by F. T. Lukens
Leo moved closer, and Bridger tensed, certain he was about to be kissed. His eyes fluttered closed, and he held his breath.
“Hey, asshole!”
They sprang apart.
Astrid stood on the porch of Bridger’s house, still decked out in her field hockey uniform, with his backpack in her hand. She tossed it into the street.
“Forget something?” she yelled.
The front light of Leo’s house switched on.
Astrid strode to her car, which was in Bridger’s driveway. Her head was down, but Bridger could hear the sniffles.
Oh, shit.
“Astrid,” Bridger called, leaving Leo behind.
He heard Leo’s dad open the door. “Leo? What is going on?”
Bridger felt bad about leaving Leo to his fate, but he had bigger problems. Astrid slammed her car door and turned on the engine as Bridger reached the driver’s side.
“Astrid? I can explain. I swear, it’s not what it looks like.”
She made a noise in her throat but didn’t respond otherwise. She threw the car in reverse and peeled out of the driveway. Bridger tried to follow, but just as he was not fast enough to outrun a unicorn, he could not keep up with a speeding car.
He frowned and walked back to the street. He scooped up his bag.
Leo and his dad had already disappeared into their house, but Bridger could hear the arguing in Spanish from the street.
He winced, but there was nothing he could do now.
His mom was at work, of course, and he let himself into the house. He locked the door behind him.
Bridger briefly considered texting Astrid, but as mad as she was, he didn’t want to give her another distraction. The last thing he wanted was for her to be in an accident. He dragged his body upstairs.
He texted his mom to let her know he was home and received a response with a warning about the late hour. He took a shower and counted the bruises from his fall and noted the missing skin from his knees. Foregoing homework, he collapsed into bed and closed his eyes.
What a weird, awesome, exhausting night!
But as rough as it had been, he guessed that the next day would be even worse.
Chapter 7
Bridger was not wrong.
The day dawned bright and cold, as if the weather decided to skip fall altogether and dive headlong into winter. Bridger snoozed his alarm one too many times because he was so exhausted and stumbled from the house without breakfast. Without a ride from Astrid, Bridger had to catch the bus and he was stuck sitting next to a freshman with a tuba. Once at school, he stepped in gum and spent several freezing minutes using a stick trying to pry the mess from the grooves in the sole of his shoe. He managed to get most of it off, but not without cursing.
When he went inside to his locker, Astrid was not waiting for him. He had half-hoped that she had forgiven him and would be in her usual spot. He grabbed his things and made his way to the other part of the senior hall.
He spotted Astrid instantly.
“Hey,” he said, sidling up to her at her locker.
She glanced at him, but went back to pulling out her books for English class. She had all her piercings in—nose, ears, lip, eyebrow—wearing them like armor. Her shock of red hair was pulled up in a high ponytail. Her lipstick was battle gray, and her eyelashes were dark and curled. She wore her favorite comfy shirt and the jeans she claimed made her butt look amazing. It was her hurt ensemble, the one she’d worn last year after Lance Hoekstra turned her down for prom, and was similar to what she wore when they realized Kitty McKitKat was not coming back.
“Look, I know you’re upset with me, but I can explain.”
She slammed her locker shut and spun the combination. “Fuck off.” She turned on her heel, walked away, and disappeared in a swarm of field hockey players.
Okay, that went badly. He should’ve started with an apology instead of an explanation. That was his first mistake. He’d have to try again.
In English, he crafted a note with I AM SO SORRY written in big block letters at the top. He tossed it to her and it landed on her desk. She ripped it into shreds without even looking.
Ouch.
To date, Bridger and Astrid had had only one massive awkward interaction and that was the ill-advised truth or dare game when they were in middle school, when they thought they had to kiss because they were opposite genders and best friends. What a crock that turned out to be. They’d spent days trying to figure it out and not speaking to each other, because neither of them was attracted to the other and they didn’t want to date. But everyone kept telling them they couldn’t be friends without mutual romantic pining. It took parental intervention for them to realize that, yes, they could be platonic best friends.
Maybe Bridger should talk to his mom now. But then he’d have to explain and well, no. Still not ready for that.
He was on his own.
At lunch, Bridger didn’t bother with food. He slid into the seat opposite Astrid and leaned over the table.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” Astrid said. Turning her body away from him, she took a big bite of her sandwich and chewed loudly.
Well, that was childish. He scooted down a seat, squishing in with a girl named Mary. She glared at him and elbowed him in the ribs, but he was undeterred.
“Good, you don’t have to talk to me. I’m only asking that you listen.”
“I don’t want to listen to you, either.”
Bridger fumed, frustrated. He wanted to apologize. Why wouldn’t she let him? “Don’t you think you’re being a little unfair? It was a field hockey game, Astrid. It’s not like you don’t have fifteen others for me to come to.”
“Unfair?” She stood up suddenly and bent over the table. He cowered, almost falling off the chair. “Unfair?” she yelled, garnering the attention of the entire lunch room. “You think I’m being unfair? Screw you! You’re a shitty friend, Bridger Whitt.”
