by Ally B
Of course, I’m not going to tell him about Graham. That’s weird.
But Max has always told me about girls. I’ve been his wingman with every girl he’s ever had a crush on, and he’d been mine for my short-lived relationship with Jackson. But this is different, right?
Who am I supposed to talk to if not Max? Not just Violet boy talk, really talk to?
Max
How was work? - Max
Slow. - Phoebe
It’s an honest answer, we only had twenty-three groups in and out in six hours, and most of them were elderly couples with annual passes.
Max
Quite the wordsmith. - Max
It’s a gift. - Phoebe
You feeling all right? You seem off. - Max
Yeah, I’m good. - Phoebe
How was your grandpa’s party? - Max
Of course he thinks that’s what the problem is.
My father.
And it probably should be, but my mind is too occupied with Graham to even focus on the fact that everything else is changing.
Maybe he is a good idea after all—a distraction.
Max
Go to sleep. - Max
Fine. - Phoebe
You too. - Max
Fine. - Phoebe
Love you. - Max
Love you too. - Phoebe
Caelum
The Chisel
My alarm wakes me up much too early, even though it’s the same 6:20 as always. My body isn’t as sore today, but my mind is still occupied.
I shower quickly, making sure to dry my hair with the blow dryer instead of leaving it wet as usual, scrunching a bit of oil into it before I’m finally satisfied.
I apply my makeup carefully, making sure to spare my eyelids from their normally ignored dots of black mascara.
I step out onto the balcony in my robe to test the weather, the October wind causing the hair on my arms to stand up as a chill rushes through my body.
Inside, I pull on a pair of black leggings and the oversized grey Princeton crewneck my mom had given me last Christmas along with a pair of white Nike socks and my creased Air Force Ones.
I loop a hair tie around my wrist before throwing my backpack over my shoulder and running down the creaky stairs.
“Good morning.” My mom says from her place at the kitchen island, where she sits at a stool, sipping her tea.
“I have no clue how you get up so early.” I shake my head as I pour tea from the kettle into a travel mug, adding a bit of honey and stirring before putting the lid on.
“How was your breakfast yesterday?” She asks.
“It was good,” I say quickly, hoping she doesn’t pry.
“Is this Graham boy someone I’m going to meet?” She raises an eyebrow.
“I don’t know. Maybe.” I open the fridge, pulling out my water bottle.
“I made you a lunch,” she says. “Bottom shelf on the left.”
I pull out one of the little plastic containers she brings her meals to work in and rummage through the cabinet, pulling out my old lunch-bag and placing the container on top of an icepack from the freezer.
“Thank you. I’m going to head out. I’ll see you?” I ask her.
“I work tonight and tomorrow night, but I have Wednesday off.” She tells me.
“See you then.”
“See you then,” she says as I fling open the door, nearly hitting Max.
He steps back and waves his arm in front of him, signaling for me to go ahead of him as he chuckles, “good morning, sunshine.”
“Sorry, I’m tired.”
“Hmm, I wonder why,” he deadpans as he climbs into the passenger seat.
“Sleep is for the weak,” I repeat his words as we buckle at the same time before I back out of the driveway.
“Are you sure you’re feeling okay? You seem off,” he asks.
“Just tired,” I lie. Of course I’m feeling off. I’m keeping a secret that doesn’t even need to be a secret from the one person in the world I tell everything to.
The drive is awkward, to say the least.
The slight rain and the low volume of the music with neither of us talking doesn’t feel normal at all.
“What’s wrong,” he asks as I wait to turn into the parking lot.
“Nothing,” I repeat.
“Phoebe Mitchell. I know you better than I know myself. What’s wrong?”
I park in my usual spot without giving him an answer, next to a familiar black Jeep.
“I went out with Graham yesterday,” I tell him.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks after a brief moment of awkward silence.
“I don’t know, I just felt like it was weird,” I confess.
“It’s only weird if I need to kick his ass. Was it okay?”
“Yeah. It was good.” I reassure him.
He presses a coin into the swear-jar without a reminder. “That’s good,” he says with a small smile.
“Yeah.”
“Want to go inside?” He asks, handing me my backpack from the backseat.
We wordlessly exit the car. The light rain covers the lenses of my glasses, forcing me to dry them on my sweatshirt when we enter the building.
Max and I enter the noisy classroom going to our seats. He’s oddly quiet, immediately pulling out his phone and scrolling through his Instagram feed rather than talking to Violet and I. He only looks up from his phone when Graham enters the room, following him with his eyes until he reaches his seat.
After I finish my quiz, I excuse myself to the bathroom with Violet on my heels.
“What’s that about?” She asks, closing the door behind her.
“I have no clue. It’s just weird.”
“Did you tell him about Graham?” She asks, leaning against the wall.
“Yeah, but I don’t know why that would—”
“He doesn’t like him.” She shakes her head. “He hasn’t since he met him. He said something about him doesn’t sit right.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that?” I ask her. “Why didn’t he tell me that.”
