when you’re a freaking rockstar like me! But hey, whatever I’ll probably make an exception for you cuz well… you da man!”

The bassist leaned down and grabbed another drink from the nearby cooler before staggering back over to the fun nearby.

Aaron shook his head as Matt’s voice faded off in the distance. “Just another day at the office.”

He grabbed a pen from his ear and began jotting stuff down in his notebook. Just seeing that combined motion and action was such a trip, like I’d just been transported way back in time. Everything was identical to the letter as it was eight years ago.

“Y’know, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” I said to him softly. “When Sam vanished on us, you did too.”

Aaron chuckled faintly, placing his pen back in his ear. “Yeah, Life happened. The zine kept me busy, and adulthood hit like a brick. So uh… what’s Sam been up to anyhow?”

“Still living up in NH.” I said, as if he wouldn’t already know.

And yet… he flinched.

“Really, all the way up there?” Aaron responded off guard. “Since when?”

“Since he met Sid.” I added off-handed.

“Sid?” He inquired, nearly leaping out of his combat boots.

“Hello? Sidney Fallon? His lawyer girlfriend?” I tilted my head, studying him. “Are… are you and Sam not close anymore?”

He fiddled with his notebook, before nervously clearing his throat. “To be honest, we sort of drifted apart a ways back.”

I blinked. “Why?”

His expression tightened like that of a grown up searching for the right words to say around a little kid.

For me it was all too familiar, so I put my foot down.

“Aaron. Talk to me.” I pressed, determined not to be treated like said kid.

He leaned against the makeup station, his arms loosely crossed as a high dose of oxygen escaped his lungs.

“Choices, ideas, creative differences, it wasn’t all one thing.” He answered finally, scratching his neck. “You know how he was. Opinionated, unfiltered and unabashed as all hell. It was his way or the highway. Not just with the zine but with life.”

My heart jumped, not out of fear, but in that weird revelatory and dangerous vibe I get when anyone opens the door and brings me into Sam’s world instead of shunning me from it. A world where people don’t sugarcoat it and pretend like I’m too naive and sensitive to entertain Sam as anything but the protective brother I grew up with.

“Bit ironic now ain’t it? Because that’s what I used to like about him, what made us so close that I was like another Bradley sibling.” Aaron continued to reminisce, momentarily inspecting our reflection in the mirror. “But somewhere along the line your brother changed… or maybe… he always was that way.”

“What happened?” I managed to say, wanting more. “Spit it out.”

He opened his mouth, then shut it like he was still feeling bitter aftertaste of what was on his mind.

“Ego, narcissism…” He again started, before stopping. “And I couldn’t follow him into any of it. Instead of us and them it became him and me. Especially when it came to Ty’s band and that girl…”

Aaron must have seen the mix of confusion and disappointment transparently plastered across my face, because the next thing I knew, I felt his index finger dragging across the brim of my cap.

“This old thing was his wasn’t it?”

I nodded.

“His signature still written inside it?”

I nodded again. “Yep, same spot, inner left side.”

“The Sam who wrote that, the one who wore it…” He said, “That’s the Sam I was best friends with. Him and the version I butted heads with, those two couldn’t be anymore opposite and I’ve no clue which of them decided to run so far off the grid like a crook in witness protection. Then again, considering he apparently has himself another girl, both might be dead and this present day Sam is a whole other riddle to be solved. But whoever the heck he is, I’m sure he loves you a lot, that much is certain. Why else would he and Tyler keep you so in the dark?”

“What are you trying to say?” I asked, tugging my cap down out of reflex.

He exhaled again, before continuing. “I wish I knew and I’m not sure you’re ready for it. He still your hero ain’t he?”

I frowned. “Aaron, I am ready.”

He shook his head before ripping a page out of his notebook. He grabbed the pen from his ear again and wrote something down before offering it out to me.

“Here.” He said stoically, as I took it from him. “My number, I’ll text you when the time’s right.”

“Ahem, Miss Bradley!”

Suddenly thrown back into the present, I glanced up to see Ms. Gaffney standing in front of my desk with an arm on her hip.

“Dozing off in the middle of my lesson, I see?” She observed sternly, none too pleased.

I heard Nicole softly giggling to my right. What the heck happened? She was supposed to be my watchdog!

“I was uh… y’know, only daydreaming.” I blurted out. “Daydreaming about… being on board a World War I U-boat in the middle of the Atlantic because you made it sound so captivating.”

“Really…” Ms. Gaffney pondered, raising an eyebrow. “Well, don’t do it again. For both our sakes, please stay here in the year 2014 thank you very much.”

“Ok, yes ma’am.” I murmured weakly, trying not to melt into my chair, feeling the amused grins shining at me from every which angle.

After another stern stare, Ms. Gaffney returned to her lesson, having already humiliated me for long enough. I rubbed my hands down my face as I finally stopped wilting.

“Psssst!” Nicole whispered to my right. “Sorry about that! Ms. Gaffney’s intimidation factor is the real deal!”

“You think?!” I murmured back with a yawn.

My eyes spun as I leaned back in my chair and tried to make it through the rest of class with the last of my dignity still intact.

Falling asleep in class, add that to the ever growing lists of reasons Ms. Gaffney probably hates my guts, and believe me I definitely needed more, especially with how much she previously “loved” having Pat in her class.

I glanced up at the clock, ten more minutes and I was home free.

My notebook was still lying on my desk, a hint of saliva on the cover from where I’d been resting. I flipped it open and began doodling, conjuring up the illusion of paying attention by taking fake notes.

I’d never been much of a drawer, never could get my lines to be anything but wobbly and skittish. Aaron always made it look easy when I was little. Battles scenes, superheroes, bands rocking out on stage. His depictions exploded off the page like a wizard cooking up a spell.

Was there a way to learn such power? Aaron had been nice enough to toss a few pointers to pint sized me. I wish I had his patience for I’d forgotten almost every design over the years but one.

The bell finally rang as I put the finishing touches on my trying attempt at Spider-Man. His web lines were all crooked and probably odd numbered with the wrong amount of space in between. His eyes were at least passable, I guess?

Yeah, this definitely wasn’t landing anywhere near the Louvre, let alone a comic book.

I quickly packed up my things and jabbed an earbud into my left ear as I caught up to Nicole out in the hallway.

“Hey.” She greeted me as my feet fell in unison with hers. “You’re not mad at me are you? For leaving you out to dry back there I mean.”

I shook my head. “No, not at all. Now if Ms. Gaffney had hit me with the detention slip, it’d be a completely different story. Just don’t go all paralyzed statuette on me next time, ok?”

Nicole briskly nodded in response as she stopped by her locker and unlocked the door to toss her binder inside. “So, what’s the plan from here? Is it almost time for your daily joy walk home with Wes?”

“Excuse me?” I snapped. “Ok, so his house happens to be in the same direction as mine, big deal! Not my fault yours is on the other side of town.”

Nicole flashed a smirk, a devious one as she closed her locker and resumed walking. “Fine, maybe I’m jealous, or maybe I just want to hear you say it.”

“Say what?” I asked, curious, in stride close behind.

“That he’s your boyfriend.”

If I’d been sipping water I would’ve cartoonishly sprayed it out of my nose right then and there.

“Oh, come on, Nic! Not this again!”

“I’m still not hearing a no.” She said with a head tilt.

I clenched my teeth. “For the millionth time, he’s nothing more than Troy 2.0.”

“Hmm. You’re a horrible liar, Al.” She mused as we passed by the school front office and approached the building’s exit. “Look how red your face is. The way you freeze up when I bring up his name like you do whenever someone brings up Sam’s. He clearly isn’t like Troy. If he was, you wouldn’t be leaving me sidelined.”

“The concert?” I responded, in realization. “Is that what this is about? Look, I already told you, my brother could only pull so many strings, two free tickets in the pit was all he could swindle without sticking me with part of the bill or in the cheap seats.”

“But you picked Wes over me.” Nicole clarified, as we took in the outside autumn air. “You any idea how long I’ve been waiting for my chance to see your brother live in action? All these years of hearing you brag about his band and the one year my parents are finally cool with me going out to one of those super sketchy venues in the city to see them perform, you frostily shove me aside for a guy you met last month!”

I raised my hands defensively without meaning to be. “But, I thought you were never all that into punk. You only tolerated it for my sake.”

She watched my face, eyes deadlocked. “That’s not the point. I wanted the experience, Al. To do something wild and grown up like real high schoolers. To go into that jungle and see your heartthrob of a brother in his feral habitat. You took it from me without even asking!”

I wasn’t sure how to react o that.

There was a brief pause as we made our way up the hill to where Nicole’s Mom was parked in her minivan.

Ignoring the part about my friend being starry eyed for my brother, I hadn’t realized how much Nic had been hurt by my actions. Normally, I would’ve invited her, I’d always wanted to and up until a few weeks ago it would have been an obvious no-brainer of a choice. So why’d I pick Wes?

At the end of the day, he wasn’t my boyfriend but he was different. The type of different that’s so foreign and radiant that voluntary or not, it starts to rub off on you.

Wait…

Was… was he changing me?

I hope not.

Stupid brain, scaring me like that.

“Nicole…” I said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

As we closed in on her Mom’s minivan, she hesitated, like she was expecting me to say more, then exhaled as we mutually spotted Wes waiting for me at the bottom of the hill near the crosswalk.

“Ty’s concert. How was it? What’d I miss?” She asked with begrudging curiosity. “You and your new pal end up having a blast?”

“Yep, it was awesome.” I slowly admitted. “The pit was wild, but Wes fit in like a glove. You should’ve seen the way he and Ty instantly hit it off backstage afterwards.”

“Should’ve been me. Like the dance, I should’ve been there.” She grumbled, as Wes caught sight of us.

“I know and here, I’ll make it up to you…” I responded assuredly, offering my hand out to her for a pinky swear. “You, me, and maybe Troy at Woodland tomorrow after school. No Wes, no outsiders. Just us. I swear on it.”

Nicole considered my proposal for a moment, before stretching her own pinky out and wrapping it around mine in trusting acceptance.

“Sounds great.” She replied, the angst in her body language dropping, but not her voice. “Here’s hoping you back it up. See you around Alex.”

I watched her wander off, sliding open the passenger side door to her Mom’s minivan before taking her usual seat at shotgun. Her mother waved as she put the vehicle into the drive. Nic held pinky up again and I held up mine.

We’re friends, always….

With damage control in place for now, I sighed, burying my chin into my chest as I marched down the hill to where Wes was still waiting for me.

“Hey Al!” He called out as I approached.

“Hi…” I replied, resisting the urge to wince.

The traffic light flicked to red and our shoes stepped off the curb at the same time, almost choreographed down to the letter.

“So…” Wes inquired, attempting to break the ice. “Nicole Williams, ey? I didn’t realize you two were friends.”

I shrugged. “Duh, it’s like I have a life outside of you or something.”

He adjusted the strap of his backpack as we finished crossing the street. “Of course. But it’s just, I saw you arguing with her and I was kinda curious—“

“Stupid girl drama. None of your business.” I bit, swatting him off.

“Uh huh. alright.” He murmured, letting out a low whistle.

We continued walking in silence for a while, squandering down the bendy inclined road with the cemetery before Wes tried breaking the ice again.

“Hey anyway, I just wanted to say thanks again for inviting me to your brother’s concert the other day.” Wes said, dragging his hand against the concrete railing as we marched on.

“My pleasure.” I replied briskly.

“God, it was so cool.” He continued. “I’d never experienced anything like it and your bro Tyler was even sicker! I think I might start listening to some of his album recs!”

“I’m sure he’d be flattered.” I said with a fake attentive smirk.

“Any tips on where I should start?”

I rolled my eyes as his house appeared in the immediate distance. “Ty posted a playlist of his influences on the band’s Spotify page a while back. Just use that.”

“Sweet.” He exclaimed before suddenly stopping in front of me. “Hey can I ask you one last question?”

“Try me.” I said, hoping it’d be quick.

He hesitated, before clearing his throat. “Who was that dude you were talking to when we were backstage?”

My shoulders tensed up all at once and my heart went into overdrive.

“What guy?”

“Y’know that dude by the mirrors, while I was chowing off with your brother.” He gestured vaguely.

“Matty?” I answered, playing dumb.

Wes frowned slightly. “No, no, not him. Jet black hair, pencil in ear, Clash t-shirt, slightly older. Seemed like you two had history.”

I looked away, gazing out at all the tombstones. “Nobody important, random band groupie.”

“Really?” He pressed. “But you were at it with him for a while, guy was dramatically monologuing and stuff, seemed kind of deep.”

There was childish curiosity in his voice and that only ticked me off further.

“Zip it.”

“Huh?” He replied, shaken, slowly turning towards his house on the horizon. “I was only wondering—“

“I said zip it!”

My coldness surprises me sometimes, a feral defense mechanism instilled deep inside me. I didn’t mean to be that way, but in this fight or flight scenario I wasn’t about to take it back.

Wes studied me carefully, like a biologist trying not to poke the bear but too nose deep in their research to immediately bail out of its radius.

“Hold on…” He added, stabbing me one last time. “Was he… was that Sam?”

And let me tell you, I came this close to tearing his head off.

“No! What is your problem, you nosy jerk?!”

A car rolled by us, a dog barked in the distance, I stared at him angrily for a moment more before adjusting my cap and jacking the volume in my earbud up to full blast.

“Sorry…” I grumbled emotionlessly as I turned towards the next street on the path to my house. “I best be going.”

Wes nodded once, his eyes said it all. He messed up. It wasn’t his fault but he messed up and I couldn’t help but feel pity for him.

But Sam wasn’t his business and never would be. He didn’t know him. He didn’t know me.

“So um… see you in Calc?” He pondered softly, trying to fix things.

“Yeah.” I agreed, still not making eye contact but managing a small wave.

“Yeah….” He muttered as I left him behind in the dust.

Music pounded in my ears as I slithered the rest of the way home, alone.

The tranquility of my lonesome, lost in my own thoughts, a reprieve so welcomely needed after not one but now two near car wrecks.

But little did I know, the second I turned the corner to my own street minutes later, I was in for yet another surprise.

Both of my parents’ cars in the driveway.

They’re home early.

Yay…

I dragged myself down to the garage door. I popped in the ol’ passcode (Pat and Ty’s b-days mushed together) and let myself in.

“Why, if it isn’t our beautiful daughter!”

Those were the first words out of Mom’s mouth when my foot hit the top of the stairs.

She and Dad were sitting on the living couch, laptop on the coffee table and a glass of Grey Goose in each hand.

“Hey…” I grumbled, attempting to brush past them to my room.

“Don’t “hey” us! Come back here and interact with your family.” Mom joked, humorously pulling me back for her own amusement. “How was school?”

“Normal, fine, boring, lackadaisical, mundane.” I muttered, listing out the usual buzzwords as I leaned beside the leather armchair across from them. “What’s up with you guys being home so soon?”

Mom had an incredulous look on her face as Dad let out a chuckle. “Honey, don’t you know the date?”

Dad chuckled as I tried but failed to connect the dots to the significance of today.

“Today’s our anniversary, kid.” He revealed smugly. “Your mother and I decided to get out of work early so we could have the house to ourselves for a bit before we went out to celebrate. It’s nice to briefly relieve what it was like before we had four little demons running around, perpetually freeloading off of us.”

“John! Don’t say that!” Mom snapped in disapproval.

Dad simply shrugged. “Schmoopie, where’s the lie?”

I rolled my eyes as I got up.

“Alex, do you care at all to comment on this special occasion?” Mom asked pointedly, foot still on the pedal.

“Sure, uh…. congrats.” I half-heartedly exclaimed. “Happy anniversary.”

“Thanks Alex, you’re the best!”

With the parental cringe on high, I twisted back to the hallway to make my exit, when suddenly something bubbled up in my mind, something I needed to put out in the air.

“Would either of you happen to remember Aaron Mercer by any chance?”

Mom’s expression shifted instantly, the recognition of the name flashing like a strobe light. “Aaron? Oh how I could forget? Now that’s the name I haven’t heard in a minute.”

Dad nodded slowly. “Sam’s old friend?”

“Yep, that’s him.” I neutrally confirmed.

“Kid was decent enough.” He recalled, leaning back on the couch and sipping his drink. “Next to your brother he was definitely the straighter head of the two.”

“I ran into him last weekend.” I continued.

“You did? Where?” Mom asked gently.

“Backstage after Ty’s show.” I clarified. “He was there to cover the band, he still writes for the zine he and Sam started way back when.”

“Huh, small world.” Mom softly mused.

“So we talked and we caught up with one another because I probably hadn’t seen him since, well… you know…”

Dad folded his arms and Mom titled her head. “Go on…”

“…and naturally, Sam came up because why not?”

I hesitated.

“Which is how I then learned that they’re not really friends anymore, like going a year or so back at the very least because Aaron hadn’t even heard of Sid, but the weird part was he wouldn’t say exactly why.”

The last bit came out as my throat suddenly went dry.

“So I was curious if you guys knew anything about their split or if Sam ever mentioned it to you. I’d ask him myself but I doubt he’d text back.”

My parents both turned to look at each other as if to telepathically communicate like sci-fi aliens. They clearly knew something I didn’t.

Eventually, Dad spoke first after a long exhale. “Your brother’s wilderness years were a real roller coaster, most of the people he started with, for a variety of reasons, didn’t make it through to the end with him.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I pressed.

“They grew apart.” Mom lightly explained. “Most kids do after they leave high school and become adults. It’s only natural.”

“Yeah, but it sounded like more than that.” I argued, as I felt the shields raise up.

“Perhaps it was.” She replied disingenuously. “Or he could have just been melodramatic.”

I frowned. “Mom, I’m not dumb, it sounded exactly like what it sounded like.”

“Okay so they had a falling out.” Dad revealed in a small huff. “But, it might’ve been for the best in the long run. Look at Sam now. He’s matured, he’s found love, he has structure, he’s developed into a functional member of society. Some skeletons should stay in the closet where they belong.”

“But I’m family!” I insisted, eager to chop down his crummy moral gymnastics.

My parents traded glances again, subtler this time.

“Alex.” Mom quietly uttered. “Your father and I respect your brother’s right to privacy. I know it isn’t what you want to hear but there are certain things he and we ourselves aren’t comfortable with freely roaming around in out the open. Look if it makes you feel better, I’ll try calling him later and see if he’d be interested in having a sit down with you next time he’s around.”

“He won’t be.” I pessimistically predicted without a second thought.

Mom sighed, as she picked up her phone. ‘Don’t be so skeptical.”

Done with being stonewalled at every turn, I simply shook my head and scurried off to my room, the door closing as almost as fast as it opened.

I attempted to toss my backpack onto my desk chair like a badass, only to overshoot it, leaving halfway slumped to the floor, hanging loosely like an oversized Christmas ornament. Then I launched my cap onto my bed and then myself, face first.

After a rough cushion filled crash landing, I rolled onto my back, stretching my arms out as I peered up at the ceiling and review my day thus far:

Jealous Best Friend? Check.

Invasive sorta maybe boyfriend? Check.

Overly protective parents? Check.

A hat-trick of annoying conflict in just under an hour flat and it didn’t even involve Pat. This might be a new record.

Then there’s Sam and all his garbage he deliberately withholds. So good at it that he even has our parents on his side. Now that’s definitely a first.

Ugh, what doesn’t he want me to know?

I stewed there in bed for a while longer when suddenly-

BZZZ!

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

A text message. I nearly did a cartwheel off my mattress when I saw who sent it.

Aaron: Hey, It’s Aaron. I’ve thought about it for long enough. It’ll be through a weird method, but if you want your answers, just say the word.

With frantic pace I typed out a response.

Me: Thanks. I’m all ears.

Moments later, my phone dinged again with a reply and it was the absolute last thing I was expecting.

Aaron: Track 1: U2 - Another Day

A link? To a U2 song?

What the heck? Was this a joke?

Me: U2????

Aaron: Surprised to see your Dad’s favorite band? Bear with me. They always were an annoying overplayed staple in your household, but Sam would be lying if he said their early stuff wasn’t a guilty pleasure. Said something about his childhood being engrained in it. All stories good or bad start there, right? Childhood innocence? Hit the link to the song Alex and our tale can begin.

I sat back and gazed over at my cap resting next to me on my bed. It was sitting bottom side up. Sam’s faded signature was on display on its inner flap no worse for wear than it was when he first passed down to me.

His Cap.

I took a deep breath and clicked the link.

His world.

And now, I was officially invited into it.

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I groaned the moment Mom slammed me with her ultimatum, one arm on her hip as she leaned against the kitchen counter.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes miss.” She replied, with that overprotective look. “I’m not letting you go somewhere like that without being sure you have some semblance of a buddy system. It isn’t the safest place for an underage girl.”

I rolled my eyes. Tyler’s concert was in a few hours and in my stressful haste in extending an invite to Wes I’d completely neglected to figure out how I was gonna get there.

Pat wasn’t an option, I was never gonna ask him even if he was busy. Dad was out too, late night shift at the station, he’d probably be able to pick me up though. So yeah, that left me with just Mom as my sole remaining avenue for transportation.

“Alex, who are you going with?” Mom repeated, like a cop washing down a suspect.

I tried to act casual even as my eyes darted back and forth.

“Umm… Nicole might be there.” I offered, hoping that’d be enough.

“Really?” Mom said slowly, smelling my deceit from a mile away. “If she also needs a ride, I’d be more than happy to—“

“No, she’s all set.”

“Did you ask?” She pressed, unconvinced. “Why don’t I call Mrs. Williams to just be sure.”

“Ok, ok!” I cut in, placing my hand over her phone before she started typing anything. “Nicole probably won’t be there.”

Mom shook her head, impatient. “Alexandra, tell me who you’re going with.”

My head went around in circles. Who was I supposed to say now? Troy? Like that’d ever be believable, punk ain’t his forte.

“This classmate of mine, his name’s Wes…” I hesitantly revealed, wincing heavily as I tore the bandaid off. “I’ve started hanging out with him recently, but don’t get any ideas, he’s nothing more than a friend, like Troy.”

Mom nodded and for a second I thought she’d handle the news like a normal parent.

“This Wes…” She pestered. “Is he nice?”

“Yes.” I grumbled.

“He responsible?”

“Yeah, for the most part.” I again grumbled, my head leaning towards the front door. “Can you drive me now?”

“Is he cute?”

“Mom!” I yelped, nearly passing out from sheer cringe.

“What? It’s just a simple question.” She mused, as she dug her car keys out of her purse.

I groaned. “All he is, is a guy who plays baseball and skates. There’s nothing to fuss over.”

“Oh so he *is* cute.” Mom teased, unable to let this go like any sane mother would. “You’ve always had a thing for sporty types.”

“Please stop talking.” I advised, trying to hide the redness in my cheeks as I moved towards the door. “I gave you what you wanted, can we go now?”

“Look at you, you sound just like your father.” Mom chuckled to herself. “You’re definitely his kid all right. Ok let’s go.”

The car ride for the first part of the trip went smoothly at first, the sky as we drove gradually shifting softly from blue to that warm Autumn dusk.

But as we passed by the peanut butter factory, near the financial services building where my Uncle works, Mom couldn’t help but get chit chatty again.

“Your friend, Wes…” She inquired, “What’s his last name?”

“It’s um…” I stuttered, unsure about answering, but knowing the car would probably turn around if I didn’t cooperate. “Freeman. Wes Freeman.”

So I did it. I fessed it up. Now I had to cross my fingers that it wouldn’t come up in her background check.

“Hmm…” She murmured, as she carefully scoured through her brain’s computer database. “Does he happen to have a younger sister named Elizabeth?”

Oh no. No. No. No. No!

I just about shrunk into my seat. “Yes…”

“Wow, that’s crazy! So do I know his mother!” Mom replied, her voice lighting up in recognition. “She goes to the same salon as me! We always end up next to each other when we’re getting our hair colored.”

Six degrees of Emily Bradley coming in up the clutch to torment me again. You couldn’t make this stuff up. I placed a hand over my face as I shrunk further.

Mom’s eyes continued to shine with glee. “Isn’t life full of wonderful coincidences? I’ll have to bring it up next time I see her.”

“Please don’t.” I replied as I turned towards the window.

When we finally pulled up near the rundown graffiti covered venue, I was practically already halfway out the door before the car was even in park.

Just as my feet touched the pavement, I felt Mom’s hand on my shoulder.

“Hey.” She whispered. “Hope you have fun tonight, but please, stay safe.”

“I will.” I said, with a nod.

“Love you.” She said, like it was breaking news. “When you see Tyler tell him I miss him.”

“Sure, love you too.” I frostily replied as I walked off. I did even turn around, just kept moving faster, half waving over my shoulder until I heard our car motor slowly fade out.

Great, the coast was finally clear, but now I had the unenviable task of finding Wes in the maze of what was a cross between an advertisement for Hot Topic and the costume aisle of a Spirit Halloween.

Mohawks, ear piercings, nose piercings, diy hair dye jobs, goth makeup, and combat boots littered the land, Wes, wherever he was, would probably be easy to spot, he’d be the normal looking guy amidst a sea of oddities who loved punk rock.

As I scanned around, I thought I saw him, a figure in a brown bomber jacket and a Clash t-shirt walking by his lonesome with a notebook in hand, only to soon realize I had recognized somebody else, a peculiar person I hadn’t crossed paths with in a very long time.

Before I could close in on the blurry silhouette any further, I heard a voice call out behind me.

“Hey Alex!”

I quickly flipped around to see Wes standing a few yards behind me in a blue Nirvana smiley face logo t-shirt.

“Hey” I answered, racing to get my focus back on the mystery stranger with the vague face.

But I was too late. They were already long gone, sucked up by the vaccum of frenzied concert goers.

“So, what do you think?” Wes inquired, gesturing to his Nirvana shirt. “Is this punk enough for you?”

I shrugged. “It’s passable, I guess. I’m sure Tyler and company won’t mind.”

“You have the tickets?”

I reached into my pocket and pulled them out. “Of course, here’s yours. We should hurry up and get in line so we can get a good spot.”

Wes looked puzzled as he trotted alongside me to the large line at the gate doors. “Good spot? Is the seating not assigned here?”

I glared at him, coldly but also with a hint of amusement. “Seats? Who said anything about seats? Our tickets are for the pit.”

And for the first time since we’d met, I saw him turn timid and apprehensive with the clearest hint of discomfort.

“This your first time in a pit?” I commented.

He nodded.

“It’s not as scary as you think, it’s awesome actually. Just follow my lead and you’ll survive in one piece.” I assured him, randomly grabbing his hand before I could stop myself.

“Huh, you taking the lead for once, well that’s a first” He joked, promptly rounding back to his usual form, squeezing my hand in return as the door gates in front of us opened.

After some waiting, we made it through security and got our tickets scanned in by some beefy security guy with a goatee. He quickly jotted our ages down before pulling out a sharpie to draw classic double X’s on our hands before motioning us to proceed onward.

Inside, the pit wasn’t completely full yet, meaning we were able to pre-position ourselves quite close to the stage.

“Interesting place.” Wes muttered, glancing down at the drink stained floors and up at the worn baloney railings sitting above us.

“Yeah.” I replied. “It’s a lot nicer than the Blackroom though. That’s where my brother played all his shows in high school.”

“The Blackroom? I’ve vaguely heard of that place. It’s a little closer to where we live, right? It shut down or something?”

I shook my head. “Nah, it’s still around. Tyler doesn’t play there anymore because of some stupid band drama he doesn’t talk about. Something with Sam.”

Wes raised an eyebrow. “Who’s Sam?”

“My oldest brother.” I slid out before blocking it off. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought all that up. Now’s not the place.”

“Fine by me.” He answered with unsatisfied intrigue but with kind acceptance in his face. “Family stuff stays in the family, it’s a code of honor, I more than understand.”

Meanwhile, we turned our attention back to the show, which was due to begin in a half-hour give or take. Wes opted to pass time by browsing on his phone, while I instead peered up at the tinted spotlights and then at the empty stage underneath lost in thought as punk songs by Bad Brains, The Muffs, and Social Distortion, among others, reverberated loudly from the venue’s big PA system in rapid succession.

As the opening notes of “Sick Boys” by Social D hit, that’s when I felt it, a sudden sharp nervous panic pulsing through my veins. This cold sensation wasn’t new. I felt it at my first Green Day concert, and again at the U2 concert my parents dragged me to at the Garden. No matter the band, no matter the place, and no matter the people, it always barges in before a show like an uninvited guest.

The heavy beating of my heart, the sweatiness in my palms, the dryness in my mouth, the knot in my chest, the small inkling of claustrophobia in my lightheaded skull as I’m overwhelmed by the strange thrilling dread of anticipation. It all makes me so nauseous I want to throw up.

No, I wasn’t having a panic attack, it was more like stage freight if that makes any sense. Or maybe it doesn’t because I’m not the one performing, the actual person who should in fact be a nervous wreck.

Whatever the case, this headache inducing torture made a 30 minutes wait seem like 30 hours instead. As the pit began to pile up, I needed air and I needed space, so I briefly excused myself for a drink.

“You’re leaving me by myself?” Wes pressed with concern, still unaccustomed to the standing room circus.

“Keep to yourself and they won’t bite.” I wearily assured him as I started nudging my way to concessions.

The line to the refreshments counter was long, not line to the restroom long but still a journey’s length. When I finally got to the front, I promptly ordered a water for Wes and for myself Coke, because nothing relaxes me more than a caffeinated beverage.

Yep you read that right, caffeine calms me down. Ok, not really, but a tasty soda was a decent distraction from the dumb worrisome pre-concert think.

I took a big sip as I wandered back over to the pit. As I returned, Wes was in the midst of a heated debate with a girl with green hair and a guy with arms plastered with tattoos.

Uh oh. Not Good.

I went to try and break it up but stopped once I heard what they were arguing about.

“I’m telling ya.” Wes pressed adamantly. The ‘07 Red Sox are by far the best of the three championship teams!”

“No way, over the ‘04 team? The one that beat the Yankees and broke the curse? You’re crazy!” Tattoo guy countered back in a thick Boston accent.

“Yeah but with ‘07 you get a mix of both ‘04 and ‘13!” Wes explained. “It’s the best of both worlds! Come on, Manny and Pedroia on the same team? How much more op can you get?”

“The ‘04 team had Pedro!” Green lady butted in.

“2007 had Lowell and Papelbon!” Wes threw straight back.

“Oooh, that’s a good point.” Tattoo guy replied with an impressed nod. “Anyway, cool to see a fellow Sox diehard around here. Hope you enjoy the show.”

“Yeah, cool to meet you too.” Wes mutually agreed as they slowly turned their attention back to stage. “Here’s hoping they bounce back next year.”

He smirked to himself before finally noticed that I’d returned.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” I answered, handing him with his water. “You sure held your own.”

“Sure did.” Wes proclaimed as he cracked his bottle open. “What’s your opinion on the matter? Are the ‘07 Red Sox the balls?”

Despite the butterflies still bouncing in my stomach, I chuckled. “I guess, I mean they’re definitely nostalgic. That was the first year I was old enough to go to a game with my Dad.”

“Really? Me too!” Wes beamed in response. “Glad to know you’re a person with solid Boston sports taste.”

“Yeah…” I murmured, collapsing deeper into my coke barely holding it together.

As I took another deep breath, the house lights finally dimmed and a frenetic whiff of excitement began emanating from the packed crowd.

Showtime.

The stage lit up and the opening strums of the band’s walk out song “Fight For Your Right” by the Beastie Boys rang out in earnest.

“Yeah…. Kick It!”

The song blared out in full force as each band member began making their way out onto the stage amidst an electric response from the crowd.

First, Chuck, the new drummer…

Then, Matty Foster, the bassist,

And finally, Tyler.

His arms were outstretched, a big grin plastered on his face as he slowly approached the microphone. He’d dyed his hair again since I’d seen him last. It was bleached bright blonde now, but everything else about my brother was as recognizable as ever.

“Well, well, well, well…” Ty calmly mused, adjusting his mic as the Beastie Boys song slowly faded out. “It’s sure been a while hasn’t it? How ya’ll doing?”

He stopped and took in the radiant energy of the excited crowd for a moment before continuing.

“So uh… anyway that’s Chuck, he’s Matt, and I’m Ty. We’re Losers of The Year.” He coolly announced to the world, his stage persona like that of a surfer on the beach with how at home and lowkey he sounded. “You guys ready?!”

“Teenage Daydream! 1,2,3,4!” Matt yelled out from across the stage, and with that they jumped right into their first tune.

Chuck led with an up tempo drum beat, while Ty complimented it with a power chord laden guitar riff and catchy bubblegum lyrics.

I glanced over at Wes, whose eyes were widening as the pit promptly transformed into a human washing machine.

People started jumping around, slamming into each other, shoving each other, it was all pure pandemonium. A group of punks behind us formed together to create a deadly ring of fire that called my name as it spun.

Unwilling to pass it up, I gave Wes’s arm a quick pull. “C’mon, let’s join them!”

“Really?” He stuttered, gritting his teeth. “That’s looks… kind of danger—“

He didn’t get to finish, as I dragged him along behind me. We carved out our space in the devil’s wheel and began running in it like hamsters as the ball circled and circled, unending.

It wasn’t all wine and roses though, for it punished those who didn’t keep pace. Trip or slow down? No mercy for you, prepare to be crushed into a pretzel!

Round and round we spun until our shoulders ached and we ran low on oxygen. Wes bailed first, quickly retreating back to the safe area of the pit. I kept at it for a little while longer, enjoying myself. It was like I was seven again, fending for my life in an impromptu wrestling match with Pat, but by choice and on a more level playing field.

A stray fist suddenly grazed the brim of my cap, skewering the entire thing off center on my head. That was the telltale sign that the heat was getting a little too hot. I adjusted my cap back into place as the ring spat me out.

“Wow, that was… that was AWESOME!” Wes exclaimed, still half out of breath as I dizzily staggered back over to him.

“Never gets old.” I sighed, still playfully catching my bearings.

Meanwhile, the band’s first song had come to a close.

“Woo!” Ty said, wiping sweat from his brow. “Seems we got an awesome crowd tonight!”

“Yeah man, these people are lit. Home cookin’. Nothing like it.” Matt added. “Alright, what are we playin’ next?”

“Hmm… uh… what to play, what to play…” Ty jokingly pondered, even though there was a printed setlist taped on the ground next to his mic stand. “Oh! How about we do a new one. Let’s play Knockout!”

“Knockout?”

“Yeah, Knockout! Ready???? GO!”

Ty played a quirky guitar lick, Chuck tapped his drumsticks and then they were off to the races again.

The layout of Losers of The Year’s performance seemed to follow a simplistic but well crafted design: up tempo catchy punk songs stapled together with witty banter from Ty and Matt in between.

“Yo, look Chuck’s ditching the shirt! Oh boy, oh boy, now things are about to get frisky!”

Tyler had once described his onstage persona as that of a stand-up comedian and it couldn’t have been more on display here.

He was part storyteller…

“This next song is off our very first E.P and it’s one all of you can probably relate to. It’s about this girl from high school that I never had the guts to ask out even though she sat at the cafeteria table across from mine everyday, but now here’s the kicker, by the time I finally asked her, she already had a boyfriend. Yoink! This song’s called Lunchtime Fantasy and it goes a little something like this…”

And part entertainer.

