The Connection

“How about this one?”

“Ew. No pastels, mom.”

“Honey, it’d look great with your complexion…”

“It’s prom, mother. I don’t want to look like a six year old’s birthday cake.”

Quinn sneers at the offending garment in Mrs. Reeves’ outstretched hand. It’s a perfectly okay dress, Avery thinks. Its pale pink with a sweetheart neckline and layers of tulle making a huge, pretty princess skirt; a perfect prom dress for a perfect seventeen year old. Quinn wrinkles her nose and blows her black bangs out of her slightly sweaty face. The bridal store’s AC is humming at max power, but the late March humidity creeps under the large double doors and the elegant floor-to-ceiling windows like a poisonous gas. Avery is even a little warm with his flannel sleeves rolled up.

“Honey,” Mrs. Reeves soothes, going over to smooth Quinn’s slightly greasy bangs out of her scowling face.

“Maybe give me a list of colors you do like, and we’ll start there.”

Quinn huffs. She turns away from her mother, and stalks over to jostles for space at the full length mirror with all the other teenage girls trying on prom dresses. She turns slightly, pokes her butt and then her boobs, and scowls harder.

“None of these look right.” She declares storming from the mirror and nearly knocking a redhead in a sunny yellow dress on her face. Mrs. Reeves sighs, her own bangs lifting off her face and falling back down in a graceful swoop.

“They look fine, Quinn. What’s wrong with them?”

“They make me look like a boy. Like a little boy…with a huge ass.” She huffs. Mrs. Reeves rolls her eyes, not bothering to correct her daughter’s language.

“I’ll see if there’s someone who can find you a dress.” She leaves, voice tinged with annoyance, and trailing her out of the stuffy dressing room. Quinn flops down on the stiff white couch, next to her brother and Mrs. Wright. The plump, redheaded woman had the idea to take Kat along to pick out a prom dress with Quinn, when both she and Quinn had struggled to find a day where Avery could accompany both. Avery is still unsure what he has to do with dress shopping. And Max was laughing too hard to help shed any light on the situation.

Mrs. Wright smiles at the younger girl; an appeasing tilt of the mouth that she’s honed while working rude customers and her own grumpy daughter.

“Honey, you’ve got a body that most girls would kill for.” She says lightly, glancing at the dressing room that Kat has yet to come out of. Quinn manages a small smile.

“Thank you… I just wish I wasn’t so stringy.”

Mrs. Wright laughs a loud, booming sound that makes everyone in the hall of dressing rooms stop and look.

“Not a soul alive likes their body. You just got to get something right for it.” She says, and then glances at the white linen curtain that hides Kat.

“Lots of people would kill for your figure, honey.” She says. She pats Quinn’s shoulder and stands.

She moves towards Kat’s dressing room, confidence and grace in her stride that looks out of place with a woman so short and squat, and raps her knuckles on the wall.

“Is it okay? Do you need another size?”

A sniffle greets her. Mrs. Wright’s bright and cheerful face crumples a little. She sighs, puts a hand on the curtain.

“I’m coming in, Kat.”

“No!” Kat says, her smoky voice gruff with tears. Avery stands and walks over to stand next to Mrs. Wright, too.

“No. Don’t. This is stupid. I don’t even want a dress.” Kat says from behind the curtain, her voice snotty and edging, like a caged animal. Mrs. Wright sighs.

“Honey, just let me see—“

“No! Fuck this; I don’t want to go to prom, anyway!”

“Kathrine! Watch your mouth!” Mrs. Wright astonishes, Avery speaks up.

“Are you naked?”

“Of course not.” Kat snorts.

Avery doesn’t need anything else; her yanks back the curtain and slips past a stunned Mrs. Wright. Kat’s face is red with heat and tears. And now anger.

“What the fuck, Avery? Get out!”

Avery rolls his eyes, and starts to fix Kat’s dress. It’s all wrong, and Avery knew that when the sale’s associate, with her pin straight brown hair and too sweet expression presented Kat with the dress saying in a snide little tone, ”This may fit you.”

The dress is a mermaid one, colored in acid green and heaps of emerald glitter. It clings to Kat’s curves in a way that would look nice on Quinn, but makes Kat look squeezed and stuffed. The fabric across Kat’s hips ripples and Kat’s pudgy stomach makes an unpleasant bump. The halter straps dig into her arms, making red little indents, and the neckline creates a tight valley of her chest, her breasts looking like their on display. Avery tilts his head.

“The color is wrong.”

Kat, tear stained and fuming, manages a huff of annoyed laughter.

