Just Keep Your Head Above

I had seen a vast array of expressions cross Alex Gaskarth’s face in the two years I had known him: annoyed, amused, victorious, superior, happy, dejected, exhilarated, inebriated, horny, excited, and occasionally: embarrassed. But never, up until this very day, had I ever seen Alex genuinely upset.

His eyes were electricity-charged sandstorms, his jaw was clenched, and his knuckles were white as he gripped the piles of shirts he was carefully arranging on the front table.

Yeah, sure, okay, maybe I had gone a little too far. Maybe.

I sighed, turning to him. “Look, Alex—“

He cut me off, his words clipped and bitter. “I need two green t-shirts.”

I felt my shoulders slump dejectedly. He was not going to make this easy on me. Of course he wasn’t. The only person on this planet who was as stubborn as I was, was, well, him. And I knew he was going to milk this for everything it was worth.

What struck me as most odd, though, was that I actually cared. I didn’t know why. I mean, he had always played the part of the ever-bemused, cocky, emotionless bastard in my life. I had never cared much about his “feelings”, because I was pretty positive he didn’t have any. And yet, now, I could see clearly that something was wrong, and I knew that something was me. And as much as I had willed myself not to care, I couldn’t help but feel guilty.

I walked to the front of the booth, handing him the two green shirts. I perched myself on top of the table he was working at, swinging my legs back and forth over the edge, watching my shoes disappear under the table and reappear before me with every swing, bright red blurs attached to my legs. I did this for a good half-hour.

Outside the booth, I could hear the peals of laughter echoing across the large expanse of grass.
I could hear the steady hum of electric screwdrivers putting stages together.
I could hear the random outbreaks of song from groups of people scattered across the grassy lot.
I could hear the humming of the lady in the booth next to us, setting up a cotton candy machine.
I could hear the discussion of the couple passing us, talking about the tattoos they were thinking about getting.
I could hear the loud roar of the lawnmowers running across the grass.
I could hear the scrape of the shovel against the ground, picking up any mud that may have been left by the storm earlier in the week.
And I could even hear the jumping, static-y resonance of hundreds of walkie-talkies, all working to connect one person to the next.

But inside the booth: nothing. There was no humming, no laughter, no discussion, only deafening silence. I could hear the rush of wind as my legs sliced through the air, swinging like pendulums. I could hear the soft sound of cloth brushing against cloth as Alex moved shirts back and forth across the table, arranging them perfectly. But most of all, I could hear the tension in the booth. It was a loud, ear-splitting roar. It overtook my senses, paralyzing my brain, and I couldn’t feel anything but awful, awkward silence.

And it was all my fault.

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I broke the silence. “Alex?”

He didn’t answer. Always so stubborn. “Alex?” I attempted again, a little louder this time.

Still no response.

Seriously?

I took a deep breath. He was still folding, unperturbed.“Alex!”I barked, exasperated.

He looked at me this time, momentarily taken aback. “I’m—I’m—“I swallowed, willing my mouth to push past my pride and utter the phrase that had been churning in my mind for the past hour and a half, “sorry…okay? I’m sorry.” I managed to choke out, cringing at how uncertain I’d sounded.

He rolled his eyes, turning back to the stack of shirts in front of him. “I can tell.” He replied with a snort.

I swallowed. It was now or never. “Seriously,” I said, this time more forcefully, grabbing his arm and spinning him so that he was facing me. “I am.” His eyes searched my face for any falter in my sincere expression. But I knew he wouldn’t find anything. Because I was really, actually sorry. “I went too far, it was rude. I’m supposed to be trying to prove to Mac that I can get along with you, and I was just so stressed, and I snapped, and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. You really didn’t.”

His expression softened, and the all-too-familiar smirk crept up his lips. He gave an exaggerated sigh and threw his hands up in the air. “Alright, alright, enough with the begging!” I rolled my eyes, giving him a friendly shove backwards. He laughed. “I guess I could forgive you.” I grinned. The weight of the guilt I’d been harboring lifted off of my shoulders. “On one condition.”

