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When it came down to it, she hadn't been paying attention.

Aubrey rarely did only one thing at once--she was constantly moving: busying her hands and her mind. She was a perfectionist in everything she did. Aubrey had the grades, the immaculate room, and the impeccable manners. She strived for the simple and uncomplicated version of life: the one without the petty drama of teenage girls.

Summer allowed her to relax--to spend her time watching soccer, and hanging out with the boys. They had never cared that she liked wearing shorts instead of dresses; especially when the weather got hotter and her shorts got shorter, or that she enjoyed playing sports and getting muddy instead of playing with dolls. She had her girly moments, but at heart; Aubrey was just one of the boys and she liked it that way.

She loved watching the World Cup, more than any other sport. It gave her a rush to see one of the players score or punt it downfield. She loved the action and the energy of the sport. The adrenaline of the players was addicting to Aubrey. She lost herself in the games, through every nerve-wracking and exciting second. She'd turned on the tv upstairs while she was doing her laundry, the faint sounds of the game drifting down the staircase into the basement. If she leaned over at the right angle, Aubrey could see the edge of the screen--just enough to glimpse the nice toned calf of the mid-fielder. Her attention remained on the television as she finished her laundry: tossing her clothes in the dryer and throwing the new batch into the washer. She haphazardly poured in soup and slammed the lid shut, turning the machine on. She rested against the washer as it began its cycle, too transfixed by the match to notice the dangerous speed of the washing machine.

Soap skulked from underneath the lid of the washer, spilling out onto the sides of the machine. Aubrey jumped as the wet, soapy, mess reached her feet. She quickly turned around to turn the washer off, but she tripped over the laundry basket sitting forlornly by her feet. She hit the basement floor hard, her arm slamming into the ground as her body swiftly followed, trapping her leg underneath her. She cursed loudly, but it went unheard, as she was the only one in the house. Covered in soap, Aubrey winced as she attempted to get up to turn the washing machine off. Her fingertips slipped off the washer's controllers, and she leaned back against its side in defeat. Holding her cell phone with the ends of her fingers, Aubrey thought about whom she could call.

Kennedy was always her first choice--they'd been through everything together. They'd become friends long before she ever met the other boys, and she treated him like a brother. She knew everything about him: from his favorite color down to the type of shampoo he used. Her next option, her cousin Garrett, was out of the question. Both he, Jared, and Kenny were off on some manly bonding trip to the coast--an excuse to escape the heat and get incredibly drunk for the entire weekend. She groaned, thinking of her last option.

John O'Callaghan was in her cousin's band and a regular face around her house, but his presence still made Aubrey nervous. To the others, he appeared outgoing--playing the roll of the goofy and talented lead singer, but something remained off about him. He played hot and cold around her, like he was unsure whether his company was accepted or not. His penetrating stare and the way he avoided physical contact with her left Aubrey with an uncomfortable feeling in her gut. She hesitated as she pressed in his number, her pointer finger hovering over the send button. Garrett had made her memorize all of the boys' numbers the previous summer in case she was in need of "a strong male presence to ward away all of the scum she was likely to attract." She had rolled her eyes at the time but now she was glad she did, even if the person she had to call wasn't whom she originally reached out to.

The ringer was loud as she pressed the phone to her ear, silently praying that he would pick up. She was nervous, her voice shaking as he picked up the phone; the receiving end much quieter than that of her own.

“I’m sorry to bug you, but I need your help because Kenny and Gary are gone, and I didn’t know what to do because I fell and I-”

"Aubrey? Is that you?" He interrupted, confusion thick in his voice.

"Yeah, it’s me." She sighed, letting out the breath she didn’t know she had been holding. She subconsciously bit the side of her thumb, waiting for his response.

He chuckled, “What happened?”

“The washing machine attacked me.”

“I’m not even going to ask. It’s kind of hard to hear you so-”

She responded quietly, “I just didn’t know who to call.”

“It’s fine, Aubrey. Really, it’s not a problem. I’ll be there in five. Just hang on, okay?”

He was true to his word, arriving with the sound of his beat-up, old, car turning into her driveway. She could faintly hear the rustling of the front door being pulled open and him calling her name.

John appeared at the top of the stairs, and she watched as his form appeared completely—clad in tight jeans and a loose wife beater. She watched as he padded over to her, his eyes slowly appraising the situation.

“I thought you were kidding when you said the washing machine attacked you. What’d you do? Attack it back?”

She frowned as his grin grew, her gaze trailing over the soap-spouting washing machine.

“I’m pretty sure I killed it.”

John leaned over behind the washing machine, careful to avoid slipping on the wet ground. He reached his hands around the machine, and Aubrey winced as the washer gave one final shudder and stopped. When John reappeared, she couldn’t help but laugh. He was soaked from head to toe from the spouting water and soap. She giggled, her soapy hand raised to cover her mouth. He smirked, wiping the excess liquid off his arms, and Aubrey drew in a quick breath as her eyes ran over the way his muscles tightened when he raised his arms above his head.

“You’re my hero.”