“Do you want a guitar solo? Yes, a guitar solo! One kickass guitar solo. How about you? You want a guitar solo? Why certainly, can do. Check it out, I’m a freaking guitar hero!”

Matt even got a turn at wheel, singing a couple songs of his own, while Tyler went around the stage provoking the audience and posing with his guitar.

“This is song’s about *SPOILER* a girl.” Matt explained. “I challenged her to a game of beer pong, we dueled to the death and whelp… I lost, and thus she took ownership of my pride and my lucky jacket. RIP.”

He counted in the song, appropriately titled “Pong Pong Girl” and off they went full force again.

As they jammed, I suddenly spotted the John Doe again, that stranger I’d seen outside the venue earlier who I couldn’t put my finger on, the one in the Clash t-shirt.

No, he wasn’t in the crowd, rather he was up there with the band to the side, his body partly poking out as he quietly observed the performance from the curtains off-stage. His head bobbed as Matt launched into a bass solo during the bridge.

Who was this guy, where did I know him from, and how in the world did he know my brother? The whole thing just kept getting weirder and weirder.

“What’s wrong?” Wes asked, noticing I was one in the entire room who wasn’t moving at a hundred miles per hour.

“Nothing.” I shouted, over the heavy distortion. “Just starting to crash a bit from all the caffeine earlier.”:

Wes gave a thumbs up and swiftly went back to headbanging.

I gazed back up at the stage, but the untappable figure had wandered off again, leaving me once again fruitless in terms of tying it all together.

Ugh, I guess I’ll just have to ask Ty about it later when I see him backstage after the show.

Meanwhile, the band continued on with their performance, playing tracks both old and new, including one called “Mind at War” which I distinctly had memories of them practicing all the time in our garage when I was younger.

After a few more songs, the band hit the homestretch of their set. I didn’t know it for sure, but I had a hunch because it was tradition for them to always end their shows the same way:

Soliciting cover song requests from the audience.

Ty took a big gulp from his water bottle, before lighting the match.

“So uh, what would you guys like us to cover?”

And just like that he was torpedoed with several hundred song suggestions all at once. I heard Wes shout for Mr. Brightside. As for myself, I shouted for “Knowledge” by Operation Ivy, hoping that a pick from my brother’s favorite album would easily get his attention.

“Slow down, people, sloooow down.” Ty interrupted, holding his hand up to his ear as he painstakingly listened to each recommendation. “Dammit. I can’t hear anything with y’all screaming all at once. What’s that?... Dirty Water? Nah.. we played that last time. Huh?… Sk8er Boi?! Really? Eh, well y’know…”

This was gonna take a while.

“Matty, what does that girl over there want?.... What is it? Summer of ‘69? Ok, we’ll jot that one down as a maybe…”

And believe me, did it take a while.

“Sorry, what, hold on, you over there, did… did you say… Piano Man??!! Yo, does it look like any of us up here can play keyboards?”

Eventually, they settled on a cover set consisting of Summer of ‘69, Blitzkrieg Bop, and an Ozzy Osbourne tune for the metal heads, before wrapping things up with a messy rendition of the Jimmy Neutron theme song.

“...this is the theme song of Jimmmmy Neuuuutroooonn.” Ty sloppily finished, letting the last strum of his guitar ring out.

I began clapping, thinking they were about to take their bows, but instead, Ty briefly stepped away from the microphone and cleared his throat.

“Alright, now it’s our turn to pick a cover song.” He announced, his expression now more serious. “We’re dedicating this one to the dirtbags over at the Blackroom. This is our last song, it was once done by a band called Jawbreaker and it’s titled Boxcar. Ready?.... Go!”

Ty aggressively strummed some power chords before belting out the lyrics with intense untethered ferocity.

“You’re not punk and I’m telling everyone. Save your breath, I never was one…”

The words flew out, the emotion heavy with every syllable as the pit exploded again for its last mad dash. The show thus far had been lighthearted, a showcase of the poppier side of punk, but now it was vehemently hardcore.

In just under two minutes it was done.

“You’re on your own, you’re all alone, you’re on your own, you’ve all alone…” Ty sang as the song concluded, his eyes in a death stare as the reverb echoed for what seemed like eternity before his lips finally moved again.

“Bye.”

And with that, the group blankly walked off. No last big all out jam, no smashing of instruments, no bow or ovation, a wild concert had instead ended like a normal day at the office.

The house lights turned on and some outro music played, it was over.

“Weird way to end things.” Wes reacted in minor bewilderment as the crowd began to dissipate. “Great show though, your brother’s pretty talented. Never heard of that last song, but it sorta reminded me of Molly’s Lips by Nirvana.”

I nodded, exhaling. “Wanna go backstage with me?”

His eyes light up. “Woah, really?”

I pointed us over to a door blocked off by rope and a stone faced security guard. Wes practically sprinted over to it, as I trudged behind.

As we approached, the guard gave us a stern look.

“State your business.”

“I’m Tyler’s sister.” I said with fake firmness. “I’m here with a friend, let us through.”

“That so?” He answered, unconvinced. “If you’re who you say you are, what’s the password?”

My heart jumped as I glanced around, carefully checking to make sure no one besides Wes would hear it aloud.

Then, with a deep breath, while hiding my shame, I quickly muttered :

“Power Ranger.”

Hearing what he needed, guard receptively nodded and motioned us forward. “Go on ahead. It’s the last room to the right.”

As we marched through the doors and down the backstage hallway, Wes was barely able to keep himself together.

“What?” I pointedly asked as he continued snickering.

“The password.” He pressed, with amusement. “Power Ranger? It’s so ridiculously random, how’d you know?”

“Because it isn’t. It’s my family’s old safe word.” I begrudgingly explained with an eye roll. “My mom was super big on stranger safety when we were kids, we were supposed to ask for it whenever she had a friend or a fellow parent pick us up from elementary school or wherever. Sam apparently came up with it way before I was even born and for whatever stupid reason it just stuck.”

“Wow.” Wes replied, eyebrows raised as we continued walking “You have one interesting family, anyone ever tell ya that?”

“No, you’re the very first.” I sarcastically snapped as we reached the end of the hallway.

It was there we found it, the door to their dressing room. There was sign on the front of it that read:

The Super Duper Party House of Losers of The Year.

Do Not Disturb!

Without further ado, I lightly knocked on it.

After a few short beats, the rickety door creaked open.

“Hey, hey, there you are Alex!” Matt greeted, before noticing Wes. “Who the hell is he?”

“A friend.” I vaguely told him.

“Nirvana, aye?” Matt pondered, spotting his t-shirt.

“Yep.” Wes concurred.

“Pop quiz: who was their lead singer?” He suddenly popped.

“Excuse me?”

“Who was their lead singer?!” Matt repeated, as if this was some extreme pressing issue.

Sweat dripped from Wes’s brow before he nervously answered. “Uh… Kurt Cobain, y’know, obviously… who’d else it be?”

“Matt, can you please let us in?” I interrupted.

After a few more suspenseful seconds, Matt goofily stretched his arm out for a thumbs up before swinging the door open wide.

“Aight Al, he seems cool enough, both of you, come the heck on in!”

Inside, the band’s makeshift base of operations was lowkey, but still had signs of being of the high life as its occupants cooled down from their latest performance.

A soft reggae playlist teetered out from a nearby Bluetooth speaker and a strobe machine was decorating the walls in all shades of color. It wasn’t just band members there either, sound engineers, equipment techs, and roadies were there to soak in the after party as distinguished guests.

“Where’s Ty?” I inquired, turning to Matt as he cracked open a cold one.

“Makeup chair.” He directed, gesturing over to the back left corner near a row of mirrors. “He’s going over things with our pal Lace.”

Wes and I hurriedly squandered over westward, until we saw Ty’s bleached hair poking out of a leather seat next to a blue haired lady, presumably the “Lace” person Matt had been referring to.

“We sold out all 50 of our green tees tonight?” Ty confided with her, a cold one of his own in his hand. “We definitely need to order more next time. Looks like we got ourselves a new best seller!”

I interrupted him with a sudden tap on the shoulder. He spun around partly annoyed until he saw it was me.

“Alex! I was wondering where you were!” Ty cheerily exclaimed.

“This that kid sister of yours you’ve been mentioning to me?” Lace surmised.

“You betcha.” He happily confirmed, hopping up and placing an arm around me. “Lacey meet Alex. Alex meet Lacey. Lacey is… what are you? My manager? Friend? Crush? Flame? Ex-flame?—

“Business associate.”

“What she said.” Ty continued. “Anyway Lace, I think I’ll go over the rest of the numbers with you tomorrow. I’m gonna catch up with my sister for a while if you don’t mind…”

“Fine, see you in the A.M.”

She and I exchanged small waves as she wandered off to the other side of the room.

Ty stretched his arms out and let out a yawn before turning his focus back to me. “How’d I do tonight, Al? Did I kill it?”

“You brought the house down.” I complimented glowingly.

“Bingo, that’s what I like to hear.” Ty shined right as his blue pupils landed on Wes. “Now, who do we have here?”

“My pal I had you get the extra ticket for.” I shortly summarized. “His name’s Wes, he’s a friendly classmate and just that, a friendly classmate .”

“Hey…” Wes mumbled, in an awkward attempt at an introduction. “Man, you uh… totally destroyed it out there dude.”

He crawled over to him cautiously. “Flattered. I see you’re rocking a Nirvana t-shirt. Say, would happen to know who their lead—“

“Ty, he ain’t a logo merchant. Matty already quizzed him.” I wearily cut in.

“Really? Oh well, never mind then…” Ty backtracked, his tone dopey again as he shifted gears and offered his hand out to Wes. “Tyler Bradley, pleasure’s all mine.”

“Wes Freeman.” My friend reciprocated, now much more at ease as they exchanged handshakes. “Likewise.”

Pleasantries now over with, Ty initiated a deep dive. “So Mr. Wes, you like punk? What other bands are you into?”

“A little bit, but alt rock is more my cup of tea” Wes clarified as he sat down in a spare seat. “Besides Nirvana, I’m also really into the Foo Fighters.”

That was all Ty need to hear. “Yeah they’re pretty cool. Alex, ever tell you how I once met Dave Grohl?”

Wes’s eyes instantly lit up. “You’re kidding.”

Ty sat back down in his own chair, rolling it over to Wes as he dug his phone out his pocket. “Here, take a look. Boy, do I have some pics to show you. I’m like an autograph book with all the musicians I’ve met.”

Soon enough, the two of them were off, fully entrenched in deep conversation about albums, drummers, random celeb run-ins, and tour stories.

First contact with the least scary part of my family was projecting out to be a success, but after a minute or two, I drifted away from their chat, letting the dialogue become background noise as I let myself take in the rest of the room.

A couple of feet away from me, there was a cooler with soda written on a big piece of duct tape glued to the side. As I opened the case and pulled out a beverage, my eye caught on something.

My reflection in one of the fuzzy bulb encircled mirrors.

I could see every last detail as she stared back at me. The way the cap rested crookedly on my head along with the loose strands of hair that delicately stuck out from it, the inherited cargo pants, the converse sneakers, the unzipped blue hoodie and the long-sleeved shirt partly hiding underneath, and then my face, my one of a kind face.

See Alex? Even in these rags we’re so naturally cute. Imagine if we did more!

Shut up, Alexandra.

I stood there in a trance for another few seconds until a masculine voice called out my name.

A chill went down my spine. This voice didn’t belong to anyone I’d run into thus far tonight.

Slowly, I turned around, which only made my body shiver even more.

It was him.

The peculiar man in the Clash t-shirt and the brown bomber jacket.

“Hey Alex. Long time, no see.”

“Who… Who are you? Have we met?”

He fiddled with a black pen in his hand before placing it in his ear. “What? Don’t tell me you don’t remember me. You used to excitedly run up to me every time I came over to your house!”

“I did?” I answered, starting to get close but still off.

The stranger scratched his short black crewcut and let out a chuckle. “Of course you did, but that was back when you were really little, probably around when I taught you how to draw a star while Sam and I were working on the zine in the dining room. Y’know, I kind of miss those days, to be honest.”

I still didn’t—

“So many great memories: the town pool, being invited up to your lake house a couple times, promoting Ty’s band in the early days, babysitting you at the park not just with Sam, but also by myself once or twice. Yeah sure, it’s been quite a while, but have I really been forgotten?”

The clues all slowly morphed together in my head, metabolizing inside until the realization arrived in the form of an annoying trick question.

“Wait!… Aaron?!”

Yes.

That’s who he was.

The familiar stranger.

Aaron Mercer

He was Sam’s best friend.

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Punk

Punk is an expression. It’s a scream, a cry, a voice. It’s freedom.

It’s authenticity

It’s that ability to break away from conformity and stand up to authority while saying

“No, I’m doing things my way and no one is going to stop me. Up yours!”

I love punk rock, so does Sam, but do you know who really loves punk rock?

My brother Tyler.

All you have to do is travel back in time to his bedroom from a few years ago.

Immediately you’d spot band posters littered across the walls, a turntable atop a bookshelf filled to the limit with vinyl records, and his red and black guitar connected to an amplifier sitting in the corner.

I found myself there earlier today, I’m not sure why. The room isn’t a punk oasis anymore. It’s barren, generic, and empty, like what a home buyer comes across on an episode of House Hunters.

It’s a disgrace really. Which is why, whenever I’m in here, I try to change that, much like I’m doing now.

Flat on his old bed. Headphones in. A favorite song of his cued up.

“Sound System gonna bring me back up, right, one thing that I can depend on…”

There, much better.

Tyler ain’t a saint by any stretch of the imagination but he’s tame when you compare him to Pat and Sam. If you wanted to describe him as the most “normal” of the three, I wouldn’t totally disagree with you.

Again, he’s never been as wild as them due to having a bit more self-restraint. He’s not the type to constantly test limits (like Sam) or bounce off the walls in high octane bursts (like Pat). The most trouble he’s ever got into with our parents was when he secretly dyed his hair bright red one summer.

He‘s also gotten caught breaking curfew a few times to go to punk shows and parties, he’s been an accomplice to a lot of Pat’s shenanigans, oh and there’s also the tattoo on his leg Mom doesn’t know about, but really that’s the full extent of his rule-breaking.

At the end of the day, all Ty wants in life is to jam out with his buddies and not be bothered.

But that doesn’t mean he’s an introverted deviant or anything. In fact, it’s the opposite, he’s a social chameleon.

Ty had a lot of friends in High School, his circle was mostly made up of fellow musicians, some of our older brothers’ friends, and numerous other people who were all drawn to his chill yet driven attitude like a moth to a flame.

It was sort of annoying actually, I could be out with him in anywhere, a local record store, a comic books shop, the playground, even a convenience store, and sooner or later, like clockwork, I’d hear in a high pitch voice:

“Heeeey Tyleeer!”

Or conversely in low deep baritone voice:

“Yo, Ty! My dog! what’s up?”

And thus I’d be sentenced to awkwardly standing around by myself while Ty talked away with some stranger about school, movies, rock bands, sports, and weekend plans for the next hour and a half.

Fun times, especially the part where one of his lady friends would compliment him for having a cute little sister.

“Oh my gosh, that’s her?! She’s sooo adorable!”

Inconveniences like that are why I didn’t fully gravitate towards Ty for advice until after Sam left. Big mistake on my part for not doing so sooner.

Sure, he was always busy doing his own thing, but when Ty had a rare moment he’d always listen. He’d always been the one who kept things light, who made me giggle or simply smile even when I didn’t want to.

“Yo, sis, wanna hear a quick joke?”

“Ok?”

“I’m a book, check me out.”

Indeed, he was a book, because thanks to him, I got a full fledged Rock & Roll education, probably better than whatever they teach at School of Rock. I also learned to play a little bit of guitar on the side as well, nothing too sophisticated, just a few chords or so.

Energy by Operation Ivy is Ty ‘s go-to album, and the up-tempo ska-punk tunes would often be blasting on his turntable as he eagerly pitched band after band to me, convinced they could find a permanent place on the soundtrack to my life.

He started with the basics of course, Green Day, The Clash, The Ramones, Misfits, and all that other entry level stuff. Then he pushed deeper, digging up Distillers, Bikini Kill, The Replacements, Agent Orange, Epoxies and any other group in need of more affection from listeners.

“Alex, I’m telling ya Living In Darkness by Agent Orange is super sick!”

“You sure?”

“Totally, I mean, hello? Surf and punk mixed together? What’s more badass than that? C’mon you gotta give it a listen Al, trust me on this!”

At times it was nerdy, preachy even, yet somehow his strategy always worked, for I ended falling in love with every single one.

Speaking of groups he turned me onto, a lot of stuff by this band, Screeching Weasel, has really gelled with me these days.

It all began back when Ty introduced me to their 3rd album My Brain Hurts. He said something about it being Sam’s favorite when he handed me the LP.

Duh, if that was true how could I possibly turn it down? After all, anything Sam liked had to be cool.

When I eventually found out that My Brain Hurts wasn’t actually Sam’s favorite album, I wasn’t disappointed. Instead, I didn’t care because by then I’d already made it mine. With the album’s unique blend of raw energy, unfiltered uncertain rebellious emotion, and solid dosage of sarcasm, what wasn’t there to instantly fall in love with? It, along with the band’s other material, now had a permanent spot in my listening rotation.

Ok so, now, this is going to sound really corny, but there’s this particular track on their album Wiggle called “Second Floor East” that’s been a mainstay on my playlist lately. It’s not one of their well known songs or anything, but something about it hits me to the core in a way that I can’t really articulate in written form.

“She thinks about how everybody smiles

But no one ever seems to have the time

To ever stop and try to think

To ever crack a little bit

She knows that someday things are gonna change

Things will get a little better

But it just seems like everyday

It slips a little more and fades

It should feel good to be alive

The world keeps dropping back but she’s still trying

She leaves the TV on at night

So she won’t have to keep on crawling back inside herself.”

There is just something with those lyrics, like it perfectly encapsulates my own struggle of feeling trapped in a predetermined social prison that I can’t quite escape from. Maybe I’m overthinking it, maybe I’m not, but somehow the words reach home every single time.

Anyway, enough with the sidetrack, back to Tyler.

He’s not solely a music guy. He’s also really into comic books and superheroes. On the opposite end of his room used to be his massive collection of figurines, all systematically posed and organized in a way that only ever made sense to him. No one was ever allowed to lay a finger on them without his permission.

Mom used to always rail on him for how much money he’d routinely spend on them. She’d lecture him on how it’s such a waste of money, and how it would be better served to use his savings on something that actually mattered instead of flimsy pieces of plastic.

“You spent $100 on a Lego minifigure?! Tyler Bradley, are you serious right now?”

“Sure am! It’s a discontinued 2002 Tobey Maguire Spider-Man Lego minifigure, so it’s like doubly worth it!”

Those interventions didn’t really ever sway Tyler though, I think he only continues to buy more these days just to spite her.

Mom kind of got the last laugh though because anything he left behind is now collecting dust in a big container up in our attic.

I guess you wanna hear about his band now right?

His best friend Matt Foster is the bassist, he was the one who first proposed they start a band, and Tyler was immediately on board, even if it meant juggling between rehearsing in our basement and Matt’s garage.

They’ve gone through numerous drummers, enough to make Spinal Tap jealous, but have yet to land a permanent one. If you can play drums, please don’t hesitate to drop them a line. If you’re thinking of applying to be a rhythm guitarist or a keyboardist you’re out of luck. Matt and Tyler are very adamant about being a three piece because all of their favorite bands are three pieces.

“Nirvana, Green Day, Husker Du, Blink-182, get with the program dude! Three pieces for the win!”

Oh, I almost forgot to tell you, but their band is called Losers of the Year. It’s taken from the name of some song by an obscure band I didn’t catch the name of.

Ty and Matt used to spend countless hours writing songs at our house, practicing late into the night, and dreaming of the day they could perform in front of real crowds. I still vividly remember how the floor of my room would often shake and vibrate incessantly as it struggled to absorb the booming sounds of another lengthy jam session unfolding below. By their senior year, the band had really started to take off in the local scene to the point that really started to conflict with school.

Speaking of, Ty wasn’t shy about confiding with me about his academic standing. Like me, he wasn’t a standout student, but he wasn’t struggling either. We both had the same problem of being unfairly compared to our older brothers. Teachers often assumed he’d clash with them like Sam or be unable to make it through class without causing a scene like Pat, and were surprised when he didn’t fall into either of those roles. His teachers instead found him easygoing and friendly, though often disengaged.

“Your son, he’s a special case.” His 4th grade teacher Mrs. McLaughlin explained to my Mom once while me, Pat, and Ty were playing on the school playground nearby. “If the class assignment is to research polar bears on the web, ten minutes later I’ll find him looking up US Presidents or some other completely unrelated topic. If the assignment’s the other way around he’ll be studying polar bears. He’s a bright young kid with a big future ahead of him, but he needs to do a better job with sticking to the program.”

Description’s spot on I’d say, for Ty was always more interested in going with his own flow than doing schoolwork. I think the only reason he even made the effort to graduate was because he promised our parents he wouldn’t drop out like Sam did.

I’m honestly really envious of the fact that Tyler was able to so effortlessly figure out what he wanted to do with his life. Since day one his plan’s always been:

“I’m gonna start a band and rock out with my friend Matt for the rest of my life.”

It’s like he listened to “Rock and Roll All Nite” by KISS one day and decided he was content with modeling himself directly after it.

He’s never had any second thoughts or guesses about anything, just that one singular path, a straight line he’s followed since Elementary School. God, I wish it was that easy and simple for me.

When one talks about Tyler, it is unavoidable to not also mention Pat. Their relation to each other is no secret among people who went to school with them. With just over a year between them, it was impossible for them to be anything but inseparable. Pat used to always seek him out, whether it was to chat, rope him into one of his schemes, or pull him away from his band practice to play some street hockey or goof off.

“Ty, Ty, Ty, Ty! Hey bro, party at my friend Webs’s place at six, might even have chicks there. You game?”

“Right on dude!”

Pat’s always been erratic, but Tyler holds a soft spot for him and he’s rarely ever tried to push him away. When Ty’s band booked its first tour during the summer after his senior year, Pat quickly jumped at the opportunity to tag along as a roadie.

None of that ever made Ty immune from Pat’s pranks, but having dealt with them for years, he’d learned to negotiate. There were times when Pat would offer him a deal:

Help St. Patrick pull off a particularly devious prank on a certain kid sister and his little bro can enjoy a few days of peace.

“Please, baby bro?”

“Alright fine, just… just don’t overboard like last time.”

“You mean like I always do?”

“Exactly.”

I would be mad about Ty selling out, but I don’t completely blame him. The prospect of having temporary immunity from being the victim of an unwitting prank is simply too enticing to pass up and I too would take the dishonorable deal in a heartbeat.

But still, whenever Ty was a conspirator in Pat’s schemes, it felt like a stab in the back. Again, Tyler had always been someone I could talk to about music, school, and life without feeling overlooked or the butt of a joke. Having someone I trust assisting in the execution of Pat’s pranks on me made them burn way more than usual.

Seriously, I think I deserve a veteran’s discount for all the mischief they put me through growing up.

There’s the tame and in the moment hijinks like giving me a blindside shove into a pool or subjecting me to the circle game….

Then there’s the clever and thought out stuff like hiding all of my stuffed animals before bed, conning me out of good Halloween candy, or tricking me into thinking that I’d somehow turned invisible…

And then there’s the pranks that left me scared and traumatized for life, like “accidentally” locking me out of the house when our parents weren’t home or chucking a big slimy sea bass onto my back while I was resting on a float at our old lake house.

Make no mistake, Ty does find enjoyment in fooling around with me, but luckily, unlike Pat, he always knows when it’s time to pull back.

Take for instance, when they forced me into playing yet another game of Where’s Waldo? with my cap in the backyard. I probably searched every last inch of the area for hours while they just stood there and laughed. Worst yet, they wouldn’t give me a single clue. Eventually, I was so thoroughly exasperated with the search, with them and with everything, that I was on the verge of having a major meltdown.

“Shiii… Pat, she’s about to cry. I think we’re done.”

“Wuss.”

“Knock it off. Hey, Al, come here, I know where it is.”

In the end, it was Ty who finally caved and told me where it was, before helping me get it down from where it was stashed up on the roof of the house. I guess he didn’t want to see his sister cry or later deal with getting lashed out by our parents. While it didn’t erase the initial sin of siding with Pat, it was still reassuring to know that Ty always had a limit to his mischief.

Tyler also used to be really close with Sam, looking up to him in much the same way I did. Ty owes so much of his own love of punk rock and his many connections he’s made in the scene to our brother. It’s no big secret that Sam was very instrumental in helping Ty’s band get signed to a local indie label. When things were smooth between the two, everything was good, everything made sense.

They had this big falling out a few years ago. A bunch of fights and a lot of arguments. Something about the band, their ideologies, and their life choices, I’m not 100% sure. It seemed to coincide with Losers of The Year getting blacklisted from their favorite venue, the Blackroom, and Sam’s decision to move to New Hampshire with Sidney a year or so down the line.

I don’t have the specifics or the full story. Neither of them ever want to talk to me about it. Sam will shut down any attempt at discussion of the topic immediately, but Tyler will occasionally give an off-handed remark, mentioning how Sam’s become too self-righteous and hypocritical or how he can’t stand the way our brother seemed to think he knew everything. There’s this bitterness in his voice when he speaks about Sam, one I don’t quite get. How can he be this mad at someone who helped him out so much?

When Ty chose to move out so he could tour more and be closer with his band a few years ago, it stirred mixed feelings for me. I was happy for him, but it also meant losing another person who‘d been a rock for me in a world that always feels like it’s against me. When he left I knew, like Sam, he wasn’t coming back, not in the same way. He didn’t belong in our chaotic house anymore, not when he had the freedom of the road and ambitions of musical success to chase. I don’t blame him for leaving to pursue his dreams, but a part of me wishes he’d stayed a little longer.

He’s somewhere out there with his friends, doing his thing, and living life to the fullest, while I’m left here by myself, desperately trying to figure out mine.

“Sound System! Sound System! Sound System!”

Heh, the song I was listening to just ended. Talk about poetic timing.

Despite being off in his own world, Ty tries his best to remain as someone I can turn to for advice, he’s usually busy but always responding to my texts and phone calls when he has the time, unlike a certain other enigma. It definitely helps, y’know, not being completely ghosted, but it just isn’t the same, for I’d much rather lay out my gripes in person.

All it does is leave me wishing more than ever that things could somehow go back to the way they used to be. Back when the three of them: Sam, Pat, Tyler were an unlikely team, united by their love of music, sports, and a shared sense of following the beat of their drum. It was the team I looked up to. The team that seemed close but also so far. The team I chased after. The team I so desperately wanted to be part of and now may never be, as I instead remain the tag-along sidekick to a disbanded squad and nothing more.

Deep down, I’ve accepted that things have changed and that there may never be a way to fix things between Ty and Sam, yet I keep holding out hope that one day, they’ll bury the hatchet and get along again. Part of me doubts it. Tyler’s not the type to look back, Sam’s insistent on always being right, and I’m in no position to be the one to force anything.

It goes without saying, but man, do I really miss having Ty around.

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I saw her.

I was on stage again, in the middle of another acting activity, peacefully awaiting my turn to perform. What it was I can’t remember. All I know is that for once I was feeling confidently unafraid, like all my anxiety had somehow ceased from existence.

But then, I reached up to give my cap a quick tug.

Air.

Scalp.

Hair.

Nothing.

The panic flicked in like a switch. That icy flush on my neck, that sick feeling in my gut. I forgot the stage. I forgot the people. I frantically ran around and started searching the floors, then the curtains, followed by every chair and all my classmates’ backpacks.

“What’s wrong, Alex?”

“My cap, where is it?! Who took it?!”

They all looked at me funny, like it was ordinary, like I was insane.

“Which one of you has it?!”

No response. They just stared and stared and stared and stared and stared…

Unable to take it anymore, I sprinted off to the backstage area, where our groups are usually split off to.

But with everyone on stage, I was by myself or so I thought.

“You think you got something over
Some kinda thing over me…”

Oh no.

“Miss me?”

Alexandra Maxine

She was over at a makeup table, carefully applying her lipstick.

“You!” I pointed. “You took it!”

She smirked as she swiveled her chair around to face me.

“Sam has it, remember?” She answered, matter of fact. “We gave it to him before he… left.”

“You, not we.” I corrected her. “Now hand it over.”

“Hmm…” She gleefully thought to herself. “Maybe when you figure out where Sam is.”

I trembled, gazing back at her confused. “What are you talking about? He’s up in New Hampshire with Sidney.”

“Careful now. Remember when that question wasn’t so easy for us to answer?”

Alexandra stood up and moved closer to me, flashing her freshly manicured nails as her smile grew all the more chilling. “Perhaps we should put your answer to the test, just to be sure.”

Test?

Suddenly, the heavy sound of footsteps rumbled behind me.

“Lauren! Look, there she is!”

I slowly swung around to see Tiffany along with a handful of her friends.

“Hey there, hat girl.”

But this wasn’t the Tiff that my Mom forces me to hang out with. This was the version who hadn’t yet graffitied her hair with a million highlights. The one who was even more opinionated and vain about herself than she is now.

This… This was middle school Tiff.

Her nasty biting voice sliced through the hallway. “Can you believe it, Lauren? The truth’s even dumber than I thought. Poor little Alex always wears that gross ugly hat because it’s her older brother’s.”

“Yeah so?” I managed to say, backing into my old locker. “I look up to him.”

“Eww, that’s so cringy and lame.” She replied with disgust, as they cornered me. “He’s not dead, he’s not famous, and he’s not in the military, so what’s there to obsess over? You must be stupid or something.”

“I’m not stupid.” I again managed to say, starting to sense some Deja Vu.

Then, as if on script, she really dug in. “I bet he doesn’t care about you.”

I had a sick feeling in my gut, as her friends let out a laugh.

This wasn’t the first time we’d had this conversation.

“He cares.”

Tiff rolled her eyes before dropping the hammer. “You sure? Then when’s the last time you saw him? Do you even know where he is?”

‘He’s… He’s…” I tried to reply but I couldn’t. The easy answer I’d had mere moments before had somehow been erased from my head just like my cap.

“Where is he, Alex? He must’ve told you.”

My mouth stayed locked. The key somewhere down in the ocean.

“Where’s Sam?”

I tried to get my brain to work, desperately tried to remember but kept coming up with blank space.

“Where’s your big bad brother?”

“I don’t…” I finally forced through my quivering lips, avoiding eye contact.

“Exactly, you don’t know!” Tiff said, slithering in close like a vicious snake. “Because if Sam actually cared about you, you’d know where he is.”

“No.”

It was then that I noticed Alexandra Maxine standing behind Tiff like she was a member of her clique, perfectly blended in uniformly as she followed the action.

“No?” Tiffany reacted with a scoff. “Well, wherever your brother is, I bet he barely gives you a second thought. You’re as worthless to him as that pathetic hand me down you insist on parading around. No wonder he abandoned you.”

I clenched my teeth, finally summoning some bravery. “Shut up! You don’t know anything about my brother!”

Tiff shared a glance with Alexandra, each exchanging smirks that made me all the more squeamish.

“Then tell us where he is!” She demanded, her face back on mine. “Tell the whole world where he is!”

My whole body shook as I again tried in vain to answer with something, anything.

“Gosh, you’re so stinking useless!” Tiff eventually hissed. “I’m spot on with him, aren’t I? It’s simple, really. Everyone loathes a tag-along, they’re parasites, they’re leeches, they’re ticks, they’re these gross bloodsucking accidents that you get rid of the first chance you get. Did you enjoy it Alex? Did you enjoy sucking on your brother like that? Of course you did, it made you forget that you’re a sad ugly mistake.”

As my eyes started to burn, Alexandra brushed past Tiff and up to where I stood, gingerly placing her hands on my shoulders in a mock attempt at consoling me like Nicole did in the bathroom that day.

“I guess you still don’t have an answer.” She said, her eye shadow enhanced pupils peering deeply into mine. “See, that’s the difference between you and me. I know where he is.”

Beep!

Beep!

Beep!

Beep!

Stupid alarm clock.

I groggily smacked it off with my hand, and let out a yawn.

Another dream… It was just another dream.

My cap? Safely on my dresser.

I didn’t put it on right away, I just laid there in bed taking in the early morning silence until my other alarm clock, Mom, came to drag me out of bed for school in a few minutes.

So yeah, I saw her again.

Alexandra Maxine, invading my dreams like something out of the movie Inception.

She’s definitely me, or more accurately a very twisted, messed up version of me, but I have no clue what she wants, why keeps showing up, or why she feels the need to keep digging up our old repressed memories. She knows darn well that I keep them locked away for a good reason.

“See, that’s the difference between you and me. I know where he is.”

The only difference? Sorry, but I doubt that. I already know where Sam is, and I haven’t suddenly started plastering myself with makeup and nail polish just because the answer’s far straighter nowadays.

After another quick yawn, I sat up and grabbed my phone off the nightstand.

I’d already shoved my dream down the laundry chute, but that didn’t stop me from sending a quick text to Sam.

Me: Morning, Sam! Haven’t talked to you in a while, just checking in. How’s things with Sid and the dogs up in NH?

No response.

I guess he’s not up yet.

In the meantime, I quickly plopped on some clothes and my cap before heading down for breakfast.

The kitchen was already in full swing with Mom and Pat admits deep conversation while drowning down their coffee.

In the meantime, I quickly plopped on my cap and some clothes before heading down for breakfast.

When I got there, the kitchen was already in full swing with Mom and Pat amidst heated conversation while drowning down their a.m. caffeine.

“…You seriously believe I have a magic wand that makes him do my bidding?” Mom reiterated.

“Uh, yeah?” Pat insisted. “I’m describing parental authority. That ring a bell?”

Mom shook her head, as she took a sip of her latte. “Look honey, Tyler lives on his own and has for a while. Sorry, but he’s not under my domain anymore. If he can’t hang out with you, there’s nothing I can really do about it.”

“Lame…” Pat groaned before catching me from the corner of his eye. “Yo, hey queen sleepyhead over there. WAZZUP!”

I rolled my eyes and reached for a protein shake. “Morning…”

“Ty doing anything with you this week?” He asked, slurping his mug.

“No, but he’s hooking me up with tickets to his concert.” I replied casually.

“How generous of him!” Mom complimented.

Pat, on the other hand, didn’t respond right away, grumbling as he bit into the last of his breakfast omelet.

“Aww, did he not invite you?” I jokingly nudged. “Is that why you’re so sulky this morning?”

“No!” Pat hissed as he got up and grabbed his keys from the counter. “I’m just busy that night. Ya ready to rock and roll, ya lil’ passenger princess?”

I nodded, playing nice around Mom as I pulled on my backpack and quickly followed behind him.

As I sat down in the car, I checked my phone for any new texts.

Nicole had sent me a funny picture she’d seen on Tumblr.

