The Connection

MM: favorite subject?

AR: Art. And English, because it’s easy. Let me guess, yours is PE?

MM: har har. science, actually. why’s english so easy? I hate it.

AR: My dad teaches it at Milton. So I've read almost everything we’re reading. What’s your dad do?

MM: I wouldn't know. haven’t heard from him in forever. I think he’s a lawyer or something.

AR: Your mom?

MM: nurse and a bartender. your’s?

AR: Coffee Shop manager.

MM: cool. favorite sports team?

AR: That’s really witty of you.

MM: I probably should have known that.

________

It’s almost Thanksgiving.

Somehow, in between the huge mountain of homework, studying for the ACTs, Saturday’s with Kat, dinners with Quinn and his parents, and texting Max every night until Avery falls asleep, the phone clutched in his hand and simultaneously ignoring Max in PE two months had passed. The summery heat that lingered from August and bled into September has cooled as they drifted into October, and then November.

On Halloween, Avery text Max first, which was a first in itself. In between passing out the Whoopers and Tootsies Pops to Tricker Treater’s and himself and Kat gorging themselves on the good chocolate and Skittles while working their way through the Nightmare on Elm Street series, Avery checked his phone and waited. It wasn't like Max not to text back right away, and that was weird that Avery knew that. After the fifth or sixth time in an hour he’d checked his silent phone, Kat threw a couch pillow at him and told him to quit being a girl. He shoved his phone back into his pocket, grumbling, and only checked it when he could sneak away into the bathroom.

Finally, at six am, as Avery was flipping through infomercials, and Kat’s head was in his lap as she snored softly, his phone chimed. The text he received was garbled, and after autocorrect had its way with it, the message was almost unreadable. But Avery got the gist. Max was drunk… really really drunk, and he didn't want to text Avery until he sobered up. He apologized, and told Avery he couldn't wait to talk to him.

The text made an unfamiliar pang in Avery’s chest. Sure, Max had been polite in their text messages, and much to the sorrow of the Fledglings, he had left him completely alone in their last block PE class. But Max Matthews was anything but considerate, he was a jerk and he had made Avery his personal punching bag since eighth grade when Max made the high school football team, and became a fledgling himself. He became friends with Logan Harris and the studied ignorance to Avery that Max had practiced for two years turned into daily ridicule and a steady trail of bruises across his back and arms.

And yet, Max was being considerate. He was taking Avery’s feeling into account, right? He wanted to be sober when they spoke… or wrote, or whatever. And did he miss Avery? Or at least miss his text messages? And that thought, combined with all the nearly eight pounds of candy he’d eaten and the almost twenty-four hours he’d been awake, made his head thud painfully. Avery let his head rest against the back of the couch, and fell asleep, lulled by the white noise of an exercise infomercial, Kat’s gentle breathing and the very confusing thoughts about Max Matthews.

Avery waits in the crowded hallway, glancing at the clock as the minutes tick by. It’s nearly 8:25, and Kat is nowhere to be found. Avery waits, with a suspiciously book shaped package wrapped in the comic section of the newspaper and topped with a bright blue bow, until the warning bell rings. Dammit, now he’d have to drive over after he drops Quinn off to give her the present. Really, Avery thinks. She couldn't come the last day before their nearly week break for Thanksgiving? He struggles with the two heavy chemistry text books, and shuts his locker just as the bell rings. Maybe he could sit with Quinn and her friends at lunch.

It’d be less pathetic than sitting alone, anyway.

________

I’m bring your birthday present over, since you were a bitch and decided not to come to school.

Avery types the text quickly, as he idles in his driveway. He’s just dropped Quinn off and shifted into reverse when his phone made an unfamiliar sound. Wait, was someone calling him? He shifts back into park, before looking at his phone. A picture of Kat wearing a paper Steak ‘n Shake hat and eating a mint Oreo milkshake illuminates the screen.

“What? I’m heading over there right now, do you need something?” Avery says into the phone.