“We should probably go upstairs and get your ankle checked out, yeah?”

“Sounds good.” Aubrey looked around her, taking in the giant mess that accumulated by the bottom of the machine. She glanced towards the stairs, and her eyes ran the length of the staircase, resting upon the closed door.

“You didn’t shut the basement door, did you?”

John met her gaze, and Aubrey watched as his eyes flicked down towards his shoes. He shuffled sheepishly from foot to foot as he responded, “Was I not supposed to?”

She sighed loudly, slumping back against the washing machine. Tilting her head back against the machine, she locked eyes with John.

“We’re doomed.”

He laughed, sliding down the side of the washing machine to join her on the floor.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say we’re doomed. So we’re stuck in the basement for a little while.”

“I can’t move, I’m sitting in an ocean of soap, and I’m next to you. Yeah, doomed seems like a pretty good adjective.”

Aubrey rested her head back, moving slightly so her back pressed up against the washing machine. She sighed as her eyes slipped shut, her leg still tucked underneath her body. John glanced over at her, his gaze slowly taking in the girl sitting next to him. He’d never truly looked at her before—not as anything other than his bandmate’s cousin. She’d grown up in the past few years. She’d always been that girl down the street—the one you played soccer with on a hot day, or the one you’d taunt until she cried. In his eyes, she’d never truly been a girl. To John, she had always been one of the guys.

The years playing soccer and football with the guys had treated her well, giving Aubrey a slim shape—though not without curves. The blessing of hanging out with the guys also offered a punishment for her; she ate like one of them. Her damp and soapy clothes hugged her curves, leaving little to John’s imagination. He shifted uncomfortably; suddenly aware of the girl not a foot away from him.

“You make it sound like being stuck in the basement with me is the worst thing in the world.”

Aubrey smirked, cracking open one eye to glance over at John. She remained silent, letting her lack of a response do the talking for her. His face quickly melted into a puppy dog face, and Aubrey couldn’t help but stare. She lost herself in his eyes and the spackling of freckles that criss-crossed his face. He pouted, his bottom lip trembling as he forced himself to look as pitiful as possible. She felt the sides of her mouth tip up in a small smile as she turned to face him.

His pout was quickly replaced by a victory grin as he pulled himself to his feet. He towered over her, like a beanstalk over Jack. His skinny frame mocked her as he stretched out, the bottom of his shirt riding up as he reached for the ceiling.

“Could you at least help me up?”

“Not until you admit that I’m the best person in the world. No, not the world. The universe.”

“Not a chance, stringbean.”

John leaned up against the doorframe, sliding his hands into his pockets. He silently taunted Aubrey, the smirk on his face daring her to say it.

“Okay. Spend the rest of eternity on the floor of your basement. You know…the game was tied when I glanced at the tv earlier. It’d be a shame to miss the ending because you were too stubborn to admit the truth.”

With a sharp look towards the basement door, Aubrey groaned. They both knew she couldn’t get up on her own, not with her ankle still tucked, unmoving, beneath her. She reached a hand up to grip the edge of the washer, her hand slowly slipping as a result of the still-soapy surface. She regained a hold upon the metal, little by little pulling herself up. Her grip faltered slightly, and she started to fall. Out of the corner of her eye she saw John instantly react—her frame encased in his grasp. His smirk had transformed into a look full of concern, his hand wrapped around hers in a strong hold.

Aubrey tightened her hand around his, her vision wavering for a second as her world went black. She faltered, and he slowly lowered her to the floor. She murmured quietly, her words escaping into thin air.

“You’re the best-”

He shushed her, slowly getting back on his feet. She grabbed for his hand, pulling herself up so she sat up straight.

“You okay, Aubrey?”

She nodded and the pair of them attempted to stand. John’s foot slipped on the wet floor, and they both hit the floor hard. She grimaced as his leg landed on top of hers, her wrist pinned underneath his neck. It was uncomfortable, but she didn’t want to move. They were so close she could feel his breath on hers and his heart beating beneath his chest. She stared into his eyes and the freckles she’d been admiring only minutes before, and her breath caught. They were still for a moment, chests heaving as they caught their breath. John’s hand reached up slowly, tucking the stray wisp of hair that had escaped Aubrey’s ponytail, carefully tucking it behind her ear. She closed her eyes, leaning into the palm that cupped her face.

She barely felt them at first, but his lips pressed softly against her own. As quickly as it happened, it was over. Aubrey opened her eyes as a blush spread across her cheeks. They quickly untangled their limbs from each other and sat awkwardly next to one another. The air was tense—neither of them knew what to say or do.

They snuck looks at each other; neither one looking at the other too long in fear of being seen. Aubrey fumbled with the rings on her left hand, twisting them around her fingers. John glanced over at her, his own cheeks reddening at the thought of the previous minute’s affair. He started laughing, clutching his side as his chuckle worsened. She met his gaze, her nervous frown giving way to a broad grin complete with a few giggles. They laughed for several minutes until it faded into comfortable silence.

“You know, you never did finish that sentence of yours.”

