“I’m not mad at you or anything.” Mal felt like it was important to clarify. “I know it’s just—her being her.”
“ButI’mmad, Mal.” A half a breath later (likely prompted by the look of horror Mal felt blooming on their face), Maddie clarified too. “At her, not you. At, like. Just—I always feel like the biggest asshole when she pulls this shit with you and I can’t stop it.”
“It’s not your job to stop it, Maddie,” Mal said, their voice quiet.
“And my soccer career isn’tyour jobeither, and yet…”
Maddie trailed off.
For a moment, the two siblings were quiet. Mal worried they might get caught, venting like this on the landing, but then the familiar sound of a whispered argument drifted up from downstairs.
“This?” Maddie broke the silence with a whisper, her hands sweeping around the hallway. “This is why I am so glad we’re leaving. Just a little longer, Mal, and I am going to get you out of here. I promise.”
That promise should have made Mal feel better; it always had before. But tonight, there was still the faintest taste of coff-chocolate and peppermint lingering at the corner of their lips. Mal’s heart started to race.
“You don’t have to get me out of here,” they said, their voice small.
“I know you don’texpect—” Maddie stopped mid-sentence. Shook her head, sighed. “I know. I just—I’m going to hug you now, even though I smell like a field rat.”
Mal nodded. They stretched out their arms, wrapped them around Maddie. And Maddie gave them a very tight squeeze, just like she knew Mal liked. It tucked the bits of Mal that had shaken loose during their scolding back into place.
“Love you, duh,” they said into her shoulder.
“Loveyou, duh,” Maddie said back. “Now I am going to go shower for real. I stink.”
Mal had always liked how Maddie smelled after a game—sweaty and earthy and warm and likeMaddie—but they shrugged. “Go on. But come find me if you need me, okay?”
Maddie nodded and went on, so Mal went to their room.
After changing into their warm pajamas—the high ceilings of their old house made for drafts, and it was far enough into fall now that Mal was really feeling them—Mal flopped into their twin-size bed and starfished out, looking up at the ceiling. In the stark quiet of their room, their head became a different kind of loud—a hundred different yellings and scoldings and excited shrieks and swear words and worries and exhales, all bouncing off the inside of their skull at the same time.
For a while, Mal let everything wash around in there, pinning them to their bed. Some of it was good—Sam’s smile, the feel of a freshly folded mini zine in their fingers, Maddie’s arms around them, the lingering taste of Burt’s Bees and coff-chocolate from Emerson’s lips. Some of it was bad—their dad’s face falling, the distant rumble of an argument from the laundry room, the new worry that the way their mom treatedthem hurt Maddie just as much as them. It all existed in the same space, at the same time, like the pages ofMixxedMediaprinting out onto one sheet of paper over and over, each page layering on top of the next, so they could see both all the words and none at all.
Mal wasn’t sure exactly when it happened—ten seconds, ten minutes, ten hours later—but one question finally made itself clear. On the page of Mal’s mind, it solidified in bold and caps lock, legible enough to cut through all the worry:
If it was important to show up for Maddie—if Maddie’ssuccessdepended on their support—then why didn’t anyone ever show up for Mal?
Friday, 2:03AM
so does this mean we’re partners now????
“Partners” feels like an old couple.
MAL FLOWERS!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING UP???
this was supposed to be a sneaky sentimental text message for you to find tomorrow morning in the cold light of the november dawn!!!
Such poetry.
It’s been… a long night.
I’m still doing homework.
And it was still sentimental.
But “partner” is such… a word choice.
OH NO everything okay is there anything i can do who would you like me to fight???