Of course.

I groaned. “Yes, princess?”

“You get your fat ass off this table before it breaks.”

“God, you are so charming.” Chuckling, I jumped off the table. It was okay. We were okay. We were back to being us. Or at least, a more civil version of ourselves. Throwing insults back and forth at one another, even though we both knew they were just airy, meaningless reminders of our often strange, sometimes genuine friendship. And even though I really did hate him, and he really did annoy me, that was okay, because here-- I didn’t care. We were going to make it through the day. That was all that mattered. After today, we could go back to arguing, but here and now, in this new space and this new situation, we both knew that our insults were just hollow reminders of our real-world relationship.

I gave him and amicable hip-bump and swiped the stack of shirts he was holding from his hands. “Step aside, newbie, lemme show you how us pros do it.”

~

Three hours later, we were both seated at the front table, and I was crying.

“What the actual fuck, Gaskarth?” I cried, wiping a tear from my eye.

“Sometimes the truth hurts, Colins!” he replied, waving to the group of girls that had just bought a truckload of shirts from the booth, and were now walking towards the main stage.

“Sometimes, you should learn to keep your mouth shut!” I retorted, dealing out the money we had just received to its appropriate compartment in the money box.

“Well, I don’t think that rule applies when your teacher is practically on top of you, screaming and spewing spit all over you, and her breath is practically a biohazard!”

I gasped for air, clutching my stomach and wiping off another tear that rolled down my cheek. I couldn’t breathe, much less formulate sentences. I was laughing that hard. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him doubled over as well, laughing harder than I’ve ever seen him laugh before. The noises he was emitting were less like the taunting, demeaning chuckles I’d heard him make before and more like the hearty, deep, belly laughs I’d heard Rian exude only hours earlier. His brown eyes were shining in a way I’d never seen them shine before, and his face was flushed from laughter.

Who knew? He was actually human.

We’d been exchanging funny stories for hours. My cheeks hurt from all the smiling I had been doing, and my stomach ached from the constant stream of laughter I’d been emitting.

Once you looked past Cocky, Self-Assured Alex and actually got to know Down-to-Earth, Real-Person Alex, you discovered he wasn’t half bad, as far as pompous assholes go. In fact, he was a riot. He was absolutely hilarious. And not just in the dry-wit, sarcastic definition of the word (because I had already become well acquainted with that end of his sense of humor), no he was actually really funny. The kind of funny that made you pee your pants. He had been telling me these long-winded, well-acted-out stories of the teachers at our school (along with some priceless impersonations) and the whole time, neither of us could stop laughing.

I held up my hand, taking a moment to catch my breath. We both stopped laughing, focusing, if only momentarily, on our breathing. “We should probably get back to—“I attempted, but petered off before I could finish, because Alex had started laughing again. And once he started, I couldn’t stop myself. I erupted into another fit of giggles, my head rolling back and my legs folding into my chest, so that I became a big, graceless ball of laughter. His laughter was contagious. And as much as I didn’t like the kid, I couldn’t help but be sucked in by his melodic, sing-song chortles. And surprisingly, I wasn’t fighting it. In any other setting, at any other time, I would’ve bit my lip and kept myself from laughing, just because it was him, and I would never give him the satisfaction of knowing that I thought anything he did was amusing, regardless of whether it was or not. It was the principal of the thing.

But now, here, in this place, where we had put all of our differences aside for the sake of civility, I couldn’t stop myself. And, in all honesty, I didn’t really want to. I was laughing, he was laughing. We were having a good time. Sure, yeah. It was definitely weird. But it was a weird that I was okay with.

We were still laughing when a high-pitched squeal of a voice broke through our merriment.

“You guys are soooo cute. How long have you been together?” I turned to look at the boy before me. His long, golden hair was much less messy than it had been earlier that morning, when he had been whining at my kitchen table. It was still messy, but it was the kind of messy that was manufactured. His green eyes, bright emeralds, shone mischievously. His lips were turned into the half-smirk that had been known to drive all the women he encountered crazy, exposing a hint of the pearly white smile beneath them.