She grabbed her lunch tray, stalked off, and threw the whole thing into the trash. The rest of the field hockey girls followed, including Mary. They gathered their things in a flurry and fled, leaving Bridger at the table all by himself with the rest of the student body staring at him.
Great.
Bridger hid his face in his hands, then scrubbed his fingers through his hair.
He grabbed his bag and was off like a shot, banging his way out of the lunch room and into the hallway. He didn’t know where he was going; he only knew he had to move. Frustrated and sad, he stormed away, steps quick as he fled toward the doors to the athletic fields.
“Bridger.”
Someone tugged on his arm, and he stopped to find Leo next to him.
“Hey, are you okay?”
Bridger shrugged off Leo’s touch. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look okay. Do you want to talk about it?” Leo took Bridger’s hand and laced their fingers, and Bridger shivered. Bridger stared, awed, at their entwined fingers, sure he was having an out-of-body experience. Leo pulled gently, and no, he this was actually real. He definitely felt the warmth of Leo’s skin and his tight grip.
Leo held his hand.
Bridger looked up and saw a few kids down the hall not paying attention, but that didn’t stop the panic. They could look any second.
“Come have lunch,” Leo said with a smile. “With me and the team.”
A lump formed in Bridger’s throat—part regret and part anxiety. He shook his hand free of Leo’s hold.
“I really can’t. Not right now. I… have stuff to deal with.”
“Astrid?” Leo guessed.
“Among other things.”
Leo nodded. He let out a small sigh; his expression twisted into what looked like remorse. “I get it. I think.”
“Can we talk later? After I get home from work?”
Leo s
hrugged, crestfallen. “Sure.”
And damn, Bridger failed at words today. He was screwing everything up. He was Midas with the absolute-fail touch and he’d hurt Astrid and was in the process of hurting Leo. Why was everything so difficult? This was why he didn’t want to deal with any of it. He didn’t want this—the high school drama, the attention, the hurt that invariably came with growing up and figuring yourself out. And not just his own hurt, but the hurt he caused others—Astrid, his mom when he finally told her, Leo when they didn’t work out. He didn’t want to have to deal with this until he had left and was far, far away from everyone who knew him.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Leo winced.
Absolutely the wrong words.
“I mean,” Bridger said, trying to course-correct, “I want to talk to you, but the lunch room is very public and I’ve been humiliated once in there already today. I’ll come over after work and knock on your door and everything.”
Leo smiled, soft and fond. “You don’t have to do that.”
“But I will.”
“Okay,” he said. “I look forward to it, just don’t get killed before then.”
“Nah, Astrid has plans. She can’t really take over the world behind bars.”
Leo raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”
“Well, now I’m not.”
Laughing, Leo shoved Bridger in the shoulder.
And because Bridger had no self-control, he darted in and kissed Leo’s cheek. Leo let out a quiet “oh” of surprise, but Bridger didn’t hang around to witness anything else. He flashed a smile, his heart racing, and exited the building toward the fields.
Bridger forgot how cold it was and he shuddered when he stepped outside. He blew into his hands and wished he had worn a thicker jacket. He clutched the fabric tighter around him, and his breath hung in the air. He could go back inside, but he was on a mission now. He turned a corner and found five of the field hockey team huddled near the running track. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve thought they passed a cigarette between them, but… wait… no, that was exactly what they were doing.
He got there in time to see Astrid take a long drag, then pass it to the girl on her right.
“Hey,” Bridger said. “I’m an asshole.”
Astrid flicked him off, then turned away from him. The other girls reoriented themselves, and they all stood with their backs to him.
Bridger narrowed his eyes. It was one thing for him to be inconsiderate on accident, but this was getting out of hand.
“Fine! Don’t talk to me. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for getting an urgent call from my boss and having to leave the game. I’m sorry that after I finished working I happened to run into Leo. I’m sorry that we had ice cream, and then Zeke brought us both home. Okay?” Bridger stepped forward, and the girls around Astrid dispersed. “You know, I love how it’s unfair for me to need to work in order to go to college and it’s unfair for me to have a friend who’s not you.”
And Bridger didn’t really know where that all came from. Saying it hadn’t felt good, but it must have been pent up inside him because it erupted in a volcano of words. Heat surged in his cheeks, and tears stung the back of his eyes.
Astrid scoffed. She looked at the other girls. “Give us a minute?”
They left. One of them flicked the cigarette to the ground and squished it out.
Bridger waited in the oppressive silence until the girls were far enough away, and then Astrid unloaded.
“If you think this is only about the field hockey game then, yes, you are an asshole.”
“Then what is it about, Astrid? What have I done wrong?”
“You lie to me. All the time.” Her voice was choked, and when Bridger stepped a little closer he could see the tear tracks on her cheeks and the smudged eyeliner. “That’s all you do. I thought we were friends, but we’re not.”
“We are friends.”
“Bullshit,” she spat. “When was the last time we hung out? Huh? Just you and me? And don’t you dare say the freaky apothecary day because that was a favor for your job.”
Bridger opened his mouth to respond and snapped it shut.