“Yeah, the color’s the real problem here.” She snipes, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. Avery ignores her.

“And the length. You don’t even like long dresses.”

Kat glares, her speckled glasses catching the light fiercely.

“No, I don’t. And I don’t like that I’m fucking disgusting. And I’m huge and fat and gross. And I don’t like that Cooper even asked me to this stupid thing!” She cries, wiping stubborn tears off her cheeks. Avery frowns, feels tears prick his eyes.

“Kat…” He says softly. He opens his arms, his fingertips brushing the walls of the dressing room. Kat sniff loudly before moving the two steps it takes to hide her face in Avery’s shoulder. He lets her snivel, rubbing circles into her bare back. Kat comes out of his shoulder after a few minutes, even more blotchy than before, and wiping at her nose. Avery pushes her bangs back with one hand on instinct. And of course, Kat recoils, batting his hand away and scowling. Avery is laughing and trying to smooth the rest of her hair away just for spite, when he remembers. At the front of the store, in the minimal at best ‘plus size’ section, he saw the perfect dress for Kat.

“Hey, what’s your size?” He questions. Kat raises an eyebrow, smirking in that self-depreciating way that makes Avery want to smack her.

“Huge.”

“I was thinking more of a number.”

Kat rolls her eyes, reached behind her to blindly fumble with the zipper of her dress. Avery sighs, reaches it for her and eases it down with a muted rippling. Kat doesn’t mind.

“Like, a twenty-four? I don’t know, they don’t have anything to fit me anyway.” She says haughtily, arms crossed over her chest as Avery works the zipper down until the white curve of Kat’s spine it exposed.

“I’ll be right back.” He says, and slips out the curtain.

“That’s no way to treat a girl you just undressed!” Kat calls from the dressing room, causing many pairs of mascara coated eyes to turn towards him. Mrs. Wright raises her head, looking expectantly at Avery.

“I have an idea. Hold on.” Avery says to Mrs. Wright. She raises an eyebrow, but let’s Avery walk out without as much as a peep. Avery passes the sale’s associate who gave Kat the hideous dress. She tries to say something to him, probably something sour covered in a sugary shell, but Avery walks past her. He weaves through the girls and mothers tearing at the racks of glitzy dresses, towards the vacant section titled ‘Bridesmaid’s dresses.’

He takes a few moments, digging through all the put back and decided against dresses until he finds it. He holds his breath as he checks the flimsy little tag trailing off the zipper, and then exhales. It’s a twenty-four.

Dress in had he skirts through the same mothers and daughters towards the dressing room. The attendant gives him a look, but lets him pass.

“Hey. I got it.” Avery calls through Kat’s curtain. He hears Kat snort, and sees her pale hand emerge from the curtain.

“Well, give me it. It won’t fit anyway.” She snips, but takes the dress blindly.

“Well? Do you think it’ll work?” Mrs. Wright asks as he takes a seat back on the stiff couch. Avery shrugs

“I hope so. It’s her size, anyway.”

Mrs. Wright smiles and grasps Avery’s hand to give his fingers a little squeeze.

“Thank you so much, Avery. Kat’s so lucky to have you.”

Avery shrugs again, feeling his cheeks turn pink.

“It’s not like she hasn’t been there for me.” He smiles. And he’s right. If not for his grumpy, chubby best friend, he probably would have never reached out to Max. He would still know the bitter, angry quarterback, not the sweet, stubborn, protective guy that he loves with all his heart.

“Oh god. It’s perfect.”

Avery turns his head towards the voice. His little sister turns and twists on the raised platform in the middle of the dressing room. His mother looks on, a smug little smile on her pink stained mouth. Quinn’s dress is a deep plum color, tight at her torso and flaring like an open flower just after her hips. The rhinestones covering her bust make her small chest a little more noticeable, and the starburst of glittering decals covering her right hip draws just the right attention to her curvy hips.
She turns towards Avery.

“Do I look hot?”

“Not as hot as me, but yeah, okay.” Avery shrugs, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Quinn grins, twirling in her dress.

“Can I get this one, mom? Please?” Quinn turns towards Mrs. Reeves. Annie smirks, crosses her arms over her small chest.

“Guess I did okay after all, huh?” She questions drily. Quinn rolls he eyes; but she can’t keep the smile off her face.

“Yes, you did. I’ll never doubt you ever again. Can we get it?” She beams, clasping her hands together, beseeching at her mother. Mrs. Reeves rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling like her daughter.

“I guess we’ll just have to be extra nice to your father, huh?”

