Alive Again

The images on the television screen were changing rapidly. The images on the screen weren’t the only things moving rapidly at that moment—Reese and Kennedy were both in constant motion. Reese was intensely focused on what was going on in front of her, her mouth agape and her eyes squinted in determination. Kennedy was grunting, trying to keep his voice down as he cursed (oh fuck!), his fingers were curled so tightly that it almost hurt and his mouth also agape.

He tilted the controller and rapidly pressed the buttons, finally taking Reese down. Both teenagers relinquished their tight grips on the controllers almost with relief. Kennedy was satisfied with his victory and Reese was just happy to be able to stretch out her fingers. Her thumbs were cramping uncomfortably, but she was handling the defeat quite nicely.

“I don’t understand what I did wrong,” she commented on a conversation that had been going on for two weeks now. Kennedy had heard this several times in the last two weeks, and he always answered differently.

“It’s not you, it’s him,” was his response this time. He began to use the control again—setting up the game for another round.

“Okay then, I don’t understand what he did wrong,” Reese pressed. Kennedy wished that she would just drop the subject. He wanted her to just let go of John’s new attitude. If he couldn’t man up and tell Reese what was going on, then he didn’t deserve her. Kennedy had told John this several times since he found out what was going on. He felt a little guilty though—it was pretty obvious what was going on. He should have caught onto things a lot sooner. Then again, he had been caught up in his own high school drama.

“Trust me, Reese; what John did isn’t so wrong.” Kennedy hinted. He hadn’t come out and told her his suspicions (which might as well be proven facts by now), he felt that it wasn’t his place. He wasn’t a chick, or a matchmaker—he didn’t get involved in this affairs of the heart bullshit.

“He’s ignoring me, it’s a little immature.”

Kennedy had to agree, but John was ignoring him, too. Whatever it was that was bothering John was kept under lock and key. It became the most asked question amongst students at school: what the fuck crawled up his ass? John had been in moods before, but this was something else. Kennedy could hardly go two minutes at lunch without getting the stink eye. He almost acted like Kennedy had killed his dog. Kennedy wasn’t sure if John was being decent by not bringing up why he was in a foul mood, or if he was just trying to be a dick. People (mostly friends) were wondering why he seemed so pissed off; all the time and he denied them answers.

By now, Kennedy thought that he might not want to know what was up John’s butt. He didn’t really express a curiosity, especially not around Reese. As far as she knew, John was still quite amiable toward Kennedy. Ever since Christine had jumped her, Reese had taken solace in the library at lunch. Amongst the books, the silence, the computers, and the couples making out in the back isles, she felt free of the situation.

If John didn’t cheer the fuck up, Kennedy just might start joining her in there. If it were to be said, Kennedy was definitely one of the boys who only went to the library to kiss a pretty girl in the back corner. If he hadn’t been such an idiot (and so terribly blind), he might have escaped every lunch with Reese for that very purpose—to kiss her senseless in the back of the library. But that chapter was done now; they had written their conclusion in permanent ink. There would never be a Kennedy and Reese as something like Rennedy, but they would be friends.

Every day after school Reese had come over to keep Kennedy company. His mother, for some reason or another, had disappeared for two weeks. When Reese asked, he gave a vague answer about Vegas and his aunt. They more or less spent their time together playing video games, talking here and there. Mostly, Kennedy suckered Reese into making him dinner. She would always give in, and when she moved about his kitchen preparing their dinner (which was never spectacular, but Kennedy never complained) she had the sense of playing house. Kennedy was the daddy and she was the mommy.

“I don’t see why he can’t just talk to me. I couldn’t have done anything wrong!” Reese was whining, she knew it and Kennedy knew it. He rolled his eyes and gave in with a heavy sigh.

“Then confront him about it, Reese. You’re a strong, independent woman, and you can give that pussy a verbal ass kicking. Just fucking do something about it already!” He was definitely reaching the end of his patience with her. Reese needed to start taking control of her life—in a much bigger way than she was doing now.