I flipped him off. “Suck my dick, Speiler.”

He flicked the ash from the cigarette he was holding between his fingers at me, smiling. I think I may have seen a few girls actually swoon. Corey Speiler, or Speiler, as everyone called him (Seriously, everybody. I think his mother may even have forgotten his first name), was the piano instructor at The Store Which Currently Has No Name, and a damn good one at that. But it wasn’t his musical ability, or the fact that he was the lead singer of his band, Bobby, Jill, and The Cow Crowd (unique, I know) that made him such a chick-magnet. No, it was his uncanny ability to look effortlessly cool, no matter what situation he was faced with. Right now, he was wearing a light blue muscle shirt and cutoffs. No shoes. And the girls behind him were practically falling over themselves to get to him. It was ridiculous.

“Speiler! Good show last night, man.” Alex stood up, smiling, and gave Speiler a “guy hug”. (Which in case you didn’t know, is essentially a half-hug, half-high-five-to-the-back.)

“Me? You killed last night. Seriously. Amazing job, dude.” Speiler responded, his grin widening. Then, turning to me, he smiled. “We missed you there last night, Pipe.” He took a long drag of his ever-present cigarette. I honestly don’t think I’d ever seen him without one. I couldn’t even picture him without the familiarity of the white cigarette pressed between his long, boney, perfect-for-piano-playing fingers.

I ignored his statement. He knew why I hadn’t come last night: because I didn’t want to see Alex perform. He knew that. I had told him multiple times. But I wasn’t going to tell him now. That would ruin everything. Alex and I had been doing so well. We’d managed to stay civil for more than three hours. Three hours. That was miraculous in Alex/Piper land. And I’d be damned if I was going to let something as minute as this ruin it now. I was determined to get through this day unscathed. So instead, I nodded at the burning ember between his fingers. “You’re going to die.”

He smirked. “Yeah, and so will you.” He winked at me, blowing another cloud of smoke in my direction. “Anywho,” he faced Alex now, flicking another smattering of ash across the table. It fell quickly, the black flecks scattering across the white of the table. “Ri-bear just sent me to tell you that you’re needed at the main stage. Sound check.”

“Tell him I’ll be there in a sec.” Alex replied, and Speiler nodded, turning around to walk away. The gaggle of girls that had been standing a distance away, analyzing his every move, seemed to find the courage to approach. I rolled my eyes as they scampered up to him, squealing.

“Hello, ladies.” He smiled suavely, running a hand through his golden locks. I let out a snort, turning back to Alex.

He batted his eyelashes at me girlishly, gripping my arm in faux-concern. “You sure you’re gonna be able to hold down the fort without me, Pipeypookins?”

I rolled my eyes, a small smile playing onto my lips.”It’ll be tough, but I think I’ll survive.”

He laughed, releasing my arm. Using his arms for support, he pushed down on the table, off the grass, and swung his legs forward, effectively jumping over the table separating the booth from the ongoing festival. He landed with a flourish, and I gave him an exaggerated round of applause, chuckling. He turned back to me. “Try not to miss me too much.” He joked, his chocolate orbs dancing.

“I’ll cry every second you’re gone, baby.” I cried, gripping my heart in mock-desperation.

He blew me a kiss, which I pretended to catch, and turned back around, wrapping an arm around Speiler’s neck. I watched them prance over to the main stage, laughing and singing. Alex looked really, really happy. For the first time since the moment I’d met him, seeing him happy didn’t frustrate or annoy me. And I was okay with that. I was okay with being on good terms with him. Don’t get me wrong, he still annoyed the living shit out of me, but only out there: in the real world. Here, in this small booth, our differences seemed minute, insignificant. We could actually be civil to one another. Not just civil, but (dare I say it?) actual friends. I mean, I was aware that this “friends” thing was only acceptable here, and come Monday, things would be the same as they always were. But for right now, we were friends. And that felt kind of—good?

