I can’t keep getting sucked into these moments, making them more than what they are. Malcolm is my friend, that’s it. His concussion was a fluke, affecting my brain more than his, contorting our friendly interactions and making them intosomething they aren’t meant to be. And he still has no idea that wekissed.That his lips collided into mine like that was what they were created to do. My knees buckle next to him at the memory, and I have to cling to his elbow for support, jostling his coffee cup—mycoffee cup—Hilda’s face getting splashed with the strong stuff.
“Whoa there.” Malcolm grabs my wrist while simultaneously protecting his drink. “It’s too early in the day to assault someone.” Even in his joking, he helps me stand up straight, and his eyes move all over me, a concerned wariness to them.
He’s always been that way with me. A silly word or retort, yes, but his eyes are always watchful and his hands hover, as though they’re prepared to shield me. It’s like he’s…protective…of me. The realization sends a hot, melty sensation down my spine with a flurry of goosebumps trailing close behind.
“I’m good, I’m good,” I say, quickly shaking off the sensation.
“Alright, then!” Clicking her phone off, Emma directs our attention to the bulletin board on the wall. “Here are your jobs for Friday night. I don’t want to hear any complaining about what you’re stuck doing. It’s literally for four hours. You can do anything for four hours!” She pins her gaze on all of us.
“Um, actually, I can’t stand for that long,” Bill reminds her, pointing to his hip, which I’m pretty sure should be healed by now.
“Ugh, fine. Bill can be on punch duty. I’ll tell Ross he has to man the bathrooms.”
“We don’t need two for bathroom duty,” Malcolm pipes in.
“Right, Malcolm, you’re actually going to be on the floor,” Emma says over her shoulder, eyes focused on the bulletin board.
“What?” The snarl Malcolm gives comes from deep inside his chest. The image of him enduring the mosh pit of dancing teenagers delights me.
“We need you on the floor.” Emma waves him off.
“So I can get gyrated all over? No thanks.”
I snort. “You’ll be with us,” I say, waving toward Ellie, Benny, and then myself.
“Yeah, it’ll be fun!” Ellie says with an innocent gleam in her eyes. This is her first prom to chaperone. Homegirl has no idea what she’s up against.
“Our definitions of fun are quite different,” Malcolm mumbles into his coffee mug, the hand that was holding my wrist now tucked under his elbow.
“It won’t be that bad,” I whisper to him.
“Easy for you to say. Loud music and crowds are the worst combination.”
I give him a supportive elbow nudge and pull my phone out when another notification from Derek comes in. I could be imagining it, but I feel Malcolm’s body move away from me when I unlock my phone. Glancing up at him, I see he’s now laser-focused on the banner draped across the table. The message from Derek is disappointing:Something came up. For some reason, I feel irritated and refuse to respond immediately. He just confirmed an hour ago. Why all of a sudden is he canceling? I shove my phone back in my pocket and focus on Emma, not the small balloon of rejection slowly inflating itself in the back of my throat.
“Everything is lined up. Be here…” Emma’s words fade as my thoughts start to rush through—every conversation I’ve had on this little dating app replaying in my head like a broken record. This whole being-openhanded-about-it idea isn’t that easy when you’re constantly let down.
Everyone just leaves you, Kate.
The small voice of my mother lingers in the back of my mind, threatening to zap through every neuron associated with feelings and emotions.
“What’s up?” Malcolm towers over me, his eyes doing that protective searching thing again.
“N–nothing,” I stutter, abruptly turning to the cabinets behind me to hide the tears trying to escape. What is with all this weepiness lately?
“Kate, do you know what you’re wearing?” Ellie asks as she steps up next to me and drops her palm tree mug in the sink—Benny’s mug, actually. The notion that they share mugs, all couple-like, is another one-two punch to the gut.
“No.”
“Are you alright?” She catches on too quickly.
“Do I look alright?” I snip, aggressively scrubbing the coffee remains from her palm tree cup.
“Nope,” Benny says behind me, and I whip around to glare at him. I glare long enough to watch his eyes widen before he goes back to vigorously coloring the block letters on the banner.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Ellie whispers.
I finish drying her mug and place it in the cabinet above my head, then I grip the sides of the counter, letting my head hang for a moment. My messy curls drape down over my face like a curtain, blocking Ellie and Malcolm from view. Do I want to talk about this? Any of this? I don’t even know what I would say or what I would need in return. I just know that I amsickof this ever-present despondent feeling that is affecting every aspect of my life. Unwanted and unloved. That’s all I feel, even when I clearly have people around me who care. It looms over me like a black cloud, and no matter how hard I try to run from it, it follows me.
