Goodbye, Summertime Girl.

I open my eyes. Everything is bright. The blinds across the room are shut, but I can tell just from the blinding light emitting from them that it has snowed. Only snow can shine so bright when it's cold and snowy and sunny all at once. And I can tell that's what it is.

I roll over, closing my eyes. Then roll over again. It's not fair. I'm so tired, but it's so light out and there's no way I can fall asleep. My eyes are saggy and I wish that I could sleep more. But I can't. The day won't let me.

My eyes open. No matter how tired I am, I know that I need to get up. I know that I gave Ryland a lot of trouble last night, and I don't want to intrude; I figure I'll just get up and leave. I hope it isn't too late so they're both up. I could just call Theresa and have her pick me up, if she isn't too tired. Someone must be up. I can't be the only one.

But, right here in Ryland's apartment, I hope that I am.

Sliding out of bed, my feet hit the carpet with a light thud. I make sure that my head is in working order; the previous night's events replaying in my head on repeat. My breath stinks. I should have brought a tooth brush with me, even though I didn't know how long I'd be staying for. Or, rather, through what circumstances I'd be staying.

I feel as if I'm about to fall over and I blink furiously; I stand up too quickly and make myself light headed. After a moment, the feeling passes, and I make my way across the room and out Ryland's bedroom door.

There's no movement in the living room. Both boys look to be peacefully asleep; Ryland is curled up on the floor and Alex has his face pressed into the corner of the couch. I look over at them, deciding that just a quick glance will not suffice. I study their expressions and make a mental note of how at ease they both seem to be. It's innocence.

I stare at Alex for just a moment longer than I should. His hair is messy, framing his face from all different angles, and his arms are wrapped around a pillow clamped firmly against his chest. But once I realize that I've been watching him sleep for a while, I just turn my head and walk away. Sometimes I just find myself doing weird things I didn't completely understand.

The coffee pot still sits on the counter when I enter through the kitchen, the remainder of Ryland's coffee from last night still left in the bottom of the glass pitcher. It's next to the sink, which is his way of saying that it needs to be cleaned but he isn't willing to clean it at the moment. We both have a bad habit of doing that.

But, after all that he'd put up with, I decide that I'll clean it out and make a new batch for him before I leave.

I run the water and let it fill the container. I figure that all it needs is a bit of scrubbing and a rinse because it isn't like I'm filling it with something other than coffee. As soon as it's full, I dump it out, then fill it one last time. Then, I place it in its proper place in the coffee maker. I plug the cord into the socket and flip the switch. I am waiting for it to heat up.

And I think it's kind of funny, because right when I start to fill the machine with ground coffee, I start to hear someone enter the kitchen.

That's when I turn around and see Alex. He's just standing there, his eyes tired and his clothes a wrinkled mess.

I freeze.

"Oh," he says, "I didn't know you were up already."

"Yeah," I reply, shrugging a little nervously. I try not to show it. "Well, I'm up."

He takes a few steps toward me, then leans up against the counter. He folds his arms across his chest and raises his eyebrows up high. I think he's trying to wake himself up. "Are you feeling alright today?"

I nod, smiling a little. "Yeah, thanks. I don't know what came over me last night. But I'm feeling a lot better today."

"That's good," he tells me. He makes a point to run his hand through his hair; it's disheveled and makes him look tired and rugged, both at the same time. My face starts heating up and I don't even know why.

"Um, so," I start, trying to make some conversation, "I'm about to make some coffee, if you'd like some...?" I leave it open-ended, just in case he isn't in the mood, or in case he's just about to go back to bed. Part of me wants him to head to the couch and rest once again, but another part of me, a stronger part or me, wants him to stay for a chat. I want him to stay and talk to me for a little while, because deep down I know that I don't want to go home to my sister and her boyfriend.

Because I'm pretty sure that he's still over there.

Alex smiles and my insides melt a little bit. I feel like I'm going through my teenage years again, hormones and all overreacting. And there are butterflies swarming all over in my stomach, and there's a numb feeling I get in my legs. I don't think I'm going to be able to move them for a little while.

"Sure," he says. And he takes a seat down at the counter.