Troy had asked if I’d seen the Red Sox game last night.

But, Sam—

still no response.

Man, is my brother so super helpful.

How kind of him to provide more ammunition to that dark part of my subconscious.

Alexandra Maxine probably wants to rub it in right now.

Really, why am I ever surprised anymore?

Later after Pat dropped me off at school, thankfully all in one piece, I shoved through the fieldhouse entry way and groggily slugged along to my homeroom.

Just as I was passing through the hallway with the student art gallery, I spotted Nicole leaning by the blue painting with that weird quote about the ducks in the lagoon from The Catcher In The Rye.

“Hey, Alex!” She shouted as I drew closer. “Did you see the picture I sent you with the dog? Outrageously silly and cute, am I right?”

“The cutest.”

“Yes! Knew you’d like it!” She said, tapping my shoulder. “So, you never did tell me how skating with Wes went.”

I hesitated, as I refreshed my memory. “Other than completely laying out Corey Belcher, I got out of there without dying.”

Nicole’s eyes widened. “Woah, woah, woah. You wrecked Corey?”

“Uh huh.” I answered awkwardly. “What can I say? I’m a menace. That’s why Wes had to spot me the rest of the afternoon. He was nice enough to give me a few pointers too.”

She grinned. “That’s so charming of him. Sounds like you two make a great couple.”

“Don’t start.” I quickly snapped.

Nicole tried her best to keep from giggling. “Just an observation, Al.”

“Also, did you know he had a younger sister?”

She stopped in her tracks, staring at me. “Sister?”

“Yeah, she was there too, but she was on the playground the whole time, so I didn’t really get to talk to her.” I explained.

“What’s she like?”

I shrugged. “Again, I barely talked to her. Her name’s Lizzy and she’s eleven.”

“Then why bring her up?” My friend crossed her arms, a sly smirk sliding onto her face. “OH, I get it, you totally see yourself in her.”

I tugged at my backpack strap, wishing I could rewind time and swap out my words. “What? No, not at all! You say that every time you catch me staring at a younger sibling.”

“It’s ok Alex, I understand. You already explained it to me back in middle school.” she calmly replied, giving my shoulder another quick rub, as the warning bell rang for homeroom. “Hey, keep me posted on Wes, I really want to do something with the two of you!”

“Sure…” I noncommittally answered, waving goodbye as I swung into the art classroom for attendance.

Inside, I sat down at one of the big tables, next to three classmates I’d never ever be seen with if our last names weren’t so close alphabetically, and mentally prepped myself for first period.

Still there’s no ignoring what Nicole had said. She knows me more than I thought.

Wes’s kid sister, Lizzy.

She’s just this loud, bouncy, excitable, fearless kid.

Always makes a scene, always asks a million questions, never embarrassed about anything, not a care in the world about what anyone thinks of her. Not only that, but alongside her, an older brother to protect her, watch her and at least give the impression of wanting be around her.

That was me. That used to me.

Before they all left. Before all the wrong people.

BZZZ! My phone suddenly buzzed with a text.

Wes: Wow Alex, a concert?! I’d love to go with you! 😁😁😁

I felt a knot surge in my chest. Was I actually doing this?

Me: Ok, but fair warning, this isn’t some run of the mill stadium arena show. This is at small packed sweaty club. You sure you can handle it?”

Wes: Sweaty club? Sounds no different than the boys locker room. I’ll be in my natural habitat!

Me: I hope so, but please don’t mention this to anyone. Last thing I need is more people getting ideas about us!

Wes: 👍

Great, so now our next “date” was officially set in stone.

And typical me was already second guessing— scratch that, quadruple guessing myself about it.

This was terrible idea.

No.

It was a good idea.

No.

It was terrible.

Good.

Terrible.

Good.

Terrible.

Go—

My phone buzzed again, snapping me back to earth. I looked down at it and was barely able to believe my eyes.

Sam: Doin’ fine.

Two words.

Two words, he’d typed.

Not an once of real info. Nothing about Sidney, the lake house, life updates, or even his dogs.

I could’ve been annoyed by the lack of effort, the brevity, and the bare minimum detail given on his current status.

But today, I wasn’t.

In fact, I walked out of homeroom with the whole world lifted off my chest.

Because in the face of old resurfaced fears and doubts,

Those two words,

Those two, tiny microscopic words from him…

Me: Thanks Sam ♥️

…were all the proof I needed.

Note: If you’d like to read about Alex’s original dream encounter with Alexandra Maxine check out Chapter 23!

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“Was she entirely wrong though?” Dr. Michaels commented, looking up from his notes.

“Sure, she may have had a point...” I grumbled from the therapy couch. “Anyway, I wasn’t done. I played one last card, I tried explaining to her that switching to the financial accounting elective would give me the exact same benefits, plus it’d also better prepare me for the real world, learning about money, taxes, income statements, and the like. But nope, she stayed glued to her guns, saying I can hold off on being a C.P.A. until the spring.”

“So long story short, you’re stuck with Acting for the rest of the semester?” My therapist mused, trying to stifle a giggle.

I crankily nodded.

“The thing is the actual classes themselves aren’t even my main gripe. It’s the stupid monologue I’ll have to do for the final that’s making me physically ill. Oh and get this: because I made the amateur mistake of telling my Mom about it as my excuse for dropping out, I only made her more excited. Now she has the date of the drama club winter showcase marked on her calendar so that she and my Dad can be there to see me perform it firsthand.”

“Yikes, I can see why that’d be overwhelming” Dr. Michaels replied. “Perhaps we could spend our remaining time brainstorming some strategies to make it less stressful.”

“Like what?” I mumbled while playing with some therapeutic silly putty in my hands. “If it’s something along the lines of “Imagine everybody in their underwear.” don’t bother.”

Dr. Michaels tapped his pencil on his clipboard. “How about we simply talk it out and see what comes up. For example, what’s one thing you think might make it easier to get through reciting a monologue?

I thought about it for a sec. Make the monologue easier? Nothing immediately came to mind. My gaze shifted to the window behind my therapist and then at the Charlie Chaplin movie poster that as always hung on the right office wall.

“Maybe, if it was short. As in, really short, like those fourth wall breaks to the camera you see main characters do on sitcoms. Fast, easy to memorize, and with a dose of sarcastic humor.”

He nodded. “Sounds like a solid first step. Go for something easily manageable and in your comfort zone.”

I rubbed my palms down my cheeks. “I would, but here’s the thing, Mrs. Lennox probably won’t let me take shortcuts. She’s one of those teachers who’s super obsessed with pushing their students to their limits, so anything that isn’t stupidly long and pretentious isn’t acceptable in her eyes. Heck, I wouldn’t be surprised if I got stuck with doing Shakespeare because it’s a “rewarding” challenge.”

“Now are you 100% sure she’ll be this difficult and demanding, or are you just broadly assuming?” Dr. Michaels countered. “Remember the term we talked about earlier, cognitive distortions, the concept of having negative emotions due to irrational thought patterns? Could this be another example of you discounting the positives by jumping to conclusions and having pessimistic thinking?”

“I don’t know, maybe?” I replied partly unconvinced. “It’s just some mental health theory. Not like we can read my teacher’s mind to confirm or deny my judgement. I mean, the rubric in her syllabus specifically lists a required length of around 3-5 minutes, so we can definitely infer that she doesn’t want anyone doing anything half-assed.”

“But, to infer is just a fancy way of saying you’re making an educated guess.” My therapist explained, elaborating on his point. “And what’s another sign of a cognitive distortion?”

“Predicting everything as if it’s fact?”

“Exactly.” He replied, snapping his fingers.

I let out a frustrated groan. “So basically, everything I think or say is now a contradiction? Way to make me doubt myself more.”

“No, no, it’s not about being wrong or right,” He reiterated, leaning forward slightly. “It’s about the thoughts that keep you stuck in a state of doom and finding yourself options to escape from them.”

“I’m still not getting it…”

Dr. Michaels put his clipboard down on his computer desk with a weary sigh. “Here’s an easy example, let’s go back to the very beginning with the initial dilemma of performing on stage. Your immediate fear is that you’ll horribly fail on stage in front of everybody including your Mom. While that could hypothetically happen, there are also other scenarios that could also occur which go against the worse case conclusions you’re jumping towards. Perhaps, the rest of your classmates are just as nervous as you are and it affects their performance as well, or maybe, someone goes before you and steals the show by bombing way harder than you ever could, or maybe, just maybe, your performance is neither embarrassing nor a standout, just middle of the road. See, those are some of things you can think about to help you escape from the extreme negative assumption you’re cognitively making in this scenario. Then you can think to yourself “My monologue will go okay because of such and such.” and you’ll feel a whole lot better. Can you think of any others?”

I pondered it for a moment, finally sort of wrapping my head around the idea. “Like uh… maybe my classmates hate monologues as much as I do or maybe the audience barely cares about anything because it’s a low level high school production and not some massive Broadway show?”

“Perfect! “My monologue will go okay because the audience isn’t expecting anything special.” It’s as easy as that.” He answered excitedly just as the bell rang. “Ah, looks like we’re out of time, but Alex, keep what we talked about in mind when you’re in social situations going forward. You might even surprise yourself.”

I didn’t really pay attention to that last part. I was just happy to be done with another session, quickly grabbing my backpack and offering a sarcastic thumbs up as I exited his office.

Cognitive Distortions

Predicting the future.

All or nothing thinking

Discounting the positives.

Our conversation replayed in my head as I walked to my next class.

Dr. Michael had rattled them off like checkboxes and it wasn’t like he’d pulled these out of thin air.

I do think that way, a lot.

But it doesn’t feel like I’m subconsciously b.s.ing myself when I’m literally living it. I already know exactly how this monologue will play out: me freezing, me messing up, so wishing I could disappear while everyone stares, and then Mom and my teacher later giving me fake compliments about how I’m the next Idina Menzel in the making.

And doing what Dr. Michaels said, flipping the narrative, looking at bright side of every negative thought to defuse it just seems so delusionally naive, like I’m only setting myself up for more disappointment.

It’s all a mess. Everything is a mess.

Speaking of acting, when I had the class again later that same afternoon, it seemed to taunt me for attempting to leave it.

Most of Mrs. Lennox’s previous lessons had emphasized dialogue and improvisation, but this time she switched it up.

“Today my fellow actors and actresses, we will be exploring the art of physicality and motion. It takes more than words and sound to tell a great story, body language is just as important!”

Great. charades, exactly what I was looking for right now. An opportunity to make a fool of myself even before December rolls around.

Our teacher quickly split our class into two as she went over the activity.

“As a group you will pretend to pass around an imaginary box. Each person will pretend to grab an object out of the box and then act out its use. Then, the other group will have to guess what each person’s object is.”

Phew, sounds simple enough. I’ll do something easy and safe like an air guitar or a cellphone.

“Now when you’re deciding on your object…” Mrs. Lennox continued. “Try to be as creative as possible. Don’t act out something easily guessable like strumming a guitar or chatting on the phone. I want you to be thinking outside the box. No pun intended.”

Welp, so much for that idea. Now what?

Our half quickly huddled together at the back of the auditorium as we brainstormed our imaginary box objects. Before I could even begin to contemplate, seemingly everyone of my groupmates had already shared theirs.

“Hair Dryer!”

“Dumbbell!”

“Pizza dough!”

Soon enough, a member of our squad, Olivia Martin, who could probably take this entire class on autopilot considering she’s vice president of the drama club, noticed I hadn’t shared mine yet.

“Hey Alex, almost forgot you. What’s your object going to be?”

My head was still swirling. “Um, not sure. I’m still deciding…”

“Oh, maybe you should do hat because you’re always wearing one.”

Wow Olivia, you really think I hadn’t already considered that?

“Sorry but I believe Mrs. Lennox told us to be creative with our choices.”

“I know, I was joking. Lighten up.” She said with a wide smirk.

Ryan, that kid with the Black Sabbath t-shirt, was the next to chime in. “Wait Alex, you’re sporty right? Maybe your item can be a hockey stick!”

Hockey? As in, do my best Patrick impression??? Hard Pass.

“Thanks for the suggestion, but I’m not a hockey person. I’d rather my object be something that’s a little more… me centric.”

“Such as?” Olivia nudged, poking back in. “Better hurry, Mrs. Lennox will be calling us back soon.”

“I don’t know! Just let me go last and I’ll have something by then, okay?”

“Sure, whatever works for you.” She replied, in slight amusement along with the rest of my group. “This isn’t opening night at the theater, y’know? It’s charades. We’re all just here to play around for giggles.”

While I appreciated Olivia’s reassurance as we walked back to Mrs. Lennox, it still didn’t change the fact that I was still empty handed. In terms of an imaginary item, I had nothing or—

Wait, hold on… did I?

I could… no… but maybe… nah, it’d be so ridiculous.

Well, then again….

It might just be perfect.

But actually miming it out in front of everybody?

Still totally on the fence.

I followed my group members as we lined up on stage. Mrs. Lennox handed the invisible box to Olivia and the game was on.

Olivia promptly opened the show and pulled out her object, a newborn baby, and mimed rocking it in her arms, complete with a milk bottle held close to its mouth. Pretty clever I must admit.

She passed the box over to Ryan who did his whole pizza dough performance which earned a few snickers from the audience.

One by one, each person had their turn with the box as it slowly moved closer to me. Was I really about to go through with what I had in mind?

Again, I felt if I did, I was probably gonna look so silly and stupid.

Then I heard it in my head, again. The phrases Dr. Michaels had drilled into it.

Cognitive Distortions

Predicting the future as if it’s fact.

Escaping the negative thoughts.

This object will make me look silly and stupid.

But everybody else is picking objects that are making them look silly and stupid.

“It’s charades. We’re all just here to play around for giggles.”

They’re okay with looking silly and stupid.

Which means I should be okay with looking silly and stupid.

It’s okay to look silly and stupid.

The kid next to me finished acting out a dumbbell weightlifting routine and passed me the box.

My turn. I took a gulp.

I reached into the box, my heart thudding as I grabbed the object and dragged it out.

Here goes nothing.

I stretched the rubbery object out above my head before pulling it down until it completely covered my face. Then, I slowly crouched down to the floor, stretched my arms out, bent my fingers, and began shooting at everything in sight.

Some of my classmates looked puzzled, some were smiling, I even heard a few laughs and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Olivia completely mystified.

Mrs. Lennox walked over to my side to pick up the box. As she did, she smoothly leaned into my ear and whispered:

“Not sure what you’re doing, but I love it!”

Was she saying that to be nice or…?

I didn’t have much time to overthink it as she merrily brought the box back over to Olivia and had all of us gradually return our items to the magical squared space.

“Alright my audience” My teacher said, collecting the last object from me. “Let us begin our guessing game.”

The section of class tasked with playing detective got to work, jointly collaborating with one another other to deduce each imaginary item.

“Mark’s using a dumbbell!”

“Is Ryan playing with pizza dough?”

“Oh I get it, Olivia’s taking care of a baby!”

Each domino fell one after another, until my item remained the very last to be solved.

“Scuba mask?”

I shook my head.

“Was it a Football helmet?”

Again and again, I shook my head. Crap, I must have done horrible.

As the wrong answers continued to pile up, a few of my classmates had me act out my item a few more times to try and make it easier.

So I performed it again. I tugged the item over my face, again crouched down and shot at everything with my hands. C’mon, seriously, what more did they need?

Yet, they were still just as lost.

Finally, when their silence stretched for out too long, Mrs. Lennox caved.

“Well, Alex, it looks like you’ve stumped us. Can you please reveal to us your imaginary object?”

The entire class turned to me as I let out a breath before nervously pulling back the curtain.

“I’m wearing um… a Spider-Man mask.”

After a beat, there was a little ripple in the room, stunned shock like their minds had been blown, then came a crushing tidal wave of “ohhh”s and heavy laughter.

“Oh my gosh, that’s actually genius. how’d I not get it before?”

“Woah, the thing with your hands, you were using web shooters!”

A couple kids actually offered a big round applause in between laughing their butts off while I stood there blushing.

Were they laughing with me or at me?

“Put the mask on again, Alex!”

So I did, promptly earning me yet another round of hysterics.

“Very creative choice, Alex.” my teacher commented, chuckling herself. “Obvious but subtle. Hidden in plain sight. I’m super impressed.”

I shrugged, pretending not to care as I exited the stage, but my shoulders were a little lighter. I hadn’t expected such a massive response, but I couldn’t complain about it either.

What didn’t make me feel great was the remainder of class. The Spider-Man mask just wouldn’t leave the table. Jokes, puns, and impressions of my web shooting dominated our other group activities.

“Hey Alex, my spider sense is tingling!”

Now, were they running with the gag because of the utter randomness of the mask itself or because hat girl was super weird for choosing it as her item? See, that’s what chewed at me, not being able to tell if I’d inadvertently made myself a walking punchline even if I did play along with it once or twice.

When the bell finally rang, I shoved my stuff into my bag and bolted for the door before anyone could drop another spider pun at me. Luckily, I rarely see these people outside of Acting so here’s hoping it all remains an inside joke.

But whatever, I performed charades on my own terms and sort of liked it, so I’m taking this as a win.

Cognitive Distortions

Great. Doc’s voice again. This time I can’t even argue it.

It wasn’t dumb luck.

Does this make me feel any better about the monologue? I don’t know, but it definitely won’t involve masks or web shooters.

As I approached my locker, my phone buzzed with a text. I leaned against the metal cage as I peeked down at my screen.

Tyler: Hey, good news! Looks like I’ll be able to pull some strings for you at my concert at the Paradise in a couple weeks. 🤘🤘🤘🤘

Me: Awesome.

Tyler: So, two tickets? For you and Nicole, right?

Me: Yep, but I think I’m gonna go with a different friend.

Tyler: Cool! Someone new. Can’t wait to meet her when you visit backstage.

Not her, Tyler.

Him.

Note: If you’re interested reading about Alex’s first foray into Acting, click here to read Chapter 19!

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As I pedaled my bike through the forest covered entrance way, I couldn’t help but feel a little nostalgic amidst all the anxiety about meeting up with Wes again.

I’d been coming to Woodland for as long as I could remember. A patch of land surrounded by trees, cut off from motor vehicles and the noisy busy streets, you’d be hard pressed to find a better suburban retreat.

Growing up, the main attraction had always been its playground. The slides were filled with twists and turns, the gliders had plenty of hang time, and it had a sweet rock wall, but its signature feature, the thing that made it stand out from your generic run of the mill playground, was the massive rope sphere that felt like conquering Mt. Everest if you managed to climb to the top of it.

A lot of those afternoons at the park were spent with Sam as my involuntarily babysitter.

What? I was a super energetic kid once. Sometimes Mom needed a break.

I’m sure deep down, Sam didn’t mind having to be the responsible one. He liked spending time with me. I remember the look on his face whenever I’d grin down at him from the top of the rope sphere.

“Sam, Sam! Look how high I am!” I’d shout, full of pride and excitement.

And just for me, he’d pretend to be completely impressed and awestruck even though I climbed it every time we were there.

“Wow. Way to go Al!” He’d call back with a thumbs up from his usual spot on one of the nearby benches. “But be careful, I can’t be having you crack your head open and suffering brain damage on my watch.”

Eventually, he started taking me even when Mom wasn’t forcing him. That’s how I knew our park trips meant something to him. If I was happy, he was happy.

Exiting my flashback as I officially rolled into Woodland, I slowly scanned the area. The skatepark was off to the left, a little past the hill. A couple kids were already rolling around the ramps, nothing too wild, just a few ollies and risky turns. I didn’t see Wes yet.

Welp, at least that gave me time to get comfortable.

I parked my bike over at a railing and locked it up with a chain. A slight breeze lifted the hair on the back of my neck, as I tugged the left sleeve of my flannel a little lower over the big scrape still present on my arm. It had begun to heal a bit in past few days, but still stung like hell.

Settling in, I pulled Tyler’s skateboard from the rack on the back of my bike and gripped it under my good arm like I had the darnedest clue what I was doing.

I’d gotten slightly better at the whole skating since Wednesday, but it still wasn’t anything to write home about. I could stay balanced somewhat, but if I had to do even one trick you could totally forget about it.

Wes can’t be expecting much from me can he? Heck, he should be glad I even bothered to show up to do something with him again.

I took a few baby steps towards the skatepark, trying to act casual and not like it was my first rodeo. I had started scanning around for Wes again, when suddenly, an entirely different person got my attention.

“Woah, Alex Bradley? You skate?”

I turned to my right, my whole body going numb.

It was Corey Belcher.

Not Wes.

Corey Freakin’ Belcher.

He sat there on top of the ramp, tall, built, and effortlessly confident, wearing athletic shorts and a black tank top like he’d just jogged here from a Nike commercial.

We hadn’t really talked in years, but I knew who he was. Everyone did.

Corey was the guy. Starting varsity QB as a sophomore. Practically a town celebrity. He’d been tailor made alongside his older siblings to be an athlete from birth. Coaches worshipped him, teachers gave him free passes, and swarms of classmates followed him around like he was a member of the New England Patriots.

“Yeah, Corey” I answered, guarded. “I skate, sorta.”

“Nice,” he said, with a nod. “Man, it feels like just yesterday you were on my little league team. Weren’t you like, the only girl on our whole roster?”

“Yep.”

“Those were the days, huh? I still have no clue how we reached the finals that one year.” Corey added, as he adjusted one of his knee pads. “With the antics Troy and everybody else was up to it’s a minor miracle my Dad got through coaching the entire season without having a stroke.”

I shrugged, briefly thinking back to how Corey’s Dad treated our team like an army platoon fighting on the frontlines.

“Wouldn’t be me. I was one of the serious ones.”

“Of course you were. My dad didn’t let just anyone play shortstop.” He said, peering down at the board under my arm. “So Alex, what brings you out to skate?”

I didn’t answer right away. Corey wasn’t a meathead with a holier than you attitude or anything, but a part of me wanted to shut our chat down and wave him off. The last thing I needed was more people at school getting the wrong message about my social life.

But Wes was late, and the longer I stood around looking lost in a foreign country, the more awkward I felt.

“Just messing around.” I finally sliced in, keeping my voice even. “Hey, did… did you happen to see Wes Freeman here by any chance?”

Corey shook his head in that cool effortless way only he could. “Freeds? Nah, not yet. But, I’d be surprised if he didn’t show. Guy’s a regular.”

I nodded. “Thanks, Corey.”

“Didn’t know you two were friends.” He smirked, like he couldn’t help himself. “Troy play matchmaker or something?”

My mouth opened to fire back with a "It's not what your pea brain thinks!” tangent, but I didn’t get the chance.

“Aye! there he is.”

I flipped around to see Wes running up behind me.

He had that lazy surfer grin on, the one that made him seem perpetually in neutral, with his board under one arm and his helmet in the other like someone who belonged in an episode of Rocket Power.

“Hey Alex, sorry I’m late.” he said, giving a wave like we’d been meeting like this forever. Then he noticed Corey.

“Belcher, You’re here? I thought Coach Mosley forbade you from doing any other extracurriculars now that you’re starting.”

Corey barked a frat bro laugh. “Alright Freeds, you caught me red handed. Look, sometimes, even I need a break from football. So between you, me, and your new lady friend, how bout we let this be our little secret?”

“Ok then.” Wes shrugged before glancing over at me.

“Yo, Wes. Pro tip.” Corey teased as he got on his board and started down the ramp. “Rule number one of dating: Never keep your dream girl waiting.”

He blinked. “I- He’s kidding.”

“You sure about that!” Corey shouted in the distance.

We watched him ride off, with Wes shaking his head. “Sorry about him.”

“No worries.” I said, shoving my hands in my pockets. “Still it wouldn’t be me if I didn’t ask what took you.”

Wes put on his helmet and started adjusting it, shrugging. “In exchange for a ride here from my Mom I had to wait for my sister to get back from her gymnastics class so she could come along too.”

“Huh…” I wasn’t expecting that. “Younger sister?”

“She’s eleven,” he elaborated. “Her name’s Lizzy.”

He gestured toward the playground across from us. I followed his gaze and spotted a skinny red headed kid in a yellow hoodie and blue sneakers, absolutely dominating the rope sphere along with a few other girls.

“That’s her.”

I couldn’t help but crack a small smile. “She seems… energetic.”

Wes sighed under his breath. “Tell me about it. Liz is a total jabber mouth. It’s her fault soda was banned in our house at one point.”

“Jeez, with her motor, sounds like she’d get along just well with my brother Pat.” I commented.

“Pat?” Wes replied, raising his eyebrow. “Wait so is he who you threatened to have beat me up if I did anything mean to you?”

“Yes.” I answered point blank. “Threat’s still on the table, FYI.”

Wes scratched his neck as he placed his board on the ground. “Ok, I’ll keep being nice and careful with you then. Come on, let’s skate!”

Before we began, I took one last peek over at Liz playing up on the rope sphere.

“Hey Wes, you ever get stuck with having to babysit your sister?” I nervously asked before I could stop myself.

“What?” He responded slightly mystified. “I mean, yeah sure, sometimes.”

“Well, see, I wouldn’t know what it’s like cuz you know I’m like the youngest in my family and all that…” I rambled, unsure as to what I was trying to say. “….and I’m sure forced supervision of younger siblings can be a bit of a drag, but like what I want… what I want to know is, if there’s like, a part you that sort of… enjoys it?”

“Sorry, I don’t follow—“

“Does watching Liz make you happy?” I blurted out with deep imperativeness in my voice.

“Um… not sure how to answer that.” Wes offered, still perplexed. “Liz can be annoying and a pain in the ass, but also really silly and fun at times, so yeah, I guess, sort of in a way, she brings joy. Why’s my answer interest you? Was Pat happy when he had to watch you?”

“Pat never had to. He was too immature to be trusted with me.” I explained. “That duty usually fell to someone else…”

As I said this, I felt my left fingers softly tapping the side of my cap.

“Oh that’s right, you have other siblings. So who—“

“Actually, know what, just forget I said anything….” I muttered as I tossed my beat up board down next to his. “Ready to skate?”

He shot me a wink before swiftly dropping the subject. “I’ve been ready since I got here.”

Wes promptly hopped on his board and seamlessly began rolling away, leaving me standing alone on an island with mine.

Oh gosh, here it was, the big moment.

I hesitated for a sec, before putting my right foot down on the board surface and then I giving myself a big push. It instantly wobbled and shook under me, I made it maybe a foot or two, before instinctively jumping back off of it.

Ugh! Didn’t I already master this?

Again.

Roll, steady… steady… steaadyyyy…. woah, WOAH, Abort! Abort!

No matter how hard I tried, the dumb board just wouldn’t cooperate with me. It was as if jumping over to the natural skating habitat had given me stage fright. Everything I’d practiced in the last few days had gone and self-deleted itself from my brain.

Wes rolled back to me, concerned. “Alex, um… this your first time skating?”

I stumbled over my words. “No-ye-no-yea… not exactly.”

“Ah, I see. You’re new to this.”

“I’m not new, I-I’ve started skating only recently.” I said defensively, but probably just sounding more guilty. “I found my brother’s old board in the garage and—”

“Pat’s a skater? Neat.”

I gave him a sharp look. “NOOO! My other brother, Tyler. Stop bringing up Pat!”

He shrugged. “Okay, I stand corrected. You’re using Tyler’s old skateboard.”

“Uh huh…” I muttered, “And I’ve been using his board to work on this whole skating thing.”

“Working on it?”

“Yes. Working on it.”

“Working on it.” he repeated, grinning like he was picturing my last 48 hours. “Now I see why you’re wearing long sleeves. You must’ve wiped out a bunch.”

“Maybe.” I sneered, scrunching up. “Look, if you’re gonna make fun of me, I’ll call Pat up right now.”

“Relax, relax, I’m done.” Wes leaned forward, resting his elbows on his kneepads. “I’m actually kind of relieved you’re a novice, takes some of the load off of what’s been on my shoulders. Hey, if you want, I can play sensei and teach you the basics.”

I thought about his proposal for a few seconds, before crossing my arms as I stepped back on my board. “Fine, go ahead, teach me.”

Wes walked a few feet in, hands on his hips, clearly taking his new instructor role seriously.

“First thing you’ll want to do is to relax your knees,” he said. “If you stay stiff like that, the board will fight you.”

“I am relaxed,” I grumbled.

“Yeah, you could totally pass for my pet cat.” He joked deadpan. “Now give the thing a roll. I’ll catch you if you fall.”

I pushed off again and away the board went. Wes jogged alongside, hands hovering just in case.

“There,” he said, using his foot to stoop the board as we reached the end of the concrete. “See? You’re already better than you were 30 seconds ago.”

I frowned. “Not concussing myself isn’t a high bar.”

“Everyone starts somewhere.” Wes replied, with a smirk.

We tried a couple more short rolls before he tried teaching me turning and braking, my two biggest weaknesses. Every time I leaned even a smidge, it felt like the board was plotting to stab me in the back. After one particularly poor “attempt” at turning, I ended colliding straight into an unaware Corey Belcher.

Our boards shot out from under us, skidding across the concrete as I slammed into him like linebacker delivering a blindside hit before stumbling sideways to the ground.

“DUDE! WHAT THE FU— .…oh hey Alex.” he groaned, blinking over at me, dazed and confused.

My head swarmed with panic.

Please don’t be injured, please don’t be injured. If Corey has to miss even one game, the student body will end me!

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear!” I pleaded, like I was giving my last rites.

“Hurt?” Corey laughed, pushing himself up. “That was a tough shot, but it’ll take more than that to knock me out of commission.”

Wes jogged over, clearly biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as well. “You two alright?”

“Never better.” I said, adjusting my cap as I stood up, grateful not to be enemy number 1 of the football team.

Corey whistled as he found his board, hit Wes with a friendly shoulder jab, and rolled away like nothing happened.

Wes exhaled. “Do you wanna try again?”

I brushed my legs off before reluctantly getting on the board for yet another round. “Be there to catch me this time.”

And so, we continued.

Wes didn’t let me live down almost hospitalizing Corey, but he stopped joking about it long enough to run me through a few more beginner moves. We stayed glued to the flatter part of the park after that, lessening the opportunity for more accidentally wipe outs and vicious attacks on unsuspecting classmates.

At one point, I managed a couple of sharp turns in short succession that Wes described as being “Tony Hawkesque.” I wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic or just nice for the sake of being nice, but either way, it made me feel slightly less self-conscious about my lackluster skills.

After about an hour, I was sweaty, sore, and ready to call it quits. Wes hopped onto his board for one last trick, gliding up and over a small ramp with easy confidence while I drank from my water bottle.

Just then, I heard a high pitched voice shout, “Wes!”

Lizzy.

She was sprinting toward us. She stopped in front of Wes, slightly out of breath.

“Mom says it’s time to go,” Liz told him before peeking over at me with open eyed curiosity. “Who are you?”

I gave her a small wave. “I’m Alex.”

“Ohhh, no way! You’re that cute girl he’s been telling me about since middle school!” She said all knowingly and wide eyed, which immediately made me paranoid and twisted in the gut.

Wes tensed up as he led her away. “Not right now, Liz. Alright, we’re leaving.”

He turned to me. “Sorry, I got to go. Wanna do this again sometime?”

“Maybe,” I said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “But, I think we should do something next time that’s more up my alley.”

“Such as?”

I rubbed my fingers. “Give it a few days, I’ll have something.”

He smirked. “See you at school, skater girl.”

With that, they headed off toward the tree covered park entrance, leaving me with a sore arm, a bruised ego, more skating skills than I ever thought needed, and now, a whole trove of brand new questions about Wes.

I’ve been on his radar since middle school?

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That perfect moment of the day, where Mom, Dad, and Pat were all still busy at work and for a brief hour or so I had the house to myself.

Which gave me the perfect chance to figure out how to skateboard before meeting Wes at the park in a few days.

I dug Tyler’s board out from where I’d left it in the back of the garage yesterday and brought it outside to the sidewalk, before dropping it on the pavement with a loud thud.

It was best to start with the basics, or more specifically, learn how to keep my balance on the board without it ending in me eating gravel.

I assumed it’d be easy enough, just like ice skating I thought. I stepped on the board with my left foot and let the four wheels spin their way into motion.

Slowly, a pattern started to emerge…

Roll a few inches. Stumble a bit. Stop in my tracks. Get back on.

Roll. Stumble. Stop. Get back on.

Roll. Stumble. Stop. Get back on.

Roll. Stumble. Sto— woah!

BAM!

Wipeout.

I winced a bit as I sat up from the grass and peered over at the board sitting in front of me.

Ok, maybe this wasn’t going to be easy.

“Hey, are you alright over there, Alex?”

My neighbor, Mr. Gorton had apparently seen the whole thing from across the street while exiting his yellow pick up truck.

“Positively swell, Mr. Gorton. Nothing to see here.” I replied with an unconvincing thumbs up.

He gave a parting shrug, turning his back to me as he went inside his house. I exhaled hard before stretching down to pick up my board.

“Okay, let’s try this again.” I muttered to myself as I reset the board down back at the original starting point.

The next attempt went marginally better. I managed to roll on it for a whole six inches before I panicked and jumped off the second I felt my feet slip.

No face splat this time. Progress.

Some minutes and many more attempts later, I finally had some semblance of control, able to stay on the thing without flailing like a seagull for a good ten seconds give or take. I hadn’t quite figured out how to turn and I definitely didn’t know how to stop or brake, but I was now “technically” skating, so that had to be impressive to someone right?

But it still wouldn’t be enough for Wes. I’d very certainly come across as a complete novice, a fool, to him. I could see him now, trying to hold back a laugh, pretending my lame display was anything but. Or worse yet, perhaps he’d kindly offer his assistance and hold my hands in front of everybody at the park like I was some helpless ten year old.

Yeah, no chance I was gonna let that happen. I needed to come off as a seasoned pro.

But how?

I looked down at the board in my hands.

That’s it!

Be extreme.

I went over to my driveway which had a downward slope incline similar to the big skate ramp at the park.

Sliding down it couldn’t be too difficult. Risky maybe? But the concrete railing and the big car garage door at the bottom was there to catch me.

See? Nothing will go haywire.

Master the trick here and I can easily pull it off at the park

I took a long deep breath, shaking off the nerves, as I peered down at my makeshift ramp, before assertively stepping on the skateboard…

And then I pushed it forward.

It rolled slowly at first. But then momentum kicked in, the board sped up and my legs struggled to keep pace.

That’s when I realized…

I’d made a terrible mistake.

My foot slipped.

“Oh shi—”

Boom!

Clang!

Crack!

Doink!

The board slammed against the car garage door with a rounding thud. As for me, I’d landed smack flat on my back and skid half way down the pavement before grinding to a halt.

Oww…

Everything hurt.

I didn’t even move at first, nor did I cry or scream, just laid there all sprawled out until most of the immediate sting in my knees and elbows subsided. I let out a groan as I sat up, brushing my hand over this nasty red scrape on my left arm.

As I got up, I spotted my cap down near where my board had hit the garage. It had tumbled off during the fall, an added detail that would’ve made my epic fail a shoe in for the grand prize on America’s Funniest Home Videos if it’d been captured on tape.

Embarrassment flushed through me as I staggered over to it, still tightly cradling my left arm all the while.