Quinn squeals, flouncing off the platform to hug her mother. Avery is watching his mother smooth Quinn’s dress, Quinn not at all bothered by her behavior, because hey, she found the perfect dress.

Mrs. Wright is giving Quinn the once over, too. And all of them are discussing shoes and jewelry and hair. Avery vaguely wonders why he was even brought along on this dress venture. It’s not like he can show up to prom in a slinky purple mermaid dress like his sister.

He heart does a funny little jump; he probably can’t go to prom at all. And that’s okay, he tries to reason. Why would he want to go anyway? The music would be terrible and the punch would be warm and all of his classmates would gather like mating snakes; all clumped and withering in the center of the gym turned dancefloor. And Max will not ever seem like the prom guy. To Avery’s knowledge, proms are not really classic rock, flannel wearing events. And although the thought of Max in a tux is a charming one, Avery doubts the quarterback would even want to go.
He glances at Kat’s curtain to find it hanging open just slightly, he catches a flash of deep red and mint green and he has to know.

“Hey.” He says outside the curtain, peeking in the dressing room. Kat stands frozen in the mirror, the only part of her moving are her hands. They flutter at her sides, sliding towards her dress to finger the layered tiers of ruffles that make up the skirt. She looks dumbstruck; like she honestly thought that she would be wearing a pop punk band shirt and a pair of jeans to prom and not an actual dress. He pulls the curtain back a little further, leaning against the door.

“You can come out and look at it, you know. It’s not going to disappear.” Avery says drily, as his heart swells with affection. Kat blinks, like she’s just realized that Avery’s standing there. She sucks her ruby red bottom lip into his mouth; her pointy canine working at the flesh.

“I don’t look fat?”

Her voice is soft, scared. It reminds him of eighth grade Kat. Chubby, and eyes rimmed in too much black, hair faded from jet black to a streaky dark brown. He remembers walking fifteen minutes to Kat’s house; the sun was sweltering at noon, and his hoodie was sticking to him with sweat. She invited him in, threw herself on the couch in a little ball and sobbed. Avery, fourteen and flabbergasted, did his best. He rubbed Kat’s shoulders, asked her what was wrong, and promised to walk with her to get ice cream or pizza or anything. Kat cried for a while, broken sentences breaking through the sobs.

”Cooper didn’t even care!”

“I’m so fucking fat and gross!”

“I hate him so much!”

“What’s wrong with me, Avy?”

That same voice; soft and scared and unlike fiery, stubborn, bitchy Kat makes him want to cry. He grins, moves the frizzy curls hanging around her shoulders like a shield.

“Your boobs look better in this dress.”

Kat smiles despite herself. Not a hard smirk or a rebellious grin, a forgiving curl of plush lips, careful and bashful. The smile she saves for Cooper; when he tugs on her hair, when he throws an arm around her and battlers on and on about her redeeming qualities, when he tickles her sides, lets her squirm against him, as she curses him, punches him, loves him.

“You’re gay.”

“I can still appreciate boobs. Objectively.”

Kat laughs, a soft, stubborn noise.

“You have nice legs, too.” Avery grins, noticing Kat’s pale calves, usually hidden beneath layers of dark wash denim or fluffy cotton of pajama pants. She tugs the dress down slightly, shy.

“They’re fat.” She remarks.

“They’re shapely.” Avery corrects, grinning. Kat rolls her eyes, mumbling ‘whatever.’

“Is this one okay?”

Kat give the dress one more glance over. The mint green is tiered, fluttery and flattering to Kat’s pudgy stomach. Her chest is covered comfortably; no straps dig into her pale shoulders. A simple sash, with a simple off center accent draws just enough attention to the dramatic curve of from her ribcage to the swell of her hips. She turns, peering at the side of the dress and then the back. It’s a vain gesture that Avery is unfamiliar with, but understands none the less.

“I think you’ve fulfilled your fashion obligation as gay best friend.” She says smartly. Avery scoffs, knowing that this is all the thanks he’ll be getting; but it’s worth it. Just to see Kat smile and turn a little quicker to make the ruffles flutter about her hips.

“Kat? Honey, is this one okay?”
Mrs. Wright is behind Avery, standing on tiptoes to peer over Avery’s shoulder. She gasps when she sees Kat, shoving Avery out of the way and yanking a stammering, spitting Kat out of the dressing room.

(“I’m not a damn doll, mother. Let me go.”)