“I figured he would tell you! You two talk about everything!” She defends herself.
“Apparently not,” I huff, scrubbing my hands under the freezing water. “Now I feel bad about it.”
“You shouldn’t. He asked me out when you told him not to,” she whisper-shouts.
“But I didn’t hate you,” I tell her, drying my hands on a sandpaper-like paper towel from the dispenser.
“He never said he hates Graham.”
“He doesn’t have to. Max likes everyone,” I tell her, shaking my head.
“He doesn’t like everyone.” She tries to comfort me, yet again.
I push open the door, rounding the corner toward Wilson’s classroom and nearly run face-first into a light grey T-shirt.
“I’m gonna… go,” Violet says as I look up, my eyes meeting Graham’s.
“Hey,” he says simply.
“Hey,” I respond, taking a step back, so I’m not staring at his chest as we speak.
“How was your weekend?” He asks, an amused smirk pressing onto his lips.
“It was great until I had to go to breakfast with some boy on Sunday.” I roll my eyes dramatically to make sure he knows I’m joking.
He obviously understands. “I feel you, I had to do breakfast with some girl, and she wouldn’t stop talking about hot chocolate and Czech food,” he scoffs, leaning against a wall of lockers.
“She sounds lame.” I roll my eyes.
“She’s not half bad,” he says with a pursed-lip smile.
“Really? Because the boy is terrible,” I joke.
He rolls his deep brown eyes, clearly trying to hide his amusement as he runs a hand through his jet-black hair.
“How was the quiz?” I ask him, changing the subject,
“All right. We covered all of this before I left,” he says. “What are you doing after school?”
“Work,” I answe
r.
“When are you free?”
I run through my schedule in my mind. My next day off is Thursday when I’m supposed to go to my father’s for dinner.
“Thursday night?” I ask him.
“Want to watch a movie at my place?” He asks. “My parents are leaving town for a long weekend.”
“I have some errands to run. Can we make it late?” I ask him.
“Sure,” he answers.
We walk wordlessly back into Wilson’s classroom, where my eyes meet Max’s. He doesn’t seem angry or even upset, just bothered.
The rest of our morning classes are the same way.
I’m thankful for a quiz in Bio, meaning Graham stays at his lab station alone, and I don’t have to speak to either of them.
“So, what are we doing for Phoebe’s birthday?” Kendall speaks up at lunch.
“Party at mine?” Jackson jokingly suggests, knowing the answer has been and always will be no.
“I have no clue,” I tell them honestly, taking a bite of the sandwich my mom had made me.
“You really should let us plan something,” Violet huffs.
“Your birthdays and Friday night home games aren’t enough of an excuse to have parties?”
“Nope,” Tommy says simply, popping some blueberries into his mouth.
“It’s your last birthday in school. You’re going to spend the next few counting stars in Jersey, the least you can do is have one good one before you lose the chance.” Jackson speaks up.
“I’m going to college, not a nursing home. Have a party for Indigenous People’s Day,” I suggest
“When’s that?” St. Paul asks.
“Columbus Day,” Riley tells him.
“Columbus Day party at Jackson’s?”
“Indigenous People’s Day. We don’t fuck with Columbus in my house,” Jackson corrects him.
“And if this small Indigenous People’s Day party happens to also have balloons and cake?” Violet asks.
“That would be a shame.” Kendall shakes her head.
“Her birthday’s that Sunday, though.” Max chimes in, the entire table now ignoring that I’m sitting with them.
“Then, we’ll do it on Sunday and have a day to sleep it off,” Riley suggests
“We have a tournament.” Max is now speaking only to Jackson, who plays club soccer for the same team as him.
“Shit. Never mind,” Jackson says, earning groans from the entire table. “Sorry, guys.”
I secretly breathe a sigh of relief, thankful that my birthday can stay under the radar as it always does.
They spend the rest of the period talking about their game tomorrow night. It’s away, and I have work, so it’s another no-go.
I scroll through my Instagram feed until the bell rings, grabbing my stuff before heading toward the door with Max on my heels.
“Did you finish the homework?” He asks me.
“Yeah. You?”
“This morning before school,” he smiles sheepishly.
“You didn’t want to do it this weekend?” I ask him.
“Procrastination is fun,” he says.
I shake my head silently as we walk into our English class. We take our seats in the back as chatter fills the room, Mrs. Todd quickly turning on her smart board and beginning another of her signature lectures that seem to make the hour-long class feel like four.
I carefully take notes on everything she says, knowing that there will be a quiz on this eventually.
Astronomy and Calculus seem to move as slowly as English.
I find myself daring to peek at my phone screen occasionally, secretly hoping there will be a message from Graham.
No such luck.
Work is just as bad. I find myself peeking at my phone screen whenever I get a chance, just hoping for a notification.
I nearly fall out of my seat when I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket, but it’s my father.