I plopped my cap back on, tugging it securely over my hair with a frustrated exhale.

Looks like I’m done with skating for the day.

Good timing too, Mom was due to be home in around five minutes. She’d flip out and go into overprotective mama bear mode if she saw her baby like this.

Quickly, I slipped into the garage, dragging the skateboard behind me. I placed it back in its hiding place, stacking a few bikes in front of it to make it further seem untouched.

Inside, I hurriedly made a beeline to the downstairs bathroom and turned on the faucet. I bit my lip as I positioned my cut up arm underneath the cold water, the burning sensation unrelenting as I fought to clean my wound up.

Once my arm finally looked void of dirt, grass and gravel, I opened the mirror cabinet to look for a big band aid to cover it all up.

Unfortunately, I was out of luck. The cabinet was empty aside from a bottle of toothpaste, a nose clipper, and my Dad’s razor.

Rats.

Better try the upstairs bathroom.

You know how sometimes after you accidentally cut yourself, the blood feels like it leaking out way longer it should?

That’s what was happening with my arm. It was still dripping everywhere.

I snagged a few pieces of toilet paper, wrapping one around my arm and using the other to wipe away any evidence the faucet couldn’t.

With my tracks sufficiently covered, I sprinted upstairs in the direction of the other bathroom.

As I reached the top of the stairs, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Mom’s car pulling in from out of the living room window.

Crap, I’m low on time.

In the bathroom, I frantically searched through each drawer in my quest to find band aids.

Were they in Mom’s drawer?

Nope.

Maybe Pat’s drawer?

Eww it’s disgusting!… but nothing. Why did I even bother?

My drawer???

Ugh, Mom planted some makeup brushes again. Still no band aids.

Last one. Tyler’s drawer, you’re my only hope.

And…

Swing and a miss.

Do we seriously not have any bandages in the house?

Creaaaak!

The front door knob began to turn.

Come on Alex, think, think, think!

Where could they be? Where could they be?

Oh! The small closet in the hallway!.

I darted over to it from the bathroom and yanked the door open. Sure enough, on the shelf above where we store the towels was my oasis in the desert, a white first aid kit.

I snapped it open and got my hands on a large bandage, and some antibiotic cream before ducking into my bedroom just as Mom reached the top of the stairs.

Safely out of danger, I speedily applied cream and then peeled open the bandage, pressing it firmly over the raw skin.

There, good to go. My grandmother who used to be a nurse would be proud.

“Alex, where are you? Are you home?”

Great. Mom was looking for me.

Needing to finish my cover up, I grabbed a long striped sleeve shirt from the middle drawer of my dresser. It was old school, worn in, yet somehow not a hand me down, but most importantly it wasn’t suspicious. I pulled it on and checked it in the mirror to make sure the scrape was completely incognito.

Just as the shirt passed inspection, my bedroom door flipped open.

“Hey sweetie! What are you up to?”

Typical Mom. Could she ever knock first for once?

“Oh nothing.” I said. “Just been working on my history homework. Who knew 1900s progressivism would be sooo fascinating?”

“Well that sounds… interesting.” She commented, oblivious to the last half-hour. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to check in with you about your therapy sessions at school. How are those coming along?”

“Not totally terrible.” I answered, less then thrilled with the topic. “Can you believe I got assigned to Pat’s old therapist?”

“You have Dr. Michaels?” Mom exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. “I talked to him plenty of times at Patrick’s IEP meetings back in the day. He’s an incredibly smart kind man, you’re lucky to have him.”

I offered little more than an eye roll.

“So, what do you two usually talk about?”

Usually I’d shoe her off for pushing the envelope, but today I wasn’t so biting.

“School drama, my friends, a little of me.” I mundanely listed off. “Nothing too deep. His stories about Pat are good for passing the time.”

“I’m sure they are. Anything else?”

Something in me flared up, it might’ve been the soreness in my left arm, I’m not entirely certain.

“Sam.”

Mom’s face changed sharply but she tried to keep her expression neutral.

“What have you said about him?”

I sighed, immediately backtracking. “Just who he is. Dr. Michaels wanted re-familiarize himself with our family. Told him about Ty too. It was only basic info.”

“So none of the other stuff? Nothing about sibling estrangement or hat dilemmas?”

“No, it’s none of his business" I replied, wishing she’d stop.

“Alex honey…” Mom said in her “please take pity on poor old me” voice. “It sort of is his business. It’s part of his job description. Now, I’m not gonna push you into anything uncomfortable, but when you feel you’re ready, think about bringing it up.”

Before I could respond with something noncommittally vague, we both heard the garage door slowly open.

“Trouble.” Mom commented with a smirk.

“Trouble.”

Pat was home. Divine intervention. Crisis dodged. Conversation over.

Mom let me be by myself for a bit while she dealt with my brother. In the meantime, I opted to spend some time actually catching up on homework. Don’t worry, I wasn’t touching that boring history paper on progressivism, that can go rot until it’s due next week.

Instead, I got to work on this writing reflection for English. Basically, I had to read through a chapter of this book we’ve been going through as a class and record a couple pages worth of my thoughts or observations or whatever. It’s like a book club but with a lot more structure and no say in the material. Nothing special, but at least there’s some freedom.

The book my teacher’s been having us read is called Speak. I mean, it’s okay so far. I don’t hate it. The main character, Melinda, won’t talk to anybody, and every kid at school hates her for something she did last summer, so she’s somehow a bigger outcast than I am.

As I was putting the finishing touches on my chapter reflection, I heard a loud knock at my door following a by familiar holler from Mom:

“Dinner’s ready!”

Pat was already halfway through his plate when I sat down next to him at the table.

Rookie mistake. My injuries must’ve clouded my better judgement.

I was in the midst of eating through a mouth full of spaghetti when out of nowhere Pat delivered a vicious elbow jab straight to my bad arm. “WASSUP!”

“OWW! Jeez! What was that for?!” I jerked back so hard my fork clattered to the plate.

“Patrick, knock it off.” Mom barked from her standing position from across the table.

Dad, who must’ve arrived home only a short while ago, added in his two cents with a stern head shake from his big seat at the other end.

“Sorry, my bad! Haven’t seen you all day, I couldn’t help myself.” Pat answered insincerely. “So, Alex, I hear ya went to your high school dance last Friday….”

I shot every single dagger I had at Mom. “You told him?!!!!”

Mom raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t-”

“Ain’t my fault Mom’s a chatterbox.” He smugly explained, taking a bite out of his pasta.

Mom threw her hands up. “Were you eavesdropping on my phone calls again?!!”

“Oops.” Pat offered with a shrug. “Close your door next time.”

Now it all makes sense.

“So, sis the dance…” He continued, leaning in to me. “Why’d ya really go?”

“Why do you care?” I growled, rubbing my arm which felt increasingly sore.

“To hang out with her friends.” Mom uttered, wearily coming to my defense. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

Pat rolled his eyes. “Ma, you really believe that baloney? Yeesh, you got soft after me and the bros moved away. If me, Sammy or Ty had offered up that explanation after doing something so out of character, you wouldn’t have bought it for five seconds. Why are you pretending like Al’s any good at poker?”

“Patrick, enough.”

He didn’t stop. “Ma, you really aren’t suspicious? Unbelievable. Hey, how ‘bout you Dad? Don’t you think it’s fishy? Alex’s statement is clearly what you’d call unreliable testimony. You should start writing up a search warrant.”

Dad stared at him unamused. “Leave your sister alone and eat your food.”

“So I’m really the only one not falling for it?” Pat grumbled undeterred. “C’mon, man!”

I took a sip of my water. “Again, we’re all sorry to disappoint you.”

“Ah please, just you wait. Some way, some how, I’ll get the deets on why you really went.” He vented, reaching out to give my cap a playful flick. “And when I do, I’ll make sure you won’t forget it.”

Reassuring words. I wasn’t planning on telling Pat about Wes and now I’m absolutely not. The last thing my brother needs right now is more stand up material.

I guess I’ll also have to avoid skating around him. Seeing me on a board will only make him more suspicious.

But he should be busy again tomorrow, so I should be safe.

Day 2 of skating.

Erg! My body’s sore from simply thinking about it.

I just need to master turning, stopping, and keeping balance so I don’t wipe out. Figure all that out and I’ll hopefully be passable at the park for Wes.

Again, totally doable.

Maybe I’ll scrape up my other arm, so they’ll match.

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The instant my English teacher made that announcement, she put it in me a total bad mood.

For going down to the auditorium as a class could only mean one thing:

It was Picture Day, my most hated day of the entire school year.

You might be thinking what’s so bad about picture day, especially in High School where it’s all half-assed and only really done so they can update all the school ids?

I mean, it definitely isn’t like elementary school where Mom would make me dress up, get my hair done, and send me out with a form to give to the photographer specifying her desired pose, lighting, and background along with the number of copies she wanted as gifts for friends and family. That stuff is so far into the past.

No, the problem, the main gripe, thing that totally grinds my gears about picture day is…. wait for it….

The no hat rule.

Seriously, what a dumb rule, not being allowed to wear a hat in a picture.

The main reason they say, is because it covers your face.

Well duh, if you haven’t noticed I wear mine backwards, you can see my face just fine.

But no, they’ll come up with some other excuse about how it’s “not appropriate” “too anti-uniform” of “simply against school policy”.

Yet at the same time they won’t bat an eye at jocks wearing football jerseys and weirdos wearing questionable graphic t-shirts.

Heck, they barely even care if a girl shows too much cleavage.

But again, a hat of all things? Straight to jail.

Ugh… I give up.

Now that I’m done ranting, back to the story.

So after my teacher made her announcement, I lined up next to the door along with the rest of my classmates.

Troy, who was next me, quickly took note of the grouchy expression on my face.

“Yo, you ready for this Al?” He said, jokingly.

“Troy, you know darn well how I feel about picture day.” I grumbled.

“Of course, it’s your favorite day of the year.” He continued, as we got dismissed and began heading down to the auditorium. “But hey it’ll be quick, besides we could use the break from English. That popcorn reading we were doing was getting so awkward.”

“You were about to call on me next weren’t you?”

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

By the time our class made it to the auditorium, I was on edge. I stood in line, watching one kid after another step in front of the backdrop, sit on a stool, and flash a smile as the camera clicked. Like most years, it felt like the longest line I’d ever stood in. The familiar impending dread was suffocating.

Finally, it was my turn. The photographer, a middle aged lady who was way too upbeat for my liking, motioned me forward to the center of the stage.

“Your name?”

“Alex Bradley.” I murmured.

“Okay, have a seat,” she said, adjusting the camera. “Hey… miss, I’m gonna have to ask you to take that hat off.”

There it was, right on cue.

“Uh, I’d rather not.” I insisted.

“Sorry, but it’s school policy.”

Oh really Sherlock? Thanks for reminding me.

I rolled my eyes and let out an annoyed sigh. I bristled for a second as my hand went up to the brim of my cap. I could have argued, delivered a snarky comeback, but there was no use in fighting it, the last thing I wanted was a rerun of fifth grade picture day.

I hesitated before slowly, reluctantly, pulling my cap off. A few strands of my hair fell around my face, and I instantly felt discomfort creep in.

“Perfect,” the photographer said. “Now show me your best smile!”

A firm smirk was all I offered, though it felt more like a grimace. The flash went off, and the photographer clicked something on her computer. “Alright, we’re done! You’re free to go.”

Relieved, I quickly shoved my cap back on my head, before hurrying back to class.

Luckily, I’m only gonna have to see that picture once, when the new ids come out in a few weeks. I’ll probably give it a short glance before cramming to the very bottom of my backpack.

The rest of English class went by, more or less without a hitch. I narrowly avoided being called on during popcorn reading, sparing me the torture of having to recite a page or two out loud.

While I was stopping by my locker to pick up my binder for my next class, I suddenly had my name driven into my ear.

It was unmistakable sharp “A-lex!” that only came from a certain someone when she was either half teasing and half ready to murder me.

I turned. Nicole stood with her arms crossed, her messenger bag half-slipping off her shoulder.

“Hey, Nic what’s up?”

“Don’t ‘hey’ me,” she said. “The school dance, last Friday. Why didn’t you tell me you and Troy would be there?”

“I didn’t think you’d want to go,” I said, as I slammed my locker door shut. “You hate those things almost as much as I do.”

”Yeah, but I still would’ve gone. For you. If you’d have just told me…”

I shifted my weight, suddenly very interested in the scuff marks on the floor. “Nic, really it’s not that big of a deal.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh girl, give me a break. It is a big deal. You went. My friend who couldn’t be more allergic to large social gatherings went to the dance. How am I supposed to ignore that?”

“I wasn’t even planning on it,” I muttered as I began walking away. “It was all sort of last minute.”

Nicole squinted at me, like she was trying to telepathically decode something hidden beneath my skin. Then she said something that sent an instant chill down my spine.

“Was it Wes Freeman who asked you?”

My eyes widened as I immediately stopped dead in my tracks. “Wait, what?! How the hell do you—“

Nicole let out a breath that was part laugh, part annoyed sigh. “Danielle told me, you know, one of my friends you were so jealous about me spending time with instead of you last year? She was at the dance, she spotted you with Wes, said you even danced together for a little bit. I got a text with all the details.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. “Ok fine, you caught me red handed…”

“So then, what’s the story with him?” She asked with a sly look.

“Nothing.” I muttered. “He’s in my math class, he walks home the same way as me, and he’s friendly. That’s it. You’re grasping at straws.”

“Do you like him?” She pushed on. “It’s totally okay if you do, I promise I won’t tell.”

“N-n-no…”

She blinked, unconvinced. “C’mon, he talked you of all people into going to the dance. There’s obviously something going on between you two. I pinky swear I won’t tell.”

I shook my head. “Nicole, enough, I have to get to my next class. Maybe I’ll tell you about it later.”

After a pause, she bumped her shoulder lightly into mine. “Alright, but next time you’re planning on doing something super dramatic and out of character, invite me, okay?”

I nodded, toeing at the floor with the tip of my sneaker as I resumed walking. “Sure, whatever.”

“I’m serious, Al. don’t brush me out next time.” Nicole insisted.

“I won’t.”

We reached the split on the third floor where I had Calculus and Nicole had Chemistry. She stopped and looked at me, her expression even more direct.

“Hey,” she said. “Also if you're worried about me being a third wheel around you and Wes, don’t be. Like at the dance, I’d have left the two of you alone. Danielle and Troy would have been more than enough company for me.”

“Wes is NOT my boyfriend.” I groaned. “We’re barely even friends!”

“I know, I know.” She continued. “Just giving you the heads up for next time.”

Next time? Will there even be a next time? I do one thing outside my comfort zone and now suddenly it’s like I’m writing up a whole new social contract.

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Great.” She replied as she skipped off to her next class. “See you at lunch.”

Nicole disappeared down the hall, and I headed toward Calculus, still unnerved by her ultimatums.

As soon as I walked into the classroom, Wes was already waiting for me at his desk, next to mine.

When I slid in next to him, he seemed cautious about looking at me, like he wasn’t sure if he had proper clearance to talk about the dance or not.

“Hi,” he eventually said, keeping it low.

“Hey” I replied, not making eye contact with him right away. I was busy trying to get this stupid old graphing calculator I got from Tyler to turn on.

“My mind’s still on last Friday, is yours too?”

I glanced sideways. He had that faint, crooked, amused expression on his face.

“Yep.” I muttered. “Only because people won’t let me forget about it.”

He laughed under his breath. “What can you say, whenever an outsider shows up to something like that it’s big news. It’s not really fair but I don’t make the rules.”

“Well, glad to see you have some common sense.” I replied. “Now do me a favor and let the whole dance thing evaporate in the past.”

“Got it.” Wes said with a thumbs up. “But can I say one last thing?”

“Spill it.”

“You, uh… looked nice by the way.” he replied awkwardly, like he was just tossing it out there, hoping I wouldn’t immediately obliterate it with fire.

I blinked. “You mean in my jeans and crappy jacket I put on at the last second?”

“Yeah. The hat too. Something just made it all work. It gave you this cool mystique.”

I felt my ear go a little warm. I looked down, pretending to tap on my calculator like I wasn’t being given a compliment I actually welcomed for once.

“You didn’t look bad yourself.” I slipped back. “For someone who voluntarily babysat me at the school dance.”

He grinned. “Wow, thanks!”

Before either of us could say anything else, our math teacher started handing out worksheets. Wes shifted forward in his seat, and I followed suit, pretending to focus.

I was midway through the worksheet when I felt the soft tap of a pencil end against my elbow.

“Hey, do you want to hang out again sometime?” Wes whispered.

“And do what? If it’s a romantic dinner I’ll pass.”

“Nope,” he said. “If I were to, let’s say, invite you to go skating at Woodland park on Thursday, would you be up for it?”

I stared at him for a second. “You skate?”

“Yep, since I was like, nine. You interested?”

I hesitated, eyes flicking back to the worksheet as an excuse not to answer too fast.

“Maybe…” I said, twisting my pencil.

“Maybe as in…?” He pressed me.

“Maybe as in, like with the dance, you’ll have to wait until the day of to find out if I show up.”

He nodded. “Sweet. That works.”

I returned my eyes to my worksheet, my pencil suddenly a little harder to hold steady.

What the heck was happening to me?

And why did the heck did I agree go skating? I’ve never touched a skateboard in my life!

Great, now what?

When I got home from school, I bolted straight to the garage and started rummaging through the back corner of the garage with where a bunch of my family’s random junk was located.

If I was going to even entertain the idea of skating with Wes, I was gonna need my own board.

Finally after a few short minutes, there it was. Wedged between an old paint can and a couple ancient lawn chairs was a green skateboard that Tyler didn’t bother to take with him.

I could see why. The thing was pretty beat up. The paint was faded and chipped, the black grip tape was all scratched up, and the band stickers he’d plastered on it were peeling off. One of the wheels even wobbled a little when I picked it up to give it a test roll.

Still, for practice, it would do.

I was about to leave with the board, when I heard the sharp creek of the door to family room opening.

“Ah ha. There you are Alex! What are you up to?”

There was Mom, framed in the doorway, holding her car keys and completely bewildered.

“I was just um…” I muttered, subtly hiding the board behind my back. “Looking for a screwdriver. My desk chair is wobblily again.”

“Well honey, you’re gonna have to do that later because you and me are about to go to someplace really fun.”

My stomach dropped. “Where? What are you talking about?”

“Sorry my bad.” She said, already pressing the button to open the garage door. “Remember how you mentioned how you and Tiffany hadn’t done anything together in a while?”

Uh oh.

“I talked to Mrs. Reardon.” Mom continued to chirp. “And together with additional input from Tiffany, we came up a fabulous treat for the two of you.”

That last part barely registered as the garage door finished opening. That’s when I saw the one and only menace of the hour proudly standing at the top of my driveway.

“Hello there Alex!” Tiffany exclaimed, greeting me with her usual sleazy happy go lucky smile. “Are you ready for an absolutely spectacular time at the Oasis spa?”

Kill me now.

“Unfortunately, my Mom was too busy to take us, but thankfully your Mom was right there as always to step up to plate.”

“Tiff, how long is this crap gonna take?” I asked, desperate. “Half an hour?”

“Who cares about time?” Tiff sneered, motioning to my Mom’s car. “It’s the memories that count, those are what last a lifetime.”

Having no other choice, I forcibly slumped my body over to the car while Tiff giddily hopped into the backseat.

“Hey before your start.” I whispered to her, knowing she was about use her entire supply of ammo. “I already know you saw me with Wes at dance. He’s not my boyfriend, so you can just shut up about it right now.”

Tiff raised her eyebrows, taken aback before urgently whispering “Shh! Your Mom’s right there. It ain’t safe to talk boys just yet.”

Wow, didn’t realize Tiff was also smart enough to know that boys are bad topic with Moms around. I’m impressed.

Anyway, the spa was just as brutal as it sounded. Not as bad as fashion shopping with Tiff like last spring, but still an experience in medieval torture.

The place smelled like lavender, lemon, and overly expensive excess.

I was given this puffy robe that swallowed me whole and told to relax, before being ushered into this dim room where me and Tiff both partook in what was called the “Glow & Go super deluxe package.”

First came the normal as expected massage. It was relaxing actually. Probably the only decent part of the experience. I think they only scheduled it early so I’d let my guard down.

Next came a manicure. Terrible. The nail lady asked if I wanted sparkles or gloss before I frantically improvised and muttered “clear.” But even that felt like a step too far.

Then came part where they did our hair. I quickly settled on the safest option: a deep conditioning treatment. It was just a wash of my hair, nothing permanent. Still, I had to listen to the stylist rave about my “rich healthy natural color” the entire time.

After that, came the cliche thing where they wipe oatmeal avocado cream over your face and put cucumber slices over your eyes. It was stupid.

With that junk smeared all over our faces, we moved on to doing a foot soak. You heard that correctly, a foot soak.

Tiffany was loving it. She had her feet in the tub, leaning back, laughing about how good the water felt, acting like she was in a beauty commercial for serenity with those cucumber slices on her eyes.

Meanwhile, I sat there on the edge of the chair trying to get through it, which soon led to the last straw, the final nail in the coffin that capped the whole spa experience off.

Here I was with those slices still on my eyes, unable to see a dang thing, when I suddenly heard my Mom squeal in excitement.

“And… perfect! Oh I have to show this picture to Grandma, she’s gonna get such a kick out of it!”

I immediately whipped off the cucumbers, and shot her a point blank glare of utter offense.

“Mom, don’t you dare. Delete it now.”

She shook her head, undeterred as she clicked send. “Excuse me? I can take and share as many photos of my children as I want. Thank you very much.”

Tiff giggled in her seat next to me. “What’s a matter Alex? You picture shy?”

Nope, not at all. See, I’ve had not one, but two crummy pictures taken of me today.

I’m practically a model!

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It was so life like that it left me frozen in a pool of sweat and staring up at the ceiling when I woke up afterwards.

My heart was racing, while my breathing was fast and heavy as I struggled to fully process all I’d just seen.

We’ve all had those dreams, the kind where the story is so long, vivid, and intricate that for a short few moments, your entire concept of reality is turned upside-down.

But, to tell you the entire dream would be foolhardy.

After all, no one can ever tell you how their dream starts, but somehow, they can always remember where the trouble began.

For me, the trouble started when I somehow found myself back at the school dance I went to on Friday night.

Everything was identical, same music, same food, same decor, you name it, except for one thing:

I was perpetually surrounded by strangers.

No matter where I looked, I couldn’t locate a familiar face.

I couldn’t find Wes.

I couldn’t find Troy.

I couldn’t find Nicole.

I couldn’t even find Tiffany if I really wanted to.

Anxious to find their hiding spots, I headed over to restrooms to see if they were all somehow huddled together in there.

Inside, the restroom was an empty ghost town, completely deserted except for the lone hums of a stranger standing in front of a mirror doing her makeup.

“You think you got something over
Some kinda thing over me
Well there's gonna come a time when I can leave it all behind
If you'd open up your eyes, you'd see…”

Spotting my reflection, she slowly jerked her face over to mine with an excited grin.

“Hey there Alex, fancy seeing you here.”

Her blonde hair was freshly done, her skin was smooth, her brown eyes were lined with mascara and shadow, and her outfit was stylish, clean, expensive, and coordinated like she’d just walked out of one of those fashion magazines you see in the check out aisle of the grocery store.

And at center of it all, her smile, her damn smile…

It was a fake, polished, perfect smile. The kind which makes parents swoon, boys turn their heads, and girls insecure without knowing why. It was a weapon, one which was directly aimed right at me.

“Who are you?” I asked, even though I already knew.

The girl tilted her head with an amused expression as she twirled a strand of her hair.

“Um duh! I’m you, silly!”

The stranger was me, but not me. So, who was she?

For simplicity’s sake, we’ll call her Alexandra Maxine.

It’s the only deserving title for someone so rotten.

Alexandra continued to beam at me. Smirking, daring me to respond.

So I did.

“You’re not me.”

She shook her head. “Don’t fool yourself. Of course I’m you.”

“You’re just an idea.” I snapped. “A stereotype created by ignorant people who think they know better. You’re what they want, not me.”

She smiled again, so calm, so irritatingly sure of herself.

“Oh Alex, you’ve got it all wrong, no one created me. I’m all natural.” she explained. “Every time you were forced to wear a dress or don a little make up, there’d be that moment when you’d see yourself in the mirror and hate what was staring back, you’d be repulsed by it, but yet… there would always be this tiny little voice in the back of your head suggesting otherwise. That’s me in your subconscious. I’ve always been there. Never started, never left. See, I’ve never been who they want. I’m who you already are.”

I angrily stepped closer to her. “You’re full of crap.”

“No, I’m inevitable…”

My hands were balled into fists. “You’re fake!”

“…and you’re a phase.”

I wanted to swing at her. Or scream. But all I could do was stare as she raised her hand, and snapped her fingers.

I felt it before I saw it. A tug at the back of my head. A cold rush across my scalp like I’d been stripped bare.

My cap, it lifted right off my head.

I reached up, I jumped, but I was too slow. It was already out of my grasp, rising higher and higher like a balloon I couldn’t catch. I watched it disappear into the sky, up, up, and up until it was just a dark speck before vanishing from existence.

I stood there shaking, heart racing, unsure of what to do.

But Alexandra, she didn’t flinch.

“There,” she commented, dusting her hands. “Now I’ve leveled the playing field.”

“The hell is wrong with you?! Bring it back!” I yelled.

“Why?” she asked puzzled. “Haven’t you heard? We’re so much prettier without it. Now everyone will hang out with us. People will finally see me.”

“But I don’t want them to see you,” I said.

“Too late.”

She giggled as she trotted off, her steps casual, care-free, almost theatrical. Like she’d already won.

For a second I just stood there. Frozen. Capless. Powerless.

But then I ran. I’m not sure why, I just had to. I sprinted after her, I needed to know where she was going. I couldn’t dare let her escape into the outside world.

But then—

Suddenly I wasn’t in the fieldhouse anymore.

I was standing outside the lake house.

The same one I’d spent so many childhood summers at. It was exactly how I remembered it, but too perfect. Too still.

And Alexandra Maxine?

She was already bouncing up the porch steps, before stopping right at the front door.

“You following me, Alex? Well, don’t stop. Come right on in.”

I quickly followed after her. Inside everything looked the same, but warped in that dream like way where nothing’s quite the right size.

The furniture looked too big, like it had grown up while I stayed short. Worse yet, it was eerily empty, even Alexandra was nowhere to be found.

I hurriedly scanned around for her, as I did, I saw something lying on the stairs leading up to the loft.

It was my giant Spider-Man plush, no worse for wear.

The second I saw him, I didn’t overthink it. I immediately rushed over, snatched him up, and hugged him like a shield, the same way I did when I was five or six, hoping he’d protect me.

Suddenly, I heard voices from the living room.

I crept towards the archway, Spidey in my arms, and peeked in.

Sure enough, I’d found her again.

Alexandra Maxine.

She was sitting comfortably on the couch, legs crossed, completely at ease like she owned the place.

But that wasn’t the scary part. Right next to her with an arm around her shoulder…

Sam.

But not the Sam you know. Not the grown-up one with a job and responsibilities and a girlfriend who keeps him tethered. This was young Sam, around eighteen, right before he moved out.

He didn’t look at me.

Neither of them did.

“Huh…” Alexandra said softly, without turning her head, “So, I’m the one who’s allowed to sit next to him. Funny how that works.”

“What are you doing with him?” I managed to say.

Her eyes locked onto mine. Calculated. Sinister. “Oh, nothing. Just spending a little time with him before he leaves us again.”

Sam glanced up at that, but his face was unreadable. Almost blank, like a wax figure.

“He won’t…” I insisted. “Get away from him!”

Alexandra raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe, he’s already left.”

She leaned forward now, elbows on her knees and stood up.

I wanted to yell. I wanted to throw Spider-Man at her. But I couldn’t move. My feet felt glued to the carpet, so I tried to get Sam’s attention.

“Hey Sam…. Sam! I’m right here. Sam!”

No response.

“Sam, over here. Sam!

He didn’t move. He just continued to stare blankly at TV with his hands in his lap.

Alexandra walked past me, brushing my shoulder ever so slightly, like a breeze that left frost behind.

“He can’t hear you.” She mused. “But keep on trying your luck, I’ll be back in a sec.”

And with that, she disappeared down the hallway…

Leaving me alone with the old couch.

With Sam.

“Sam!… Sam, I need your help!… Sam!… Please, it’s me, Alex!… Sam!”

I kept shouting his name over and over, but to no avail. It was as if my pleas were just deflecting off of him.

Finally, I resorted to doing something I hadn’t done since I was little, I mean really, really little. Something I used to do whenever I wanted to ensure I had someone’s full attention.

I reached out, grabbed the bottom of Sam’s shirt and tugged it as hard as I could. I tugged it again and again until finally, his focus shifted on to me.

But to my horror, the blank expression on his face immediately shifted into a frown.

“Alex, my hat. What happened to it?”

My stomach dropped.

At first I didn’t say anything. I physically couldn’t. My mouth opened, but words wouldn’t come out. I held my Spider-Man plush tighter against my chest, like he might block the question.

But Sam asked again.

“Alex… Where is it?”

His voice was different this time. Less neutral. More annoyed.

I shook my head. “I—I don’t—”

“You were supposed to hold onto it,” he said, slowly standing. “I gave it to you. I trusted you not to lose it.”

He wasn’t yelling. That made it worse.

“I didn’t lose it, I swear. It just vanished. Alexandra took it. I’m trying to get it back—”

But I could hear how weak my excuses sounded. Like I was trying to lie my way out of a broken picture frame or a poor letter grade.

Sam stepped closer, brows furrowed. “Dammit, Alex! I should’ve known you were too young to be trusted with any of my stuff!”

”No, no, I’m not, I’m not…” I snapped, my voice cracking. “I know it’s important. I know it is. That’s why I’ve never stopped wearing it, it’s why I’m so protective of it, because without it I… I…”

Then I stopped.

Because I didn’t know how to say the rest, how to tell him it wasn’t his cap anymore. Because without it, I was nothing.

I hugged Spider-Man as hard as I humanly possibly could before surrendering rest.

“I… I can’t be… me.”

Then came the sound.

Footsteps.

From the hallway.

“You'll be cryin', slowly dyin'
When the day comes creepin' up on you…”

She’d returned.

Alexandra Maxine had returned.

Still pretty. Still smug. And in her hand?

The cap.

His cap.

My cap.

She held it loosely, like a piece of gum she found stuck to her shoe.

“Hey Sam!” She said in a shiny boutique voice.

Sam immediately swung over towards her, and without hesitation, she held it out to him.

“Here, it’s all yours. I never needed it to begin with. After all, no one ever asked for it.”

He took it from her slowly, with an unreadable look on his face as he examined it.

Then, without hesitation, Sam reached behind the couch and pulled out his old duffle bag, unzipping it.

He folded the cap, placed it inside and zipped the whole thing shut. He placed the bag over his shoulder and began walking away.

“Sam, wait!” I shouted in vain.

But he kept walking, already approaching the front door.

“Sam, don’t go!”

Alexandra Maxine stood next to me, arms crossed, watching me struggle.

“Alex, why do you bother? We already know how this plays out. He isn’t coming back.”

His hand was on the knob.

“Sam, please…”

The door opened.

“… stay.”

He didn’t.

The door closed.

Now alone to ourselves, Alexandra gleefully hopped in front of me.

“So now what?” She pondered, with a big grotesque smile. “Oh, right. This is where we fast forward to you hiding in that bush at the playground. The part where you disappear.”

She stepped in closer.

“But before you’re gone for good…”

Suddenly, she latched her hands onto Spider-Man’s legs and began trying to pull him away from me.

“…I’ll have to take back my old web-headed friend…”

“No, no, no, leave him alone! He’s not yours!” I pleaded, as I held onto my plush for dear life.

“…so that you’ll stay there in that bush…”

But she was stronger, pulling harder and rougher as we wrestled furiously for control.

Suddenly, I heard a seam rip, followed by another and then another. I glanced down and noticed tears forming across his body.

“Stop it! Let go! You're hurting him!”

“… this time…”

Gobs of white stuffing began to spray out in front of me.

“Aaaaaaaaaah!!!”

“…FOREVER.”

And that was it. That’s when the dream began to crumble. The lights dimmed. The lake house walls dissolved into shadows. The Spider-Man plush slipped out of both our arms and onto the floor like it weighed a thousand pounds.

I glanced back up at Alexandra.

She was the last thing I saw before everything fizzled out.

She was still standing. Still perfect.

Still smiling.

“You’re growing up.” She whispered. “I’ll see you again soon.”

The very first thing I did when I came to, was sprint over to my dresser.

My cap…

It was still there. Untouched.

I exhaled and flicked on the light switch, before sliding open my closet door to check on Spider-Man.

He was still in one piece. Unharmed.

Thank god.

With everyone okay, I hopped back in bed and tried to get a little more sleep before I had to wake up for school in an hour.

Still, that dream clawed at me in the back of my head, probably in the same spot my alter-ego claimed to reside.

What did it mean exactly?

I wasn’t sure. Truthfully, part of me didn’t wanna know.

Anyway, the only reason I told you about this was because I had another therapy session with Dr. Michaels today.

No, I didn’t tell him about my dream, instead… some other stuff came up.

For the last couple of sessions, Dr. Michaels’s been trying to get me to open up a bit more, talk about myself, my friends, and my family in our conversations.

He hasn’t had much luck, but he’s using the fact that he’d previously had Pat as a patient to his advantage.

Good on him for using it, because as much as I loathe Pat, I never tire hearing of his high school escapades. It’s sort of a morbid curiosity of mine.

“So you’re telling me, my brother snuck into the biology classroom, stole one of the fetal pigs that was due to be dissected the next day and planted it in a lacrosse player’s backpack all because the player wouldn’t stop poking fun at one of his friends for having a stutter?”

Dr. Michaels nodded with a sense of unabashed shame. “Couldn’t believe it myself when I got the call from the office.”

“First off, GROSS!!!! Second, that’s actually kind of noble of him, sticking up for his friend like that. Makes you wonder what he’d do for me.”

“I don’t think anyone ever said your brother wasn’t loyal.” He recounted.

“No kidding. Else wise he’d be a complete lunatic.” I concurred.

He scratched his chin for a second. “So I was wondering, now that we’ve talked about Patrick for a while, would you be interested in chatting about your other two brothers? He mentioned them quite a bit back in the day.”

I stiffened at the suggestion.

“Let’s um… uh….I’ll… uh— do Tyler.”

“Hmm…” he observed. “Tough choice?”

“No… I’d just rather we discuss him.”

Dr. Michaels tilted head, slightly intrigued. “I sensed a lot of anxiety and avoidance when coming to that decision. Is there reason you wouldn’t want to talk about Sam? He’s the oldest right? If I remember correctly, Pat mentioned he moved out pretty early.”

My dream flashed back in my head, the whole interaction with Sam ringing in my ears.

“Yep, he’s the first person I ever looked up to. He made me feel seen, made me feel like I wasn’t this overly clingy little tag along, which is what I was back then.” I murmured. “He gave me the cap before he…. left.”

