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Updates have been slow because I stated a new story on ptxxtp. Go follow me there and check out my other works. <3

Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, "At the tone, please leave your message for... Mitch... Grassi." The detached, robotic voice doesn't know how to say his name right, curse it. It's not "Grassy" like "glassy," it's "Grassi" like "glossy," and it's not "Mitch" like "itch," it's "Mitch" like "my sister, my twin, my heartless best friend who doesn't deserve for me to even care anymore."

Beep.

"I miss you. Call me back. I know you're alive. I see your Twitter and your Tumblr, and believe me, there's no faking your taste. Talk to me, okay?"

Beep.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said any of that about your parents. It was wrong and inconsiderate and just really arrogant. Who am I to act like I understand your own family better than you do? I offended you. I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm so sorry. Please, please let me apologize properly. Please pick up."

Beep.

"Please call. Mitch, please."

Beep.

"I thought maybe if you thought I gave up... if I waited a week... Look at me, still trying to manipulate you, still bashing my head against a brick wall and hoping it'll crack. I'm a mess. It's no wonder you don't want to talk to me. But could you at least say it? Just tell me we're over. Please."

Beep.

"I miss you. Class is good so far. I like my professor. We're learning all kinds of new vocabulary. You'd love it... I never would have signed up for a summer class before term if I'd known you would stop speaking to me as soon as I left. I hope you hear these... You probably just delete them."

Beep.

"If our eight years mean anything to you, Mitch, then why are you doing this? It's not right."

Beep.

"I'm just gonna pretend you don't hate me, okay? Good. Let me tell you about my landlord slash housemate, Avi. He's got these sleeve tattoos you'd absolutely drool over, possibly literally, though I don't think he'd care for that, and you wouldn't want get on his bad side. He says the artist did them in prison with smuggled ink and a single pin. Ouch. Also, unhygienic. In return, Avi was his bodyguard. Body-guarding is his full time job now, but I also kind of suspect there's blood under his fingernails. Seriously, he's intense. But he's—"

Beep.

"—he's nice to me. Like, really great. I just don't want to find out what happens if I'm late on my rent, ha ha. I'm really curious what he was booked for, but I don't want to ask. Maybe I can Google it. Can you Google that kind of thing? Dunno. Get in touch, sis."

Beep.

"Come on, Mitch. This is ridiculous. I hate it. You owe me an explanation if nothing else. Coward."

Beep.

"I miss you. Too much. And I'm mad at you, but I'm not... I hate you. Call me."

Beep.

"Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday de-e-e-e-ear Mi-iIiii-i-i-itch. Happy birrrrrrthday tooooooooo... yoooou... and many mooooore. I'm sorry I'm not there. You can do this. Really. You can do this."

Beep.

"Congratulations! You won an Xbox and a pony and a trip to Mars. To claim your cool prizes, get over yourself and call me back. You don't even have to call. You could respond to an email or unblock me on Twitter or even write back to my letter. I miss you a lot, and you're making me feel like the sad reject garage sale toys in Toy Story. I'm pathetic, I know. I just need you to pick up the phone."

Beep.

"Classes, real fall term classes, started on Monday. I convinced them to let me skip the introductory psych class, so I'm in Psych 203, which is a bunch of case studies. I'm in French too, and Intro to Behavioral Psychology, and a psychology seminar that'll all be guest speakers, and Calc III. I'm pretty sure I'll drop French and take it later to make my workload more reasonable. I'm worried about you, Mitchell Grassi. Call me back."

I hang up and turn back to my homework. None of it has even been assigned yet, but it's in the syllabi and I need the distraction. I won't drop French. The more work, the better. I'm going to milk this scholarship for every drop of knowledge I can get, and if it pulls my mind out of the downward spiral that loops deeper every time I think about Mitch, good.

I'm working downstairs today. Avi doesn't seem to mind that I'm making myself at home here, not only in my room, but in his whole house. He's in the living room nearby, plucking at his guitar. Well, he was plucking at his guitar. Now, he's staring at me. He sees me look up and quickly shuts his gaping mouth. "So his name is Grassi." His voice is unmistakably discolored. It's meant to sound nonchalant, I think, but it misses the mark so far that it's hard to tell just what he was aiming for.

"Yep. Mitchell Coby Michael Grassi."

"Michael... like Mike."

"Wait, you know his dad?"

"Oh no."

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"His mom's name is Nel?"

"You do know them!"

"No! Everybody knows them. Knows of them. Everybody on the inside, anyway. Scott, don't you know what they do?"

"They own this big company. Mitch is running the importing and exporting branch of it as of today."

"Importing and exporting? Do you have any idea what that... just don't get involved. Are you telling me you've met Nel and Mike Grassi?" His voice is almost a whisper.

"Yeah... I practically lived at their house growing up. I mean, I didn't see them much, but they were nice."

"Nice?"

"Just because they're rich doesn't mean they're horrible people, Avi."

"No! That's not why–"

"So you're saying they are horrible people, but not because they're rich?"

"No! It's the other way around."

"They're rich because they're horrible people?" Avi isn't making any sense.

"Forget I said that. I'm sure they're lovely. Forget I even... What have I done? Don't tell Mitchell I said that and don't tell his parents. Don't tell anyone. We're probably not even thinking of the same people. I didn't... you're not..."

He's completely freaking out. "Breathe," I instruct. "It's okay. This stays between us, I promise." But why? Avi looks torn. "Hey, what is it?"

"I have to tell you something, but you can't repeat it ever, not even to Mitch." I nod slowly and he takes a deep breath. "You can't call him again. You have to let him go. Just don't... don't make him mad. And whatever you do, don't upset his parents." That's all he'll tell me. Don't call Mitch. Don't upset the Grassis. He seems scared. Avi seems scared of Mike, Nel, and my Mitch.

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