He must be planning on staying a while.

Now I don't know what to really say to him. I don't know why I'm so jittery; I usually don't act like this. I turn around and open up the top of the coffee maker. I try to make it look like I'm actually doing something productive instead of avoiding conversation, but it's hard to achieve that when the coffee is pretty much made by itself.

A minute passes. I figure that he knows how nervous I am by this point, so I just decide to turn around and make the best of what I've got.

"So," I begin, taking a few slow steps toward him, "I'm, uh, sorry about last night. I didn't mean to... well, you know, throw up, and everything."

"It's alright," he says, laughing it off. "I just felt bad for you, was all. You didn't look like you were feeling well." He laughs again, and I can't help it when all of the sudden, this big, stupid smile finds its way planted right on my lips. And it just stays that way for I don't even know how long.

He probably thinks I'm a weirdo. He probably thinks I'm some creeper trying to make a move on him with my coffee-brewing tactics. Or maybe he thinks I'm trying to seduce him, or that I'm going to put something in his coffee so I can make him do things...

I can't even help myself when I think all these strange things. I'm usually not so odd. I'm usually more of the 'brooding' type, if you know what I mean.

Either way, though, I guess it doesn't matter if he's thinking these things about me, because he sure doesn't show it. He just smiles back, albeit a bit more tired than I am, but he's smiling all the same. And that just makes me want to slap myself and make me snap out of this. Because I'm acting like some childish, lovesick puppy dog and it doesn't make any sense. I have only known him for one night, mind you, and I also don't think someone my age should be doing things like this-- it's stupid.

And I feel stupid.

I turn back around and get some mugs out of the cupboards, again trying to occupy myself. Hopefully he doesn't see how gleeful I suddenly am and how completely idiotic it makes me look. But he probably already has, so by this point I'm just kidding myself.

"Are you always so happy?" he asks.

You're such a fool,I tell myself.

I don't really know how to answer it, so I just shrug and say, "Dunno." And I guess that my answer was good enough for him because he didn't really ask me about it again. He just sat there politely and waited for his coffee.

That's when Ryland decides to get up and save me from any further humiliation.

"I smell coffee," I hear him call from the living room in a groggy, sing-song voice. "I hope we have creamer..."

Alex and I both look over at him, watching as he struggles to get up off the couch without falling over. I don't think he got enough sleep last night, and I feel really bad about it. I'm really such a bother to him all of the time; it makes me wonder why he even puts up with me and my late-night shenanigans.

"Good morning, darlings," he says, finally making his way over to the kitchen. He's talking in a British accent. I wonder how he manages to sound so confident without even one cup of hot caffeine; I know I couldn't do it like he does.

"Morning," Alex says. He's sounding a little more awake, as well.

I don't get it.

"Good morning," I say. I sound sorry, whether that was my intention or not. "Did you sleep alright?"

"Yeah, just fine," he says. "I'm lucky I've got such a comfortable couch." He throws his arms up above the top of his head and yawns with his whole body. "We have quite the agenda for the day, don't we, Alex?"

Alex slumps down onto the counter top and says nearly inaudibly: "I don't even want to think about it."

"Why?" I ask. "Something going on today?"

Ryland whistles a little, thoroughly puzzling me. "Yes, ma'am. We have to head down to Alex's apartment and then send about thirty-or-so letters out to record companies. It's gonna be a big day today, isn't it, Alex?"

Alex grunts and I laugh a little.

"You don't have work today, do you?" Ryland asks; I glance up from the counter and notice that he's talking to me.

I shake my head. "Not today, it's Saturday."

"You can come with us, if you want," he says. "We can always use another set of hands to help get all of those letters in their corresponding envelopes..."

Sometimes I think that he really understands how lonely I feel when I'm at home. That's why he comes and gets me at all hours of the night, and that's why he invites me to do things with him and his friends, even if it means I'm intruding on him. And that's why he doesn't say anything about it-- because he knows that I'll feel horrible if he asks me to thank him.

Times like these are when I love Ryland best. Because he just gets me.

"Sure," I say. "Why not?"

The timer on the coffee goes off.