“How old were you?”

“Eight.”

“When did you see him again?” He asked.

“My mom’s birthday. Ten months later. For a couple hours. Then he was gone again.”

“Must’ve been hard for you.” He commented, trying to sound compassionate, as if I needed anyone else feeling sorry for me.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Ok.” He said as wrote something down on a clipboard. “One last question before we move on to Tyler. What’s Sam like nowadays?”

I sighed and fiddled with my hands before answering.

“Almost just as distant, but he’s also different. He rarely ever comes to family gatherings, won’t even be bothered come down for Christmas or my birthday. He’s super lazy about answering texts, and on the off-chance I do see him, like I did for a few days over the summer, it’s never the Sam who left. All I’m presented with is this stranger with my brother’s face stapled on and his goody two shoes girlfriend. Yet somehow, I’m a bad person for not immediately inviting either of them in with open arms.”

He nodded. “Would you say you harbor some resentment towards Sam?”

“I don’t wanna talk about him anymore.”

“You sure?” He pushed on. “Everything here is confidential, so if there’s anything you want to get off your chest you’re more than welcome to—”

“I said we’re done talking about him!” I repeated point blank.

“Alright, alright, we’ll leave it there for now and come back to Sam later.” He said, offering reassurance. “We can switch over to Tyler now if you’d like."

“Go ahead.”

“Tyler was a music guy wasn’t he?” Dr. Michaels said, tapping his pen on the clipboard. “How did that end up working out?”

“His band’s still going strong.” I answered. “They’ve been doing a lot of touring, still hoping to make it big. Ty’s also moved out, but he actually gives a damn about staying in touch with people.”

“When’s the last time you saw him?”

“Little under a month ago.” I said as I played with a hair elastic I had on my wrist. “He stayed over for a few days. It was nice actually. Him, Pat, and I played an old video game, and he gave me a Spider-Man DVD he snagged when he was in New York.”

“Spider-Man DVD?”

“Yeah, the cartoon from the 90’s, you heard of it?”

“Vaguely remember it, but I’m a bit more partial to the one from the 60’s, that’s the version I grew up with.” He said with a chuckle.

“Oh my gosh, that one?!” I exclaimed. “My uncle gave me a copy of the series to watch when I was younger. It was okay, but I couldn’t get over how hilariously cheap the animation looked. They didn’t even care enough to draw all the lines on Spider-Man’s costume!”

“Hey, that show was considered state of the art for its time! Not to mention, that’s where the famous theme song originated.”

“True.” I said with a nod.

Suddenly, the bell rang, signaling the end of our session.

“See you next week, Alex.” He said as I got up.

“Yeah, sure.” I mumbled as I left for my next class.

Later that night, you wouldn’t believe this, but for the longest time, I felt anxious about going to bed. For some reason, I kept putting it off and off until I was so tired that I couldn’t any longer.

Suffice to say, the dream had affected me more than I thought.

Stupid I know, but could I really trust my brain not to subconsciously scare me like that again?

Right as I was about flick the lights off, I paused then sighed with resignation before walking over to the closet.

Screw it. Spider-Man was sleeping with me again.

Just for one night.

If Pat caught me in the act, so be it.

As I dragged my plush out, my fingers brushed against something small and wooden. With my free hand I picked up.

It was a picture frame. Not even two seconds after seeing the image, I remembered exactly why I’d forgotten it.

The photo’s of Sam holding me as a baby. He looks all starry eyed, like he couldn’t be more thrilled to be my big brother and I’m just staring up at him in awe despite being completely clueless about everything.

The picture used to be displayed on my bookshelf like a celebrity photo-op. It was something little me was so proud of showing off.

Before everything changed.

When I was around eleven I couldn’t bear to look at it anymore so I banished it away to my closet where it’s resided ever since.

When Mom asked why, I made up some story about it being too embarrassing, but that wasn’t really the full truth.

I just didn’t need to see it every day when I already had enough reminders.

“Alex, why do you bother? We both already know how this plays out. He isn’t coming back.”

Why do I bother?

Sorry Alexandra, I’m not about to throw in the towel just yet.

I carefully laid the frame face down on my closet shelf and slid the door shut.

Then I switched the lights off and hopped into the bed, nestling myself under the covers with Spider-Man as I tried to get some sleep.

Alexandra Maxine claimed she’s inevitable, that she’s the real me, and that she’ll see me again soon.

Well then, good luck with that you bimbo Barbie doll, wherever you might be.

For now, you’re all bark.

Go ahead, try and hold yourself to it.

I’ll be waiting.

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I tugged at the zipper of my jacket and adjusted my cap, pulling it ever tighter, thank god this dance didn’t have a dress code. There was nothing keeping me from being anything other than myself, just like Wes had said.

So what the heck was I waiting for?

Was I nervous?

Was I scared?

Yeah, so maybe I was…

Of what?

Everything.

What if Wes stands me up?

What if Troy is too busy to chat with me?

What if I’m so foreign and out of place that I’m stared at the entire time?

What if—

Come on Alex, get a hold of yourself! Stop overthinking this, take a deep breath and compose yourself.

Breathe in…

…and Exhale.

At the count of five, you’re going to open both of those double doors and walk inside.

It’s easy. It’s simple, a piece of cake. Your brothers could do this in their sleep. So stop worrying.

You can do this…

Yeah, that’s right…

I can do this.

Breathe in…

…and Exhale.

Ok, Ready?

5…

4…

3…

2…

1…

Breathe in…

Within seconds of stepping into the gym, the lights and noise slammed into me all at once. The dance was a swirl of color and movement, with classmates mingling, laughing, and dancing to the beat of a techno rap song reverberating off the walls. The usual cliques were scattered in every direction, forming their own little groups, and for a second, I regretted my decision. But then I felt a hand gently brush against my shoulder, steadying me. When I saw who it belonged to, my anxiety eased a little.

"Hey, you made it!" Wes said, his voice light but with an undercurrent of excitement. He stood beside me, looking relaxed in a simple button-up shirt and sneakers.

I took another breath and nodded. "Yeah, wish I knew how though."

We headed to the edge of the dance floor and observed the pandemonium before us. I crossed my arms, trying my best to be invisible.

"This isn’t so bad," Wes said with a grin, his eyes scanning the room. "Hasn’t gone off the rails as much as I thought it would yet."

I couldn’t help but smile. ”I guess. Still isn’t really my cup of tea."

"You’ll get used to it," he said, assuredly. “Don’t stress it.”

I was caught off guard by how easily he navigated a crowd, like he belonged. It was strange, seeing him here in this context. Every prior encounter with him had been lowkey. But here he was, in packed quarters, just as comfortable.

Just as I was beginning to relax, an all too familiar voice cut through the noise.

"Oh muh gawd, Hayley! Look who decided to show up!"

Time stopped as I turned around and instantly locked eyes with Tiffany, who was standing nearby with a group of her friends. Her expression was a mix of curiosity with a gleam of mischief that screamed bad news.

Tiff tilted her head, a sly grin forming on her lips.

"I thought you had an embargo on school dances, Hatixandra," She commented, her tone light but with a sharp edge. "What’s the occasion?"

I stiffened, feeling heat rise to my face, of course Tiff would be here, if anything she should have noticed me sooner.

Wes stepped in before I could say anything.

"No reason in particular," he offered casually. "We’re only here to hang out. Didn’t know it was a crime for her to show up."

Tiffany raised an eyebrow, scanning over at him. "No crime, Freeman. Just didn’t expect to see hat girl with you. She’s practically allergic to these things."

"Yeah, well, surprises happen," Wes said, his voice even. “Don’t you still have to sort things out with Joey? Go back to bothering him.”

Tiff stared at him for a moment longer, then sighed, deciding to drop the subject for now.

“Ok, whatevs, go have your fun with her, Romeo.” she relented, her tone saccharine sweet, before turning back to her friends.

As she walked away, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. Wes leaned in closer, lowering his voice.

"You good?"

"Yeah," I muttered, though my jaw was still clenched. "Just... she’s always a handful."

Wes nodded, but didn’t dwell on it. Instead, he gestured towards the snack area nearby. "C’mon, let’s grab something to eat."

He began marching towards concessions and I followed behind. The path was dense with people, forcing us to have to cram our way through. At one point, he offered me his hand to hold so we wouldn’t lose one another, only to quickly drop it when he saw the insulted look on my face.

At the snack tables, the lines were super long so we briefly split up. He tackled the drinks, while I went to get us cake, which worked well enough for me because that’s where Troy was working.

Troy was standing behind a long table, with a cash register to his left, and his phone to open to sports scores down on his right. He had the biggest look of surprise when he saw me next in line.

“Alex?!” He said, taken aback. “Am I seeing things? Is it really you? I gotta be dreaming, either that or all this cake is making me lose my marbles.”

I smirked. “I’m here, yours truly is at the dance, but don’t get used to it.”

Troy nodded and then peered out at the rest of the room. “Where’s Nicole, is she here too?”

“I don’t think so.”

“So, you didn’t ask her?” He asked in confusion. “I’d assumed she coaxed you into going after you told her I’d be here.”

Rats. I never told Nicole about the dance. It’d completely slipped my mind with everything going on. Whatever, she probably would’ve declined anyway.

“Yeah, I didn’t tell her.” I explained. “Don’t worry, she won’t care, not like she’s missing much.”

“Right,” Troy sighed but then quickly smirked. “So if not her, who swayed you into going? No way you decided on your own.”

“My Mom.”

He chuckled. “Ha. Ha. Not buying it.”

I stiffened then laid it all out. “Ok, the truth is… it’s this guy… Wes Freeman. He’s in one of my classes this year. Likes talking to me for some reason. He invited me the other day, so I decided to humor him.”

His eyes widened. “Wes? Yo that really the cat who coaxed you into it?”

“You know him?”

“Yeah, he was on my middle school basketball team and in a bunch of my classes last year.” He explained. “Seemed pretty chill and fun to partner with, don’t really know much else about him though.”

I nodded. If Troy liked him, Wes might actually be decent.

Looking back up, I noticed Troy had a sly grin. “So is he just a friend or…”

“No!” I promptly spat back, rolling my eyes. “He’s an “acquaintance” and that’s it. Now would you please pass me some cake?”

Troy playfully shook his head and continued smiling as he cut me two slices.

I gestured him goodbye and began carrying the slices back to where Wes was.

He was sitting by himself at a plastic table, with two red solo cups in front of him, he gave a quick wave as I closed in.

“I saw you talking with Troy. You two friends?” Wes asked calmly, sliding my drink over to me as I sat down while sipping his own.

I gave him a slight nod.

“Nice.” He answered, before calmly gazing out at the dance floor.

The floor was truly getting filled up now with numerous clusters of students excitedly bobbing and swaying under dim string lights and a couple of colored spotlights. The music had switched to some peppy top 40 song I vaguely knew but definitely hated. Everything about it screamed out like it was my own personal version of hell.

Wes popped a piece of cake in his mouth as he shifted his attention back to me.

“So, how’s tonight been so far?”

“The dance?”

“Yeah.”

“About what I expected,” I said, as I stabbed my desert with my fork. “Cake’s decent at least.”

Wes grinned, nudging the corner of my plate with his. “But you don’t totally hate it?”

I rolled my eyes, but there was a ghost of a smile on my lips. “God, you’re lucky I even showed up at all.”

“Trust me, I know.” He leaned back in his chair, relaxed in that way only he seemed capable of.

The song on the big speakers faded out and a new song immediately took its place. This one was synth heavy, it in turn was soon minutes later by a rock track, the rock one was soon by a country one and so on. This cycle continued countless times, until the DJ landed on a very specific and problematic song.

As soon as it’s super distinctive ska infused saxophone part kicked in, I was hit with a whole new dilemma.

See, I didn’t just know this song, I actually liked it.

“The Mighty Mighty Bosstones?” Wes observed. “Finally, a good tune!”

Oh great. He liked this song too.

Wes nervously tapped his fingers on the table for a second, before popping me the big question.

“Hey, do you uh… wanna get up and go dance to it?”

I froze, almost spitting out my soda. A million thoughts and worries ran through my mind. It wasn’t just the pure awkwardness of dancing with a guy, it was the fear of making myself look like a complete goof in front of everybody.

“No thanks.” I said, finally returning to my senses.

“You sure? You didn’t come here to just sit around and eat cake did you?”

“You’re crazy.” I answered unbudging.

“Come on, just this song.” He pressed on. “No one can resist jamming to this song, not even you. Look, you’re already bobbing your head and humming the lyrics…”

“Wes-“

“… and I betcha I’m a way worse dancer than you are, so what’s there to be scared of?”

I glared at him. I despised how he was right. I loathed how innocent he was in his request. God, even Nicole wasn’t this good at giving me a guilty conscience.

After taking a deep breath, I put my soda down.

“Just this song.” I unceremoniously relented, as I gave my cap a quick tug. “And don’t you dare think about laying a finger on me!”

Wes eagerly stood up and motioned to the floor. “Deal. Alright, let’s go.”

The walk over felt longer than it should’ve. Being anywhere near this foreign land made my pulse kick up.

My sneakers came to a screeching halt the millisecond my right toe came into contact with the edge of the dance floor.

“Here. We’re doing your dumb dance here.” I insisted.

Wes shrugged. “Ok.”

Without further ado, he jumped into his routine, if you could call it that. It was a hectic, messy and sloppy set of moves with no rhyme or reason.

If that were me I’d be mortified, but for Wes, he was having the time of his life.

“C’mon, Alex! Join me!”

I indecisively hesitated, quickly scanning over at Troy who was nose deep in slicing cake for people and then at Tiffany who was lost in conversation with one of her friends.

They were busy, they were distracted, they couldn’t see me.

The coast was clear.

I stared back at Wes, who’s arms now were outstretched.

“What are you waiting for? You got this.”

Breathe in…

…and Exhale.

Slowly but surely, I started swaying my legs to the beat. I slightly bobbed my head and inched my arms out. It probably looked like I was playing with an invisible hula hoop, but the deed was done, for I’d become one with the music.

Wes didn’t snicker, didn’t look at me weird, instead he seemed enlightened, like he couldn’t be more ecstatic that I’d actually gone through with his challenge.

“Look at you go Al! You’re totally kickin’ ass!.”

I blushed and avoided eye contact with him, but there was no hiding my biggest smile of the night.

As we danced together, I gradually found myself becoming looser and more comfortable, jamming out and even singing along with Wes to this Mighty Mighty Bosstones song.

“If I ever had to knock on wood…”

I did it all without a care in the world, without a hint of anxiety.

But then, of course, the next song hit.

The opening notes landed like a smack in the face: long, drawn out piano chords and gentle acoustic guitar strums were followed by some southern accented country singer crooning about “forever” and “never letting go.”

As if on cue, a bunch of couples locked hands, including Tiff and that Joey guy Wes mentioned earlier, and started closely swaying with one another.

Soon enough, Wes and I were the only ones standing by ourselves as the song raged.

He nervously glanced down at me. I anxiously looked up at him.

Then, he started moving one of his arms in my direction.

Oh my god. Nooooo!

Just as I was about to sprint for my life, Wes’s arm stopped next to my left shoulder, then he raised his index finger, outstretching it in the direction behind me.

“Uh…” He said, with uncomfortableness in his voice. “Should we go back to-

“Yes. Yes and YES!” I frantically yelped, already halfway back to our table.

Sitting back down, my face felt hot, I wasn’t sure if it was from wiggling out from potential embarrassment or the small part of me that had briefly entertained eating the forbidden fruit.

Wes flopped down across from me, drumming his fingers against his empty cake plate. “Oof! That was a close call, huh?”

“No kidding.” I remarked as I continued to sink into my seat. “Good thing no one saw us.”

He snorted. “You looked like a deer in the headlights.”

“Hey, don’t pretend you weren’t as uncomfortable as I was out there!”

“Heh, well, I won’t deny it…” Wes said, taking a sip of his drink. “But I’m still claiming victory in the mean time though. I got you to dance, didn’t I? I think I deserve a gold medal for that.”

I rolled my eyes, but with a hint of a grin. “Don’t push it.”

We didn’t talk for a while after that. But it wasn’t awkward or tense. It was the sort of silence that settled instead of stretched as the slow romantic song continued to drag on for eternity.

Mercifully, the music soon shifted again, but not to anything good I might add. Next up was the classic track that was the bane of all school dances, “Y.M.C.A.”

A group of frat-like juniors formed a circle and started doing something halfway between dancing and competitive flailing.

Wes to note as well. “Wanna hop back over?”

“I’d rather eat my solo cup.”

He leaned back and laughed out loud in his chair. “I was partly joking. Hey, you know, if you’re thinking of leaving soon, I’d be okay with it.”

I couldn’t believe my ears.

“You sure?”

He nodded solemnly. “Whenever this song comes on, it’s usually a tell tale sign that the dance is about to wrap up soon. It’s the assistant principal’s favorite song so the school staff always requests that the DJ save it till near the end.”

“Jeez, that’s so corny.” I muttered, hiding a smirk behind my cup.

He looked at me again, like he wanted to say something else. But instead, he said, “Hey, Alex before you go, I just wanted to say thanks again for actually showing up. I really appreciate it.”

I gave a small shrug as I got up from my chair. “Thanks for asking.”

“You’re welcome. So much for dances not being your thing, right? This wasn’t the worst night of your life, was it?”

And somehow, that last line made me want to say more. Do more. Maybe be more, just for one second.

So I took the smallest, bravest leap my brain would allow.

“Hey, it was far from it because of… well… you.” I said, glancing at my friend, my voice gentle before catching myself. “I’ll uh… see you in calculus.”

“Yeah, totally.” he said with a crooked smile and a parting hand wave. “Looking forward to it, Al.”

With that, I sent Mom a text, letting her know I needed to be picked up, before prancing over to the fieldhouse exit, and back through the same double doors I’d entered through earlier.

The music faded as I wandered back outside and sat down on nearby a bench, and waited. The parking lot was mostly deserted, just a few scattered taillights and the sound of wind billowing through the trees littered around the campus.

I checked my phone. No new messages. No response from Mom. Not one hint about who’d pick me up.

Ten minutes passed. Maybe twelve.

Just as I was about to place an irritated phone call, a familiar white BMW pulled around the corner before coming to a rest at my feet. The passenger side window rolled down half-way, revealing a worn and stoic figure.

“Hey kid.”

“Hey.”

Seems Mom had tasked Dad with picking me up.

“Get in.”

Needing to hear no more, I climbed into the car. The radio was tuned to some A.M. station, and the car vents whistled, but I didn’t complain. I was just happy to be done waiting.

“How was it?” he asked as we pulled out of the lot.

I shrugged, looking out the window. “Fine.”

“Do anything fun?”

“Not really, I just stuck around with Troy.” I added after a beat. “Other than that it was pretty boring, if Junior prom next year is anything like tonight, I’ll probably skip out on it like Sam did.”

He chuckled under his breath. “Hmph. Not if your mother has anything to say about it.”

“We’ll see.” I muttered.

When we pulled into the driveway, the living room light was still on, which wasn’t a good thing because it meant Mom was still awake, eagerly awaiting her turn to debrief me.

And sure enough, as soon I stepped through the front door, I spotted her standing at the foot of the stairs sipping some earl grey tea.

“Welcome home,” Mom said. “How was the dance, Alex?”

I shrugged again, hoping in vain to get through this and up the stairs to my room as quickly as possible.

“It was fine.”

Mom clearly wasn’t buying it. “Just fine? Is that it? Are you really not gonna elaborate or share any details?”

I groaned, placing my hand on the banister. “It’s just a school dance, Mom. Nothing to write home about.”

But Mom still wasn’t backing down easily. The blissful gleam in her eye always signaled trouble.

“Oh, come on. You don’t go to a dance for the first time in forever and then come home saying it was “just fine.” Did you dance with anyone? Who was there? How was the music? Were there any cute boys?”

Ugh! Mom and boys.

Rule number 1 when chatting with Mom:

NEVER talk about boys.

“Mom, Seriously, I’m tired. I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

She sighed, her expression shifting slightly. “I’m just curious, honey. I’m your mother. God forbid I ever get to hear what’s going on in your life. I was also teenage girl once, you know!”

“Well, nothing notable happened, okay?” I muttered, already half to my room, eager to wrap up this conversation. “I went, I said hi to Troy, I ate cake, I danced a little, and then I came home. End of story.”

I reached the knob of my bedroom door, but just when I thought I was in the clear, mom’s voice rang out with one last word.

“Hey one last thing, I’m proud of you. Going out of your comfort zone is no small feat. You should be proud of yourself too.”

“Thanks.”

She nodded. “Night, sweetie.”

I paused as I opened my door. The word sweetie used to make me cringe. Tonight, it didn’t bother me so much.

“Night, Mom.”

Door closed. Cap off and on the dresser. Lights dimmed. I flopped onto my bed and pulled the covers up high. My heart was buzzing in that weird leftover way, as if it was still fending for its life back at the field house.

I laid awake in bed for a while, staring up at the glow in the dark stars still stuck to my ceiling from 1st grade. Most of them didn’t glow anymore. Some were peeling and a couple had fallen off entirely. But the ones that stayed, they were still there, stubborn and resilient. Kind of like me.

Everything about tonight with Wes felt like it should’ve shaken me up more than it did. Dancing? With a boy? At a school function? Actually liking it. Actually liking him. Middle School Alex would’ve punched me in the face for such sinful malarkey.

Something important had happened, and I didn’t know how to say it out loud yet.

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It all started back on Tuesday, when during Calculus, we were working on these math worksheets.

For me, the assignment was pure torture, with the numbers, the symbols, the equations, and all the tiny y’s and x’s flying back at me like some sort of foreign language. It was a mess of useless stuff I was completely lost on.

Groggy and in severe need of caffeine, I stared down at my sheet, my pencil in hand as I tried to work out the first problem. It was something about a graph, the slope, and finding the function or some other form of gibberish.

Minutes passed and I was still stuck on it, which wasn’t good because anything I’d didn’t finish would be slapped on as homework for the night.

My brain hurt, my eyes were strained and my patience was at an all time low. I could’ve asked for help, but my pride and anxiety wouldn’t let me.

Just then, from my left, I heard a whisper.

“Tssss! Al, you having trouble over there?”

It was Wes, he had already finished his worksheet and was now relaxing back in his seat.

I gave him a face, one so cold, that it could’ve ushered in the next ice age.

With an expression like that, I assumed he’d get the message, but instead he had a crooked smile, completely unfazed.

“Need some help?”

I blinked. “Not particularly.”

He didn’t flinch. “You sure?”

“Yes…”

Wes didn’t respond at first, glancing over at my sheet then back up at me. He then reached down, picked up his own completed worksheet, and offered it over.

“Here. The answers. You want ‘em?”

I shot him another glare, but this one didn’t have much heat behind it. I hated his random act of charity, but I wasn’t about to ignore my free ticket out of having to do the rest of these stupid math problems for homework.

Without a second thought, I swiped his sheet and quickly copied the answers over to mine before handing it back to him.

“Thanks.”

Wes’s smile grew larger, as if this tiny insignificant interaction with me had given him cause for celebration.

“You’re very welcome. Always a pleasure.”

Ick. I nearly melted down into my seat after he said that.

When class ended, I thought that’d be the end of it, but nope it was far from it.

Later that afternoon, I was on my usual lonesome walk home from school, when I happened to spot Wes standing ahead of me near the crosswalk. I assumed he’d treat me like the stranger I was, but no, instead he waved when he saw me, a casual gesture that felt way too personal to be coming from someone who wasn’t even on the furthest end of my inner circle.

My feet were on autopilot as I walked over, my initial instincts were to ignore him, shoo him off, but they were countered by Mom’s voice lecturing me in my head about politeness.

“Hey,” He said as I approached with my anxious indecision. “You walking home too?”

“Yeah,” I replied, keeping my tone neutral.

“I live on Forrest St. near where the cemetery is. Where’s your place?” He asked.

“Way further down, a few streets over. It’s on a dead end, a little past from where the ice rink and the elementary school are.” I hesitantly revealed.

He fell into step beside me as we started crossing the road. “Oh since it’s in the same general direction, mind if I walk with you for a bit?”

I scanned him with a piercing stare as I tried to gauge what he was up to. There was no freaking way he was this genuine.

“Uh, sure…”

We walked side by side in silence for a while, and I found myself growing more paranoid by the second.

“So, Alex, you still play baseball? I think I played you back in little league.” Wes eventually asked, breaking the silence.

“Not as much,” I said, shrugging. “I play with an old pitch back in my backyard sometimes, but it’s not like I’m on a team or anything.”

“Why not?” He asked, his voice legitimately curious.

I again hesitated as I tried to explain. “Well, do you see a women’s baseball league just lying around for me to join? It’d be news to me. I did play softball a few years back, but it seemed so watered down compared to the real deal. By then, baseball just… didn’t feel like it was my thing anymore.”

Wes nodded, not pressing me for more details. “Yeah, I get that. Sometimes stuff changes out of your control.”

He paused for a moment before changing the subject. “So uh… what music are you listening to?”

I turned my head slightly. “Green Day, you into them?”

“A little, The Killers and Foo Fighters are more my drift.” He remarked as we turned onto Forrest St. “What’s your favorite Green Day song?”

“She.”

“Cool… favorite album?”

“Kerplunk or Nimrod, I guess…?” I answered at a loss. “Why’s any of this matter?”

“No reason in particular, just wondering.” He replied, awkwardly scratching his neck.

We kept walking, and when we eventually parted ways near the cemetery, I found myself relaxing a little. Still, something about the whole situation was bothering me.

This guy, Wes Freeman, was being nice… too nice.

And I couldn’t help but call bull on it.

I tried avoiding him for a few days, opting to walk a different way home or loitering around at school a little longer. The truth is, I just didn’t know how to handle it.

Then things started changing again, one Friday afternoon.

I’d been in the middle of another tough day, one of those where everything seemed to go wrong. I’d gotten into a fight with Mom about chores, Tiff had teased me for something I couldn’t even remember, I had completely bombed a quiz in Physics, I was already fretting about my next therapy session tomorrow, and my impending monologue for acting was still lurking ever menacingly in the back of my head. My mood was already at its boiling point by the time I made my way to the crosswalk.

But, of course, that’s when Wes made his grand entrance.

I heard his footsteps before I saw him, and without even turning around, I groaned under my breath.

Wes didn’t seem bothered by my irritation. “Bad day?”

I rolled my eyes. “What gave it away?”

“Wanna talk about it?” Wes asked, his voice soft but not pressing.

“No,” I replied flatly, trying to stay lost in the music I was listening to. “Not really.”

“Okay.” Wes said simply. He didn’t move, didn’t press, just stood there.

“It’s just... everything’s a mess,” I muttered, more to myself than to him. “Nothing ever goes right.”

I peered down at the pavement, scuffing the surface with the front of my sneaker. “And now you show up, and it’s like... I don’t know how to deal with that and I don’t know how to deal with you.”

There. I’d said it. My true feelings laid bare in a way that made me both uneasy and relieved at the same time.

Wes stood quietly for a moment before speaking.

“You don’t have to deal with me,” he said softly as he leaned over. “I’m not here to make things harder for you.”

I paused, as something was tightening in my chest. Wes, the way he acted like he listened with sincerity, I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. What was his game?

“Cut the crap! Why the hell are you even talking to me?” I blurted out, abruptly, raising my defenses.

Wes turned to face me, his eyebrows raising in mild surprise. “Huh? What do you mean?”

“I mean,” I began, my voice probably sharper than I intended, “You don’t know me and I barely know you. You’ve got your own friends, your own life. So why are you trying to jam yourself into mine?”

Wes didn’t flinch at my sudden outburst. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, as if he was trying to figure me out.

“Dunno, you just seem super cool to me.” he said simply. “Chicks who are really into sports, superheroes, video games, and other dude things are hard to come by, they’re like this rare breed. But here’s the thing, to say you’re just another boyish girl is doing you a total disservice. You’re so much more and that intrigues me.”

His blunt honesty hit harder than I expected, but I still wasn’t sure if I could take him at face value.

“Shut up! You don’t know me!” I repeated, my defenses remaining up. “No one does.”

“Maybe not,” Wes admitted, “but I‘d like to.”

There it was, another thing that makes me shiver. People wanting to decipher me and crawl in real close. Unless it was on my terms, I wasn’t about to let that happen.

“I’m not—” I started, then stopped, unsure of what I was even trying to say. “I’m not the type of person you think I am.”

Wes looked at me, really looked at me, like he was peering past all the layers I keep wrapped around myself.

“Oh, so you’re gay?” He said cautiously, “I don’t have a problem with that. You do you.”

“Wha- No, I’m straight!” I quickly snapped back. “I’m just… well… I’m not like the other girls, ok?”

Not like the other girls.

Ugh! Cringe overload. Did I really say that aloud?

God, could I have sounded any more emo and cliche?

“I’m not this damsel in distress who falls into your arms and I don’t wanna be.” I continued. “I’m not opening myself up to you. So if this is some lame attempt at hitting on me, please quit it!”

“Look, I’m not asking for anything,” Wes said, trying to press on. “I just think you’re really cool and I like talking with you. That’s it.”

For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t sure what to do or what words to say. Wes wasn’t like anyone else I’d ever met. He didn’t nudge or pry, but he also didn’t back off. He was there, steady and patient, as if he were a chess player waiting for me to make my next move.

"Seriously Alex, it’s so badass how you don’t care about fitting in with all the... y’know, typical girl stuff.”

I scoffed, "Yeah, well, I guess I’m not exactly “typical”. I think everyone at school knows that.”

"But, that’s what makes you so interesting," Wes said casually, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Interesting.

It was strange, hearing someone say that without a hint of sarcasm.

I just stare at him, studying his expression, looking for any hint of ulterior motive. But there was nothing, just simple honesty that I still couldn’t wrap my head around.

“I’m just... here,” Wes continued. “We don’t need to make this complicated. Nothing wrong with us being acquaintances.”

My mind was spinning. It was such a simple thing to say, but it meant a lot to me. Wes wasn’t expecting anything from me, wasn’t lusting after me for my appearance, wasn’t asking me to change or be anybody I wasn’t. He literally was just...

there.

“Okay, fine, you’re an “acquaintance.” I finally relented, “But that’s all you are, so just keep it that way, cuz I swear if you try anything, I’m sending my brother after you.”

Wes smiled, a small, sly smile that made my stomach do another little flip. “Heh. That’s good enough for me.”

So there, that’s your explanation for why this random coincidence of us walking home in the same direction has turned into this regular thing over the past week. It’s become part of my routine, these peaceful, unhurried walks with Wes after school. We don’t talk much, and when we do, it isn’t really about anything particularly important.

Still, I can’t deny that I sorta like walking with him. Wes somehow makes me feel seen, in a way that doesn’t make me immediately want to crawl into a shell. He never pressures me, never asks why I’m the way I am, and he never makes me feel like I have to be anything other than myself to talk to him.

It also scares the crap out of me.

I’m Alex Bradley, dammit! The fiercely independent girl who isn’t supposed to care about crushes or trivial high school matters! The girl who’s not supposed to need anyone to take care of her!

Gah!

The idea of allowing someone new, especially a guy, to get in close, and trusting them with my vulnerabilities, it’s all so terrifying. I don’t like it. I don’t want to like it. What if I lose myself? What if being with someone means giving up everything that makes me who I am? What if I get taken advantage of? What if it all backfires and I get hurt, again? I’m not ready to answer these questions, but Wes is making it harder and harder for me to keep them locked away.

Yesterday, after another walk home, Wes stopped at his door, standing there for a moment before hitting me with something out of the blue.

"Hey, Alex... you going to the Septemberfest dance next Friday?"

That question caught me off guard. My first instinct was to laugh, brush it off like it was some kind of dumb joke. But when I saw the look on Wes’s face, the casual, laid-back expression was replaced by something more uncertain, timid, and serious.

"Eh, I don’t usually go to stuff like that," I said, trying to keep steady and play it cool. “Those things are just another excuse for the Tiff Reardons of the world to show off.”

"Yeah, I figured," Wes replied, hands shoved into his pockets, looking almost sheepish. "I’ve never really dug the whole concept of it either, but I was thinking... It could still be fun, maybe."

There was that word again “fun”. A gal my age is supposed to have “fun” at these things, right? I don’t get what’s supposed to be so ‘fun’ about a dance if you aren’t an open book. The music is probably gonna suck, some jerks will probably act all immature and ruin the whole thing for everyone, and don’t get me started on the painfully awkward slow dance numbers.

"I’ll think about it," I said, not wanting to come off as rude.

"Yeah," Wes shrugged. "I just thought, y’know, if you wanted to go, maybe we could just... chat like we do on our walks. The dance should be pretty casual, so you wouldn’t have to dress up or be all fancy, and to be honest, I don’t really care about being fancy, anyway.”

I glanced at him, surprised. "Really?"

Wes nodded, as if he wasn’t expecting a yes right away, and then gave me a small, understanding wink.

"No pressure, Alex. No pressure. Just thought I’d ask."

And with that, he headed inside his house, leaving me standing there on sidewalk, heart pounding in my chest as I frantically thought things over.

"Just thought I’d ask," I repeated to myself, knowing full well this wasn’t just some simple question.

Today’s Thursday and I’m still undecided on if I’m going or not. Troy already said he’d be there, so at least I’ll have back up.

What did Wes say, again?

No pressure.

I guess I’ll make my decision soon.

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“Huh?… oh sorry Troy, just daydreaming. Pass me the ball.”

The first day back at school had put me off to a rocky start, the monologue assignment had left me reeling yesterday, and today things were about to get even more dicey. Something else was coming, I just didn’t know when.

Gym class in the field house was in full swing, the sound of sneakers squeaking against the track and the persistent echo of basketballs bouncing off the hardwood filled the air. I’d been zoning out during a lazy game of horse with Troy when my gym teacher gave me a light tap on the shoulder.

"Bradley! You’re wanted in guidance," he barked, gesturing for me to leave class.

My heart stopped. I hadn’t expected my first appointment to be this soon, this early in the year no less. Yet here it was, skipping the line to face me right off the bat.

I exchanged a glance with Troy, but there was no time to explain. He gave a head tilt, clearly curious, but I just shrugged, pretending to be as equally clueless to it.

I still couldn’t believe I’d been talked into this.

For the record, this was Mom’s idea.

"Alex, honey, I know you’re not going to like this, but I put in a word and set up an appointment for you to meet with the school therapist," She’d suddenly informed me a couple days before school started back up.

Yep. Mom had gone behind my back, making decisions for me once again. It was was an ambush, a sudden reinforcement of her control over my life.

"Why?" I’d asked, absolutely insulted. "I don’t need a shrink. Just because I wear a cap everywhere doesn’t make me crazy."

Mom sighed, trying to remain calm. “I don’t think you’re crazy, Alex, and no, this isn’t solely about your hat. I just… I want to make sure you’re okay. The past few years with the transition to high school, the boys moving out, and all the other stuff going on around here has clearly been difficult on you. You seem like you’re carrying a lot of a baggage and for whatever reason you feel better off keeping it to yourself. I’ve seen it in your outbursts, the way you’ve blown up at me, your father, Tiffany, and Patrick, among others. Something’s wrong and I’m not sure what. Yes, you can hate me and say some of it’s my fault and I do apologize, but you shouldn’t have to go through all this alone and I don’t want you to feel like you have to. It’s why I think giving you someone you can talk to in strict confidence might really help."