“Just some chocolate, if you have any.” Kat’s voice is thick and her nose sounds stuffy. Avery chuckles.

“You want some soup? You sound terrible. What is it? A cold or the flu?” he asks, already unlocking his car and unbuckling his seatbelt. Kat gives a watery chuckle.

“Nope. I've been crying all day.” She says dryly. And if Avery had been any other person, they would have chalked it up as Kat’s dry, satirical humor. But Avery knows better, she isn't lying.

“What? Why?”

“I’ll tell you when you come over. Milky Ways, if you have them.” She says. Avery shakes his head, even though he knows Kat can’t see him.

“Wait. Kat, what’s wrong? Kat?” Avery tries again.

But when he pulls his phone away, Kat’s picture has disappeared, replaced by his wallpaper of Batman’s and Joker’s profiles, grimly staring at each other.

________

One quick trip to the gas station later, Avery pulls into the driveway of the Wright’s modest split level. Kat’s house is bright yellow, with the teeniest concrete stoop and looks positively out of place in this neighborhood. The other homes on this side of town are usually nicer, due to the fact that most of their owners have nicer salaries than Kat’s parents. The other homes have winding decks, in ground pools and perfectly manicured hedges, no thanks to their owners. Kat likes to say that her and her parents were here first, and she’s mostly right. The new subdivision of Franklin kind of sprang up one day, when the bustling business people of the neighboring big cities decided to pop out a few kids and move to the suburbs, you know the simple life of working nonstop and leaving your kid’s money for pizza and notes posted on the stainless steel fridge of their parent’s absent love.

Avery glances at the huge pillared porch (is ‘porch’ even the right word for something that big?) of the closest house, which happens to be across the street and down a little ways from Kat’s. There’s no brand new, black Jeep in the house’s driveway. Cooper must be a football practice. Avery grabs his phone and the two bags of mini Milky Way’s he bought. He locks his car, even though he’s sure his Volvo isn't any contest in this neighborhood of shiny, luxury cars.

Avery knocks on Kat’s door. He’s not sure why, he’s been here enough times. And Kat’s mom always insists that he just walk in. Maybe it’s because he always knocks, or maybe it’s a deeply rooted mannerism his mother planted into his brain along with chewing with your mouth closes and covering your mouth when you sneeze. He waits, turning away from the fierce November wind. Next to Kat’s welcome mat, there’s a fresh, sticky splatter. It looks like coffee, or one of those gross coffee-like drinks Kat’s partial to.

“It’s caramel cappuccino… I really didn't feel like cleaning it. Mom’s going to shit.”

Kat’s leaning against the door, reading Avery’s thoughts as usual. Her burgundy hair is pulled into a loose knot at the base of her skull, and her bangs are lank and stringy. She’s wearing too-big plaid pajama pants and a huge hoodie over a black tank top, and Avery would think she just rolled out of bed. But the mascara tracks marring her bright red cheeks says that she’s been up for a while, and she did get ready for school this morning. Her glasses look spotted with tears and smudges from her probing fingertips. She’s looking resolutely at the ground, staring at the dark brown splatter like it holds the secrets of life.

“It’s freezing, you know. Am I wrong to assume you’re going to let me in?” Avery asks.

“Probably, I’m not very predictable.” She says, but holds the door open wider, anyway. Avery follows her into the warm, apple scented foyer of her house. Mrs. Wright home always smells like freshness and spring, even in the slowly dying autumn of November.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” Avery calls down the hall, as he strips his high tops off by the door, and walks toward Kat’s living room. Kat doesn't respond from her post on couch, her ratty Nightmare Before Christmas comforter wrapped protectively around her shoulders. The large flat screen on the opposite wall is tuned to the History channel.

