Still Here

24

I'm putting my bowl in the sink when the phone rings. I pick it up to discover Michael on the line and smile.

"Hey, Michael," I say.

"How are you?" he asks.

"Pretty disappointed, actually. My mom is making me go to school today."

"I'll give you a ride."

"Really? You don't have to."

"But I absolutely one hundred percent want to. I'll be there in two."

"Wait - don't you need my address?"

I can practically hear the smile on his face. "I might have gotten AJ to snoop around for some files in the hospital. I was going to surprise you later."

I laugh. "You creeps!"

"Yeah, well, you know us. That book you said you could write about us? Maybe it'll be a thriller. We're both psychopaths obsessed with you or something."

"God, I need to write this stuff down. It's gold."

"I'm sort of brilliant, Audrey."

"Just sort of."

We're both laughing before he starts saying that he has to hang up so we won't be late. It's the logical thing to do, but I'm not feeling particularly logical today. I don't want to hang up. I want to keep talking to him. I know that he'll be here in minutes to talk to me in real life, but my heart isn't registering that. I don't want to stop talking to him for two minutes. I don't want to stop talking to him ever.

But life isn't about getting what you want in the moment. So I tell him goodbye and start fixing my hair. Porter makes fun of me and I ruffle his own hair, which causes him to stop his teasing. And then we're both standing in front of the mirror, fixing our hair frantically.

I hear a car pull up outside and decide that my hair will always be a mess, no matter how many times I run my fingers through it. I leave Porter at the mirror and hurry outside, into the cold of the world and warmth of Michael.

It's so different from the last day I left for school. I cringe at the thought of that horrible morning, which feels like a million years ago and yesterday at the same time.

I shake my head to clear my mind and find Michael parked in front of my house, sitting on the hood of the car that unknowingly saved me. He hops off the hood when we see each other and opens the passenger door for me. I roll my eyes. His grin widens.

When he's driving, he turns the radio on, but I quickly turn it off.

"Not a pop fan?" he asks, glancing at me.

"I'd just rather talk," I say.

"Me too," he says.

We chat about nothing for a while, but when we get there, I blurt out what's really on my mind in the parking lot. "I don't want to go back," I say.

He frowns, unbuckling his seat belt and facing me. "You don't?"

"I've never had friends, Michael. You know that. I don't want to deal with people pretending that they care about me or something. I know they never have."

He's quiet for a moment. "There's assholes everywhere. And I'm sure you'll get annoyed with them. But just remember that everybody has to deal with something," he says, trying to wink with his black eye.

I give him my best attempt at a smile and nod. He grabs my hand and squeezes it, causing adrenaline to fill me.

Then I let go of his hand (which is incredibly hard to do), take a little breath, and exit the car.