I shook my head, still in disbelief.

"This isn’t for you to decide!” I snapped. “It should be my choice!”

Mom’s expression tightened. “Alex I-”

"Stop trying to control me!" I continued, my voice shaking. “Seeing a therapist isn’t suddenly going to make me your version of normal. I’ll never ever be the girl you want, so just accept it!”

Mom reached over and put a hand on my shoulder, attempting some form of maternal comfort. “Alex, I’m not trying to force you to be anything, you’re perfectly amazing just the way you are. Look, I’m only doing this because I love you. I don’t want you to feel like you have to wall yourself off and carry everything on your own. So please, just give it a trial run."

I still wasn’t hot on the idea, but with a heavy sigh, I let her have her way.

"Fine, I’ll try it." I muttered, not making eye contact. "But only if it gets you off my back for five minutes."

“Thanks, that’s all I ask…”

Back in the present, I quickly changed and grabbed my backpack as I nervously began making my way to the guidance office. My heart pounded in my ears and each footstep I made echoed across the indoor bridge that connected the fieldhouse to the main school building. It was if they were warning signs telling me to turn back from the impending danger ahead. I put my headphones on and pushed my cap lower as if they’d somehow help me block out the noise and avoid the situation. I didn’t work, instead it only prolonged the inevitable.

I hated the idea of therapy. I hated that I had to do it. I hated the concept of sitting in some stuffy office and being expected to give my life story to a stranger, another adult who probably wouldn’t understand. Could it get any worse?

Actually it did. The song from Spotify playlist that randomly played while I was walking?

“Basket Case” by Green Day.

Talk about cruel irony.

My music was mocking me.

When I finally reached the department door, I hesitated for a second, staring at the lettering written on it that read **Advisory and Counseling Services** in bland block font. For a moment, I considered pulling a Sam and just playing hooky. But then Mom’s voice echoed in my head, jabbing me repeatedly with her forceful pleas of how I needed to do this "for my own good."

Having heard enough and with a resigned exhale, I pushed the door open.

Inside, the waiting area was eerily quiet. I took a seat while I waited for my name to be called. I glanced up at the numerous yearly senior class photos that were hanging up around the room. Not sure why, but I’ve always felt there was something real off putting about old class photos. It’s the chilled thought that you’re destined to be forever plastered up on the same wall someday, a forgotten person in large crowd of strangers amongst dozens of other pictures of near identical crowds of forgotten strangers, differentiated solely by the year attached to them. If that doesn’t creep you out in the slightest, I don’t know what to tell you.

To kill time, I tried to play Where’s Waldo and pick out Pat and Tyler in their respective class photos but it wasn’t long before a secretary called me over and pointed me to an office near her desk.

"Bradley, right? Dr. Michaels is ready for you," she said, her voice too cheery for my liking.

I nodded wordlessly and made my way over, dragging my feet with each step. I reached the office door and took a deep breath before knocking lightly.

"Come on in," a voice called from the other side.

I stepped inside, my eyes immediately scanning the room. It was small and cluttered with books, the floor was littered with stress toys, there were a couple of potted plants on the windowsill, and a poster of some Charlie Chaplin movie was on the wall to my right.

The man behind the desk to my left, Dr. Michaels apparently, looked up from his notes and grinned in that disingenuous way all adults do when they’re trying too hard to be friendly.

"Hi Alexandra, nice to meet you" he said, motioning for me to sit on the sofa across from him.

"It’s Alex," I corrected him quickly, as I dropped my bag and slowly took my seat. I kept my head low, barely making eye contact.

"Alex it is," Dr. Michaels said in agreement, nodding. "So, I understand this is our first meeting. We’ll just keep things casual today and focus on getting to know each other. Does that sound good?"

I shrugged, crossing my arms. “Sure.”

He rolled over to me in his spiny chair, studying me for a moment before continuing. "You don’t have to say anything you’re not comfortable with, okay? We can go at your pace."

I didn’t respond, my gaze fixed on the floor.

"Hey, don’t mind me asking, but do you happen to have older brothers by any chance?" he asked in an attempt to break the ice. “I think I may have had one of them in the past.”

Of course he did.

I glanced up, trying to hide my disgust.

"Yeah…" I muttered. “Which one did you have? Please don’t say Patrick.”

Dr. Michaels hesitated as if cautious about confirming my worst fear.

"So you had Pat?" I warily answered for him.

Dr. Michaels nodded, slightly embarrassed. "Yep, easily one of the most fascinating and unpredictable individuals I’ve ever met. I never had a darn clue where our conversations were going to go, used to be the highlight of my day.”

Sounds about right.

I gave a noncommittal groan, unsure of how to respond to it. Even in therapy, I couldn’t escape being typecast as someone’s little sister. I thought this was supposed to be a safe space.

"Judging by the look on your face, you don’t like being compared to him." Dr. Michaels bemused. “No worries, I’m not expecting you to be like him, I’m more interested in learning about you.”

I stiffened at him reading my mind like that, my defenses went up immediately.

"Ok, sure, fine, great," I replied flatly, crossing my arms tighter over my chest. “Glad you can tell the difference.”

“So according to the registration form your Mom filled out, you’re struggling with pressure and anxiety about things at home, at school, and planning for your future. She also mentioned you’re very self-conscious and insecure about your appearance and that you’re really attached to the hat you’re currently wearing.” Dr. Michael said as he read through his notes. “Would you like to elaborate on any of what she wrote?”

“Nope, not really.” I said, rolling my eyes.

"Oh… okay" he said, his voice calm. "We don’t have to talk about what’s written on here if you don’t want to. This is your session after all, not your Mom’s. So… what would you like to talk about?”

I sat there in silence, fiddling with my fingers. I wasn’t ready to talk. I’d little interest in chatting with him about myself, my brothers, my parents, my friends, my cap or anything else I kept close to me. All of it felt too big, too complicated. How was I supposed to be comfortable with freely explaining my entire life story to a complete stranger I’d met mere minutes ago?

"I don’t really belong here," I mumbled to myself.

Dr. Michaels tapped his chin and thought for a moment. "Maybe, maybe not. Sometimes it takes time to figure out why you’re here. Why don’t we start with something simple, like let’s say… your full name for instance. From the way you bristled up in response to me saying it earlier, you don’t seem particularly high on it. Would you mind sharing why?"

I leaned back on the couch, still not making eye contact. I still felt nervous, but at least the conversation had shifted back to a topic that was easier to talk about.

“I-I don’t know. I just… hate my name.” I finally relented. “Everything about it sounds so… proper, y’know? Like, it’s this preordained thing I never asked for. It’s so over the top. Alexandra feels like someone who’d be prancing around in high heels, red lipstick, and a pink skirt.”

Dr. Michaels gave me an encouraging look, prompting me to continue. I hesitated, then sighed and resumed rambling.

“Every time someone calls me Alexandra, I feel like they’re trying to force me to be a more polished, presentable version of myself or someone else entirely and I’ve no interest in being either one. I just want to be… me. Just Alex.”

He nodded. “So Alexandra is a name full of expectations you don’t want any part of?”

“Exactly," I said, rolling my eyes slightly. “Not only that, but it also reminds me of my Mom. She says it whenever she’s mad or whenever she wants to guilt trip me, but the way my brothers also used it was almost just as bad. It was like additional ammo for teasing me. They’d drag it out, all dramatic, like, 'Al-lex-ann-draaaa,' in this sappy nasally voice."

Dr. Palmer chuckled. "Sounds relentless."

‘Oh, they were," I replied with a slight smirk. “Pat got such a kick out of it, still does. Every time he found an opportunity, he’d say it super loud and mockingly, as if to single me out or something, like he wanted me to think I was this flower that was too prissy, tiny, and delicate to be around him and Tyler.”

“Yep, sounds like the Patrick I remember.” Dr. Michaels leaned back, taking it all in. “Think before you talk, I used to say. How’s the other person going to feel? Think about it in your head before you talk.”

“He still hasn’t taken the hint.” I slightly raised my head, a grin creeping up.

“Figures.” He answered in agreement, before changing the subject. “So I’m glad I finally got you talking, Alex. Is there anything else you feel like diving into today? Again it doesn’t have to be anything major.”

I thought for a second and then exhaled.

"My middle name… Maxine." I practically whispered it, my face twisting as just saying it left a bad aftertaste in my mouth.

Dr. Michaels held back a laugh, noticing how serious I was about it. "It's unique, but I take it you're not a big fan of it either."

“Couldn’t care less for it.” I said, disgusted to even discuss it. “If there’s one thing I hate even more than being called Alexandra, it’s being called Alexandra Maxine. I mean, Alexandra’s awful enough, but it putting side by side with Maxine? It seals the deal, like you’re purposely trying to tick me off.”

He chuckled again as he jotted it down. “Got it. I promise I’ll avoid the ‘A.M.B.’ treatment.”

I gave a nod, grinning slightly. “Please do.”

“So do you have any other questions or concerns for me before we wrap up?" Dr. Michaels asked, his tone light.

I shook my head, eager to leave. "No."

"Okay, then," he said, standing up. "We’ll regroup again at the same time next week. You just take one day at a time, Alex. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

As I gathered my things and left to go back to gym class, my mind was spinning. I couldn’t shake the overall awkwardness of my session with Dr. Michaels. He hadn’t been invasive or anything, he even sort of got why Alex was who I wanted to be and why everything else just wasn’t, but still, talking with him wasn’t like talking with Nicole or someone I trusted, where things sort of flowed naturally. This was different, it was so clinical and forced.

I slipped back into the fieldhouse, trying to blend in as best I could. My gym teacher had decided to make everyone run the pacer drill, and I was more than happy to stay out of it, hanging near the entrance and pretending to be focused on my phone.

Later when I ran into Nicole between classes, she had a worrisome look of concern on her face.

"Troy told me you were pulled out of gym today. What was that about?" she asked, walking alongside me.

I shrugged, not wanting to get into it. "Just some school stuff. Nothing major."

Nicole wasn’t buying it. "Come on, you randomly got pulled out of class. That’s not nothing. Did you get in trouble or something?"

"No," I said quickly, glancing around as if someone might overhear. "It’s just... my mom made me start seeing the school therapist. You know how she is."

Nicole raised her eyebrows, looking a little surprised but not judgmental. "The school therapist? What for?"

"She thinks I’m stressed or something, that’s it best for me to try talking to someone." I muttered. “I’m fine. It’s just her overreacting like usual."

Nicole let out a low whistle. "Wow, that’s heavy.”

"I said I’m fine!" I responded, a little too defensively.

Nicole didn’t push further, Nicole probably didn’t get it, no offense but, her life seemed so perfect on the outside, with easy going parents who’d always catered to her and a seamless ability to make friends. She’s no conception of what it’s like having to constantly tightrope between falling apart and holding it all together.

"Anyway…" Nicole finally said, as we started climbing up one of the stairwells to the third floor, "If you want to talk to me about it, I’m here, okay? You’re not alone, Al."

"Yeah, I know," I mumbled, but I didn’t look up. Nicole was better off believing what she wanted to as we parted ways.

Sure, I’m “not alone” but when you’re me you sometimes might as well be. I wouldn’t expect you or Nicole to get it. Neither of you know everything about me.

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“This is real…”

Mom let out a dramatic sigh, lowering her phone and giving me a pleading look as she clasped my cap tighter in her other hand.

“Alex, why do you always do this? You have such a beautiful smile. Use it!”

Today was the first day of school and as was tradition, I was the unwilling focus of Mom’s yearly morning photoshoot on the front door steps.

Also, as usual, Mom was dissatisfied with my lackluster attempts at a smile, holding my hat hostage and me at gunpoint until I flashed her something worthwhile. If she wanted an improvement the most she’d get was a slightly less robotic expression, with the corners of my mouth lifted an extra millimeter, but even that was pushing it.

“Alex, honey, smile! I swear, just one big genuine smile, and I’ll stop asking and you can stop acting like you’re being tortured. Please? One picture. For me?”

Such an obvious lie, but I’d rather be at school than trapped here, so I humored her anyway. I forced a slightly wider grin, even showed the smallest hint of teeth, and begrudgingly let her snap the picture.

And wouldn’t you know it? Mom immediately reneged on her promise.

“Oh my Gosh, you look adorable! But wait, your eyes! When you smile big, they sort of squint a little, and it makes you look extra cute. Do it again!”

“NO!”

Mom again tried to guilt me. “Come on, please, just one more.”

Dad, who was standing next to Mom, sighed, already exhausted with the both of us. “I think that was the best you’re gonna get Em.”

I crossed my arms. “You said one and that was your one. I’m done. Can I have my cap back now?”

“HEY LADIES, enough bickering!” Pat hollered from the driver seat of Mom’s car. “If you want me to drive Alex to the HS, I need to go now or I’m gonna be late for my new job!”

Mom groaned in frustration, but to my relief, she handed me my cap and finally cut me loose.

I had my freedom, but the embarrassment was far from over. That picture Mom took was bound to reappear smack front and center on her Facebook page.

I can see all her friends’ corny comments on it now…

“That’s Alex? I can barely recognize her! She looks great!”

“Wow, look at little Alex all grown up! Congrats!”

“Emily, you’re so blessed to have such a wonderful daughter!”

“What a lovely picture! Tell Alex I wish her the best of luck with school!”

Ugh, just thinking about that cringefest makes me shiver.

With pictures out of the way, I hopped into the front passenger seat of the car. As Pat began pulling it out of the driveway, I sneakily reached for the radio dial only for Pat to immediately slap my hand away.

“Hey, no touchies!”

I sighed and dropped back into my seat, opting to be alone with my head for the rest of the ride.

A few minutes later, when the car rolled into the school parking lot, Pat eagerly drove around and pulled up near the fieldhouse entrance.

“We’re here, now get out.”

“Hey, just because Dad likes to drop me off here doesn’t mean you have to.” I grumbled. “The main lobby entrance is way closer to my locker.”

Pat drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and gave me a side glance. “Nope, tradition’s tradition.”

I unbuckled my seatbelt. “Thanks for the ride. I guess.”

I opened the door and slowly got out, slamming it shut. I sort of took my time walking away, so Pat promptly rolled his window down.

“What, you scared? Want me to walk you in?” He smirked.

“Very funny.”

He chuckled, then he got oddly quiet. “Hey, quick question.”

“What?” I grouchily answered.

“You okay?”

“Huh?”

“Are. You. O-kay?”

There it was, that rare once in a blue moon moment where Pat drops his schtick and almost sounds like a decent human being.

I frostily looked up at him.

“I’m fine…”

His smirk reappeared. “Well, okie dokie then! Laters!”

As Pat drove off, I took a deep breath, as I crawled over to the double door entrance.

Another year. Another season of drama.

Here goes nothing.

I entered the building and began the long walk over to my homeroom. Along the way I spotted Troy chatting by one of his friend’s lockers.

“Hey Troy,” I said, trying to sound cooler than I felt.

“Yo!” He replied, turning his attention from his friend to me. “How’s things since we talked last? Tyler still crashing with you?”

I shrugged. “He hopped back on the road last week. It was fun having him though. He spoiled me with vinyl and a Spider-Man DVD.”

“Cool.” Troy gave a nod of approval before gesturing to his friend. “Me and my pal, Marcus here were discussing how we’re gonna be stuck running the Septemberfest dance later this month. It’s part of our varsity dues. You gonna be there? It’d be nice to have a friendly face to talk to.”

I let out a small laugh. “Troy, please. How long have you known me?”

His eyes lit up as he sighed. “Yeah, asking you was a longshot. But hey, I had to shoot my shot. Could you ask Nicole? I bet she’d go.”

“Yeah,” I answered. “I’ll give her the heads up.”

The school bell rang.

“Sounds good. I’ll text you later. See ya.” He said as turned and walked over to the main staircase.

I responded with a small wave and a light thumbs up, before shuffling down the hallway to my homeroom in the art classroom.

Homeroom was its usual wash just like last year. We had a quick attendance check, some morning announcements, the pledge of allegiance, and then in the blink of an eye, it was off to first period.

I headed up the same staircase Troy had previously taken, for my first class was in that direction. Just as I reached the top, you’ll never guess who I almost bumped headfirst into.

“Hey, hat girl.”

“Hey, Tiff.”

My frenemy was her same perfectly sculpted self. Glossed lips, new manicure, designer clothing, her light brown hair curled in a way that looked effortless but totally wasn’t. She was flanked by two girls from her clique, but her eyes were locked on me like a hawk.

“You still exist.” she observed, arms wrapped around her pink binder. “Our moms stopped making playdates. I was getting worried.”

I stepped back, biting my lip. “Yep. Still here.”

Tiffany ignored me. Her gaze flicked to my cap, like it always did. “You sure? Maybe if you’d rid yourself of the hat, the lame t-shirt and that ugly oversized flannel and instead switched to the sweet outfit I picked out for you at the mall, it’d be more obvious.”

I mockingly shook my head, pretending not to care.

“Why don’t we hang out anymore?” Tiff asked.

I almost let out a chuckle. “Oh, so you’re admitting that you actually like me?”

Her lips twitched. “N-n-no not all. I’m just saying I miss our outings. That’s all.”

“Ok, I’ll put in a word to my Mom, and maybe, if you’re lucky she’ll work her magic.”

“Can’t wait.” Tiff sarcastically replied before gently shoving me to the side. “Now move it, hatso, I have to get to English.”

I adjusted my bag, gave her one last look as she and her friends darted off, and then resumed walking without another word.

After a couple dozen steps more, I made it to my first class. I sat down in my preferred spot in the back row, and began doodling absentmindedly in the margins of my notebook.

Calculus, what a crummy subject, unless I somehow become a mathematician or the second coming of Einstein, when was I ever going to use any of this stuff in my adult life?

I was swept away in the daydream, with the hum of voices around me so distant, like background noise that barely registered. I so wished I was elsewhere, far, far, away from the dull mundane predictability of another year of school.

Then, out of nowhere, He walked in.

Who exactly?

His name was Wes Freeman.

I don’t really know him all that well, Wes is hardly even a peripheral figure in my day-to-day life. I’ve seen him before, of course, he’s hard to miss. But, he’s just... there. Another guy from an entirely different part of the school societal landscape.

Wes was quiet, of medium height, with a sort of casual air to him that’s both intriguing and aggravating. I know he plays sports, he’s on the varsity baseball team, but unlike other jocks like Pat, I wouldn’t consider him overly loud or obnoxious. He’s always sort of existed in his own space, unbothered by the usual drama. Outside of being assigned to the same homeroom one year back in middle school, We’d never been assigned in any of the same classes.

And today, for whatever reason, he sat down next to me in Calculus.

I couldn’t help but stare at him out of the corner of my eye. My row was in the unofficial “leave me the hell alone” zone, that I specifically and meticulously placed myself at to keep people at arm’s length. So why was Wes breaking this unspoken rule?

“Hey” he said suddenly, his voice low but warm.

“Uh, Hi,” I muttered while instinctively reaching up to adjust my cap.

Wes didn’t say anything else right away. He just pulled out his phone and started typing something down. For a second, I wondered if he had even noticed I was sitting there before he sat down. Maybe this simply was a random seating choice and I was making a big deal out of nothing.

Nevertheless, throughout the period, I kept stealing quick glances at him. It was weird, but the more I looked, the more I got wind of little things. Like the way his dark brown hair fell messily across his forehead, or how he tapped his pen against the desk when he was deep in thought. There was something about him, something that felt... different. For whatever reason it bugged me that I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

The bell rang, jolting me out of my head. I quickly grabbed my bag, eager to get away from the alien-like feeling hovering over me. But as I stood up to leave, the guy just had to catch me off guard again.

“You’re Alex Bradley, right?” Wes asked, standing next to me, his backpack slung over one shoulder.

I gulped and my heart skipped a beat. What did he want with me? I was sure I‘d never talked to him before. Which one of my brothers did he know?

“Yeah...” I replied, my voice slow and cautious. “That’s me.”

“I thought so,” he said, smiling a little. “I remember you from back in 8th grade homeroom with Mrs. Matthewson. You used to destroy everyone in Spoons whenever we played it to kill time before first period. I always thought you were neat.”

The comment threw me off completely. With the exception of Troy, guys normally didn’t talk to me, not unless it was to tease me, awkwardly flirt, or pester me about my brothers. Yet here this boy was, complimenting me like it was the most naturally organic thing in the world.

“Um, thanks.” I managed to utter, unsure of how to respond. I reached up for my cap again, unsure of what to do with my free hand. “How could I forget those days?”

Wes shrugged casually, still smiling. “Yeah, who wouldn’t? Oh well, see you around.”

And with that, he headed off to his next class, leaving me standing there in a stunned trance.

Don’t I worry, I quickly snapped out of it and swiftly flushed it out.

Wes is just another guy.

I’ve no time for any of that Degrassi or High School Musical mumbo jumbo.

I’ve never been the type to take note of boys, not in the way Nicole or even someone like Tiffany would. Tiff and her clique will gossip about crushes and first kisses, while I’d prefer to stay focused on myself and remain withdrawn from the MTV-like world of teen romance. Sure, my brothers dated a couple of classmates back when they were my age but that was different. They actively played the game like it was nothing. To me it all seems so dramatic, so forced, so synthetic, so messy, and boy, oh boy, do I despise messiness.

I tried to cleanse any lingering tense thoughts as I shuffled downstairs towards my next class in the auditorium. I entered through the two big doors, found a seat in one of the middle rows, and peered around at all the foreign faces.

What had I gotten myself into?

I’d signed up to take Acting 101 as my elective on a whim. It wasn’t something I was particularly ecstatic about, nor did it fit in with any of my interests. The only reason I’d even talked myself into it was because Tyler took this same class back in the day and he’d been adamant about me taking it too. He’d raved about how it had been one of the few classes he both did well in and enjoyed being in. He’d told me stories about Mrs. Lennox, the quirky and eccentric drama teacher, and how Acting 101 had this “freedom of expression” vibe, which had appealed to him due his own creative and imaginative tendencies.

I figured if it had Ty’s endorsement, maybe it’d be worth taking. Also the concept of doing something very hands-on and with little to no homework attached seemed like a nice bonus. Besides, I needed an elective, it was this or be stuck in a godawful financial accounting class instead.

The bell rang and on cue, Mrs. Lennox whistled and clapped her hands for attention, her voice booming through the big open space as she explained what we’d be doing for our first day:

Improvisation practice.

She was exactly as Ty had described—bohemian, middle aged, with her flowing skirts and eccentric jewelry. Her hair was this short reddish brown, and she had a strong commanding voice that also seemed soft and calming at the same time.

“Alright, everyone! I need all of you to pair up with a partner for this first exercise! I really like this one because it makes for a great icebreaker." Mrs. Lennox announced.

I knew how this worked. I promptly looked around, hoping to find a partner before as expected, I was left standing awkwardly alone, like always.

Luckily, a girl with a pixie cut and glasses, whose name I can’t recall, gestured toward me. She didn’t look like the overconfident theater snob type I’d been afraid of running into.

"Hey, do you wanna be my partner?" the girl asked.

I nodded, grateful that I wasn’t the one having to initiate it. “Yeah, sure.”

Mrs. Lennox gave us our prompt:

"You’re two strangers who are stuck inside an elevator together on the top floor of the Empire State Building, 3… 2… 1… Go."

I felt my anxiety pinch me. I hadn’t expected to be thrown into performing in front of everyone right away. My first instinct was to retreat, to let my partner take the lead, but I knew that wasn’t the point. Tyler comments on how much fun this class was, came to mind, and how freeing it felt to step into someone else’s shoes and go wild.

So, without further ado, I took a deep breath and cautiously launched into it.

"Oh no! I think the power’s out," I said as I pretended to press an imaginary elevator button. "Do you, uh… have a cellphone, so we can call someone for help?"

My partner almost simultaneously picked up on the scene, feigning panic as she shifted through her imaginary purse for her phone. "Ahh! No signal! Oh no! We’re trapped in here!"

The scene moved forward, with the both of us bouncing off each other’s energy, and for a moment, I could ignore the fact that I was doing this in front of a dozen or so classmates. It was just me, my partner, and this faulty elevator that wasn’t real but felt like it might be.

After we finished our improv routine, Mrs. Lennox gave us encouraging feedback. “Nice work, You had a strong sense of what the claustrophobia of being stuck in an elevator would be like.”

I nodded in acknowledgment, though I was just happy to be done with it.

“Ok, so your name is Alexandra Bradley…” Mrs. Lennox commented, as she matched my picture with my name on the attendance sheet.

I again nodded.

“Hold on a second…” Her eyes widened as the realization came to her.

“Are you Tyler’s little sister???”

OH NO.

“Yep…” I replied with a hesitant half-smirk, trying not to roll my eyes. I should have known this was coming at some point.

“Oh my gosh! No way! Your brother was such a character, heh, heh” My teacher fondly reminisced. “Definitely had a knack for being a comedic actor though. A real natural. I can’t tell you how badly I wanted him to join the drama club and be in some of our plays. Oh, he would have been a picture perfect fit! I tried my best to persuade him to join, but I could never get him to fully sign onto it. Anyway, nice to meet you Alex, really excited to see another Bradley partaking in the arts.”

Perfect. Just perfect.

Another class where I’ll be compared ad nauseam to one of my brothers.

Here we go again… more expectations and reputations I don’t feel like following or living up to.

Fan-freakin-tastic.

As Mrs. Lennox moved us onto the next activity, I kept going back to what she had said about Tyler. It was no shock that this class fit him like a glove. He’s always comfortable in front of groups of people, always knows how to confidently handle and navigate social situations in his laid back style. Sorta wish it was like that for me, but genetics just had to deal me a bad hand.

This next activity had us all assigned into small groups. Instead of improv, now we had to perform a short scripted scene. I held the script in my hand as I scanned through the lines. It was a three-person dialogue between siblings who were having an argument. What were the odds? This script made me feel right at home.

I was paired with the same girl from earlier and another classmate, a tall guy in a Black Sabbath shirt named Ryan. We read through the lines together, and as we practiced, I discovered that my character’s lines called for anger, exasperation, and the feeling of not being heard or properly understood, y’know all that stuff I already deal with on a daily basis. It didn’t feel fake, the emotion felt real. It was almost cathartic, channeling all my pent-up angst into this character.

As we rehearsed, Ryan was taken aback.

"Woah, have you done this before?" he asked me after a particularly intense read-through.

I shrugged, feeling slightly insecure because maybe I was overdoing it. "Not really. Only took this class because one of my brothers talked me into it."

"Oh, that’s cool. You must be from a family of great actors then," Ryan replied, sounding impressed.

Our group continued practicing, and with each take, we built up more and more chemistry and when we finally performed the scene together in front of our class, we got a nice long round of applause.

“Alex, that was so raw, emotional, genuine. You really blew me away with your portrayal of Vanessa,” Mrs. Lennox commented, with a big smile on her face. “You completely stole the show.”

I blinked, a bit awestruck by the praise. I wasn’t used to that kind of feedback, especially not at school. I’m not the loud, explosive, extroverted type. It had always been my brothers’ thing. But now, for the first time in a while, I felt like I had taken center stage, even if it was for only a brief moment.

“Again, marvelous job Alex! You definitely have your brother’s acting chops, I can’t wait to see more from you!"

“Thanks,” I replied, a little awkward, still undecided on whether to take or scoff at the compliment, as I headed back to my seat.

I tugged my cap a little lower, smiling to myself. Maybe this whole acting thing really would be a breeze. For a second there, I was satisfied that I’d actually made the right choice.

That was…

…until later, near the end of class, when Mrs. Lennox brought up the final project while going through the class syllabus.

“Alright, my fellow actors and actresses,” She said with this wide, encouraging smile, “If you go to page 3 you’ll see that for the final exam in December, each of you will be performing a seven minute monologue in front of a live audience as part of the Drama Club winter showcase. This performance will give you the chance to utilize everything you will have learned over the course of this semester. I’ll pick a few pieces that I think might speak for each of you and then you’ll choose the one you like the most and make it your own.”

I froze.

Monologue?

Live audience?

Why didn’t Tyler tell me I’d have to do this?

This is not at all what I signed up for. Why would I ever want to stand on a stage, alone, with a million eyes peeled on me and watching my every move? I bet Mrs. Lennox won’t even let me wear my cap for a good double whammy.

As my teacher explained more details about the assignment and how we’d have to recite it fully memorized, my eyes drifted to the floor. My classmates, meanwhile, were all buzzing in excitement. Of course the theater kids would be thrilled at the opportunity. At one point that Ryan guy leaned over to me and whispered,

“Is this monologue assignment gonna be fun or what?"

Fun? I could barely keep myself from puking at the thought of it.

This wasn’t the carefree acting class I’d imagined. Now it felt like a test of my entire ability to stay out of the mental ward.

The period ended not long after. When we were finally dismissed, I hurriedly gathered my things and darted out of the auditorium.

In the hallway, near where my third period science class was, I spotted Nicole standing by her locker.

Normally, just seeing her is enough to give me some semblance of a grip on my sanity, but today, even her presence wasn’t enough to quell what was bubbling inside me.

“Hi, Al. What’s up?” Nicole asked, noticing my pale face.

“Final project for acting,” I stuttered, all dazed and wide eyed. “Monologues. On stage. Live audience. Fully memorized. Oh… My… God...”

Nicole took a step back. “Woah, that seems intense. But you’ll totally nail it when the time comes, right?”

I shook my head. “No, just no. I can’t just… perform in front of a bunch of random people. Maybe if I was with others, but not by myself.”

Nicole flashed a sympathetic smile. “It shouldn’t be that bad. Besides, you’ve done book reports and slideshow presentations before. This’ll simply be more focused.”

“Focused,” I repeated, the repulsive word making me want to gag even more. “Focused on me. Staring at me. Judging me and only me.”

The sick reality of my predicament was starting to sink in now. I couldn’t just run and hide. This time, there was no avoiding being dragged into the hornet’s nest.

Nicole nudged my shoulder gently. “Seriously Al, don’t stress it, finals aren’t till December. You’ve survived worse stuff, right? You’ll just have to find a way to make it goofy and lighthearted, like how Troy or one of your brothers would.”

I sighed, if only it were that easy.

“Yeah, but I’m not them.”

“So what?,” She said, “You’re you. And I bet you’ll get to do it all on your own terms. That’d be kind of rewarding wouldn’t it?”

Nicole’s words hardly persuaded me of anything, but I nodded anyway, appreciative of her support.

Later that afternoon, when I got home, I pulled out of my phone and promptly texted Tyler demanding answers. He better not have tricked me...

Me: WTF! Why didn’t you tell me the final for Acting would be a monologue?

Surprisingly, for someone often busy, Ty’s reply came back quite quick.

Tyler: What? She doesn’t give you guys choices for it anymore?

Me: Wdym?

Tyler: When I took the course way back, we got like 4-5 options for what we wanted to perform. I remember choosing to do this two person situational scene with this chorus chick I had a crush on at the time. LOL. Mrs. Lennox must have changed the rules since then.

Me: You’re kidding me. Thanks a lot, It’s your fault I’m in this friggin’ mess.

Tyler: Sorry! If it makes you feel any better, I’ll try and see if I can make it to your show. Wanna give me the date? Also tell Mrs. Lennox I said Hi!

I didn’t reply. Instead I went and slammed myself face down on my bed, furious with both my brother and myself for ever thinking that taking Acting 101 would be a good idea.

Dammit!

Dammit!

Dammit!

I should’ve just taken personal accounting instead!

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Do you really? Because let me tell you, it began just swell.

And all because I made the naive move of falling asleep on the couch while marathoning that show with my brothers last night.

Guess what was missing when I woke up?

My cap.

And my brothers?

Nowhere to be found.

Obviously, I was immediately suspicious.

They were never up before me. Not unless something was going on.

After brief scan of the family room, I went up and I checked the kitchen—empty. Then their rooms. Nothing. I peeked into the bathroom, deserted.

I swore under my breath. If this was some kind of joke, if they were really stooping this low and pulling this garbage after the tenderness of last night…

Oh, was I going to kill them. Not even dramatically. Just quietly. Efficiently.

One more place to check.

I pushed open the porch screen door with more force than necessary, letting it swing wide with a creak.

And there they were.

Well… not Pat and Tyler, Pat and… someone else.

Pat was stretched out like a king on the porch couch, legs kicked up on the coffee table and munching down on a breakfast sandwich as he watched tv. He didn’t even look up when I entered, he just nodded at the screen and whispered something to his new best friend.

His new best friend?

It was sitting beside him and perched up on the cushions like a badge of honor.

Pat’s friend was none other than my childhood giant plush Spider-Man.

And that’s not even the worst part. Wanna know the kicker?

On top of Spidey’s head was my cap.

My. Cap.

Pat glanced at me, completely unfazed. “Morning, sunshine! Figured ol’ Spidey here missed ya. So I thought I’d let him borrow your hat. Totally makes him look dapper if I do say so myself.”

I stared at him. Then at Spider-Man. Then back at him.

I couldn’t decide what irked me more, the midnight swiping of my cap when I least expected it or the fact that the only way he could have gotten his hands on my plush again is if he broke into my room and scoured through the depths of my closet.

“I hate you” I said, voice low and lethal. “You freaking psychopath.”

Pat raised his hands in mock surrender, grinning. “Whoa, settle down there, buttercup. I’m just presenting you with a lil’ nostalgia. Spidey looked so cold, sad, and lonely in your closet. Y’know, you really need to stop leaving him in there.”

“You’re dead,” I said, already trotting furiously across the porch.

Unfazed, Pat leaned back, and sighed. “Hey, hey, hey, don’t get all prissy at me. Maybe you shouldn’t fall asleep in the family room like a hobo in a public par-OWW!”

I smacked his cheek with the back of my hand.

“Yeesh, chill out!” he chuckled, twisting away. “This hat prank was pretty half-assed, all things considered. Maybe you’re the psychopath.”

I snatched my cap off Spider-Man’s head and yanked it back on, tugging it down tight.

“You’re so dead.” I repeated.

Just as I was about to really lay it in on Pat, I was interrupted by the two words I despise more than anything else.

“Alexandra Maxine!”

My first and middle names. Sharp and clean like a slap.

I turned slowly, bracing myself.

Mom was standing in her robe, arms folded, and with that dreaded look on her face, the one she used when she found dirty laundry lying around or caught wind of a sibling scuffle two rooms away.

“Are you threatening your brother with death over a hat?” she said, eyebrows rising. “Am I hearing all this correctly?”

“Mom!” I groaned, dropping my arms to my side.

“Oh for the love of…, it’s just a hat,” she exclaimed, rubbing her temples as if they were the only thing anchoring her sanity. “Do you realize how ridiculous you sound? Screaming bloody murder over a piece of fabric is not how normal people start their mornings!”

Pat made a choking sound, part snort, part laugh which earned him another cold glare from me and a tired sigh from Mom.