“Give me my chocolate.” She says instead, as Avery plops down next to her and reaches for the remote. He hates Civil War documentaries. Especially the really gory ones Kat’s partial to when she falls into these moods. Avery snorts, flipping channels instead.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” He says again. Kat growls, (like growls. Like a dog, or a really pissed off cat) and lunges across him, still wrapped in her blanket. Avery reacts just in time and holds the candy away from her.

“Avery! Give it!” She demands, grabbing wildly for the bags and almost falling into his lap.

“No. Tell me what’s wrong, and I’ll give you the candy.” Avery reasons calmly. This seems to be too much irritation for Kat, because she falls backwards on to the couch, clutching the blanket around her for dear life. She thrust her feet (clad in mismatched socks) into Avery’s lap, and says in a voice heavy with tears and frustration.

“Cleft.”

“What about him?” Avery sighs. He flips through the Discovery channel and in well into the cartoons when it hits him. Kat’s birthday is today. Her seventeenth birthday.

“Wait. C-Cooper? Cooper Cleft?” He stammers, staring at the only visible part of his best friend; the top of her frizzy head. She gives a harsh chuckle.

“Do you know anyone else named Cleft?” She says darkly. Avery grins, glad she can’t see him. He wants to laugh, this is what she’s upset about? Cooper being her Soul Mate? She’s never had to say it. Avery’s never asked, either. He just kind of knew that Kat had the biggest crush on the shaggy headed Offensive Tackle. And if Avery isn't mistaken, Cooper feels something for Kat.

“Cooper’s a stupid fucking name, anyway. It’s not even a real name.” Kat grouches, her voice thick. Avery can’t help it.

“Oh, and Kat is?” He laughs, earning a sharp kick in the ribs.

“My name is Kathrine! Kat is a goddamn nickname!” She barks, trying to bury herself deeper into the couch cushions.

“How do you even know? Have you seen him today?” Avery asks, wincing as he rubs his bony ribs.

“I see him every day.” Kat says, stiffly.

“Not when you’re not at school.” Avery huffs. He rips open one of the bags of candy with his teeth.

“No, I mean… How do you think I get to school every day?” She says, uncharacteristically shy. Avery stops chewing on one of the candies.

“You hop the Cleft Charter every morning?” Avery says. He’s torn, should he laugh or be pissed that his best friend conveniently forgot to tell him that she’d been hopping a ride with Cooper every morning?

“It wasn't my idea.” She says scratchily, “He saw me waiting for the bus sophomore year, and offered me a ride. It was the middle of December, and it was raining. And it was supposed to be one time!”

“Well, what turned it into a year and half long affair, then?” Avery questions dryly, adding another candy wrapper to the growing pile on Kat’s chipped coffee table.

“He found out my weakness for cappuccinos.” Kat says, attempting for humor, but it only sounds lame. Avery nearly chokes on his mouthful of chocolate.

“You make him sound like a pedophile luring kids with candy.” Avery laughs, earning him another jab with Kat’s foot.

“Shut up, asshole. I didn't ask him to, he just kept showing up to my door with coffee and keys. So, I took advantage of him.” She says haughtily. Avery snorts. It’s not really taking advantage of someone when their so willing.

“Sure. Is that why you weren't in school today? You came down with a case of ridiculous?” Avery retorts. He’s picking at the seam of a particularly tricky Milky Way wrapper, when Kat sits up abruptly, shoving him so hard that the small confection falls from his fingertips.

“What the heck—“ Avery gripes, turning towards Kat, ready to tell her just how stupid she’s being.

But her face stops him.

There are two things everyone in Franklin High, and Franklin in general know about Kat Wright. The first being that she will only respond to Kat; and unless you’re a new teacher calling roll, or you’re her grandmother, you should avoid calling her by her full name. The second and maybe most important thing to know about Kat is that she’s tough as nails. You will never see Kat conform, nor will you see her back down from someone. And most certainly, you will never see Kat cry. Avery’s been her best friend for nearly six years and he can count on one hand the amount of times he’s seen his best friend tear up.

Right now, would maybe be the fourth?