She stands on the platform, bright red and unwilling to twirl vapidly. But she smiles slightly, just a tilt of her lips when Quinn and Mrs. Reeves fawn over her. Mrs. Wright is snapping pictures with her phone to send to Kat’s father, and Kat is doing her best to sabotage the pictures (mostly by flipping off the camera and making the ugliest faces she can muster). But that’s okay. Avery is able to snap one; one of Kat’s laughing smile as Quinn goes on about her ‘killer legs’.

He immediately sends it to Cooper.
________

Avery doesn’t want to go to school today.

And he wouldn’t, he’d gladly let Quinn take the car while he sat nice and safe under his nest of blankets. Max has tried texting him, and calling him. But after that massive of a fight, Avery’s not sure what he’d say. He doesn’t even know how it started, one minute he talking to Max; the phone pressed tightly in between his shoulder and ear as he gave half-hearted effort towards his AP History homework (Thank Christ, he’s already read The Jungle), and talking about dress shopping. Max chuckles throaty and gruff, the muted thumping of him bouncing a tennis ball against his bedroom wall adding the softest background noise.

”So what’re you wearing?”

“Is this some sort of kinky phone sex thing? Because I’m literally wearing a flannel and a hoodie, my room is freezing.”

Max laughs, full bellied at that. And when he speaks, Avery can hear the warm smile lighting up his tone.

“We’ll work on the phone sex thing, ‘kay? But, nah, what’re you wearing for prom?”

Avery flips a textbook page, the stilted turn of the century photo of a meat packing factory glaring up at him. Avery shrugs, and then remembers that Max is across town and can’t see him.

“I don’t know. Should I be wearing something special? It’s not like I’m going.”

In the silence that follows Avery jots down more notes on turn of the century socialism. He’s turned one more page (now taking notes on Labor Unions) when he remembers Max on the other end. He pulls the phone away, Max’s picture still lights up the screen.

“Max?” He ventures.

“Yeah?” Max’s tone is clipped and icy. Avery’s brow knits, and he sets his pen down.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“Why’re you not going to prom?” Max asks, coolly, and then if he couldn’t get any colder, “Did you think I wouldn’t take you?”

Avery gapes… the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. But it’s not like they’d let them anyway; they’re gay and gay couples are not allow at Midwestern proms. And Avery says so.

“Bullshit. I already got the school to agree to us going. Are you embarrassed by me? That it?”

“No!” Avery says, his voice raised in annoyance, “If anything, you’d be embarrassed by me.”

And that again, is not the correct thing to say.

Max doesn’t yell; he doesn’t have to. His cold, stony tone carries just the right hint of rage and his words are like that of a caged animal; confused and bitter and biting. Avery is near tears, a fact that annoys him more than the fact that he and Max are fighting.

“You didn’t even ask me!”

“What, you want the red fuckin’ carpet, Av? You want me to crave up my arm? ‘Go to Prom with me Avery Reeves?’ You’d only get mad at me for hurting myself.”

“Of fucking course I’d get mad at you! God, why do you turn everything to violence? And yeah, I’m going to need you to ask me—“

“Why the fuck do I need to do that?”

“Because up until a year ago, you beat the shit out of me! You didn’t even like me and now you expect me to know that you want to go to prom? I can’t read your mind, Max.”

Max is silent, and Avery wishes he could swallow the words back into his mouth, into his mind to never be said or thought again.

“Max…”

“Night, Av.”

“Wait… Max! I’m—“

The dial tone, droning and harsh beheads any attempt at an apology that Avery could imagine. He slams his history book shut and crawls, fully clothed into bed. He doesn’t fall asleep, just stares at his celling, and then his dresser and anything else in his steadily darkening room. He phone beeps a few times, and the ringtone sounds twice; but he ignores them. Quinn comes up and asks him to grace them with his presence at dinner. He pretends to be asleep until she leaves.
He falls asleep sometime around two, just as his phone’s ringtone is just slipping away.

He has to brake when pulling into the school lot.

All his classmates are standing around his parking space, gawking. And he wonders vaguely if there’s a dead bodied or a freshman fistfight or any matter of other silliness. He honks, annoyed and this peers seem to realize that, yes, this is a parking spot, and yes, there’s a car that needs that current parking spot. People are still standing around his car, as he jams it into park and rips the keys out. Quinn disappears into the throng of people, flouncing away, annoyed at Avery and his temper tantrum.

When he exits his car, he sees large chalk letters scribbled on his parking space. People are watching, so he doesn’t bother a second glance at them, just tugs his backpack higher on his shoulder and walks through them. He stares at the ground as he walks, only to find more chalk scribbled in an unfamiliar handwriting. And even weirder, each statement has a cute little drawing.

