by Ally B
“You can worry about how your dad’s going to live vicariously through you when he’s here. The two of you can make a plan.” I offer.
“You’re so smart.”
“Point-zero-three percent smarter than you.” I remind him.
“Exactly.” He agrees. “And so pretty.”
“Go to sleep,” I tell him.
‘You’re so pretty’ has always been a backhanded compliment between us. Any time either of us does something stupid, it’s always, ‘you’re lucky you’re pretty’ or ‘you’re so pretty.’
“I’m not tired,” he says simply.
“Are you sure?” I ask, hoping I’ll be able to change his mind.
“Positive.”
“I think you’re tired,” I say in an attempt to convince him to listen.
“You’re so nice.”
“I thought I was a brat,” I state, pulling my chair closer to the side of his bed.
“You are. But you’re my brat.” He gives a lazy smile.
“Okay, Max. Go to sleep.” I instruct, shaking my head.
“No,” he defends, trying to lift himself up. “It’s true. You’re my favorite person. Ever.” He flops his head back.
“And you’re mine,” I tell him simply.
“I love you, Phoebe Mitchell.”
“I love you, too, Max,” I tell him. “Take a nap for me?”
“No, I really love you.” He repeats.
“I really love you, too. Take a nap?”
“Fine. Only because you’re making me.” He groans, turning away from me and quickly dozing off.
I was shocked that Max was released so soon after surgery, but he pushed for it, and Mom promised she’d check in on him between shifts. After using the bathroom, and him showing off his mad skill on crutches, they caved.
More shockingly, Camila was released as well. She was lucky that her break wasn’t like mine.
Two days instead.
Two.
“Is Mimi home?” Max asks as Bill turns onto our street.
“No, I’m going to go get her once you two are settled.”
“I can go get her.” I offer.
“You’re babysitting.” Bill tilts his head back toward Max.
My phone vibrates in my pocket as we pull into Max’s driveway, and I pull it out.
Thomas Mitchell
Hey. - Thomas Mitchell
Everything okay with Max and Camila? - Thomas Mitchell
How on earth did he find out?
Thomas Mitchell
Yeah, they’re home now. - Phoebe
Your mom texted me. We still on for Thursday night? - Thomas Mitchell
Yeah, probably. - Phoebe
It shocks me a bit that neither of them seemed nervous about getting back in a vehicle after an accident like I was.
Bill helps Camila into the house before Max and I even get out of the car. I hand him his crutches from the back of Bill’s SUV as he flings his door open.
We walk wordlessly through the front door, and I kick my sneakers off before chasing Max to the kitchen.
“Do you want to sleep in the guest room down here?” Bill asks Max as he sits on a stool at the kitchen island.
“I can handle the stairs.” Max crosses his arms over his chest.
“Okay, Billy-badass, he was just making a suggestion.” Camila rolls her bloodshot eyes.
Max and I exchange a glance as the curse-word comes out of her mouth, and Max bursts into laughter. “Billy-badass is the best you could do?”
“I’ll kick your ass.” She mutters, pressing a button on their high-tech coffee maker.
“Someone’s aggressive today.” Max raises an eyebrow.
“That happens when your child tries to kill you.” She shoots back.
Bill and I look to each other, not knowing how they’re going to react to the comment.
And then they both laugh.
Bill lets out a sigh of relief. “You both need to get some rest before you give me a heart attack.”
“What is it with you always trying to make me sleep?” Camila asks. Max raises his eyebrows at me, and I roll my eyes in return.
“Can Jackson come over?” Max asks.
“You can have company tomorrow, let’s settle in first.” Bill glares. “Right now, you’re going to get your ass upstairs and take a nap.”
“You two are aggressive today.” He raises an eyebrow before standing, maneuvering his way toward the stairs.
“Phoebe, you wanna—”
“On it.” I cut Bill off.
“You’re the best,” he says as I practically chase Max out of the kitchen.
“For someone on crutches, you move pretty quickly,” I tell him when I finally catch him at the stairs.
He doesn’t reply, just stares at the top of the stairs like they’re his own personal Everest.
“You’ve got it,” I encourage him.
“You’re gonna catch me if I fall?” He looks back, catching me paying careful attention.
“Always,” I tell him with a small smile.
He makes his way up the stairs slowly but surely, gripping the railing so hard his knuckles turn white.
“I’m never leaving my room again,” he says as he flops down on his bed, his crutches clattering to the floor beside him.
“That’s probably for the best.” I sit down next to him, pulling the single Nike sneaker off of his foot. “I’m surprised your mom didn’t kill you for this.”
“She’s drugged up.” He shrugs as I put the single shoe in his closet.
He grabs the remote from his nightstand and turns on his TV, blankly staring at the screen as it comes to life.
“Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?”
“I’m not sleeping right now.”
“As much as I love the defiant five-year-old act, you should really listen to your dad.”
“I hate you,” he groans.
“I know.”
“Are you gonna go to school?”
“Max, it’s five o’clock at night.”