Reese opened her mouth to respond, but remained silent as the front door opened. She and Kennedy craned their necks over the back of the couch to see who was entering the home. A middle-aged woman walked through with an oversized purse on her right arm and a duffel bag on her left arm, behind her she pulled a suitcase on wheels.

She struggled through the front door and kicked it shut behind her. She turned, baring the familiar look of a frazzled mother, and spotted Reese and Kennedy on the couch. Her mouth popped open into the common oval shape of surprise. She carefully composed her face—guarding her suspicious eyes—and smiled at her son and his companion, a female one at that.

“Hello,” she said for lack of anything better to say.

“Hi,” Reese responded, feeling self-conscious. Kennedy, upon seeing his mother, turned back to his video games without any inclination to introduce the two. Kennedy’s mother dropped her bag next to her suitcase and entered the living room.

“Who might you be?” She asked, trying to keep her voice neutral. She would wait for this girl to leave before going all mama bear on her son. This girl seemed innocent enough, shy even. She might not even be something to worry about. But her motherly intuition (which might also border on paranoia) said that she had been gone for two weeks and this girl, well she had been here for just as long. Maybe it wasn’t intuition—maybe it was just facts. She was gone and this girl and her son had been unsupervised for who knows how long.

“Reese Wallace, it’s a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Brock.” Reese held her hand out and Mrs. Brock looked at her with wide eyes. She turned and smacked Kennedy upside the head. Reese let her jaw drop, but she didn’t gasp. It wasn’t even a hard hit, more like a soft love tap to get Kenny’s attention. It was still foreign to her, she and her mother hardly had a relationship due to time constraints and so she was a little surprised at the obvious bond between Kennedy and his mother.

“What?” He asked with a whining edge in his voice.

“Weren’t you dating a girl named Clare Wallace?” his mother demanded. Reese noted that her tone was a bit accusatory and even slightly disappointed with a tinge of concern. It was something only a mother could pull off. She wondered if it came with practice.

“That’s my sister,” Reese answered when Kennedy remained silent.

“Kennedy, can you help me with something?” his mother asked him, much kinder this time. Kennedy let out a sigh and pushed himself off of the couch. He sent a reassuring smile to Reese, promising to return soon. His mother led them to the kitchen, where she rounded on Kennedy immediately.

“Do you honestly think that this is a good idea?” She asked, keeping her voice low so that Reese wouldn’t hear.

“Is what a good idea?” he asked, his brows furrowed in obvious confusion. His voice carried out to the living room, and Reese automatically strained her ears to catch the conversation.

Mrs. Brock gave a pointed look toward where Reese sat; trying to silently communicate to her son what she was talking about. Reese flushed as all the pieces fell into place and looked down at her hands—still cradling the controller. Kennedy’s mother paused, thinking of how to discuss what she wanted to without being brash or offensive. She forced her tone to remain pleasant and caring, even though she wanted throttle her son in this moment—sometimes he could be very unintelligent when it came to girls. Like Clare—she had disliked the idea of Kennedy and Clare.

“Dating your ex-girlfriend’s sister. It’s bad enough to start dating someone else right away, but her sister? That’s a low blow, Kennedy. It’s not right; it will only hurt Clare and Reese. She seems like such a nice girl, you shouldn’t do that to her—she doesn’t deserve it.”

“Mom, we’re not dating. Reese and I are just friends.” But he sounded reluctant to admit this to his mother. Reese’s mind was already reeling with the implications. Did Kennedy’s own mother believe that he was capable of jumping from one sister to the other? Her face was steadily heating up as the conversation from the kitchen became more muffled. She didn’t want to hear anymore.

Kennedy’s smile wasn’t apparent on his face when he returned, not like it usually was. Reese felt the tension rolling off of him—and she was sure that he knew that she had heard everything. Kennedy started up a new game, and Reese lifelessly began to press buttons. The sounds of guns firing on screen didn’t register; she was listening to her own breathing.

“So you heard everything,” Kennedy stated. Reese nodded, not sure how this conversation was going to go.

“I did,” she vocalized.

“I hope that you know I’m not like that. I’m not using you to hurt Clary or anything—you’re not a rebound or a distraction. You’re my friend. I swear it. In fact, I’ve already started to move on from what happened with Clare. I’ve got this girl, and she makes me... I don’t know, forget I guess. She makes me happy.”