I didn’t let myself linger on that last thought, instead taking a seat at the table and sliding my sunglasses down onto the bridge of my nose, patiently awaiting the next wave of customers.

~

“Thanks, have a good day!” I said cheerfully, taking the twenty the girl with bright-blue hair standing before me had just given me, and placing it in the money box. She nodded, smiling, and picked up the shirt I had handed her, walking away.

It was about thirty minutes later, and I could hear a wave of screams erupting from the large crowd that had gathered in front of the main stage.

I was far enough from the stage so that I could see over the crowd, but close enough to see what was going on. From my chair, I saw Speiler step out onto the stage, donning a washed-out navy blue bandana and a sheepish smile. He walked up to the piano that had been set up onstage, cracked his knuckles, and sat down. He took a final drag of the cigarette between his fingers and dropped it onto the floor of the stage, crushing it into the tiled ground with his bare foot.

There was more screaming as an Asian girl stepped out onto the stage, her hair in a short pixie cut, arms covered in tattoos, and a pair of drumsticks in her hands. She was immediately followed by a girl, who, presumably, had had auburn hair before she’d shaved it all off. Now, normally, I was not a big fan of the buzz-cut on girls, but this was an exception. Her non-existent hair only served to accentuate her already doll-like features: huge blue eyes, thin, soft pink lips, and a small, thin nose. She was gorgeous. She walked across the stage, waving at the crowd happily, bass in hand. The boy who walked out behind her had a mass of hair unlike anything I’d ever seen. He had dreads. Real, long, dreads. They flowed out of the bottom of his gray beanie, over his shoulders, and down his chiseled chest. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’d seen dreads before. But never on a ginger. That’s right, a ginger. His hair shined, a mixture of copper and vibrant red, in the afternoon sun. He walked over to the front of the stage, gave the audience a toothy grin, and plucked a few chords on the guitar in his hand. The most eccentric of the group, however, was the last boy. He ran on the stage, skipping and hopping and flailing his arms. His caramel-colored hair flopped into his dark eyes as he yelled something at one of the audience members situated against the barricade. He stopped for a moment, listening to said audience member’s response, and laughed. Then he walked to the back of the stage, picked up a powder blue acoustic guitar from its stand near the drum set, and walked back to the front. Smiling, he plopped down on the front end of the stage, his leg dangling over the edge, guitar layed across his lap.

“Uhm, hi.” I heard Speiler say into the microphone. This only caused more screaming. He paused, chuckling, before continuing. “I’m Speiler, and that,” he said pointing to the girl at the drum kit, who was rolling up her sleeves and mussing her black hair, “is Jodi. The ginger up front is June—“the audience broke out into a fit of laughter as Speiler pointed a boney finger at the boy with the dreads.

“My mom wanted a girl, okay?!” the boy cried, feigning indignancy, although it was obvious he was not at all offended. In fact, as his face broke out into a large grin, it became clear that he was enjoying the attention.

“And a girl is what she got.” The quick reply came from the girl at the bass, her bright blue eyes shining as she stepped away from the microphone and looking at the red-head. June her flipped off, smiling good-naturedly. “I’m Dona, by the way.” She said, returning to the microphone, addressing the audience this time.

“—and the freak up at the front is Aloe,” Speiler took back the reigns, adjusting the bandana on his forehead, “except he really doesn’t do much in the band, so we usually don’t introduce him.” The audience laughed. I could see the way the band’s charisma was affecting the crowd; they were all smiling and laughing, and everyone seemed to be genuinely excited to be there, whereas before, they had been tense and anxious, waiting for something to happen, pushing against one another and talking amongst themselves. “And we’re Bobby, Jill, and the Cow Crowd, and we’re here to have a good time, how about you?” The audience cheered. “Good. Let’s do this thing.”

I’d heard Bobby, Jill and the Crowd many times before, but they never failed to put a smile on my face. Speiler’s voice was soft and sweet, and his fingers moved effortlessly across the keys in front of him. His eyes were closed, the passion he was feeling evident on his face. I nodded my head along with the familiar words, watching the rest of the band play.

