library hearts

19 | the arcade

I put the phone in my lap, wiping my sweaty palms on my shirt. Shit. I don't know why I want to meet Aren so much, defending him in front of my best friend.

My best friend. And as I think the thought, I realize it's true.

London is my very best friend.

I really don't have anyone else; but it's not just because of that. I feel like we're best friends, even though we've not known each other for as long as other who'd call themselves by the term "best friends".

You want to call her something else, though.

As not so rarely before, I wish I could just tell the voice in the back of brain to shut up.

I get dressed, and brush my teeth, and wash my face, applying my daily moisturizing cream before I take a deep breath and enter the kitchen.

I really don't want to see my parents. Honestly, I just wish they would go on a really long trip for the rest of the fall holiday – it would make things so much easier. Because, when they are home – I feel like I have to check on them every hour, to make sure they haven't left as suddenly and Atlas did, leaving me completely alone in this universe.

* * *

"Hello" I say as I open the door for London.

She stands there, stunning as always, her bronze curls flowing down her shoulders in the sunlight. As the sun's rays hits her brown eyes, they seem to turn golden.

"Hi" she replies, cautiously gazing around my garden, as if she thinks that Aren's going to pop up behind a corner any second.

"Hi" I say, and smile. "Have you changed your mind yet?"

London catches my eye, holding it steady. "No. A promise is a promise; I'll give him one chance."
I nod. "Fair enough. I will, too."

"He's on his knees for you" says London as I close the door behind us.

I sigh and shake my head, but she's already turned around and started walking. Jogging slightly to catch up with her, I reach for her hand. She takes if without dubitation, shooting the illumination arrow of a smile towards me.

We walk on in silence for a couple of seconds.

It isn't awkward.

"Where did he want to meet, then?" says London suddenly.

"I don't know" I say, shrugging. "He said he'd message me."

And incredibly timely, a shrill pling sounds from my pocket. I give London a meaning glance before picking it up.

Aren: could we meet in the arcade?

Aspen: I guess

"Wow, you're playing so hard to get, Asp" London giggles.

"I don't like him like that" I say, quite resolutely, and after that, she doesn't bring up the topic again.

The arcade is located a block away from the square and the library. It's a dusty old warehouse, or a decommissioned factory – nobody knows, really. The walls are all gray, rickety concrete and the pipes run crisscross in the ceilings. But the old, sooty venue houses a treasure – rows and rows of old slot machines with flashing lights and fluorescent colors, shuffleboard tables and painted photobooths, old circus and cinema posters decorating the concrete walls, and the scent of old bubblegum hanging in the air.

I used to love the arcade – like, really love.

And I used to go there with Atlas.

Of course, she was really good at games; just as anything else she tested. At that point, I was kind of used to it.