Avery has until the winter solstice to find the final piece in the fairy queen's plan. In exchange: his family's lives and freedom.
Logan has been protecting the town of Dwyer from mythological threats for years. The destruction of the entire world...
I haven't heard from Avery since we were at Jay's gig. That was three days ago. I don't know if I have the right to be pissed. I mention this because even though Devi and I are supposed to be discussing myth-hunting supplies budgeting for the coming school year (school starts in nine days; I'm not panicking), she's just asked about Avery. She looks at me when she asks--"So what was up with him coming to watch Jay?"--like she already knows the answer, or thinks she does. I pull my knee to my chest; we're sitting on the floor of my room, Devi's iPad between us, the notes and calculator apps lighting up the screen. I sound more bitter than I mean to when I say, "Don't know. Nothing, apparently." Devi cocks her head. I explain, "He hasn't texted me back." Silence. "Oh." "Yeah." "That sucks." The conversation isn't exactly awkward, but we've never really discussed the exact topic before, so neither of us know what to say. The problem is, I don't know if I should feel bad about him eventually (and arguably inevitably) blowing me off. It's not like we were together or anything. I've never even attempted to be romantically involved with someone. It doesn't make sense to me--they've certainly never attempted back, or first, but I don't think I would realize--I don't even know if he was attempting, because I don't know what that looks like. I don't even know if I've known him long enough to say I like him. I like how he looks. I like the way I think he thinks. I like what he says. (I don't know if I can say I like how he acts, because I have equal measures of affection and distaste for his sporadicity.) I don't know if he likes anything about me. I just couldn't tell, and now it doesn't matter. "Don't text him," Devi says. "Oh, absolutely not," I agree. "He never even said why he left Jay's act. I know when to fuck off." Devi nods sagely, like she appreciates my bluntness. I ask, "What do I say if he texts me again?" She makes a sound similar to pfft and says, "Don't be all damsel-y about it. But..." she stops and looks at me. That look very clearly spells out: He is definitely not going to text you. I guess she knows better than I do. "Right," I say. "Budgeting." Whatever we were, it doesn't matter, because he clearly didn't think of it in the same way I did. So, whatever, I guess. I'm back to assuming I'll never have to talk about him again.
I should really stop assuming that. Two days later, Jay brings him up. It's two-ish in the afternoon and we're all sitting at a corner table in the same café where Jay performed the other day. When he asks, So who was the guy at my gig? Devi shoots him a look, Blaise softly nudges a look of her own toward him, and I sigh, pressing my cheek down harder onto my palm. Jay looks, wide-eyed, at the rest of us. "Okay," he says. So that's it, really. Everyone who knew has been cleared. I won't talk about him again.
I should really stop assuming that. A little after one AM on the twenty-sixth, I wake to my phone having buzzed right next to my face.
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It's from Avery. I stare at it for a few solid seconds. All in all, it's a pretty damn creepy text to receive, especially late at night, but I don't feel freaked out by it in the slightest. Instead, I retrieve my crumpled jeans from the floor and tie my shoes while thinking about what the Hell is going on. Is going down there "damsel-y"? What does that even mean? What am I doing? I grab my hoodie from my chair and try to make my way through the sleeping house as quietly as possible. When I open the front door and slip out onto the porch, Avery's really there, harshly illumated by the street lamp. His hair looks like it hasn't been brushed since the last time I saw him. His hands are shoved in the pockets of his jeans. He's left his phone on the hood of my car. He's not smiling. I stare. I stare, and I stare some more. I look at his face, and he tries to meet my eyes, but I skirt around them as much as I can. I don't know if he's angry or sad or confused, because the nuances of those expressions are so similar that I just know it's not good. I make my way down my front steps. He swallows once I'm standing a few feet away from him and says, "Hello." I keep staring. It's hard not to feel wary. His voice doesn't reveal anything, either, but it's a fact that I'm bad at hearing what people feel. I say, "Hi." Avery steps forward and tries to pull me into him. I panic; before I can stop myself I'm trying to push him off of me. He doesn't try to force anything, just steps back and looks at me. He laughs, but there's no humor in it. He looks incredibly, impossibly tired. He was trying to hug me. I know that. I would've liked it, and--I don't know why--he looks like he needs it. But unprecedented contact lights up something like anxiety in my stomach and I can't shake it easily. "Just..." I say, and stop. I try again: "Just warn me." He nods. Silence. More silence. I look at the ground. Avery taps my wrist after some seconds of the silence, and I force myself to look up. I focus on the collar of his pastel yellow t-shirt. He asks, "Can I...?" and I feel myself nodding. He lets out a long breath into my shoulder. His balled up hands press into my back. His shirt is soft under my hands, and I feel his heartbeat sink into my own stomach. I step, or he steps, or we both step, and we're moving slightly on the sidewalk. I don't know. My eyes are closed. I ask, "How are you?" Not like smalltalk, like a question. He shakes his head. "Bad." "Okay." I listen to another one of his cut-open breaths before I say, "You just showed up at my house at one in the morning after not talking to me for five days. I'm pissed." He nods, half-pressed against my neck and half-digging into my shoulder. "I know. I would be, too. I'm sorry. But everything--everything is bad." "Okay. Tell me?" "No." "...Okay." The only real place in the world is the streetlamp's circle of light. Avery's breathing steadies. We stop stepping. I think. He shivers a little, takes a deep breath in, and asks something entirely unexpected. "Can I use your shower?" I slide out from the double-lock of his arms. "I mean... yeah, but everyone's asleep." "I can be quiet. I just..." he shakes out his hands, like I do when I feel overloaded. His expression makes him look uncomfortable. I get it. "Yeah," I say. "Sure. Okay. Yeah, come in."