They played for forty-five minutes, sometimes stopping between songs to exchange witty banter, and sometimes just diving straight into the next song. The crowd swayed in time to the melodies, and the sun began to set, the perfect backdrop for Speiler’s slow, soft crooning. I could see the crowd whispering to one another excitedly, pointing at the group onstage, and I smiled, thinking of big our small-town band was quickly becoming. I was proud of them, of all of them. I knew how much they had put into this, and I knew how much they wanted this. And as the sun sunk into the horizon, turning the sky into a furious, burning promise of the days to come, and the sweet sound of the piano filled my ears, I couldn’t help but think that they were going to make it big, and that there were so many good things in store for them.

“Thank you, thank you everyone!” Dona cried as their last song came to a close, waving at the crowd as they began making their way off stage.

Aloe got up, giving a few high-fives as he stood, and skipped over to the microphone June had previously occupied. “Get pumped for my favorite people in the whole world! They’re total babes. You’ll swoon, you’ll cry, you’ll have a good-ass time! Ladies and gentlemen, prepare for the one, the only: All Time Low!” The crowd screamed, and I wasn’t sure if they knew exactly what they were screaming about, or if they were just excited because Aloe was excited.

After giving the audience a final, jovial bow, he ran off stage, smiling.

~

The audience was screaming. Loud, piercing, over-anxious squeals.

It was thirty minutes after Bobby, Jill and the Cow Crowd had exited the stage, and it looked like the stage was finally ready for the next band: All Time Low.

I mean, of course I’d heard Aloe announce that they were up next, and I’d heard Speiler tell Alex that they were at the main stage, but up until now, when the screams of hundreds of fans erupted into the night air, filling the space around us, I hadn’t registered that I would be seeing All Time Low tonight.

And there was no getting out of it this time. Of course I knew that. I couldn’t exactly leave. I was going to see them perform, an experience I’d been avoiding for years, and I was not going to have a choice in the matter. I knew this was not that big of a deal. But I also knew that, for whatever reason, I was nervous. I was nervous because I was facing a problem head on. I had known that my avoiding this situation was childish and immature, and that these were my best friends (at least three of them were), and I owed them this. I owed it to them: to watch them do something they loved. That was what best friends did. I knew. But I just couldn’t bring myself to give Alex an hour and a half of my undivided attention. So I hadn’t. I had avoided All Time Low shows like they were plague. And I knew that hurt their feelings, but I couldn’t help it. The thought of devoting an hour and a half of my life to watching Alex revel in the spotlight had always made me feel a little queasy.

But now, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t leave, I couldn’t stop this. This was out of my hands. So I bit back the nausea, sat back in my seat, and watched.

The first person to come on stage was Jack. He was sprinting, full speed, guitar in hand, at the microphone. “What the fuck is up?!”

The audience screamed louder. Alex approached the microphone, adjusting the strap on his guitar as Zack and Rian made their way over to their places on the stage. “We’re in a band called All Time Low. We like to get weird. Do you like to get weird?” The audience screamed again, and I could hear Alex’s chuckle. I couldn’t help but notice how comfortable he was up there. He was standing, completely relaxed, in front of all those people. It was as if he’d been doing it all his life. And seeing him up there, talking to the audience, yelling at Jack, I could barely imagine him off the stage anymore. He seemed like he was exactly where he was supposed to be, and (even though I hated to admit it) I admired him for that. “Well good. Let’s be weird together, yeah?”

“Yeah!” Jack screamed back, and the crowd cheered again.

Alex strummed his guitar quickly, warming up, and addressed the audience again. “This is a song called Circles. Enjoy.” And with that, they launched into it.

The song opened with heavy guitar riffs, which were quickly followed by the drum and bass.

Then, Alex stepped up to the mic.

Inquisitive and thoughtful,
she was the challenge he'd been waiting for;
A reminder that creativity runs deep like secrets.
Dark eyed dreamers;
They were a dangerous pair,
Q next to U scribbled out on paper...
They stop, they go, they're done.

