Sweet Tooth [HS]

FIFTY FIVE

Six years before. 

Max was staring at her blank phone screen, blinking at it, willing for a notification to pop up. He said he would phone her yesterday. Said he would see her today. 

But he has been silent. There has been nothing. 

She knew he was busy. Yes. Busy. Band stuff and all the rest of it. But still. Was it really that hard to pick up the phone? Max didn't know, but she didn't like it. She felt anxious, felt like Harry was forgetting about her, felt like he didn't care. This fear was sort of plaguing her; she couldn't think about anything else. 

Max sighed heavily, looked away from her barren phone and down to her sketchpad. Green eyes covered the page, glittered on it and Max let out a frustrated sigh. 

How come she was here, thinking about him, and he was not here, thinking about something else? 

She knew they weren't anything serious, exactly. Knew they'd only been messing around for less than a month. But still. 

Still. 

As the door of the shop opened, Max's head fell into her hands. Couldn't be bother to look up for the anxiety rushing through her. That is - until someone was shouting at her. 

"Um, excuse me?" A voice said snarkily, and immediately Max turned around. 

A girl was standing in the doorway, had this bright red hair and electric blue eyes and this neck tattoo that was breathing fire up her neck. And she was looking at Max like she wanted to kill her. 

"Are you the only person that works here?" The stranger bit, her eyebrows raised as she looked across the deserted studio. Max followed her gaze - only just realised she was the only one in here. 

"No. Um. Everyone must have gone out," Max managed, just about recovering herself from the shock of this woman. "Are you alright?" 

The stranger moved closer to Max, her eyes narrowed on her, like she was going in for the kill. 

"I'm perfectly fine, thanks," she murmured. "Are you alright, is the question." 

And this girl suddenly softened, her hard eyes melting as she scanned over Max's face. And Max didn't know what to say. She was embarrassed this stranger could see right though her - that her ridiculous separation anxiety could be read like this. 

So she shook her head. "I'm. Um. Fine, thanks," she stuttered, feeling her cheeks flame. 

And the stranger just narrowed her eyes again, the hardness returning. "You're lying," she said, then stuck her hand out. "And I'm Lexie." 

"Um," Max furrowed her brow, utterly taken aback by how confident this girl was. There was no nonsense, no small talk. She sort of liked it. "Max. I'm Max. It's good to meet you." 

And she shook the hand of this small red head - this Lexie. 

"Do you have an appointment or something?" She continued but Lexie crossed her arms. 

"Nope. I want a job." Again, Max found herself sort of aghast at her brashness. 

"Oh, um. You'd need to ask my boss about that." 

Lexie sighed, "Well where is he?" 

Max shrugged, "I actually have no idea. I've been busy-"

"Drawing eyes in a sketchbook?" 

And Max looked at where Lexie was suddenly looking, down at her open sketchpad. Oh God. How embarrassing. 

"That's nothing," she mumbled, rushing to flip over the page and cover up the evidence. But no. Lexie had caught it - and this didn't seem like a girl who was going to let things go. 

"Is that what you're upset over?" She asked, and Max turned to see her frowning, her thin lips turned down and a hard crease in her forehead. 

And Max wondered if she could tell her. A stranger. About her tragic woes of fucking Harry Styles who she only met a month ago but who she could not get out of her head. Who for the past three days she'd been sweating over because he hasn't called her back? Would that make her insane? 

"I mean-" she started, but Lexie held up a hand. 

"It's a boy, isn't it. What's he done?" 

And Max could tell this girl wouldn't let it go. So she sighed, shook her head, and leaned back in her seat. "He hasn't really done anything," she began dejectedly, feeling utterly embarrassed about admitting this. "He's. Um. Trying to make it in the music world, I guess. So he's just been busy with organising gigs and band stuff and. Yeah. It's nothing." 

Her words made Lexie's frown deepen, and she came to sit opposite Max on the tattoo bench. 

"It's not nothing if it's making you upset," she said, and Max was bizarrely comforted by her voice. "So what - he's too busy to call you? It takes five minutes." 

And that made Max look up at her, sort of let out a laugh. "Exactly!" She grinned, but then she quickly felt herself slip back into sadness. "I just don't understand it, really. We're not anything official or anything, but - you know. We've pretty much spent every day together for the past month and now, well, I don't know. I guess I just like him more than he likes me." 

Lexie narrowed her eyes again, "Do you love him?" 

And Max felt like she'd been electrified. No. No. No. No she did not love him. Probably. Maybe. 

Even if she did, she wasn't going to admit it. 

"No," she said, her voice almost shaking from the shock. 

Lexie just hummed and Max could tell she didn't believe her. She felt even more embarassed - that a stranger could just tell. Was it fucking written on her forehead? Was it something she said? 

God. 

She was pathetic. 

"Well, either way, Max. He sounds like trouble. You deserve better," Lexie said finally, reaching forwards to give Max's hand a squeeze. 

And strangely, Max sort of felt reassured. Felt completely comforted. Who was this person? This stranger? Who was being so kind, and so lovely to her, when they didn't even know each other. 

"Thank you," was all she said, trying to smile despite how flat she felt. 

"No bother, love," Lexie smiled back. "Anyway, how do you feel about getting out of here and getting a drink? You can tell me all about it?" 

And it was something in the way this stranger was smiling at her, in the confidence and the kindness in her voice that Max just could not help but say, "Yeah, OK. I'd love to."