“Oh shit.” He picks up his phone, staring at his shattered home screen.
“Since when is your home screen not that picture from seventh grade?” I ask. For years both screensavers on his phone has been the same terrible picture from Jackson’s thirteenth birthday party for as long as I can remember. Now they’re replaced with photos I don’t remember taking on Sunday night.
“I thought it was time for a change.” He shrugs.
The picture looks like it was taken at the same time as the ones on my Instagram. The color-changing lights are purple, and the picture is a little blurry. Vi is open-mouthed laughing on a grinning Jackson’s back, Kendall is squinting with her hand to her ear, trying to make out something Ava is saying while Tommy holds two fingers behind her head and Riley looks at them disapprovingly. Max and I are laughing at something the other said in the center of the group, my head tilted back and a grin on my face. His flannel is tied around his waist, and his curls are a mess, sticking out in a million different directions.
“I really don’t remember taking those.”
“Well, Pheebs, that’s why we don’t drink a million cups of fruit juice with mixed liquors our first time ever drinking.” He puts a hand on my shoulder.
“I hate you.”
“I know.” He grins.
“Do you want me to get you anything? I can run and get Goldfish or something.” I offer.
“Just stay. I’ll go insane if I’m stuck alone with my parents.”
“Mi will be here soon.” I remind him.
“As much as I love hanging out with seven-year-olds, I’m officially holding you hostage.”
I grab the remote from him. “We’re not watching A Goofy Movie.”
“How’d you know?”
“I just did.” I shake my head, scrolling through his streaming app.
“We never got to watch Star Wars on your birthday.” He speaks up.
I nearly laugh, �
�I’m not making you watch Star Wars.”
“I know it may be shocking to you, but I actually like those movies.”
“Not enough to watch them right now.” I shake my head, searching for A Goofy Movie.
“I’m humbly requesting that we watch The Phantom Menace right now,” he continues.
“And I want to watch A Goofy Movie.”
“A New Hope.” He tries to meet me in the middle with his favorite of the Star Wars movies.
“Hercules.”
“Oh shit.” He sighs.
“Right?” I ask, searching for the film.
The sun falls on the other side of his window as we watch the movie.
Mom
I’m heading to work. Please let me know if anyone needs anything. - Mom
Thank you. I will. Love you. - Phoebe
Love you too. - Mom
Lunch table + Ava
Pheebs ur terrible at updating us - Vi
Vi. Punctuation and capitalization. PLEASE. - Jackson
Sorry guys, they’re home now. I’ll let you know when you can come visit. - Phoebe
Also, you know you can text him? - Phoebe
He didn’t break his thumbs? - Phoebe
But we can’t act worried about him to his face silly - Jackson
Face? - Jackson
Phone? - Jackson
Ya I don’t want to make him feel bad - Jackson
Then don’t???? - Phoebe
Just ask him what’s up? - Phoebe
“Are they really still texting you?” Max asks.
“At this point, I’m just going to add you to the group chat.” I say, scroll through a million messages.
He grabs my phone, quickly adding himself to the chat and throwing my phone back to me.
Lunch table + Ava
I’m alive - Max
“That’s your line?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Big entrances, baby.” He winks with a laugh, pressing his power button and setting his phone down next to him.
“When can you go back to school?” I ask.
“Next week.” He huffs.
“So… no dance?” I ask.
“Oh, I’m going to the dance.” He declares. “And the game.”
“Yeah?” I ask. “You and what army?”
“Me and you. Busting out of this prison cell.” He gestures to his bedroom walls.
“Your ginormous comfortable prison cell with a private bathroom and Wi-Fi.” I clarify
“Exactly.” He nods in agreement.
“Great, just making sure.” I nod, shaking my head in disapproval.
“Phoebe?” Max looks to me after a moment of silence.
“What’s up?” I ask.
He looks at me for a moment, one curl on the top of his head springing up above the rest. I quickly push it down, and he grins his stupid goofy grin.
“What?” I ask defensively.
“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “Absolutely nothing.”
“I hate that,” I mutter.
“I know you do.”
“Okay, wipe that stupid smile off of your face and go to sleep,” I demand, swinging my legs around the side of the bed.
“No thank you, ma’am.” He grins, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me back toward him.
“I hate you.”
“I know.” He shrugs. “But you’re not missing the end of this movie.”
“Are you going to school tomorrow?” He asks as the credits roll.
“Oh, what? You think I like you enough to skip school for you?” I joke.
“I was kinda hoping?” He makes a face.
“I think I’m going to go in the morning and leave for a ‘doctor’s appointment’ after Bio.” I use air quotes.
“So, you can see cracker boy?”
Oh shit.
“Never mind. See you bright and early.”
“You’re going to have to talk to him eventually. He kinda lives here.”
“I’ve been ignoring his texts for two days now, so I don’t really think it’s the best idea to sit through a full Bio class alone with him.”
“So…you’re just never going to go back to school?”
“Sounds about right.” I nod.