Will you waddle to prom with me? with a tiny penguin in a top hat. I know this is a cheesy way to ask someone to prom… with a tiny slice of pizza with pepperoni hearts. Use your brain and come to prom with me! with a tiny little zombie. He keeps walking, smiling despite himself. He does love puns. As he enters the crowded halls of his high school, the chalk has been replaced by a line of papers taped to the floor like a romantic, cheesy yellow brick road.

I mustache you to prom! A curly hipster mustache.

I have to proper koala-fications to take you to prom! A Koala bear in an obnoxious pink heart.

It’d a touchdown to take you to prom! A football.

He stops at that one, foot misstep and head tilted. It can’t be. He raises he head and peers ahead towards his locker. It’s empty, clear of any and all markings and friend free. He heaves a sigh of relief, and tries to will down the rebellious part of his brain that wishes this was Max’s doing. People are laughing and taking pictures of the puns. And Avery might join them, they’re all pretty funny.

He reaches his locker, a little sad that the puns seem to stop here. He’s opening his locker, twisting in the combination and shifting his heavy books off the meat of his shoulder. He kind of wishes that Max was this romantic… but he’s already screwed that up. Hell, he’ll be lucky if he gets a kiss on the cheek with a ‘prom?’ whispered in his ear. It’s not like he wanted to go, he reminds himself again. It’s a stupid tradition, and he can always live vicariously through Kat and Quinn and—

“What the…”

The sound a million ping pong balls makes when coming out a confined space, is surprisingly loud. It’s a thunderous clatter, their hollow bodies bumping against each other and the metal shelf of his locker, and the floor. They bounce around his feet, roll every single direction and Avery vaguely wonders how the janitors will react to millions of ping pong balls all over the place.

Its then, as through a foggy curtain, because this can’t really be happening to him, (can it?) that he notices that each ping pong ball is marked in light purple sharpie, an army of marching, rolling letters, all spelling the same thing, ”Prom?”

He’s laughing stupidly, and stoops to pick up a still bouncing ping pong ball at his toe.
A hand, freckled and callused, swipes the still moving ball out of his grasp. Avery stands up suddenly, his head nearly colliding with Max’s.

The quarterback in the same outfit he was in at Thanksgiving; the dress shirt and band shirt combination still looking just as nice as Avery remembered it. Max’s face matches the maroon color of the shirt, but he’s smiling, shyly, slightly ridged with fear. Avery’s staring dumbly up at his Soul Mate, he blinks once, twice. Max clears his throat, stiffly holds out the small white ball in his fingers towards Avery. The entire hallway is silent, but Avery can’t hear anything over the rush of blood in his ears. Max clears his throat.

“Uh…I… um, I finally got the balls to ask you to prom.” He says shyly, stumbling over the proposal and running a hand through his hair. Avery is so far away that his voice doesn’t reach his ears.

“I… I was expecting more of a mess. More… gore and blood and…” He trails off. Max huffs a surprised little laugh.

“I think this is more of a mess than blood all over.” Max says lightly, his hand coming from nowhere to smooth a stray piece of hair behind Avery’s ear. (He hears an ‘aw’ from somewhere. Maybe his left.)

“I… um… I really like puns.” Avery says, dumbly. Max smiles softly, like Avery’s slack jawed idiocy is the cutest thing in the world.

“I know.”

“And um…” Avery says, his face feeling warm and his breath lost in his chest. He looks up at Max, pushes his glasses up his nose.

“I’m sorry. For what I said last night… I didn’t mean it.”

“I know.” Max shrugs softly, “I’m sorry, too. “

Max runs his hand though his hair again, stares down at the rolling ping pong balls all over the main corridor of Franklin high school. Avery chews his lip. And then remembers that questions generally need answers.

“Yes.”

Max looks up; golden green eyes bright, hopeful. A small smile quirks his pink bow of a mouth.

“Yeah?

Avery throws himself at his Soul Mate, burying his face into Max’s chest, arms thrown around his neck. He feels Max’s chest shake with a laugh, and then arms curl around his middle. He’s distantly aware of someone, maybe a few people, snapping pictures. Right now, Max and Avery curled around one another in a sea of ping pong balls will be appearing on Instagram and Facebook and Twitter. And usually, the thought would make him squirm and refuse to be seen. But the warmth of Max’s arms and the stupid trail of puns and the feeling of love that’s filling him whole is a potent balm to any embarrassment.

Right now, he can’t find it in himself to care.