Reese observed her friend—taking in all the minute details of his face while he spoke. His eyes brightened, his mouth curved into a mini grin and his tension was torn away. Since the whole Clary fiasco, Kennedy had been different. It was such a slight change, but it was there. His laughter and smile never seemed to reach his eyes anymore. It was an after affect of the brutal breakup, Reese thought.

But now he seemed to be coming back to the person he was before. He was flirtatious, smiley, and genuinely happy once more. Reese had to attribute this to something, or rather to someone. The girl that Kennedy was describing was obviously to thank for the positive change. Reese could barely contain her grin—Kennedy was smitten with someone.

“Who is it?” she demanded, leaning closer to him on the couch. She dropped the controller to her lap, giving up on the game. Her free hands came to grip her friends arm, gently shaking him in her impatience. Reese had never been the type to be excited for gossip, but she was just dying to know who had the job of cleaning Kennedy Brock up after Clary.

“Her name is Sam, she’s Garrett’s best friend. She was at your party, I think you talked for a minute. She’s just so chill, you know? Like, she’s just so funny, and she’s kind of a badass. And she’s just so confident and pretty.” Kennedy’s cheeks were steadily reddening as he spoke, he was only too aware of how ridiculous he sounded.

“Aw, Kenny, you are so cute!” Reese gushed, playfully pinching his cheek. Kennedy swatted her away half-heartedly and grinned despite himself. Thinking about Sam always made him feel like a thirteen year old school girl—not that he’d admit to that, ever.

“Shut up,” he responded sounding affronted by the statement. In all honesty, he wasn’t comfortable. It wasn’t his crush that made him feel awkward—it was Reese. Talking to your ex-girlfriend’s sister about your new crush would leave anyone feeling ill at ease.

“No, seriously, Kennedy; that’s so great! When are you going to ask her out?”

Kennedy stared, perplexed, at his friend. She said it like it was so simple, so easy. It wasn’t easy—first off there was Garrett. And what if Sam didn’t feel the same way? What if she was in love with Garrett and he made a fool out of himself?

“Grow a pair, Kenny. Start small, just ask her to hang out.”

“Why are you pushing this so hard?” Kennedy asked, turning to face her. His expression was shockingly serious, devoid of mirth. Reese froze for a moment—searching for an answer. If she were to say it bluntly, it would be because she wanted Kennedy to move on from Clary. She didn’t want him to be another boy nipping at her sister’s heels like a neglected puppy. And yet again, she wanted Kennedy to move onto whatever affection he had for her. She wanted him to be happy, with Sam. He could make her happy, too.

“I just want my friend to be happy.” It was so honest, so very Reese-like. The light, the smile, the happiness and admiration rushed back in Kennedy’s expression.

“I want you to be happy, too,” he told her. Reese’s face warmed up and something stirred in her belly—not butterflies or a feeling of warmth. This stirring was low in her abdomen and felt cold and heavy, like remorse. Reese grinned through the ache that had developed in her stomach and stood, so suddenly that Kennedy leaned back into the arm of the couch. Reese leaned toward the coffee table, deftly plucking the cordless phone and tossing it at Kennedy.

“In fact, I want you to be happy so much, that I’m going to go home and let you call that girl.” Reese grinned at the shocked expression on Kennedy’s face. She picked up her tote bag and marched from the Brock household.

The grin stayed in place for the entire drive home. It didn’t falter or waver once—not even after some asshole in a red Jeep cut her off. She was just so excited and giddy—a feeling that she wanted to hold onto for as long as possible as she so rarely felt this way. Unfortunately that was all shot to hell when she recognized a familiar vehicle parked along the curb. How dare she—how dare he—where did they get off sneaking around behind her back? She had explicitly told Clary to stay away from him, and she hadn’t. Reese accelerated dangerously and screeched to a halt inches from the wall. She threw her car into park and charged her way into the house.

“Clarissa Mae Wallace, I know what you’re doing,” she screeched to the seemingly empty house.