“He stole it from me and then broke into my room, snooped through my things and ran off with my Spider-Man.” I snapped. “He violated me!”

Mom blinked, clearly working to piece everything together. She turned to Pat, who was now glowingly basking in my misery.

“Patrick, you’re too old for this.”

“Maybe I am, Ma. Maybe I am…” he said, hands up, smiling like a kid who got caught stealing a bag of chocolate chips but still thinks it was worth it. “But I never hurt anyone, FYI, I’m the one sitting here with the red cheek.”

Mom closed her eyes for a second, trying to figure out how to best defuse this.

“Okay,” she said wearily. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Patrick, respect your sister’s privacy and stop stealing her stuff. Alex, you need to relax and not get so worked up over your hat. One of you’s an adult and the other’s a teenager. Do me a favor and act like it.”

She turned to leave the porch, pausing just long enough to deliver a final word.

“And Alex, one more thing. If I ever catch you hitting or threatening someone over your hat again, I’m taking it, it’s mine and believe me, it’ll be mine this time for way longer than a week. I didn’t raise you to behave like that.”

I stared after her, my jaw slightly open.

“She’s right, y’know…” Pat mused, breaking the silence. “You definitely have issues.”

I didn’t answer that. Instead, I kicked him in the shin, as I grabbed Spider-Man and marched off to my room.

So yeah, that’s how my day started. Exactly how I drew it up.

As for Tyler’s whereabouts, after exchanging texts, I found out he was downtown wandering his old stomping grounds.

Making plans to meet up with him there, I hurriedly chugged a swig of coffee and chomped down on a protein bar before leaving the house on my bike. After a brisk thought clearing ride, I reached my destination.

Wedged between the dry cleaners and the local access tv studio was the place. The repurposed movie theater that had decades ago been rechristened as the one and only local comic book store.

The familiar giant Hulk statue greeted me as I entered through the front door. I took one glance at the comic book section, before thinking better of it and instead making my way downstairs to the basement where all the action figures were.

My hunch was right, the second stepped foot into the basement I instantly spotted Tyler in one of the aisles, hunched over and scanning through a row of Funko Pops.

Never change Ty. Never change.

I smirked, stepped forward, tapped his shoulder and said “You just couldn’t help yourself. This the real reason you came home?”

Tyler looked up, grinning wide. “Well… not entirely. You showed up fast.”

“Had to get out of the house.” I answered, as I examined some of the wackier Funko pops on display. I picked up a SpongeBob one, doing a double take, to make sure I wasn’t imagining it.

“You gonna buy that?”

“N-No, just looking.” I stumbled, as I quickly placed the figure back on the shelf.

Tyler smiled and grabbed a Red Power Ranger one. “I think I’m gonna go with this guy. I could use some MMPR in my collection.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That all you’re getting?”

He shrugged. “Of course not! I haven’t even checked the bargain bins yet.”

Together we walked over to a large bin that was marked Misc. Marvel. The faint hum of the ceiling fan buzzed above us, and some kid at the front register was begging his dad for a rare Batman figure. I crossed my arms as I watched Ty cheerily whistle a tune as he excitedly rummaged through the bin.

I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice. “Hey, Ty can I ask you something?”

He glanced sideways. “Hit me.”

“Why’d you go along with Pat’s crap last night?”

He blinked. “Huh? Go along?…. Ooooh, you mean the hat thing.”

I rolled my eyes. “And the heist of my Spider-Man! You were right there. You could’ve woken me up and/or you could’ve stopped him. That is, unless… you were his accomplice!”

Ty gazed down at the Fantastic Four figure in his hands, then back at me with the most obnoxious nonchalant expression I’ve ever seen.

“Accomplice? hey, I was nothing more than a witness. Pat made his move, I advised him that it probably wasn’t a good idea, but I wasn’t about to stop him. I figured he was just going to have his fun and mess with your cap for two seconds, not stage a display with your toy. Also no way was I waking you up right then and there, I was afraid you’d viciously snap and growl at me!”

I shook my head. “Witness? That doesn’t exactly make you innocent. As Dad would say, you’re still considered an accessory to murder.”

He nudged me with his elbow. “Relax, it was still sorta funny.”

I huffed. “Well, You guys still suck. Maybe intervene next time! Y’know?”

Tyler laughed. “Fine, for the record, I do sincerely apologize for my inactivity. But, come on Al, lighten up. It’s not that big of a deal.”

I muttered something under my breath as I turned back toward the rows of action figures.

After a minute, Ty finished shifting through toys and turned to me. “Ok, ok, look, if it makes you feel any better, I’ll buy you something while we’re here. My treat.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno, that’s why I’m asking you.”

I deliberated my options in my head for a second.

“Wanna check out the vinyl upstairs?” I answered flatly.

Tyler again flashed his familiar grin. “There we go, good choice Sis. Lead the way…”

We headed for the stairs, again passing by the Hulk statue as we made our way back up to the upper section of the store. This section was bigger and larger but at the same time super packed in and even more cluttered. It was where all the comic books were kept. The aisles each stretched farther than the eye could see.

Hidden in the back, tucked away behind the rare comic books display was the vinyl collection. The collection was vast, with various genres such as Rock, Hip Hop, Pop, and Jazz spread throughout. Like always, the alt rock and punk offerings were on the left hand side, near a busted window fan rattling against the humid air. We started our search there, flipping through rows of cracked sleeves and bent corners.

Tyler’s eyes widened as he spotted a record and held it up.

“This Is Boston, Not L.A.," He said, wagging it at me. "Classic 80’s comp straight from the local scene. Get this one.”

“Eh, a little too hardcore for my liking…” I replied as I went back to record hunting. There were so many choices to choose from. My fingers brushed over Bad Religion, Minor Threat, Dead Kennedys, and Black Flag. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the coincidence. These were all of Sam’s favorite bands.

I moved on and dug through another section. Bouncing Souls, Operation Ivy, Green Day, and Hüsker Dü.

Ty’s favorite bands? Ok, now this had to be some kind of joke.

After a minute, I finally found something I liked. I pulled out a beat up record, the cover art worn, but intact.

"This," I said, holding it up triumphantly. "This is what you’re buying for me."

Tyler gave the album a mock serious inspection. "Babes In Toyland ? A Riot girl band that’s punk with elements of grunge, alt, noise rock, and a hint of heavy metal. And which of their albums is this? “Fontanelle”? Hmm… hey that’s one with “Bruise Violet”! Ok, I’m sold. Alex, I hence forth give your album the Tyler Bradley seal of approval.”

I grinned, actually feeling sort of… at ease. Like the whole stupid cap drama from this morning had been vaporized by the simple act of flipping through dusty records.

"Alright," he said, digging out his wallet. "My treat, deal’s a deal. But however… if Mom ends up disapproving of any of the lyrical content, I am not the one liable. As far as she’s concerned you bought it with your own money. Capiche?"

“Capiche.”

Later that day, I found myself playing Marvel: Ultimate Alliance with Tyler and reluctantly, Pat again. Tyler was relishing in the joy of smashing everything to bits with Thor and the Hulk, while Pat was having fun delivering carnage as Venom and Deadpool.

Meanwhile, I was protectively playing as Spider-Man and no one else. I know we were still playing under the quote on quote “system” rules, but I was paranoid and I wasn’t about it to put it pass Pat to just ignore it and swipe Spidey the second I switched to someone else.

With only three players, the fourth character slot was left to be used by the computer, so we symbolically assigned it to one of Sam’s favorite characters to play as, Captain America. It was fitting, going with the bossy, strong, charismatic leader character foe for that slot. It’s what Sam was back then and what he prided himself on being. It’s what I looked up to, it’s what I miss. With his reclusiveness now adays he ain’t really been that lately.

Game wise, we were in the middle of the Asgard stage, working together to lay the beatdown on hordes of Vikings, clay statues, and evil super soldiers. We’d just beaten the first two bosses of the level, Scorpion and the Lizard and we were now swiftly progressing through the west wing of the courtyard as we made our way to the grand hall.

“Is it just me or to do these stages feel shorter than I remember?” Ty commented.

“Yeah, Asgard used to take ages to get through” Pat agreed. “I guess it’s easier now because Alex is no longer dragging us down as dead weight.”

I sharply inhaled, trying not to get offended by the scapegoating, before softly responding “Nah, I think it’s because Sam isn’t here to constantly make us go search for collectibles or do those tedious simulator disc missions.”

Pat tilted his head. “Solid theory, but I’m sticking with the former.”

Tyler suddenly tapped me on the shoulder.

“So, when’s school starting back up for you?”

I paused.

The first day of school? To be honest, I’d barely thought about it all, almost like an item on the bottom of a to-do list. It hadn’t really sunk in yet that my summer was closing in on its dying breath.

“Sometime soon.” I finally said.

“What day? First of September?” Ty inquired.

“Dude, it’s still the Thursday before Labor day weekend.” Pat corrected him. “Hasn’t changed since we graduated. I should know, I’m her morning chauffer.”

“Thanks for the memo…” Tyler continued. “Anyway, Al, did you end up following through on my recommendation for an elective?”

“Yeah…” I answered. “Though with the options I was given, it wasn’t much of a contest.”

“Don’t stress it, you’ll thank me later.” He assured me. “Might not be your thing, but at least you won’t have to worry about having a lot of homework for it. It’s an easy A if you play your cards right.”

I gave a slight nod. Again, the last thing I wanted to think it about in that moment was the looming gloom of school.

Still, it was coming up fast.

Was I ready?

Heck if I knew.

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The day had finally arrived, Tyler was taking a break from touring and life on the road to come stay with us for a few nights. He was due to be here within the next thirty minutes.

“I’m so hyped, I even brought my cd copy of his album. Do you think he’ll sign it for me?” Nicole continued on impatiently.

“I don’t know, maybe? He probably wants to relax and not be pestered by fangirls, so if I was you, I’d take it easy on him.”

Of my three brothers, Ty has always been my friend’s favorite. I’m not sure if it’s his music, his personality, or his “cute“ face, but Nic has always been nutty for him, so the second she learned he was visiting, she just had to invite herself over.

I sat with my legs tucked under me on the couch, returning my focus to the tv show we were binge watching.

House M.D.

Man, was this medical drama a riot. A show about a brilliant but grouchy curmudgeon who deals with stupid people at work on a daily basis. For my Dad, it must’ve been like looking into a mirror. No wonder it was one of his favorites.

We’d just made it to season 4, and the entire show had just turned completely upside down. In the season 3 finale, Dr. House had fired his three main assistants and was now into the process of finding replacements. But nothing with Dr. House is ever simple, even his hiring process. To fill his vacant positions, he has placed 40 candidates in a weekly Survivor-style competition, with the final four standing becoming House’s new assistants.

Yeah, Nicole and I were hooked.

Nicole was sprawled out across the couch’s armrest, her head dangling off the side like she might slip off it entirely.

“Think he’s changed at all?” she asked suddenly.

I looked over. “Ty?”

She nodded, flicking a piece of her popcorn in the air before catching it in her mouth.

I shrugged. “Other than maybe an extra tattoo, probably not.”

There was a buzz of excitement in my chest, even though I’d never admit it outright. Tyler had been gone for months now, his visits almost becoming as rare as Sam’s. Our house was in desperate need of some loud music blaring through its walls.

Just then, we heard it, an engine prowling louder as it creeped up the street.

Nicole bolted upright. “That’s him!”

I stood up too, my heart doing a small backflip. We both hurried up to the front door window just in time to see a familiar beat-up Mazda with band stickers plastered all over the back, pull up and park near our mailbox.

The driver side opened and out stepped a figure with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He had blue hair and a black denim hoodie littered with decorative buttons and band pins.

“Blue hair, really?,” I said, groaning. “He should have stuck with the red.

“I like it,” Nicole whispered. “I think he looks handsome.”

The front door creaked open and Ty strolled in like hadn’t been gone for five months.

“I’m back!” he said with a grin. “Did you really think you could get away with having fun without me?”

“Heeey Tyler!” Nicole chirped, practically bouncing up and down.

“Uh.. Hey Nicky, you’re here too. Cool.” he said, throwing his duffel bag dramatically to the floor.

I stood with my arms crossed, trying to keep the excitement off my face. “Welcome home, Ty.”

Tyler grinned at me, that familiar spark in his eyes. “Missed you too, Sis.”

“Well, well, well, well, look who decided to show up fashionably late!”

I turned to see Pat standing at the top of the stairs, fidgeting with his hands.

Ty looked up and smirked. “Patrick! What’s up bro?”

Pat scoffed. “I’ve been stuck with the little rascal all summer.”

“Aw, come on, bro.” Tyler said. “Hey, the kid can’t be that bad! Right, Al?”

I nodded, not wanting to get in the middle of this.

Pat tilted his head in my direction. “Yeah, yeah, you try dealing with someone who hogs the remote, insists on being a passenger princess, and mumbles to herself when she thinks no one’s listening.”

Ty’s face lit up with pride. “But that’s part of her charm bro!”

“You wish,” Pat called back, still halfway up the stairs. “Jeez… what the heck happened to you? You’ve definitely been gone for too long… BRO!”

“Bro!”

“BRO!”

“Bro!”

Nicole grinned and stepped aside as Tyler kicked off his converse sneakers. “Alex, are your brothers always like this?”

“Pretty much…” I muttered.

Suddenly a strong authoritative voice beckoned from the upstairs porch.

“TYLER BRADLEY, GET OVER HERE AND TALK TO YOUR MOTHER!”

Tyler shrugged and started making way up the steps.

“Sorry guys, looks like I’m going to be busy for a few hours, you know how these parental debriefings work. I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

“Mama’s boy.” Pat bemused as our brother walked off, he then glanced over at me and Nicole.

“I’m bored, ya ladies wanna hang out with El Patrico?”

“Tough choice, but we’ll pass.” I answered flatly.

“Figures, good to know I’m still too cool for you.” Pat mumbled as he walked towards his room.

By ourselves again, Nicole and I exchanged looks with each other.

“Wanna go back to watching House?” she asked.

“Nah, we’ve gone through what? Seven episodes today? Time for a break.” I said. “Besides, Troy texted me earlier, said he was shooting hoops at the park. I say we go see him.”

“Ok, it’s been a while since we caught up with him.” Nicole agreed, as we made our way downstairs to the garage door. “So who’s bike am I borrowing this time?”

I shrugged as I opened the door. I hopped on my bike and gestured Nicole over to Pat’s bike.

It’s what he gets for trying to give me a bad rap.

We rode over to the park surrounded by conservation land, the one with the crumbling basketball courts, a small skatepark, and a rickety old wooden playground.

Troy was already there, shooting around solo in one of the half-courts, earbuds in, sweat darkening the neckline of his red t-shirt. He spotted us trotting over and popped one earbud out.

Man, I can’t believe I haven’t written much about Troy until now.

Him and I go way back, though we didn’t fully become friends until middle school. He went to Barrows Elementary, while I went to the one a block from my house.

By dumb luck, we were always assigned to the same little league baseball teams. It was funny, actually. Every year, no matter how teams were shuffled and divided, we somehow always ended up as teammates.

Troy was first and always foremost, a basketball player, but his parents insisted that he also play baseball in the spring and summer so he could become more “well-rounded.” He wasn’t even mad about it, even if his baseball skills left much to be desired. He made up for it by being the ultimate clubhouse glue guy.

As the self-appointed team cheerleader, Troy always kept things lighthearted, even if we were losing. From his spot in the outfield or on the bench, he’d dish out the most ridiculous trash talk you’d ever heard to distract, rattle, and throw off the other team. The coaches weren’t exactly thrilled with it, but there was no doubt it gave our team a distinct edge.

Me? I was the opposite. I took my baseball way too seriously back then, hated losing, argued ball and strikes, wanted to be perfect, wanted to prove I was just as good, if not better then the guys.

I remember one game when Troy and I were stuck in the outfield together. I was so ticked off about having to play in right field that day. Right field is where they put all the bad players because no one ever hits the ball out there, so I took being assigned there as a personal insult.

While I sulked, Troy kept cracking jokes from his spot in centerfield about our crummy situation, even suggesting that we bring lawn chairs and PSPs next week so could kill time. I didn’t want to laugh, but yet I did. I needed that, for a moment, I could simply relax and just enjoy baseball.

And that’s how it started. Me and this tall lanky kid just started bonding after that.

There was one year where Troy went something like sixty straight at bats without a hit. It didn’t bother him, as he naturally turned it into a team-wide running joke, but he definitely started getting desperate, especially as the strikeouts started raking up. Late into the very last game of the season, he finally broke the streak by laying down the world’s ugliest bunt. The thing barely even rolled out of the batter’s box. But by some miracle, he managed to turn it into an inside park homerun after the catcher panicked and accidently threw the ball over the first baseman’s head and into the outfield.

Troy slid into home plate, arms raised and smiling like an idiot. He took a bow before running up to me and shouting:

“Yo Alex! I did it! Yo Alex! I did it!”

I couldn’t even be embarrassed because it was all so ridiculous. That play basically was our team’s championship that year.

In sixth grade, we ended up in the same homeroom. I recognized him right away, and he immediately recognized me too. I didn’t have a lot of friends, still don’t, and most kids thought I was too weird or too quiet. But Troy didn’t care about any of that. He said I reminded him of his older sister, and at first I wasn’t sure if I should take his comparison as an insult or a compliment. But then Troy said she had the best laugh out of anyone he knew, so I figured he meant the latter. And from that point forward, I had a new ally in the new and harsh world of middle school.

On days when I felt invisible or down in the dumps, Troy had this way of pulling me out of it. He’d find the humor in my predicament or challenge me to a race to the water fountain, and just like that, the bad stuff didn’t seem so bad anymore.

That in short, is why I’m friends with Troy Mercer.

So anyway, Nicole and I dropped our bikes into the grass as we walked over to where Troy was dribbling his basketball.

“I was wondering when you’d show up.” he said, wiping sweat off his brow with the bottom of his shirt.

“Can only pedal so fast on a bike.” I said, giving him a half-hearted shove as I passed him. “How long have you been out here?”

“45 minutes give or take. Practice clears my head. I’m feelin’ real good about my chances of making varsity this year.” he said, dribbling lazily before hoisting up a brick.

“Did you hear Alex’s brother back?” Nicole said.

“Which one? The hockey one?” Troy asked as he put up another shot, this time all net.

“No, the punk one.”

“Oh, so Sam?” He answered innocently.

I rolled my eyes as I motioned for the ball. “No, the other one!”

Troy tossed me the ball and raised his finger. “Ah Tyler, the guitar guy! Should’ve been my first guess. How’s he doing?”

“He seems okay. He mentioned in a text last week that he’s started taking online classes at Berklee.” I commented, as I put up a shot of my own. It rolled around the rim before falling out. “But, we didn’t get the chance to talk to him much today before my parents decided to do a strip search on him, so we’re stuck waiting until he’s tells them enough about his where abouts.”

“Lucky him,” Troy said as picked up the ball and passed to Nicole. “Your parents make mine look so hands off in comparison.”

Nicole caught the ball with a smirk. “Alright, are we just here to hang, or are we running a game?”

“Yeah, I’m game!” He called back. “I’ve been dying to make it splash Ray Allen style on Alex again. It’s gonna be sooo easy”

“In your dreams,” I said, stepping onto the court. “Horse. First to 21. Let’s go.”

And for the rest of the afternoon, we just played. No pressure, no family noise, no weight. Just the thump of the ball, the rhythm of sneakers on pavement, and the sharp, clean sound of a perfect swish.

Ok, I may have romanticized that a little.

I left out the part where it was loud, with endless taunting, trash talk, showboating, and me cursing every time I missed. But elsewise, that’s more or less how I spent the rest of my afternoon.

After losing the deciding game to Troy, we parted ways and Nicole and I began making our way back to my house on our bikes.

Nicole was ahead of me, pounding on the pedals, shouting back over her shoulder, “First one back to the driveway gets part of your candy stash.”

I shouted something back that was probably technically a threat, but then quickly leaned into it, picking up speed.

She barely beat me by like, inches.

She hopped off her bike with a victorious little spin and leaned against my mailbox like it was a throne. “So can I have the rest of your chocolate rock candy?”

“No chance.” I panted, dragging my bike into the driveway. “But, you might get a couple sugar daddies, if you’re lucky…”

We dropped the bikes in the garage and stepped inside through the door to the family door where we immediately saw Pat and Tyler on the couch next to each other, Xbox controllers in hand.

Tyler heard us as we entered. “Hey sis. Hey Nicky.”

“Mom finally get bored with you?” I asked as I walked up to him.

“Yep. Free at last.” He answered, but his attention was on the video game. “Check it out, Pat and I decided to dig out a throwback. What do you think?”

I looked over at the tv and instantly recognized what game they were playing.

Marvel: Ultimate Alliance. Holy smokes, now that’s what you call a throwback!

My brothers and I used to play M:UA all the time when we were younger. There was never a more picture perfect game for us. Four player co-op, cool and complex enough for them, while also being age appropriate for me. It was as if this superhero RPG was tailored made just for us.

“Alex, move your butt away from the screen, I’m trying to play!” Pat moaned.

I moved slightly over. “Nicole, Ty isn’t kidding. M:UA is an absolute classic. Do you wanna play it with them? It supports four players.”

Nicole expressed her concerns. “I’m not much of a gamer, Is this one hard?”

“Nah, the controls are really basic.” I reassured her. “But if you have trouble, we don’t mind carrying you. Right, Pat?”

Pat rolled his eyes and shook head.

I dug out a pair of controllers from the tv cabinet and synced them to the Xbox. I handed one to Nicole as we smartly sat down on Tyler’s side of the couch.

My brothers had made steady progress on the game thus far. They’d successfully completed the introductory stage on the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier and were now roaming around in Stark tower, the game’s first hub world.

Wanting to further show the game off to Nicole, I instructed Tyler to take us to the character selection screen.

“So here’s the roster.” I boasted. “Pretty stacked huh?”

“Wow, this roster’s insane!” Nicole exclaimed.

To call this roster stacked was almost an understatement. The game featured a boatload of Marvel characters, both well known and obscure. It had the Avengers, the X-Men, the Fantastic Four, it had everything and more.

“Since you’re our guest, you can pick who you wanna play as first.”

After a brief scan of her options, Nicole attempted to select Wolverine.

“Hey that’s my guy!” Pat suddenly shouted.

“What?”

“That’s my guy, I’m using him right now, pick someone else!” He growled.

Nicole shrugged and moved her cursor over to Deadpool.

“Hey, Deadpool’s my guy!” Pat again chimed in.

Nicole was dumbstruck. “But I thought Wolverine was your guy?”

“Ugh… Alex, the rules. Explain them to her.”

“What’s he talking about Al?” Nicole asked, totally befuddled.

Huh, the rules? I was at a loss for a sec before I connected the dots and realized what Pat was talking about.

“Oh my god, the system? Are you freaking serious?!” I exclaimed.

The system. I can’t believe Pat even remembered that, I’m almost kind of impressed.

Basically, since we couldn’t act like normal siblings while playing the game, we’d get into heated arguments over who could play as each character and it wasn’t as simple as just sharing or taking turns. It was all due to the game’s role playing mechanics, which allowed you to modify each character in a variety ways. It was stuff like upgrades, special items, powers, and even the outfits, and because of this, each of us had completely different preferences for how we wanted to modify each character. Try as we might, no one could compromise on anything.

To solve this issue, Sam and Tyler came up with a “system” in which we divided the character pool into four separate individual sets of characters that were strictly our own and no one else’s. For example, I was the only one who could play as Spider-Man, while Pat had the rights to Wolverine, while Tyler had the rights to Thor and so on. The only way you play as someone not in your set is through trading.

I carefully explained all this Nicole, but judging by her perplexed face, I think I just confused her even more.

“Don’t worry about it Nic.” I finally said. “Just pick a character from the back row, I’m fairly certain they’re free to use.

She browsed through the back row before settling on the Hulk, but once again, Pat cut her off.

“That’s one of Ty’s guys, you gotta ask him first.”

Nicole and I looked over at Tyler. He had an indecisive smirk on his face.

“Ty” I pressed him. “Screw the system. She’s our guest, be nice.”

Tyler scratched the side of his neck, as he thought it over.

“Alright, how about this. I let you play as all my guys, Hulk, Thor, Iron Man, Doctor Strange, the whole lot. But Alex you have to trade me Spider-Man in return.”

Pat instinctively let out an obnoxious laugh. “Heh, heh, heh. There’s the brother I missed.”

Dang, why do my brothers always have to make things so stinkin’ difficult?!!

After a moment, I reluctantly sighed. “No deal.”

“Can someone please just tell me who I can play as!” Nicole exclaimed in frustration.

At my last wit, I got up and grabbed a piece of printer paper from the nearby computer table. I pulled out a pen from my backpack and hurriedly jotted down a list of “safe” characters, they were all from Sam’s lineup and mine.

I didn’t write Spider-Man down, call me selfish, but if I was going to deal with this “system” nonsense, a few of my characters were staying off limits.

“Here.” I said as I handed Nicole what I’d written. “You can use any of these. I’m sorry my brothers are being total jerks to you.”

With that dilemma taken care of, we finally started making progress on the game. After some trial and error, Nicole quickly got the controls down. Together we navigated through each stage. We completed The Omega base, Atlantis, The Valley of Spirits, before finally calling it a day after completing Murderworld.

Shortly after, Nicole’s Mom arrived to take her home, while Pat went upstairs to take a shower, leaving me alone with Tyler.

“Huh, so it’s just us now.” Tyler observed. “So you wanna talk about anything?”

“Ok” I replied. “So, is it true you started taking classes at Berklee?”

“It’s true.” He concurred. “I decided I needed something to lean back on if this punk band thing ever falls through. I mean, besides, I might as well not let what’s left of my college savings go to waste.”

“Do you like Berklee?”

Tyler chuckled. ‘It’s hard, but hey, if Pat can graduate college anyone can.”

I nodded and glanced over at some of the old picture frames hanging on the family room shelf.

“I don’t want to push this one on you but, can you tell me what happened with Sam?”

My brother sighed and rested back on the couch. “Al, I came over today to kick back and hang out with you and Pat, not stir up old family drama…”

I tugged down on my cap. “I know, I’m just sick of being stonewalled about it.”

Tyler looked over at the same photos I previously glanced atbefore turning back to me. “What did he say when you saw him a few weeks back?”

“Nothing. Like I said, he’s still a brick wall.”

Ty stood up and walked over in front of me. “Then that’s where I’ll leave it then. I’ve nothing to apologize for. Sam does. If he ever opens his mouth and talks to you, that’s when I’ll know he’s truly changed.”

I didn’t say anything else, I just sat there, silently absorbing the gravity of those words.

After a few seconds, Ty went over to his duffle bag.

“Al, come over here, I wanna show you something.”

As I squandered over, he opened his bag and pulled out something rectangular, before placing it behind his back.

“Me, Matty, and our new drummer, Chuck, were doing a show in NYC a while back…” Ty explained. “During our downtime, we went to this big comic book store that was nearby and I spotted this. I figured you’d want to watch with me…”

He whipped his gift out from behind his back and presented it to me. It was a big thick DVD. I leaned in and read the fine print:

Spider-Man (1994): The Complete Animated Series

Tyler had scored the motherload.

If the Batman: The Animated Series was the Citizen Kane of animated superhero shows then 90s Spiderman was its Pulp Fiction.

My fingers trembled in awe as I held the DVD in my hands. “Woah Ty, how’d did you-”

“What can I say? I’m magic.” He responded with his trademark casual swagger. “Go on, pop that thing into the DVD player.”

Without further ado, I scrambled over to the player, tore open the DVD case and put the first disc in. I turned the tv on and was brought to the disc menu screen where I was overwhelmed by the nostalgia of the show’s title theme playing in the background.

“This theme was always kick ass.” Ty commented as he subtly played a bit of air guitar while he positioned himself on the couch.

“It’s the best.” I agreed as I hopped over to him and curled myself until a blanket.

And that was that.

We spent the rest of the night, brother and sister, relieving a classic of our youth. Somehow, Pat didn’t even ruin it, he joined in later on and quietly watched a few episodes alongside us.

For once, nobody was yelling, nobody was teasing, nobody was pranking anyone, and no one was left out. It was just us, the tv, and our childhood cartoon.

I guess Tyler’s right.

He really is magic.

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8:30 A.M.

Sunlight seeped through the office window, glimmering through the evergreen trees outside. For a second, I forgot where I was. Then I realized what I was lying on, and everything clicked back into place.

Blinking groggily, I sat up, my back aching from the air mattress beneath me. My neck was stiff, and my shoulders felt like they’d been jammed into my ears all night. Of all the things I missed from the lake house days, sleeping on an air mattress definitely wasn’t one of them.

I hastily got dressed and stuffed my cap back on. I rubbed my eyes as I opened the office door and slowly stepped out. The hallway was still. The house was quiet except for two voices—faint, but very distinct.

Seems I’d been beaten to the punch.

I walked over to the living room/kitchen area where I spotted Pat, half- awake, sitting with Sid’s dogs on the couch and cradling a mug. Sam was in his recliner, watching tv while flipping through a newspaper as if he was pretending to be Dad for some reason.

“Morning,” I muttered as I slid down next to Pat on the couch.

Pat gave me a lazy salute with his mug. “Look Sam, Sleeping Beauty’s finally up!”’

I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t have the energy to bicker, for I was in desperate need of some morning coffee.

Sam smiled. “Morning, Al. Sleep okay?”

I shrugged. “Yeah. Thanks again for the air mattress.”

“Don’t mention it,” He said. “Coffee’s on the kitchen counter.”

I mumbled a quick thanks as I stumbled over to pour myself a cup, I tossed in some creamer and a generous amount of sugar. I took a sip- mmm… it was the perfect cup of coffee, exactly how I liked it.

“So uh… where’s Sidney?” I asked as I walked back over.

Sam folded up his newspaper and glanced up. “At work. Something with her clients. She’ll be back later tonight.”

“Which means it’s just gonna be the three of us today,” Pat added. “Think you can handle it?”

I took another sip of coffee and shrugged. “Yeah, totally, beats being stuck with just you. Anyway, what’s the plan for today?”

Sam leaned back in his chair. “In around ten minutes, we’re gonna hit the road in Pat’s car. We’ll stop at this diner I’m a regular at for breakfast. They have the best french toast in the town. After we eat, we’ll head over to the outlet plaza—”

“Oh come on!” Pat interrupted. “Really?!”

“We’re not going there!” I added in a rare agreement. “You can’t make us.”

“Sorry, guys. Mom’s directive. Take it up with her.” Sam replied. “Relax, it won’t be long, we’ll quickly grab what she needs and get the hell out. We’ll stop at the candy store afterwards for old times sake, deal?”

Pat and I both reluctantly nodded.

“Alright…” Sam continued. “Once we’re done there, We’ll head back home. We can fish, we can hang out, we can do whatever. Then in the evening we’ll go out again for dinner. Since you’re my guests I’ll let you pick the restaurant. Any questions?.... No? Ok, be ready in ten minutes.”

Honestly, it sounded like a decent plan. Very reminiscent of the old days, complete with having to be dragged to the outlets.

A short while later, we were out on the road, heading into town to check out the breakfast place Sam had mentioned. He was in a good mood, telling stories and cracking jokes in the passenger seat next to Pat, who happily played along. I stayed mostly quiet in the backseat, content to just listen to them banter, for I hadn’t realized how much I missed this.

We eventually pulled over and parked in front of a couple of small white buildings. The breakfast place was tucked in the very middle, its faded sign reading Lazy Susans in cheerful, red letters.

Sam led the way inside, and as soon as we stepped in, we were greeted to the smell of bacon and maple syrup. The diner felt old-fashioned, with stools lining the counter, and pictures and antiques lining the walls.

“Hey, hone, I was wondering where you were.” a waitress called out from behind the counter. She was an older lady, her hair pulled into a messy bun streaked with gray. “You’re late today!.”

“Hi Alice.” Sam said blushing.

“So I see you have guests today?” She asked, her eyes shifting to Pat and me.

“Yep, these are my siblings. That’s Pat and this is Alex. Can we get the usual spot?”

Alice smirked. ‘Huh, never realized you had a family.”

Pat burst out laughing, as Sam looked on in horror.

“Ah, Sam, honey, don’t take it too personal, we got your regular spot all reserved for you. Follow me.”

Alice led us over to a booth that was situated next to a large window. I sat down next to Sam while Pat sat across from us.

“Coffee to start?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Patrick said, and I nodded.

Alice went off to grab our drinks, as we flipped open our laminated menus and started analyzing them.

Sam slowly put his menu down, and rested back with his hands on his head.. “So, what do you guys think? Not too shabby, huh?”

“It’s okay… I guess,” I said, glancing around at the mismatched chairs and dated decor. “How often do you go here? That waitress seems like she’s way too familiar with you.”

“Yeah, I do go here a lot, but not all the time.” Sam replied. “There was one period last winter where I was probably coming here everyday, but I’ve cut back a bit as of late.”

Out of the blue, Pat tossed a straw wrapper at me. “Bet ya anything Sammy’s their favorite customer. Mum always said he had a memorable face.”

Sam shook his head in amusement, before tossing the wrapper back at Pat.

Alice soon came back with our drinks and we then placed our orders. Pat ordered four eggs over easy with a side of waffles, bacon, hash browns, and sausages. I ordered the powdered french toast that Sam had raved about along with my own side of bacon, and Sam ordered his childhood favorite, a large stack of blueberry pancakes draped in butter and maple syrup.

As we waited, we alternated between small talk and turning our attention to our phones. I caught myself peering over at Sam a few times, my conversation with Sidney yesterday hadn’t quite left my mind.

“Hey um… Sam?” I asked, having finally mustered up the courage.

“What’s up?”

I took a quick gulp and continued. “While you were out yesterday, me and Sid chatted for a while. It was nothing major, but just… at one point she mentioned that you and her like talking about me…”

Sam glanced up from his phone. “So?”

I felt my jaw tighten. “But like, what do you guys discuss? Sid wouldn’t give me a straight answer, other than some vague stuff about my hat.”

“Al…” Sam muttered. “It’s none of your business. It ain’t a crime for me to be blabbing to her about my siblings.”

“Nosy, nosy, nosy.” Pat mockingly chimed in.

I wasn’t backing down. “But she acted like there was this secrecy surrounding it.”

Sam rubbed his temples and exhaled. “If you’re looking for some big revelation you aren’t gonna find one. Sid likes hearing about you, she thinks you’re a good kid. I feed her some of the good and some of the bad, with the occasional embarrassing story mixed in. That’s all there is to it. Nothing more. Are you satisfied now?”

I again glanced at him, and raised an eyebrow. “Ok, but you swear that’s it?”

“Yes. Why would I lie to you Al?” Sam replied deadpan.

I let it drop and went back to browsing my phone.

The waitress soon came back with our food, and boy, we were not expecting the portions to be that big. They were huge! Pat’s order almost took up his entire side of the table.

“Bro, you really gonna eat all that?” Sam taunted.

Pat titled his head and popped his cheek. “Watch me.”

“No way.” I countered. “Your eyes are bigger than your stomach.”

