Page 14 of Our Final Encore

Whoever said falling in love with your best friend was a good idea must have been an idiot. For the past three months all I’ve been able to think about is Alex. His lips, his hands, the sharp curve of his jaw.

When we were younger it was easier. I’ve always had a crush on him, like so many other girls at school do, but he was my best friend first and foremost. A friend that happened to be ridiculously good looking, but it didn’t matter, I could ignore that most of the time.

We made each other laugh, we told each other our deepest secrets. Now, it’s all fucked up. I still want to laugh with him, but I also want to hold his hand. I still want to tell him my secrets, but also taste his lips.

Having these thoughts isn’t conducive to a friendship. It makes me feel weird, dirty almost.

I can’t help but imagine what his pouty lips would feel like against mine. When our fingers brush, or when we hug, I always find myself wishing for more.

There are three knocks on my window letting me know that he’s here, and I spin around, my daydream blurring into nonexistence.

“Hey,” he says as I slide the rickety old window open just enough for him to slip through.

“Hi.”

His eyes travel over my face for a second. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m just not ready for tomorrow.”

“It won’t be that bad. Four more years and we’re done, outta this shithole for good. We got this.”

Glad he has more confidence than I do.“I guess.” I sit back down on the stool in front of my vanity. It’s an old, wooden one that’s painted white with an oval mirror that sits on top.

I pull my brush through my hair a few more times. My hair is longer now, well past my breasts (which actually started to grow a tiny bit this summer, surprisingly), and mom finally let me get bangs. I’d always wanted them because she has them, and they frame her face so beautifully.

Unfortunately mine don’t look like hers at all. They stick out awkwardly, and my cowlick makes them difficult to style correctly.

In my mirror I watch as he sits down on my bed, leaning his back against my headboard and crossing his legs lazily. His tan skin contrasts against my white bedspread, and his green eyes match the color of my sage walls. At some point green became my favorite color.No idea why.

“Come here.” He pats the space next to him and I sigh, setting down my brush and crossing my small room to sit on the edge of the bed. He wraps an arm around me and squeezesme to his chest playfully, forcing me to lay down next to him. My heart beats rapidly as I breathe in his crisp, masculine scent. He’s grown up a lot this summer.

His arms are no longer scrawny like they were in sixth grade, they’re more muscular. His hair’s a little longer, and now he towers over me. When we met we were about the same height.

“It’ll be okay,” he gently rubs circles on my back with his thumb. His touch somehow calms me and sends my heart into overdrive at the same time.

“What if it’s even worse?”

He pulls his head back to look down at me, our faces only inches apart now, and I swear the oxygen is stolen from my lungs. “Then I’ll be right there. Telling those assholes to leave you alone,” he says just like a protective older brother would. It ruins the moment when I remember that’s how he sees me, like a sister.

A tiny grin reaches my lips but disappears just as fast. “I don’t know. I just want it to be different. I want to have fun, meet new people, all that stuff you’re supposed to do in high school.”

“You will.”

“Probably not,” I scoff.

“If anything you’ll be getting even more attention than you want.”

My brow arches and I look up at him. “Why?”

His eyes dip down to my mouth, then briefly to my chest before they return to my gaze again. “Just trust me.”

My face feels hot, and not just because it’s 100 degrees outside. I exhale sharply, quickly unlinking his arm from around my neck and stand up.

“Let’s go get snow cones. It’s hot as balls today,” I say as I fix my bangs for the millionth time this afternoon.

His eyes are still soft for another second, until he blinks away whatever emotion is hidden beneath them and stands up. “Sure. Let’s go.”

I yell down the hall to Mamaw to tell her that I’m leaving and I’ll be back in an hour, and then we leave, him through the window and I through the front door. I don’t know exactly how she would feel about him being in my room, but I’d rather not find out, which is why that’s his entrance and exit.

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