Only she already had, apparently, a few minutes ago.
“Hello, Earth to Mal.” Her voice broke through Mal’s focus on their screen, where their thumbs pounded away at a reply. “I’m ready to go when you are.”
“Okay, yes,” Mal said, not yet looking up. “Let me just—” For a few quiet, frantic moments, they hammered out the rest of their e-mail and then, with a suffering sigh, hit send. “Sorry,” they said. “My fiction feature writer is refusing literally everysingle markup on her story for this issue and citingcreative differences. I’m trying to talk her down. Ready?”
Yes, Maddie was ready; her soccer bag was flung over her shoulders, her practice jersey on. Still, she just stood there, staring at Mal across the kitchen, until she cocked her head to the side and said, “I feel like you don’t even care about soccer anymore, Mal.”
Mal snorted. “Idon’tcare about soccer.”
There was a beat of absolute silence, save for the swish of Mal’s thumb against their phone screen as they refreshed theMixxedMediae-mail, waiting for [email protected] to show up in bold at the top. Then, deathly quiet, Maddie said, “What?”
“I’venevercared about soccer, Maddie.” Mal looked up, confused by the expression on Maddie’s face. “I haven’t not learned all the positions and plays because I’m stupid.” Mal laughed. “It’s not something I super care about on its own. But I super care aboutyou, and you play soccer.”
“I’m…” Maddie’s eyebrows wrinkled together. “I don’t know what that’s even supposed to mean.”
“It means I love you, duh,” Mal said, still refreshing their phone. “You’re the important part of most of the stuff we do together.”
“What? What are you saying, Mal?” Maddie asked, her voice flat.
“That the reason I have fun when we do stuff is because I’m doing it with you?” Mal still wasn’t sure why Maddie wasn’t getting it. To them, this had always been a given. “Like, I don’t super care about baking shows either, but I’ll watch them for ahundred hours with you because I knowyoudo, and it makes me happy that you’re happy.” This was true; the best part of anything they did had always been Maddie: watching her smile, seeing her winning. It felt good to finally say that part out loud, to acknowledge that Maddie was always the reason.
And so it came as a surprise to Mal when their sister cocked her head to the side and said, “That’s… really fucked up.”
“What?” Mal balked, dropping their phone on the table. “No, I—”
“You’ve been doing shit you don’t care about all this time just because you think it makes me happy?”
“I mean, yeah.” A soft panic surged through Mal. At their sides, their hands opened and closed in rapid succession. “I guess?”
“What are you going to tell me next, Mal?” Maddie pulled her soccer bag around her front, wrapping her arms around it. “You’re going to University of Kentucky because of me?”
“Yes?” This had never been a question for Mal. The only thing waiting for them in Lexington had always been Maddie—had been them getting out of Covington together.
“Wow,” Maddie said.
“I don’t understand why this is making you upset,” Mal said—they really didn’t. All this time, Mal had been sure they and Maddie were on the same page about all of this. But the way Maddie was reacting now made them wonder if they’d even been reading the same book.
“You know, I have to go,” Maddie said, pulling her bag back around and heading toward the door.
“Okay,” Mal said, starting to follow her.
“Don’t, Mal.” Maddie turned back around sharply, raising her hands defensively in the space between them. “I can do this on my own.”
“I know.” Again, they had thought this was a given—like Mal showing up anyway, to support her.
“Go do your zine things.” Maddie waved a dismissive hand. “I know that’s where you’d rather be anyway.”
That wasn’t untrue. But it still stung.
So did Mal’s next question. “Are we… fighting?”
Maddie snorted a cold laugh, shook her head. “I don’t know, Mal. Are we?”
Mal suddenly felt icy. They suspected it had little to do with the draft coming in from the kitchen door.“Maddie.”
“It’s fine, really.” Maddie put on her brightest, fakest smile. “This just… gives me a lot to think about, and I think I can do that best on my own. I’m not mad, I’m just—”
Maddie pursed her lips, gave Mal a look they had never seen before: considering, a little wet-eyed, a little sad.