Go back to the place we knew before
retrace our steps to the basement door,
I'll ask you if the rain still makes you smile,
Like so much time that we spent in the fall
it put color in our cheeks while the air turned cold,
Preceding what became our bitter end.

Round in circles,
Let’s start over,
Round in circles,
Let’s start over.

Unanswered questions would be the only thing to stop them now...
He was the poet while she was the muse,
But she had a pen that she knew how to use,
With a touch of redemption,
A hint of elation;
A recipe for disaster.

I felt a row of goosebumps run up my neck. They were really good. Like, really, really good. I could see Alex singing, his voice honey in my ears. I shivered, taken aback. I mean, I knew they weren’t bad, but I hadn’t expected them to be this good. The biggest surprise was Alex. His voice was smooth and resonant, but gravely and rough. His eyes closed as his fingers slid down the neck of the guitar expertly. I had not been ready for this. I had not prepared myself for the overwhelming talent in this band. And, in spite of myself, I smiled. Not just a this-is-good-I’m-having-fun smile, but a they’re-really-good-I’m-so-proud-smile. And for the first time since I had realized who I’d have to watch tonight, I relaxed back into my chair, resolved to enjoy the rest of the show.

Go back to the place we knew before
Retrace our steps to the basement door,
I'll ask you if the rain still makes you smile,
Like so much time that we spent in the fall
It put color in our cheeks while the air turned cold,
Preceding what became our bitter end.
Let this be a lesson to us all...

round in circles,
Let’s start over
Round in circles,
Let’s start over
round in circles,
Round in circles
Round in circles,
Round in circles

~

“It’s been a real pleasure playing for you guys! You’re all fucking beautiful. Thank you!” Alex cried, an hour later, grinning widely as he ran off the stage, and, presumably (and hopefully) towards the showers. The rest of the boys smiled and ran off stage, and you could see the excitement in the way they were walking. They had had fun. I had had fun. The audience had had fun. Everyone had enjoyed themselves thoroughly, and I could hear the excited buzz of chatter from the crowd.

I smiled, prepared to congratulate all of the boys (even Alex) on what a great show they had put on.

I sang absentmindedly along to the song the lady in the booth next to mine had put on, folding and arranging the shirts, preparing for any end-of–the-day-customers.

“Woah there. You’ve got some pipes on you, girl.” I turned to see a boy, about my age, smiling at me. He had jet black hair, and the bluest eyes I had ever seen in my whole life. His smile, a head turning, charming reminder of how attractive he actually was, was pearly white gate of glory. You couldn’t exactly call him hot. He was more pretty, really, than he was get-your-blood-pumping-drop-dead-sexy.

I laughed, pointing a faux-accusing finger at him. “Flattery won’t get you a discount, kid.”

He put a hand to his chest, feigning indignation. “And what makes you think I want a discount?”

I smirked, enjoying out verbal spar. So he was cute, and fairly witty. Not bad. “Well, you must want something.” I retorted, eyeing him amusedly.

“Maybe I do.” He gave me a heart-breaking smile, full set of pearly whites and all. Then he leaned in conspiratorially, his eyes glinting deviously. “But it’s not the clothes I want.” He winked, leaning back, and I chuckled. I could see in his eyes that he wasn’t being serious, and that relaxed me immediately. I’d never been a fan of intense flirtationships.

If nothing else, he seemed fun and witty and would probably be a really awesome person to have as a friend. “Look,” I said, still smirking, “I don’t know what it is you want, but—“

“Can I help you?” an angry voice came from behind me, brash and raspy. I turned around to see Alex standing there, towel in hand, barefoot, freshly showered. His hair was still wet, dark and long. His face was flushed and his were lips mashed together into a straight line.

“I was just looking,” responded the boy, eyeing Alex defiantly.

“Whatever it is you’re looking for, I’m not sure you’re going to find it here.” His voice was shaking, and his words were laced with a hidden meaning I couldn’t understand.

