Under the Bridge

chapter thirteen- "it looks happy"

THE CAR RIDE is silent. In fact, it's desolate. Neither of us are saying anything, I'm just sitting back in my seat and staring out the window. There's no music playing on the radio, and the windows are closed, so the only sound is that of the wheels on the ground. 

"Are you actually serious about this math thing?" I sniffle, breaking the silence a little. 

"Partially." He admits. "That's why you're coming over. I can't leave you alone to be sad if Hope isn't here." 

I'm concerned and confused. These past few weeks, Liam has actually been nice to me. He invited me to sit with him at lunch, he's stood up for me, and he's called me his friend. To be honest, I don't mind spending time with him. He makes me laugh. I like being his friend. 

I sink into the seat, wrapping my arms around myself. I'm wondering how stupid I had to be to think he actually liked me. I fell for some stupid prank. The worst part of this is that I'm always worried, and always panicking. I've grown used to my brain jumping to conclusions, and this was one of them. The fact that it came true means that I don't know what other worries of mine are rational or irrational. 

We pull into a conventional, two-story, suburban home. It has a two car garage, chipping paint on the bright pink shutters, and a wooden fence in the back. It's a typical lower middle class house in Portland, but the bright red door and other color accents make it look like a home. There's a tree in the front yard with a tire swing, and some faded chalk writing on the driveway. 

It looks happy. 

I smile a little just at the sight, but then feel a knot of envy form in my stomach. I remember Liam calling his sister, he sounded genuine in his care for her, like family mattered to him. All I had was a mom who wasn't ever home. I would trade every inch of my house for a close family, the kind that had breakfast together and supported each other through and through. 

I don't say anything. 

Nobody's life is perfect, I can't assume that his family is. 

When he pulls into the garage, I notice kid's toys, power tools, and a messy desk for woodwork. We step out of the car, and I taste sawdust in the air. In silence, we step through the door and into the kitchen/living room area. It's small, there's a couch and a flat-screen television on one side, and a wooden kitchen set with a white fridge covered in pictures and papers on the other. The room is a little messy, the blanket on the couch scattered there haphazardly and there's a bit of litter on the counters, but overall, it's cozy. 

It feels alive. Like people live here, not just photographers for Home and Garden Magazine. 

There's pictures on the walls, framed in all sorts of colorful and wooden boxes. I notice two different girls, both with dark brown hair. In photos, one doesn't appear above seven, and the other couldn't pass for over fourteen. They both share Liam's dark hair, but the younger one has big curls. I spy photos of a man and a woman. The woman shares Liam's electric green eyes and dark locks, but the man has sandy brunette curls and striking blue eyes. 

The most recent family photo has Liam in it, he's wearing a white dress shirt and dark pants. It's astonishing how different he looks cleaned up. His hair is neat, and he has a big corny smile on his face. It almost makes me laugh. 

Then, I see the most iconic one of them all as he leads me down the carpeted stairs. 

There, at approximately age twelve, is a boy with messy brown hair, green eyes, and big braces, accompanied by a large neon orange sweater and a face full of acne. 

"Is this you?" I ask meekly, pointing at the picture. 

He looks at me, widens his eyes, and takes my wrist in his hand. "Let's keep moving, shall we?" He says, briskly, rushing down to the basement. Just because this is the first time I've been over at a boy's house since elementary school, I've know that every teenage boy in existence lives in the basement of their home. 

As we enter, I realize that I am completely right. There's a bed in the corner, with navy blue sheets and about six pillows. Posters of bands and pictures line the walls. There's a small couch and an old television near the far wall, too. 

We take a seat there. 

I spy two guitars and a piano in the other corner, which surprises me. "I know it's hard to believe, but I actually have some musical talent." Liam notices me staring and I jump back. 

"Sorry." I mutter. 

"Don't be." He laughs, leaning into the soft couch. "I think I should cheer you up. Now, you're a total nerd from what I've seen, so I'm not completely sure that my brand of positivity will work since it's just alcohol and burning pictures of people who do stupid shit and wrong me." 

I pull a strand of hair behind my ear and look down at the carpet. 

"I'm probably not your person of choice to talk to about this, but if you want me to kick his ass, I will. If someone did that to my sister or something, I would probably murder them." He explains. 

"Violence doesn't solve anything." I reply, under my breath. "It's my fault, anyways." 

He freezes. "How the fuck is this your fault? That asshole lied to you like a little bitch and proceeded to break your heart." He said, loudly. "Do you want to know what happened on Friday night?" 

I look up and nod, slightly. 

"I overheard that fucker talking about his plan with the rest of the soccer team. I guess someone figured out that you had a thing for him before the year started, and they thought it would be a fun prank to lead on the shy girl and then dump her on court warming. James was saying that you looked hot on Friday all dressed up and thought about wimping out. Then, his friends told him to go on with it." He pauses for a second, looking me in the eyes before continuing his spiel. 

"I just thought, why the fuck are these guys such assholes? So I came up to James and yelled at him, got in his face and all that. I got him to say he would apologize to you on Monday, then give up on his whole charade. He was already trying to back out of it, but his friends weren't a fan. He couldn't take me one-on-one, since he's a pussy, so the assholes on the soccer team all went after me." 

"You didn't have to do that." I say, softly. 

"I realized why I wanted to drive you home the other day." Liam comments. 

I widen my eyes. 

"I'm gonna tell you something that I don't tell a lot of people." He says in a serious tone. "But first, I have to ask you a question, is that okay?" 

I bite my lip and pulled my legs to my chest, wrapping my arms around them a little bit. "Yeah?" I ask. 

"Do you have anxiety? Like do you get panic attacks and stuff?" His question throws me off balance, and I feel my eyes water more. 

I swallow, but I'm feeling my throat close up, and I feel like I'm going to throw up. "Y-yeah." I reply. 

"You act a lot like Elizabeth--my sister, she has it. She's thirteen, and uh, she's bullied really badly. During the summer, she, um," he pauses, as though he's not able to say the words, "she tried to kill herself." 

I want to say something, but the words don't come out.

"She's just a fucking kid, you know? And I never realized she was feeling that way. I kinda noticed you had the symptoms, and it might be selfish of me, but I didn't want to look at you and see Lizzie in the hospital bed. But then, on Friday, I realized that there's more to you, and I really like you as a person. I think most people would have just called the police and yelled at me, but you let me in. And you made me laugh, and I just thought that I wanted to be your friend." His voice has gone down in volume, and now he just sounds quiet, and a little shattered. 

I don't know what to say, or think. 

So I do the next best thing, and hug him. He wraps his arms around me, and I bury my head in his chest, for just a couple seconds. Suddenly, his cologne doesn't smell so bad, and I feel myself content, at least, a little bit. 

"Thanks." I whisper as I break away. 

"She's also a Ravenclaw, by the way." He comments, with a little smile dancing on his lips. 

I let out a small sigh and feel my mouth curl up a little at the corners. "What about you?" 

"I'm a proud Slytherin." He beams, so his deep dimples appear on his cheeks. "What else did you expect the bad boy of Winter High to be?"