Thomas Mitchell
We still on for dinner Thursday night? - Thomas
I’ll be there after school - Phoebe
Awesome. - Max
Yeah, awesome.
I spend the rest of the night giving the same speech as usual. The lack of questions is kind of disheartening, but typical for a Monday night.
I make it home by 9:15, eating some of the same salad mom had given me for lunch before washing my bowl and heading upstairs to do homework.
I find myself staring out of the window in a daze.
For hours I sit on my bed completing assignment after assignment, unable to focus as thoughts of Graham float through my mind.
The first few chapters of Emma are boring, but I get through them all the same. I write and re-write my notes in my bright-red English notebook, hoping it’ll help me remember the chapters that already seem to be fading from my mind.
And then my phone buzzes again.
I quickly grab it from its discarded place on my bed and find myself disappointed at the message from Ava.
Ava
I’m so so sorry for how things went down on Saturday. - Ava
Everyone feels so bad about it, and I just felt like someone needed to apologize to you. - Ava
He’s super old, and he’s definitely lost it (as you can probably tell). - Ava
No one has your dad’s new number, but please tell him that we’re sorry. - Ava
It’s a weird text coming from her, but it makes sense that Amy would rather have her daughter do her bidding than apologize.
Ava
You’re honestly fine. I should’ve expected it going in. - Phoebe
You shouldn’t have to deal with it. - Ava
We’re all sorry. - Ava
I leave the message on opened.
I know they feel bad for what happened on Saturday, but it’s hard to pretend they weren’t all thinking it.
And that’s when my phone buzzes again, and I feel my heart skip a beat as his name appears on my screen.
Graham
Hey - Graham
Hey. - Phoebe
What’s up? - Graham
Not much, you? - Phoebe
NM. how was work? - Graham
Uneventful. - Phoebe
I scramble to think of something to say. Asking him how work was won’t exactly going to get me an answer, and he’ll probably think I don’t know anything about him. Thankfully, he texts back.
Graham
lol. - Graham
Thanks for giving me something to work with.
Graham
So how was your day? - Phoebe
Ten out of ten response, Phoebe. You definitely don’t sound like a mom.
Graham
Boring. - Graham
You looked cute today. - Graham
I feel butterflies flutter in my stomach as I flop onto my back,
Graham
Thanks :) - Phoebe
Am I supposed to say he looked cute too? Can you call a boy cute without insulting his fragile masculinity?
Graham
Im going to bed. just wanted to say GN. - Graham
Goodnight. - Phoebe
Goodnight Phoebe - Graham
I shove my schoolwork into my backpack and throw it on the floor before plugging my phone in.
‘Goodnight, Phoebe’? What boy takes the time to text goodnight to a girl they aren’t even with?
My heart beats a million miles a minute as I desperately try to push away thoughts of Graham Neilson and get some rest.
Staring at the stars on my ceiling, I fall asleep with a smile on my face.
Microscopium
The Microscope
“Hurry up!” Max whines from his place on my bed as I pull my hair into a ponytail, desperately trying to smooth the bumps.
“I’m hurrying!” I tell him as I give up, letting my hair fall, and accepting that my curls will never be docile in my battle against them. “Let’s go,” I tell him, throwing my backpack over my shoulder.
He follows me down the stairs,
and I push aside Tupperware containers in the fridge to grab my water bottle.
“So, how’s Graham?” He asks me as I close my door and buckle my seat belt.
“Umm… good, I think?” I respond as I back out of my driveway.
“I mean, how are things with Graham.” He corrects himself.
“I have no clue,” I answer honestly, “I don’t even know what things are.”
“He seems like a good guy,” he says blankly.
“Vi told me you don’t like him,” I blurt out, knowing she’ll be pissed at me for telling on her. “You don’t have to pretend you do.”
“I don’t,” he answers honestly. “I just don’t have a good feeling about him. I don’t know why.”
“Well, that’s not very reassuring.” I laugh nervously.
“I’ve never lied to you. I’m not going to start now.”
The rest of the ride to school is awkward, to say the least. I try my best not to think about Max and his feelings toward Graham, but the silence in the car doesn’t help.
I follow behind a bright yellow school bus, which takes a painful amount of time to arrive at the elementary school. I basically have to speed to get to school on time. Max doesn’t say anything about being late the day of a game, which is honestly more annoying than if he did.
Something’s wrong.
“What crawled up your ass and died?” Violet asks Max as he slams his binders onto his desk, taking his seat.
“Long practice last night,” he says shortly, pulling out his light blue notebook and my pen from last week out of his backpack.
“Really? Jackson said you got out early because of the game tonight.” Violet responds.
I raise an eyebrow at the Jackson comment, but she shakes her head and gives me her signature ‘I’ll-tell-you-later’ look.
“Had to stay late with Dad,” Max says, writing something down in his notebook.
“Perks of being the coach’s kid, right?” Violet laughs nervously, obviously being able to tell he’s lying about what’s actually wrong.