Hurricane

June 2005

I woke up the next day and I could tell that it wasn’t going to be a good one. I could already feel the bad mood surfacing and exposing itself on my face. I got out of bed slowly, letting out a low groan, before starting my morning routine.

When I got downstairs, Pete was waiting for me and my mom had already left.

“You oversleep?” Pete asked, grinning at me. I frowned back.

“No,” I said. Pete’s smile disappeared and was replaced with a look of concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” I snapped. I felt bad for snapping at him—but I just couldn’t get rid of this bad mood. I just felt mad for no reason. I kept my eyes on my feet as I followed Pete to his vehicle.

It was silent all the way to Pete’s house, and even when we did get there we didn’t talk. We went straight up to Pete’s room and I instantly laid down on Pete’s bed. I wrapped his blanket around me and pressed my face into his pillow. I heard Pete sit down in his desk chair and I waited for the familiar sound of his writing to fill the air. But the sound never came. It was silent. I rolled over onto my side so that I could see Pete. Our eyes met and I saw his concern. I rolled my eyes before turning away from him.

“Molly,” he said. “Will you please, just talk to me for once?”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because I worry about you,” Pete said. “And I care about my friends.”

“Friends?” I asked, turning to look at him again. And I could tell he was serious. “You think we’re friends?”

“We’ve been hanging out for several weeks now,” Pete said.

“I’d call it babysitting,” I said. “The only reason I’m here is because I apparently can’t be trusted to be on my own.”

“Is it?” Pete asked, bitterness starting to creep into his voice. “Is that the only reason you’re here?”

I sighed.

“Do you want me to give you some other reason for being here, Pete?” I asked. “I’d love it if I could say that I came here because I wanted to—I really would. But we both know that that’s not the case.”

“But what if you did have a choice?” Pete asked.

“I don’t want to answer any ‘what ifs’,” I said. “Because that’s all they are. They’re what ifs.”

Pete surprised me by standing up suddenly and coming towards the bed. I sat up quickly, moving away from the edge of the bed as Pete sat down. Pete stared into my eyes, as if he was digging for some kind of answer.

“I just need to know,” he said quietly. “Are we friends?”

I looked down for a second before looking up at Pete again. I realized then how close we were and I felt my face flush.

“Molly?” he said quietly. I swallowed before nodding my head.

“Yeah,” I said. “We’re friends.”

Pete surprised me again when he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me to him. And I found myself hesitantly wrapping my own arms around his frame. I couldn’t help myself when I buried my face in his neck and started to cry. I had a friend. Sad, I know. But everything about my life seemed sad to me—except now I had a friend.

Pete didn’t let go of me until I stopped. When we let go of each other, I wiped my face carefully.

“Feeling better,” he asked. I nodded and then yawned. Pete chuckled before standing from his bed and going over to his desk. I laid back down on the bed, pulling the blanket up to my chin. As Pete started writing, I fell asleep. The sound of his pen on paper was becoming my own personal lullaby.

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Later, when I was leaving, Pete stopped me before I opened his front door. He surprised me yet again, by pulling me into another hug.

“I want you to know that I’m here to listen to you,” he said. I could feel his warm breath on my neck and I shivered slightly. “So talk to me. It’s easier than it sounds.”

He let go of me and smiled. I smiled back before leaving the house and going to my mom’s car.

As I slid into the passenger seat, I realized that I was happier than I had been in a while.