Her glare sent John into another fit of laughter, but Aubrey remained silent as a stone.

“So you’re just not going to talk to me, then?”

She glanced at him, shrugging her shoulders before turning her back on him. She bit her lip, focusing on hearing the movements of the boy behind her. Arms encircled her neck, his chin resting upon her shoulder.

“At least I’m clean.”

She laughed. “But you still smell like soap, John.”

All initial awkwardness was lost as the minutes passed. The pair sat in comfortable silence, studying the other carefully. His eyes traced her body, resting on the ankle tucked neatly under her.

“You have got to be the clumsiest girl I have ever met. You do know that, right?”

“Yeah well, I can’t believe you were foolish enough to get us locked in the basement.”

Their teasing tones grew harsh, the underlying irritation from being trapped for so long had begun to break them both down. John was unable to sit still and had started singing quietly to himself—just loud enough to hear, but not loud enough to decipher. Aubrey was just staring at one spot on the wall. It was a long crack that stretched from the bottom of the floor around to the opposite end.

“Me? Had you been less clumsy, we never would have been in this mess in the first place.”

They glared at each other, Aubrey’s body shaking with anger. She shook her head, placing her fists down by her sides.

“Look. We’re both stuck here. Can we just…not?”

He nodded in assent, and went back to humming to himself. Aubrey rolled her eyes and began to look around the room. The corner of the basement was covered in boxes and dust. She smiled, reminiscing. Soon, her internal thoughts became external as she recalled story after story. It was stream of consciousness, and her eyes glazed over as she thought of her past.

“We used to spend hours down here, Adele and I. Before she was too old to play dress up or throw tea parties with her little sister. Back before she went off to school. We’d scrounge around through boxes upon boxes of old gowns, mostly worn by my grandmother to her cotillion lessons or some such. She had chests of this great costume jewelry. Anything you could imagine: gold, silver, jewels. It was all so lavish, and so foreign to us. We used to pretend we were princesses in magic kingdoms. It was so much fun, having her home. We’d persuade my mom to bake us cookies, and we’d host the most luxurious parties for our stuffed animals. Adele and I were a hit with them. ”

Her eyes misted over, but she blinked them away quickly. She started—suddenly realizing John was staring at her. He was frozen in place, unsure of whether to comfort her or just stay still.

“You must think I’m pathetic or something. Sorry, I’ll just...stop. It’s stupid anyway.”

She blushed, glancing down at her hands. They were suddenly sweaty and she inconspicuously wiped them on a dry patch of her shorts. She attempted looped her fingers through the patches of string at the bottom of her shorts when another hand stopped her. John’s hand laced through hers. She could tell he was nervous; his hand was trembling. She squeezed her fingers gently around his, smiling cautiously up at the brunette.

“It’s not, Aubrey. It’s not pathetic. I get it, you miss her.”

“But sometimes it just seems so silly to miss her. I know she’ll be back.”

He smiled lightly, staring Aubrey straight in the eyes. His gaze never wavered as he spoke evenly, his hand firmly in hers.

“I know what it’s like to miss someone who isn’t even gone. Does that make me pathetic then?”

“What do you mean?”

Aubrey’s eyebrows scrunched up in the middle, stray pieces of hair framing her face. Her blush was fading now, sparked every so often by the soft friction caused by John’s thumb running over hers.

“Like, they’re there. I can talk to them and see them, but it’s almost as if they aren’t all there. The parts of them that make them smile, or makes you laugh. It makes me want to dig through all of the bad stuff. It makes me want to find them and hold them close so you can never escape.”

John’s voice quieted down, his cheeks blazing red. Aubrey had frozen in place, her eyes unwavering and her jaw slightly ajar. She had a crazy look in her eyes, like she couldn’t quite understand what was going on.

“What?”

“You said ‘you.’”

John ducked his head down, a blush threatening to bloom once again.

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes. Yes you did,” she said urgently, “You said, ‘so you can never escape.’ I heard you.”

Aubrey sat there, dumbfounded as the boy next to her sat up straight, and pushed his shoulders back. The cocky arrogance was back, but it had a vulnerability to it that she’d never encountered with him before. Leaning forward, John slid his hand from Aubrey’s, placing it in the crook of her neck so it cradled her face. He was close now, and it made her nervous. His gaze was intense, and she didn’t know where to look. He whispered, causing her to lean forward in order to hear him properly.

“So what if I did?”

He ran his thumb down her cheek, and his eyes slid over the trail of freckles down the side of her face. Aubrey leaned into his touch, fighting internally to stay focused. She shivered as his other hand moved to rest on her outstretched leg.

“I-”

As he leaned in, she saw his confidence draining. The burst of adrenaline wasn’t enough to sustain him through until her answer. He glanced furtively back and forth between her eyes, often dropping down to glimpse her lips.

“You, what?” He urged, fear infesting itself in his mind.

She waited, testing different responses on her tongue. Her voice felt harsh, nervous.

“I don’t think you have anything to miss anymore.”

She smiled and pressed her lips to his, the faint taste of soap still lingering on their lips long after.