As Pat ignored me and dove in, Sam leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Fifteen minutes from now he’ll be puking in the bathroom.”

Contrary to expectations, Pat mauled through his meal. He surprisingly didn’t throw up but was still left with a massive tummy ache.

“Aw man I don’t feel so good…” He moaned, clutching his chest as we left Lazy Susan’s. “Sam, here take my keys, you can drive us to the outlets while I pull myself together.”

Sam paused and scanned his brother for a second.

“You’re faking.”

“No I’m…” Pat managed to mutter before letting out a gag. “n-not.”

Now somewhat convinced, Sam swiped the keys out of Pat’s hand. “Fine, I’ll take us to the outlets, but you’re driving us back.”

The outlet plaza was about twenty minutes from the diner, tucked off in it’s own separate universe. As we drove, familiar surroundings from our childhoods came into view.

“Look, L.L. Bean.” I commented as we drove past the big department store.

“Waste of time.” Sam briefly retorted as he promptly drove by it.

Cruel response, but I don’t blame him. Dad used to insist on stopping there even though the end result was always the same, we’d walk out of the store without buying a lick. It was pure torture, spending hours upon hours, aimlessly wandering around that store. I’m dead serious when I say that if I had to choose between shopping either L.L. Bean or the outlets, I’m taking the outlets every time.

A few minutes later, we rolled into the outlet parking lot. The plaza looked exactly how I remembered it. The stone pathways, the scattered layout, the benches that always looked like they’d give you splinters, everything was unaltered, unchanged. Even stores were the same, Nike, Adidas, Jockey, American Eagle, it was as if they'd all been patiently waiting for us to return one day.

“So, what’s on Mom’s shopping list?” Pat asked, hands shoved in his pockets as we walked toward the main square.

Sam whipped out his phone and squinted at a text. “Uh, let’s see... She wants some new candles from Yankee Candle—”

“Of course,” I grumbled. Mom has a huge obsession with scented candles, there’s at least one in every non-bedroom area of our house. If that’s not enough, she also individually rotates them season to season.

“-a boatload of clothing items from like six different stores—” Sam continued.

“Oh really? I could’ve told you that.” Pat moaned.

“Hey, I wasn’t finished,” Sam said dryly. “Dad needs V-necks and pajama pants from Jockey and new loafers from that shoe place.”

“Shocker.” I added with a small smirk. Ugh… classic Dad.

“Wow, so no kitchen gadgets this time?” Pat butted back in.

“Oh and one last thing…” Sam said as he put his phone away. “Mom wants a new set of mixing bowls, the glass kind.”

Pat rolled his eyes. “Ah… There it is.”

To save time, the three of us opted to split up. I shopped with Sam, while Pat marched off to hunt down the mixing bowls, the V-necks, and half of the clothing stores on the list.

Sam and I headed for Yankee Candle first, inside it smelled like tree bark and something vaguely citrusy—probably a candle called Renewal or something equally dramatic. Sam ambled towards a display of candles while I scoured the shelves.

“Al, you know Mom best, you think she’d like either of these?” Sam inquired, holding up two glass jars. One was called Midnight Rain, the other, Lavender Sage.

I frowned. “Neither. She hates lavender. Go for something with vanilla in the title.”

Sam made a face. “Vanilla? You sure? That sounds boring.”

“Boring is her favorite, She loves boring.” I contested. “This is the same person who won’t let us put colored lights on the Christmas tree. C’mon Sam, trust me on this.”

He sighed, placing the lavender back before grabbing something called Warm Vanilla Bourbon. I grabbed a few other options just to be safe, Apple Orchard, Northern Woods, and Harvest Pumpkin. It felt like overkill, but if it kept Mom happy for the next few months, I figured it was worth it.

As we exited Yankee Candle and began making our way to our next stop on our list, Sam tapped my the shoulder and gestured towards one of the stores we’d just passed by.

“Heh, I almost forgot about Claire’s. Isn’t that where you went with Mom to get your ears pierced?”

“Yeah, I remember…” I coldly replied, I really wish I didn’t. “She tricked me.”

Sam chuckled at the “silly” memory.

But for me, the repressed memory hurdled up in my head like a war flashback.

"Oh, Alex, you’d look so cute and grown up with your own little studs," Mom had advised me that summer. "Don’t worry it’ll be quick. You won’t feel a thing. Just one second, and it’ll be all over!"

I was six years old and had little interest in getting earrings. I didn’t want to sit in a chair while some stranger shot holes into my ears. I was far more interested in checking out the Toys R Us nearby.

But Mom was nose deep in her girly Alexandra agenda at the time.

She was Persistent. Resilient. Unwavering.

But the real turning point?

Dad.

Likely half-joking, he casually said, "If you get your ears done, kid, We’ll buy you a chocolate milkshake."

That was it. My naive little mind had been swayed.

I reluctantly sat down in the piercing chair at Claire’s, clutching the armrests like I was about to be executed. I picked out these tiny silver star ones because they seemed like the least overtly "pretty" option.

Then came the moment of truth.

…And the instant regret.

Mom held my hand as the employee counted down:

"Three… two… one—"

CLICK.

My entire face went stiff.

"OW."

Then, before I could even process it—

CLICK.

Second one done.

I sat there, wide-eyed, completely silent for a few seconds. Then I did what any spooked six-year-old would do.

"I CHANGED MY MIND!" I yelped. "I DON’T WANT THEM! TAKE THEM OUT! TAKE THEM OUT!"

Mom spent the next few minutes calming me down and repeatedly explaining to me that, no, I couldn’t just take them out, or else the holes would close back up. I was now stuck with these things in my ears for the next month.

I eventually did get my promised milkshake, but I was in a sour sulky mood for the rest of the week.

And you wonder why I have trust issues…

Needless to say, that was both the first and very last time I ever got my ears pierced.

Moving on, Sam and I finished our trek over to our next stop, Old Navy. As we entered it, Sam forwarded me the list Mom had sent. Apparently, she wanted around a dozen clothing items from this store alone. This wasn’t going to be easy.

Sam followed me, as I started toward a rack of sweaters with a summer sale sign. A few older women were milled around it, sorting through racks with the same meticulous deliberation Mom always did when she shopped for clothes. Must be a generational thing.

“What color should we go with?” I asked, as I half-heartedly flipped through the hangers. “Mom already has a beige one.”

Sam plucked a dark green one off the rack. “This looks... safe. Can’t go wrong with safe.”

“Now you’re catching on. Safe is good,” I concurred.

I grabbed a dark blue one too, for I had to take advantage of that two for one deal. Sam shrugged and wandered off to the back of the store, presumably in search of the stretchy pants of Mom’s list.

On my own, I slowly made progress on the checklist.

Purple Blouse? Check.

Navy Cardigan? Ding.

Skinny Jeans? Check.

Flannel fleece? Done and Done.

Sam reappeared next to me a few minutes later, a pair of black pants and a couple t-shirts draped over his arm. “I think this checks the ‘stretchy’ box. Do we need anything else, or are we done here?”

“I think so,” I said, gazing down at the pile of clothes in my arms. “Can’t guarantee it’ll Mom’s inspection when I get back, but I’d say we did okay.”

He gave a lazy thumbs-up. “One down. Two to go.”

We made our way to the register, where an older woman rang us up with a polite but tired look.

“Sir, do you have a membership rewards card with Old Navy?” She asked.

“I don’t have a card with me, but I can put a name and number in.” Sam answered.

The cashier typed on a computer. “Go ahead.”

“Bradley.” He answered, along with our home phone number

She typed in the info and glanced at the results. “Hmm.. I only have an Emily.”

“Yep… that’s our Mom.” Sam clarified.

The cashier’s eyes widened. “For real? According to the system, she’s one of our longest tenured rewards members.”

“That’s definitely her, she probably holds membership at every store here.”

The lady gestured to the card panel, and Sam swiped his debit card without hesitation. As soon as the payment went through, he shoved the three heavy shopping bags into my chest.

“Why am I the bag carrier?” I protested.

“Because you’re the youngest,” Sam responded immediately, with a smirk. “Relax, I’ll carry the bags at the next one.”

I sneered but didn’t argue, I was more focused on getting through shopping hell. We painstakingly completed the process two more times, picking out clothes at American Eagle and Gap respectively.

As we tossed our bags into the trunk of Pat’s car, Sam quickly glanced at the time.

“That covers our share.” Sam said. “Alright, let’s meet back up with Pat and see how he’s doing.”

We regrouped with Pat outside the shoe store. We spotted him sitting on a bench with two large bags resting beside him, giggling at a text message.

“Oh hey guys. WAZZUP?” He called out.

“Who were you just texting?” I asked, making eye contact with his phone.

“Ah, I was just chatting with Ty.” He casually answered.

“Ty?” Sam reacted in surprise.

“Yep.” Pat continued. “He thinks it’s freaking hilarious how you willingly dragged us to outlets. He wishes he could be here, but hey you know how things are…”

“So they are…” Sam briefly turned away and scratched his chin. “Anyway, how’d you do, you get everything?”

“Yeah, I got the goods,” He replied, partly lifting a mixing bowl from one of his bags. “Can we get our candy now?”

“Nice, that takes care of everything on Mom’s list.” Sam mused. “Before we go, You guys sure you don’t want anything for yourselves while we’re here? I mean we haven’t even stepped foot in Nike—”

“Yes!” I firmly asserted.

“Candy!” Pat repeated.

By the time we returned to the car, Pat was already complaining about his arms being sore, and I felt like I’d walked the Boston marathon, but still the mission had been accomplished. We were finally done with the outlets.

As we exited the plaza, Pat rolled down the windows, and the early afternoon breeze swept in, soft and fresh. Sam stretched out, his feet up on the dash as he tinkered with the radio stations, and I leaned back in my seat, watching the outlet plaza vanish into oblivion behind us.

We drove for a few miles and soon, we were in the vicinity of the candy store. This area of town was exactly how I remembered. Cramped, congested with sidewalks littered with people and barely any space to park.

After circling around for a bit, Pat found a place to park about a block away from the store.

“So who’s gonna give me some candy spending money?” I asked as we exited the car and made our way over.

Sam and Pat looked at each other, before glancing back at me.

“Use your own money, ya freeloader!” Pat sharply retorted.

“I don’t have any.” I grouchily explained. “I won’t spend much, just loan me the customary $15 Dad used to give us. I’ll pay you back later. I swear.”

“Nah, unlike Dad, we ain’t charity. Get bent.” Pat continued.

Sam sighed and pulled out his wallet. “Here’s a $20.”

I happily took the bill.

“Thanks, you’re the best.” I said smugly while flashing a victorious grin at Pat. “And that’s why, Sam, you’ll always be my favorite brother.”

Pat responded by sticking his tongue out and flipping me the bird.

We closed in on the store and together we walked inside. The place was hectic and busy like it always was, with clusters of customers navigating through the tight, closed in store corners as they browsed through the hundreds of available sweets.

Now by definition, the place was an old fashioned general store, but that was really in name only. Sure you could buy other miscellanea like books, postcards, exotic soda, and varieties of soap but the name of the game there had always been candy.

The wooden shelves and counters were loaded to the brim with an unfathomable assortment of treats, from old-school candy sticks and mammoth jawbreakers to the newer, trendier delights. Glass jars filled with every color of gummy candy imaginable lined the walls, and the shelves near the register were stocked with fudge and caramel treats.

Pat made a beeline for the kiddy bins, grabbing a basket and shoveling in an absurd amount of sugar daddies and tootsie pops. Sam, being a pro at this, browsed the chocolates and truffles like he was picking out fine wine.

As for me, I wandered around the store, basket in hand, and thoroughly surveyed and dissected the sugary domain. I had $20 to spend and every cent had to be used to its fullest potential.

See, I learned a long time ago that selecting candy on a budget is a very calculated science. There are so many important variables to consider as a smart shopper. Flavor, aftertaste, type, rarity, pricing, are just a few of the things you to pay attention to.

Other major factors to consider include prior familiarity, the packaging, the amount of candy inside the packaging, and how long each individual piece of candy will last in your mouth. These details are absolutely critical to ensuring that you make a proper informed decision with your limited candy money.

For example, if you have $3 to spend and your options are either a chocolate bar or a bag of butterscotch drops, the latter would be the logic investment because of the higher piece quantity and the fact that each individual piece would last longer in one’s mouth than a single chocolate bar.

Again, budget shopping for candy is a serious business.

I put these skills to use as I built up my stash.

Here’s the final product:

A bag of root beer drops, a bag of lego brick candy, a box of chocolate rock candy, a bag of peach gummy rings, a case of liquid soda candy wax bottles for the experimental factor, four sugar daddies, three tootsie pops, two airheads, and one milky way bar.

Quite the haul, I must say.

I carried my basket over to the checkout line where I found myself waiting behind Sam.

He inspected the large collection of sweets inside my basket.

“Are you sure that’s gonna come out to under $20?” Sam commented.

I nodded. “Yep, totally. I did the math in my head.”

“I’d hope so. One cent over and you’re on your own.”

Sam finished paying for his candy and my turn was next. I handed my basket to the cashier and they slowly began scanning each of my items.

I anxiously rubbed my palms as I awaited the results. I was fairly certain I did the math right, but there was a slight chance my numbers could be off.

The cashier scanned the last bit of candy and the final price popped up on the display.

$19.98

SUCCESS!

I did a fist pump and almost jumped out of my sneakers.

I exchanged the $20 with the cashier, who in return handed me a brown paper bag with my candy and two pennies.

I turned to Sam, and held out the coins. ‘Here, want your change?”

He shook his head, exasperated. “Nah… you can hold onto it.”

We met up with Pat outside the store. He was pacing around with a lollipop in his mouth on the nearby sidewalk.

“How’d you guys do in there?” He asked, taking note of our stuff. “Hope Alex didn’t bankrupt herself.”

I shrugged. “Nope. Got it all with two cents to spare. You impressed?”

Pat downplayed it. “Impressed? Pfffft! Come back to me when you line it up right on the dollar, then you’ll have my respect.”

With everyone’s shopping needs taken care of, it was time to head back to Sam’s place.

After a short drive, We pulled into the driveway and exited the car, candy bags in hand. We were again greeted by Sid’s dogs as we reentered the house. They scratched and clawed at us as we struggled to fend them off for a few seconds. Eventually they got bored and turned their attention to the dog food Sam had poured for them.

Sam opened the fridge and grabbed the case of worms Pat had bought yesterday.

“I’m heading down to the lake to do some fishing.” He announced. “Anyone want to join me?”

“Maybe later.” I said as I popped a jelly bean in my mouth. “I think I want to sit around and enjoy my candy for a bit.”

“Same here.” Pat answered. “My favorite sport radio simulcast should be on right now, I’m gonna watch some of it.”

“Three hours.” Sam held up three fingers. “When I return, have a consensus of where you want to go to dinner.”

He opened the screen door, grabbed his fishing rod which was leaning on the deck railing and started jogging down to the lake with the dogs following close behind.

Left to ourselves, Pat and I both glanced over at the recliner. It was unoccupied, just waiting for someone to make themselves at home in it.

I looked at my brother and he looked at me. We were both thinking the same thing, one of our butts belonged in that luxurious leather chair.

“Race?” Pat proposed in an eager tone.

I raised my eyebrow. “Race.”

We walked over to the front door and got into positions.

“On your mark!” He began.

“Get set!” I continued.

“Go!” We both shouted and so began our mad dash.

Just as I began my sprint, Pat suddenly reached out, grabbed my cap, and chucked it over to the kitchen area.

My focus immediately shifted to my cap which gave Pat all the time he needed.

The race was over before it even began.

“Hey! No fair!” I complained as I went over to scrap my cap up from the floor.

“Boo Hoo! If you ain’t cheating you ain’t trying.” Pat boasted as he stretched his legs out on the recliner. “Better luck next time.”

I grumpily sat down on the couch. True to his word, Pat turned the tv to the channel airing the sports radio simulcast. One of the show’s co-hosts was already in the middle of an angry rant about the Red Sox recent skid.

“Pat, do we really have to watch this?” I groaned.

“Uh… Yeah. They’re talking about the Red Sox, don’t you love the Red Sox?”

“I do…” I tried to explain. “But I don’t wanna sit around and hear them get trashed for three hours. It’s always the same schtick, “The team blows, this player sucks and is overpaid, management should blow the entire roster up, so and so should be fired, blah, blah, blah, blah.” Seriously, doesn’t that ever get stale?”

Pat thought it over for a sec.

“No.”

I rolled my eyes and slowly got up from the couch. “I’m gonna go hang out with Sam…”

“Wait!” Pat shouted. “Restaurant! We still need to figure out which one we’re going to.”

I sat back down. “Ok. Do you have a place in my mind?”

Pat tapped his chin. “The Pizza Barn.”

I shook my head. “Why? That place is a complete and utter dump. Don’t you remember the long wooden cafeteria tables and how uncomfortable they were?”

“Duh, of course! It’s all part of the charm there, besides I wanna check the pinball machine and see if I still have the high score.”

“Nah, still definite no from me.” I said, reiterating my rejection. “If you wanna go for a throwback, I’d be up for the Lobster Trap.”

“Lobster Trap?” Pat said raising an eyebrow. “Sis, that place went downhill years ago. Why would you wanna got there? Is it because you’re finally brave enough to order the crab legs?

“No I just thought I’d bring it up.”

“Well you can cross it off the list then.” He spat back.

We debated over a our choice for a half-hour, going through probably a million different potential options. We eventually settled on a smokehouse that had a brewery attached to it. With the issue now settled, I went down to the lake to deliver the news to Sam.

The sandy shore where Sam fished had a different vibe compared to the majestic welcoming feel of the one at the old lake house, this shore didn’t even have a dock. It was rough, gritty, run down, and void of the same childlike innocence.

“The smokehouse? Solid choice.” Sam huffed, learning of our choice.

I took in the lake for a while, observing and taking in the sounds of the murky water currents.

“Hey Sam?” I asked without warning. “About Ty…”

Sam avoided eye contact as he casted his rod. “Not now, Al.”

“I know, I know, you don’t want to talk to me about it.” I murmured as I twisted my right sneaker in the sand. “But if you ever want to, please, don’t hold back. I can handle it. I’m not a little kid anymore. You don’t have to keep treating me with safety mitts.”

Sam slightly reeled in his line, but still didn’t look at me. “I know.”

I hate how Sam turns into this stoic brick wall sometimes, it’s like he purposely wants to be distant. He used to be so loud, expressive, and outspoken back in the day, freely offering advice, always sayin what was on his mind, and even letting me in on some adult secrets from time to time.

So, what the heck happened to him? It can’t just have been Sid.

Hold on, I may have just figured it out.

Y’know how it’s said that kids tend to turn into their parents when they get older? Well if that theory is legit then…

Oh My God.

Sam might be turning into Dad!

Scary revelations aside, I hung out near the lake with Sam for a short while longer, he eventually reeled in a fish, a decent sized seabass. While taking it off the hook, Mom texted us wanting know how things were going up in NH. We responded to her text by sending back a picture of ourselves posing with the fish.

As the sun started dipping lower in the sky, Sam reeled in his rod for the last time and signaled to me that it was time to head out to dinner.

Pat, who’d been lounging with his feet up on the coffee table, perked up the second came inside. “Dinner time?”

"Yep." Sam replied, grabbing Pat’s keys from the counter. “I’m driving.”

The smokehouse was unchanged from the last I’d been here, dimly lit, rustic, with that familiar scent of woodsmoke and BBQ sauce hanging thick in the air. There was a glass floor neared the entrance that you a glimpse of the brewery at work below. The restaurant was busy but not packed, the hum of conversation mixing with the occasional clatter of plates and silverware.

The hostess led us to a booth near the back, and the second we sat down, Pat was already blitzing through the menu.

"Do I go with the ribs? Pulled pork? Brisket? So many choices! Gah! Why must this be so difficult?" He rambled, as stressfully weighed his options.

“Or you could avoid all that, just go with the combo platter," I pointed out.

Pat scoffed in disgust. "And limit myself to the nerfed versions of the meats? I’m not a sadist Al!”

A waiter came by to take our drink orders.

“I’ll have cherry coke, please.” I said.

Pat followed.

“One Sam Adams, por favor.”

Sam went last.

“Can I have a Sprite please?”

A waiter walked way, I shot a confused look over at Sam.

“What?” Sam asked, just as perplexed by my look.

“A Sprite? Really, a Sprite? You’re a beer guy aren’t you? This place has a brewery, I’d thought you’d be all over it.”

Sam briefly tensed up before giving an answer. “I’m… the designated driver.”

I wasn’t swayed by his explanation. “Ok, but is one beer really gonna impair you?”

Just as he was about to open his mouth, Pat jumped in.

“What gives you the right to question someone’s drinking habits, Al? You shouldn’t go around pressuring people about that kinda stuff! Quit being so invasive and let him be!”

Sam stared at him and then back at me. “What he said.”

Well, that was weird, but Pat was probably right, I was stupid for making a big deal out of a minor oddity, another stupid thing I should’ve just ignored. Hiding my remorse, I tugged my cap, silently exhaled, and went back to looking at the menu.

After we got our drinks, and placed our orders in for entrees, conversation shifted to other topics. While we waited, we chatted about life, plans, and even swapped the occasional story or two. It was during our talk, that I learned that my vacation was about to be cut short. Sam was going to busy tomorrow, the concert venue he worked at need his help with prepping for a show that was happening later that day. I tried to reason with him, by saying I didn’t mind not seeing him tomorrow, I was more than content with being with Sidney all day.

Turns out that didn’t work either because Pat also had plans. He wanted us to leave at noon tomorrow so he could meet up with his old college roommates to go to some party.

“Here’s the kicker, Al. It’s at a girl’s house!” He excitedly explained. “They’re gonna have jungle juice and everything! It’s gonna be da BOMB!”

Pat noticed the disappointed look on my face.

“Ah what’s with the frown? Cheer up, I got news for you too. Remember when texted Ty earlier?”

I gazed at him, slightly intrigued. “Yeah?”

Pat continued. “Ty was so jealous about all the fun the three of us had today, that he finally realized he needed to take action. So later this month, he’s gonna come home and crash with us for a few days.”

My eyes widened. “Really? No way! When?”

“Two weeks.”

Wow. Tyler’s coming home. I can’t wait. Still it’s a shame I have to leave Sam behind, I was just beginning to feel like I was getting reacquainted with him.

“I’m not sure it’ll help, but… tell him I said hi.” Sam mumbled awkwardly.

“Will do!” Pat said with a raised salute.

We were interrupted by the waiter who had returned with our food. As they handed out our plates, Sam spoke up.

“Well guys, I’ve had one heck of day and I had blast spending it with both you. I dare say, I’ve missed this.”

“Same” I answered. “Shame we don’t do this more often.”

“Yep. All in a day.” Pat answered with a piece of pork in his mouth.

Sam smirked. “Heh, all in a day.”

With the last of the plates dispersed, Sam raised his Sprite glass. Pat and I quickly followed suit with our own drinks.

“To family… Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

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I stared out the window, headphones on, watching the tall trees whip past me in a green blur as I attempted to block out the obnoxious sports talk radio Pat had insisted on listening to at full volume. We were still about an hour away, but being stuck together with Pat made it feel like we wouldn’t be there for another twenty.

“Hey, you awake over there?” Pat suddenly said, tapping my shoulder before flicking the brim of my cap. “Don’t ya be falling asleep on me.”

I slapped his hand away. “I’m not.”

“Nuh uh, you totally were. You were staring out the window all dead-eyed like you were about to.”

I gave him a cold stare as I squirmed around in my seat. “Why do you care?”

“Cuz, I don’t want the princess to be cranky when we get there.” He said with a sly grin. “She’s no fun when she’s cranky.”

“I’m not cranky!” I yelled back.

“Yeah well, could’ve fooled me…” Pat responded with a shrug. “Oh, hey! Look the convivence store. We got a stop there, if you don’t mind. Sam wanted me to pick up some worms and fireworks.”

Pat hurriedly turned the car off the road and pulled into the store parking lot.

“Alright Miss Crankypants, ya want anything while I’m in there?” he asked, shutting off the engine.

I ignored the cruel nickname. If I called him out on it, he’d just add it to his everyday vocabulary.

“Nope. I’m good.”

He gave my thumbs up and climbed out, leaving me alone in the car with my thoughts, which, unfortunately, weren’t much better company. I wasn’t exactly dreading this trip, but I wasn’t looking forward to it, either. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see Sam, I mean, of course, I did. But there was something about going to his house that made it feel… different. He was always so far out, and for once I was visiting him and not the other way around.

I again peered out the window. The sky had a heavy, humid look that signaled that a storm was on the horizon.

Great. Rain. Just what I needed. Way to brighten the mood.

A few minutes later, Pat came back with a pair of brown shopping bags, he started rummaging through them before he even sat back down.

“Check it out, Sis! They had pitch black Mountain Dew!” He said excitedly as pulled out a plastic soda bottle. “I thought this stuff was just a myth!”

“Okay…?”

Pat opened the bottle and took a sip. “Hmmmm… interesting taste. Hey, I got you one too, ya want it?”

“Um… no thanks.”

He started up the car again and took another sip. “Suit yourself.”

The rest of the drive was mostly quiet, aside from Patrick drumming his fingers on the wheel while laughing or commenting at the sports discussion unfolding on the radio. I let myself doze off for a bit, but the next thing I knew, the car was slowing down, and I was pummeled with elbow jabs.

“Wakey, wakey!,” Pat said. “We’re here.”

I blinked, rubbing my eyes as I peered out the dashboard.

There it was, Sam and Sid’s place, a dark wooden cabin like structure with a big wraparound porch, nestled away in the forest like something out of a movie. It wasn’t paradise or anything, but it still looked nice.

Pat got out first, popping open the trunk to unload our things. As I hopped out and stretched my arms, the front door opened and Sid stepped out, grinning and polished as ever.

“Hey guys! You made it!” She shouted with a wave.

I managed a small smile. “Hey.”

“Yo, Psycho Sid, what’s up, it’s been a while!” Pat chimed in, as he handed me my duffle bag and ruffled my head. “Would’ve arrived here sooner if this cranky little princess hadn’t slowed me down.”

“Shut UP!” I snapped back, smacking him in the shoulder, as we followed Sid over to the front door.

As we walked inside we were immediately bombarded by Sid’s pet labradoodles Roxanne and Lucy, a pair of energetic squirts that made Pat look tame by comparison as they launched themselves onto us.

“Sorry about that.” Sid sighed, shaking her head with a slight chuckle. “My babies have poor manners around new people.”

“Thanks for the warning.” I muttered as gently pushed one off of me. “Where’s Sam?”

Sid gestured over the living room, where I spotted Sam resting in a leather recliner while watching a crime documentary on tv.

“Hey Sam!” I exclaimed as I walked over.

He immediately turned and stood up. “Al! Pat! Man am I glad to see you two!”

“Damn, bro, ya living fancy these days, huh?” Pat commented.

“You wish, it’s no mansion.”

“Still, it’s a hell of a lot better than that rat infested dump you and Adam used to be holed up in,” Pat shot back.

Sidney giggled. “He’s not wrong.”

Sam ignored him and motioned us to the hallway. “Come on, I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping.”

We followed him over, where he stopped in front of a room at the end of the hall. He pushed the door open, revealing a neatly made queen sized bed, a dresser, and a window that looked out toward the water.

“This is the guest room,” he said.

I took a step inside, relieved that I wouldn’t be sleeping on the floor or up in a loft. But then Pat’s voice cut in.

“Cool, but uh… where’s the other one?”

Sid frowned.

“Huh? There is no “other” one.”

“WHAT?!!!” Pat and I blurted out at the same time.

Sidney shrugged. “This is the only guest room, it’s where my parents sleep when they stay over.”

I turned to Sam. “You actually expect me to share a bed with him?”

Sam scratched his neck. “Maybe? If not, I guess one of you could sleep on the living room couch.”

Patrick smirked and threw his bag onto the bed. “Oh so, the room’s mine? You know the drill Al, Respect your elders.”

“No, No, No, No!” I stepped in front of him. “We are not doing this by age.”

“Ok, trade me your hat and the bed’s yours.”

I placed my hand on my cap.

“No chance.”

“But it’s a fair deal.” He reiterated, still smirking. “You got anything better?”

“I don’t-”

“Rock, Paper, Scissors. Best out of 3.” Sam butted in.

Pat’s smirk widened.

I squinted my eyes. “You’re on.”

We squared off in the doorway, raising our fists as Sam, Sid and the dogs watched on.

Rock. Paper. Scissors. Shoot.

I threw rock. Pat threw paper.

“Crap.” I grumbled.

Pat cracked his knuckles. “You’re weak.”

Rock. Paper. Scissors. Shoot.

I threw scissors. Patrick threw paper.

“Yes!”

“Cheater!”

And now to complete my comeback.

Rock.

Paper.

Scissors.

Shoot.

…..

“Heh, Heh, Heh… Enjoy the couch loser.”

Dammit!

Sam placed an arm on my shoulder as Pat slammed the door in my face. “Oh, well…”

I groaned. “I’m not sleeping on the couch!”

Sam pat my shoulder sympathetically. “You sure? The couch is actually pretty comfortable, the dogs love sleeping on it.”

I gave him a glare. “Yes, I’m sure! Look at all that dog fur. My allergies are gonna go absolutely haywire the second I come in contact with it.”

“Hey Alex, I have an idea.” Sid proposed. “How about I squeeze you into my office? I’ll loan you a sleeping bag.”

“Ok, I guess that’d work. Can I see it?”

She leaned over and opened the door to her office which sat directly across from the guest room. There was a big computer table, a leather chair, a filing cabinet and a big clock which sat on the wall above everything.

It seemed like a decent space until I took a long look at wood floors. I felt shivers on my spine as I imagined myself laying on it all night.

“I like it but, um… do you have an air mattress I can use?”

Sid pondered for a moment. “Sorry, I don’t think we do.”

Sam, who’d been leaning against the doorframe, scoffed. “What? Don’t wanna sleep on the floor, Al? C’mon, I thought you were tougher than that.”

“Sam!”

“I’m kidding!” He reassured me. “I have a few work errands to run, I’ll grab one while I’m out.”

Pat meanwhile, had finished setting up his things and begun exploring the kitchen.

“Yo, Sammy! Where’s the booze?” He suddenly shouted, pulling his head out of the fridge.

Sam pushed himself off the door frame and turned towards Pat. “Uh… we’re all out, I going out right now if you wanna go with me to grab some.”

Pat grumbled. “Seriously? You should’ve just told me to buy some on the… Ah wait, I see! Alright, let’s go.”

Sam grabbed his keys off the counter and headed to front door with Pat following in tow. “We’ll be back in a few.”

Sid and I watched on as my brothers got into Sam’s corvette and drove away.

She smiled. “Wow, isn’t Sam just the nicest person?”

I shrugged, “Eh… I think he was just scared that I’d rat him out to Mom. He still has PTSD from babysitting me back in the day.”

Sid laughed. “You’re funny…”

I didn’t respond, instead I walked over and took a seat in Sam’s recliner. I then activated the leg rest and pushed the seat back. Now in a proper relaxing position, I pulled out my phone and began texting Nicole, but before I could get far, Sidney gave me a tap on the shoulder.

“So… What are you up to?”

I turned to her. “Just texting my friend, none of your business.”

“You feeling alright?” She asked, her tone gentle but direct. “You don’t seem all that thrilled to be here. I‘d of thought you’d be happier to see Sam.”

“Pat’s a buzzkill.”

She tilted her head. “But is it just that, or is this also about Tyler?”

I tensed up, surprised. “How did you—?”

“Sam’s told me all about their rift. I figured it might be on your mind.”

I sighed, setting my phone down. “Yeah, there’s that. But it also sucks not having him here. It’s been forever since all four of us have done something together.”

Sidney took a seat on the couch across from me. Her dogs, as if on cue, hopped on right next to her. “Yeah, I get it, missing siblings. My sister recently moved out to California for work and it’s definitely taking time for me to get used to it, but Alex you shouldn’t take what you have granted, 3 out of 4 ain’t too shabby. I bet it beats being stuck home alone with your parents.”

“You got me there.” I conceded.

It was weird talking to my brother’s girlfriend alone like this, one on one. It was awkward, but at same time, almost calming. Was this what drew Sam in?

For a minute, we sat in silence as neither of us said anything. I figured by now that she’d go off and do her own thing, leaving me to sit around until my brothers got back. But instead, she stayed put, sipping her water bottle like she was waiting for me to clear the air.

“So…” I finally said. “You, uh… like living out here?”

Sid reached over to one of her labradoodles and began petting it. “Yeah. It’s peaceful, way better than living in the city,”

“Does it get boring?” I asked.

She gave me a soft look, amused that I was making an effort to converse with her. “Maybe for some people. But I like having a remote quiet space.”

I nodded, internally trying to shake off the cringe of this small talk.

“Does Sam ever talk about me?” I suddenly asked before I could stop myself.

“All the time.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep,” she said, still grinning. “He cares a lot about you.”

I smirked a little. “I’d hope so. What’s he say?”

“Enough to fill a book,” she continued. “But, he wouldn’t want me telling you all this so I’ll keep it vague.”

I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable. “Go on.”

Sid took a breath. “He mostly talks about how he cares about being a good role model for you, how he still sees you as the little kid who looked up to him and how it complicates things, especially when it comes to that hat of yours.”

“What about it?” I asked coldly, as I clasped the brim with my right hand.

“I- nothing.” Sid responded quickly in an attempt to backtrack. ‘I think it’s a really cool hat and I love the story behind it.”

“Yeah, I know, my cap’s cool but what did Sam say about it?” I pressed on.

She crossed her arms and sighed. “Look, I don’t wanna put a damper on your vacation. Just forget I mentioned it, for Sam’s sake. It’s his business, not mine.”

Stupid adults and their safety gloves, wish they’d just tear the whole band aid off already.

I’d let the conversation drop and turned my attention back to my phone when Sid started making her way over to the porch screen door.

“Hey, me and the dogs are going for a walk down by the lake, wanna go with us?”

“Nah…” I said respectfully declining. “I think I’m gonna go unpack my stuff. I need to be by myself for a while.”

“Okay, you do you.” she said, trying to sound casual as she made her exit.

I marched off and went to my makeshift bedroom to unpack, tossing my things on the floor and on Sid’s desk.

I pulled my cap off as I sat down in the leather chair, and quickly ran my fingers through my hair.

It all felt surreal, being here. Sam’s always been the one who lived on the edge, barely scraping by, doing whatever he wanted. Now he had a house. A life. A loving girlfriend. It was like he’d skipped ahead to some future version of himself I wasn’t ready to accept yet.

Yet Sam talked about me, often had me on his mind. But about what?

Sid had completely stonewalled me on it. Why?

I knew I had to bring it up to him at some point, I just didn’t know when.

I sighed and shook my head, closing my thought bubble as I pulled out my headphones.

I’m on vacation, I need to relax.

Mom wasn’t around to bother me.

Dad wasn’t around to bother me.

Tiffany wasn’t around to bother me.

….and Pat wasn’t around to bother me.

For another 15 minutes or so, anyway.

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