“Yeah. The last time was before school started. Back in August. Before Leo and your queer crisis.”
Bridger’s eyes widened and he furtively surveyed the area. “Jesus, Astrid. Could you not?”
“What? So you like a guy. Big deal.”
“It is a big deal. It’s a big deal to me, and you don’t get to tell me it’s not. And you’re the only one who knows. The only person I trusted to tell.”
She crossed her arms. Goosebumps bloomed on her skin, and she shivered. Her favorite shirt wasn’t doing much to protect her from the unseasonably cold weather. He would’ve offered his jacket, but she’d ball it up and throw it back at his head.
“Yep, I’m your secret keeper. I’m your ride in the morning and in the afternoon. I’m the person who holds your hand when you need help. But what about me? What if I liked someone?”
Bridger’s eyebrows shot up. “You like someone? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you never ask!” she shouted. “It’s always one Bridger crisis after another. And I get it, okay? You’re alone. Your mom is never home, and your dad is gone. But just because you’re lonely doesn’t mean you get to be selfish.”
Bridger stepped back. The words a slap in his face. He paled and he trembled, and it wasn’t only because he was slowly turning into a popsicle.
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know, but you are. And I can’t be friends with someone who only takes and who doesn’t tell me the truth. I thought about it and I know you probably did get called by your weird boss and you probably did randomly run into Leo, but you lie so much, I couldn’t tell if it was the truth or not.”
Bridger frowned. “I don’t lie all the time.”
Astrid rolled her eyes. “You lie to yourself constantly, and it’s bled over to the rest of us.”
“So what are you saying? We’re not going to be friends anymore?” The thought made him incomparably sad; the words echoed in his middle, hollow and strange. His throat tightened, and the tears that had threatened spilled over.
Astrid wiped her eyes. Her makeup smeared. “I don’t know.”
Using the sleeve of his jacket, he scrubbed his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. And I haven’t lied to you.” Liar. Lying by omission was still a lie. And he had omitted so much.
“Uh huh? What’s the real reason you want to move away?”
The bell rang. Astrid didn’t move. She stared him down, tapped her foot and waited.
Bridger sighed and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m going to class.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. So I’m not late. I’ll talk to you later, I guess.” Huddling in his jacket, Bridger strode across the grass. His stomach churned, and everything was awful.
Stupid unicorn.
Bridger made it through the rest of the day without encountering either Astrid or Leo, for which he was thankful. Astrid wanted him to be the Bridger from last year, and Leo wanted Bridger to leap forward to something else. He wasn’t a caterpillar or a butterfly, and the chrysalis was constricting. But he didn’t want to go backward, and going forward meant tackling things about himself he wasn’t ready for.
Bridger left school at the bell and walked to the nearest bus stop. He hopped the first one that came and rode to the stop near Pavel’s office. When he arrived at the office, his fingers were nearly frozen, and his ears burned from the wind.
Mindy sat at her desk, and Pavel paced the foyer. Pavel startled when Bridger slammed the front door. Not even the sensation of magic could lift Bridger’s spirits. What he wouldn’t give to touch the unicorn again and have all the worry wash away in a deluge of pony magic.
/> His accent thick, Pavel launched into a flurry of words and gestures. Something about a sasquatch and the Jersey Devil, and Bridger could not keep up. He blinked and nodded in what he thought were the right places, but, honestly, he could not repeat what Pavel rambled on about if his life depended on it.
Ha. His life might actually depend on it. Better focus.
“And then Nia reminded me that, even though pixies do have a bit of a sweet tooth, they don’t normally gorge themselves the way her and Bran have been. Whatever is happening is affecting them as well and—” Pavel stopped short. “Are you all right?”
“Huh?”
Pavel frowned. “Have you been listening at all?”
“Sure,” Bridger said. But that was a lie. Astrid was right, Bridger’s propensity for untruths had gotten out of hand. “Actually,” he amended, “I wasn’t. I’m not having a good day, Pavel.”
“Oh,” he said. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
Bridger couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, that would be awesome.”
“Come on then.” Pavel motioned at the stairs and walked up. “I’m actually not very good at consoling, but I’ve been told I listen well.”
Bridger snorted.
On the third floor, Pavel started the kettle while Bridger slumped into one of the chairs in the study. The last time Bridger sat there his whole world had been rearranged so he hadn’t taken a good look at his surroundings. With Pavel puttering around the adjoining kitchen, Bridger took it all in.
The study had large windows, which allowed natural light to pour in—very different from the rest of the house. Large birdcages hung from the ceiling and further investigation revealed candy wrappers and small beds inside. There were a few bookshelves, a couch in the corner, a footstool, and a vintage-looking blanket. Bridger assumed a small curtained-off area toward the back was a private room for Pavel’s clients if needed. The only clutter was a few scrolls on the small wooden table.
Pavel brought Bridger his tea.
“Would you like to talk about it?”
“No offense, but I’d rather not. I think I want to be distracted.” He took a sip of his tea and was pleased to find Pavel had added honey. “Where are the pixies?”