I looked between the two boys, confused. What the hell was going on here?

The boys stared at one another, neither moving, neither blinking. I feel like I'm watching Animal Planet, I thought to myself, watching the pair perplexedly. They glared at each other, one silently daring the other to do something, to approach. The air was chalk-full of inexplicable tension, and I felt a storm brewing. And just when I thought something was going to happen, someone was going to react, the boy with the blue eyes broke the Mexican standoff, looking away from Alex and catching my eye with a devilish smirk. “I’m August, by the way. It was nice to meet you…?” he paused, waiting for me to introduce myself.

“Piper,” I said with a smile, “Piper Colins.”

“Nice to meet you, Piper Colins. I would give you my number, but I think you’re boyfriend might start throwing some punches soon.” I glanced at Alex, who was glaring at August, fists clenched. I could see the vein pulsating in his forehead, and his posture was rigid. August glanced back at Alex, grinning. “Don’t worry, pretty boy, I’m not here to steal your lady. I don’t swing for that team.”

This was all moving too fast for me. Between Alex and August’s silent war, and August’s comment about his sexuality, my mind wasn’t able to fully process the actions taking place before me. It was only when August began walking away, still chuckling, that my mind caught onto what he had said. “He’s not my boyfriend!” I called, but he just laughed harder, waving as he made his way across the grassy expanse of the lot.

I turned back to Alex, still unsure of what had just happened. “Mind telling me what the fuck that was?”

He was looking down now, avoiding my gaze, fiddling with the towel in his hand nervously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He mumbled.

“Alex,” I said, “look at me.” I put a finger under his chin, pulling his eyes up to mine gently. “What’s going on?”

As I examined him, I saw his eyes search mine, for what, I wasn’t sure. We stood there for a second, and he was watching me, looking for something. Obviously he didn’t find it, because moments later, his facial expression changed from searching to resolved. He pushed my hands away roughly, taking a step back, his eyes flashing dangerously. “I just think it’s really annoying that you’re always throwing yourself at every guy you see.”

I felt like I’d been slapped. Before, I’d been confused. Now, I was angry. I could hear the blood rushing to my face through my ears, and I reared back, offended. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Everytime I turn around you’re—you’re,” he swallowed, looking unsure. As he closed his eyes, I could see him steeling himself for battle, “all over some guy.” He opened his eyes, and I could see the bitter resolution in his brown orbs. “It’s pathetic.” He growled, looking at me defiantly.

I stepped forward. My vision was hazy, my mouth was dry, and all I could see was red. “First of all,” I snapped through gritted teeth. “I do not throw myself all over anyone. And second of all,” I rammed my finger into his chest angrily. “You have no right to tell me that my interaction with the opposite sex is pathetic, Mr. I-fuck-anything-with-a-pulse.”

He removed my finger, moving closer. We were millimeters apart now. I could see the blind anger in his eyes, and suddenly all the warm, fuzzy feelings for him I had been experiencing all day seemed to vanish. I remembered exactly why I couldn’t stand him. “Don’t get mad at me, Colins. It’s not my fault you’re a whore.” He spat the last word at me, like it was the most vile, disgusting word in his vocabulary, and the only word he find to properly describe me.

I lost it. I grabbed onto the collar of his shirt, closing the gap between us roughly. We were nose to nose. “Look, Gaskank.” I hissed, looking him in the eye heatedly. “I know that you have no feelings, and that you are not capable of proper human interaction. But you will never, ever call me a slut again, do you understand, dickwipe? I can’t believe that I actually made myself think we could ever get along. We are not friends. We are not even enemies. You mean less to me than the gum on the sole of my shoes. For all I care, you could go fuck yourself. After tonight, I don’t want to even see you near me, you sick little piece of shit. ” I searched his eyes for any remorse, but I was just met with a contemptuous stare, challenging me to do more, say more.

I heard a cough from behind us, and we both turned our heads, my hands still on his collar, and our heads still mere inches from one another. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” It was Mac, and his voice was calm, unwavering. Most would’ve been relieved by his impassivity and composure. But I knew that calm. That was a dangerous calm.