“See you tomorrow?” He asks.
“Are you kicking me out?”
“Yeah,” he says bluntly. “You need sleep and food. And to text Graham. I love you. Goodbye.”
“Fine.” I groan. “Thanks for not dying. I really appreciate it.”
“I kinda do, too.”
“Love you. Bye!” I shout as I close the door behind me.
“Love you, too!”
Libra
The Scales
The second I step foot inside of my house, my phone rings.
“Hey, Vi, what’s up?”
“Your Snapchat location said you left his house. Did you?” She asks quietly
“Yes, Vi. I’m home now.”
“Is he actually okay? Like, about the soccer stuff?” She asks, her voice much louder than it was before.
“He’s taking it better than I thought he would,” I lie, knowing he would kill me if I told anyone there was a chink in his armor.
“Wanna come to Target with me to get him stuff?” She asks. “I’ll be at your house in five minutes.”
“Then I guess I have no choice, do I?”
“Nope. Bye.”
Then the phone beeps it’s familiar tone, and the line goes dead.
I run up to my room and pull on a pair of leggings and my oversized Williams Planetarium sweatshirt, knowing Violet will yell at me for the combination of a navy-blue hoodie and black pants. I pull my hair out of its ponytail and into a somewhat-more controlled messy bun, giving up on trying to smooth it out.
I see Vi’s car pull into my driveway before I’m even downstairs, but I make it outside before she starts to blow up my phone.
“Are we really not allowed to go see him?” She asks as soon as I close the door behind me and buckle.
“Bill wants him to sleep,” I tell her.
“Wasn’t he knocked out for surgery? That’s plenty of sleep.” She whines as she backs out of my driveway.
“Not everyone can run on Red Bull and espresso, Vi.” I remind her.
“Are you okay?” She asks. “I know car wrecks are rough on you.”
“I lost it.” I confess, “but then I had to take care of Mia for a bit while Bill was with Camila.”
“Camila’s all right?”
“She broke a disc in her spine, but she had surgery,” I tell her.
“Isn’t that what you did?”
“Yeah. They messed up waiting for too long to fix mine, though.” I sigh. “But my mom was working when they came in. She rushed Camila into surgery, so that didn’t happen to her, too.”
“I love Anna.” Vi sighs. “Do you think Camila’s going to kill me if I give Max a bunch of processed shit food? We could probably go to Trader Joe’s instead,” she says, looking at the screen next to her wheel. “Just have to be home by nine.”
“I think Max would kill you if you brought him healthy food.”
“I think I could take him right now. Just have to get his other leg.” She shrugs. “Was that really awful of me to say?”
“A little bit.” I nod.
“Cool,” she says, turning toward Target. “Graham texted me.”
Here we go.
“You’ve been ignoring his messages?”
“I was busy with Max.” I defend.
“Not too busy to text us.” She shoots back.
“I feel like shit about the party.”
“Why do you feel like shit? He’s the one who should feel like shit.”
“I didn’t tell him why I don’t drink. He thought I just felt like I had to be the responsible one.”
“And if that’s what you told him, he should’ve respected that.”
“He thought I was just uptight.”
“You are uptight. That’s a
Phoebe Mitchell thing in general, not just when it comes to childhood trauma.”
“I should’ve just told him about the accident. I don’t know how long I thought I would be able to ignore it.”
“You really didn’t have to.” She shakes her head, stopping at a red light.
“You can’t just tell someone you don’t drink and…”
“Say it.” She demands. “I know exactly what you’re about to say, and even you know it’s stupid.”
I don’t answer. Of course she’s right.
“You really can just expect someone not to give you alcohol when you tell them you don’t drink. That’s not something someone who cares about you would do. Even if they don’t know why. They just wouldn’t fucking do it, Pheebs.”
The car is dead silent until we arrive at Target, which is painfully awkward.
Especially with Violet.
And it stays that way until we’re standing in front of the Goldfish display.
“Should we get the big thing of Goldfish or the little one?” She finally asks.
“Big,” I answer.
She reaches for the carton, accidentally knocking three off of the shelf. I suck in my lips to try and keep from laughing at her as she puts them back on the shelf while other people in the aisle glare.
“Fucking Goldfish.” She mutters as we leave the aisle.
“You going to be all right?” I ask her jokingly.
“Probably not.” She huffs, turning down another aisle. “Sorry if I was bitchy about Graham. I’m sure he has his redeeming qualities.”
“I thought you liked him?”
“I did until he was a dick to Max,” she says, tossing a box of fruit snacks into the basket.
“What did he do?” I ask. “Max never mentioned anything.”
“Of course, he didn’t. You’re all happy and shit,” she says, throwing a Kit-Kat into the basket.
“What did he do?” I repeat.
“Nothing.” She pauses. “Max was going to be the one to take you to dinner on your birthday, and he was going to help set up, but he got all pissy and possessive. It was just weird.”
“He probably just didn’t want to set up. He doesn’t know you guys that well, it would’ve been awkward.”