“Mac I swear it was him—“I began, but he put a hand up, stopping me.

“Spare me the excuses, Piper. I asked you to do one thing, and that was to be civil to Alex. That’s it." His eyes were blazing. “And I’ll be damned if I don’t get my way. This was not an optional thing. You knew this.” He eyed us both, and suddenly, he didn’t look so angry. He just looked weary, old, tired of picking us apart. “I’m not going to bother wasting my breath, lecturing the two of you, because I know it’s not going to change anything.” I sighed, relieved. I definitely was not in the mood to listen to Mac talk for hours about how I needed to play nice with the one person in the world who I could, under no circumstances, ever, be nice to. “But,” he continued, his voice suddenly ominous, “I am going to tell you this. You will volunteer for me every weekend. And every weekend, I will put you two together. Every. Damn. Weekend. Until you figure out how to be civil to one another.”

“But—“Alex began protesting, looking indignant.

Mac cut him off. “Every. Weekend. No excuses. Am I making myself clear?” He demanded, watching us warily, as if any moment now, we’d start throwing punches and screaming protests.

I could barely make out the mumble Alex was making in response. I didn’t stick around long enough to hear exactly what he was saying, though.

I was running. Away from Mac, away from Alex, away from that stupid fucking booth. My legs were pumping me forward, and I hurtled into the night, not caring where I was going, so long as I could get away from everything that had happened today.

I was pissed. And confused.

But mostly pissed.

When did everything go so wrong? Why couldn’t Alex just be a normal human being for once? Why did he have to make every conversation into an argument, every sentence into an insult? Why? What had I done? We had been fine, and then all of a sudden, we weren’t. I didn’t understand. What had changed? Was it something I did? Was it something I said?

I mean, god forbid I ever enjoy his company. No. Just when I was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, we could actually get along, something had to happen. I didn’t understand it, but I did know one thing: we were not meant to be friends. Alex Gaskarth and I were never going to be friends.

When I stopped running, I was in the middle of the field, and there was nothing but grass surrounding me. I was panting, and I had no idea where I was. I was so focused on my own thoughts that I had forgotten to watch where I was going. I had just focused on the ground, and the way my feet looked as I moved farther and farther away from the problem. I looked around. The festival was over, so most of the lights had been taken down. I could see a few lights in the distance, but other than that, I was surrounded by darkness, illuminated only by the blanket of stars that stretched for miles above me. Far, far on the horizon, I could see downtown Baltimore, with its tall buildings and flashing lights. But here? Nothing. Nothing but open grass and stars. I spun in the other direction, looking for something, anything familiar.

Then, I saw it. A few feet away, I could see an ember glowing in the navy blue shroud of the night.

Speiler.

I walked over to him. He was laying down in the grass, his green eyes relaxed and happy, his long, golden hair fanned out around him, smoke billowing around him.

“Hey.” He said. He didn’t ask me what was wrong, or why the hell I was out here in the middle of nowhere, instead, he just smiled and patted the ground next to him.

I layed my body down in the soft grass, inhaling the sweet smell of Speiler’s cigarette, and staring up at the stars. I watched as the smoke came out of his mouth and nose, and it all seemed so nice. Out here, it was peaceful and quiet. There was no Mac, no Alex, no name-calling or finger-pointing or pressure or stress or anything. Just me, Speiler, and this random field we had both ended up in. It was serene.

“You did good today.” I noted, smiling at him.

“Yeah?” he responded, mirroring my happy, peaceful expression.

“Yeah.” I affirmed quietly, reaching for the cigarette from between his fingers.

He chuckled, watching me press the white stick to my lips and take a deep, sucking breath, filling my lungs with the sweet smoke, trying to fill my body with enough smoke to wash all of the thoughts running through my head away. “Piper, you don’t smoke.”

I exhaled, watching the clouds of gray float around me for a second before turning back to him, handing him the cigarette. “You know what, Speiler? I think today is the perfect day to start.”