“Kat… Hey.” Avery says, reaching out one long fingered hand towards the redhead. He’s cautious, like someone approaching a wild animal with a busted paw. Kat stares at him with wide, teary eyes as he places a hand on her blanket wrapped shoulder. Kat makes a soft choking noise before she falls heavily onto Avery’s side. Holding back tears, she buries her face into his arm; the frames of her glasses pressing firmly into his shoulder. Avery shifts, throwing an arm around her shaking shoulders, Kat’s forehead finding a new home on his collarbone. Avery doesn't say anything, just lets his best friend cry into his hoodie, his hand smoothing the frizz from her hair.

“You’re going to stain my shirt with your makeup.” Avery says gently, after the tremors in Kat’s small shoulders stop. She gives a watery chuckle, shifting her head to lie on his shoulder.

“I doubt any of my makeup has lasted today. And your shirt’s black anyway, butthole.”

They sit in near silence for a while, the only sound in the room coming from a brightly colored cartoon parading across Kat’s TV. Avery shifts a little, his arm’s falling asleep.

“Are we going to talk about this?” Avery asks after a while, pressing his luck. Kat’s shoulders lift in a shrug.

“There’s really nothing to talk about.” Kat mumbles.

“Other than the fact that you just cried your eyes out on my favorite shirt over getting g a Soul Mate?” Avery scoffs. Kat sighs heavily.

“It’s not that simple, Avy.” Kat says softly, not bothering to move from their friendly embrace.

“Then tell me.” Avery says, softly tugging on a lock of hair that had fallen free from Kat’s bun, something he’s done with Quinn when her first boyfriend broke up with her and she was the one staining his shirt with make-up. And somehow, maybe because she’s delirious from crying, or she’s just too tired to care, Kat does.

“Because he’s… juts him. He would be a terrible Soul Mate, and anyway, he and I are just too different to make it work. And, I mean, look at me. The last girl Cooper dated was, like as tall as him and weighted like one hundred pounds, and was blonde,” She says the last part like she has a bad taste in her mouth, “And I’m… I’m just not his type.”

“Okay, there were so many things wrong with that explanation. Where would you like to begin?” Avery says, wryly. Kat pokes his sharply in the ribs, mumbling something that sounds like ‘asshole’. But Avery ignores it.

“If we’re competing for the worst Soul Mate award, I think I've got you beat,” Avery begins, earning a snort from Kat.

“And, we’re…” What? Talking, texting? Flirting? Trying? Avery’s not even sure anymore.

“We’re a far more toxic couple than you and Cooper. To my knowledge Cooper’s never beat you up.” Avery settles on, resting his cheek on the top of Kat’s head. Kat hums, like she’s at least listening. So Avery continues.

“And, yeah, Cooper dated Marissa, but that was only after you turned him down, right?” Avery says, naming the lithe blonde sophomore Kat mentioned. Avery’s always been better at names than she has.

“Yeah.” Kat admits after a moment, a quite kind of sadness in her tone, that he’s only heard once… When Cooper kissed her in eighth grade and didn't call her afterwards.

“Okay, and it was only for like, what? Two, three weeks?” Avery asks. He feels Kat’s nod under his cheek.

“And, I mean, he flirts with you… like every time he walks past my locker, he says something to you. Never me, he just kind of ignores me.” Avery says. Kat snorts.

“”Cause he knows your Sport-o’s babe.” She quips.

Avery flicks her silver studded ear, earning a sharp whine from the girl curled up against his side.

“Cleft flirts with anything with a pulse. And last time I checked, I had one, too.” Kat adds drily. Avery shakes his head, Kat’s hair tickling his cheek.

“But does Cooper give other girl’s rides? Or does he bring them crappy coffee drinks every day? I’m pretty sure he never gave Marissa rides, or any of the other girls he’s dated.” Avery reasons.

“No.” Kat concedes finally. She reaches into Avery’s lap, and pulls the half empty candy bag from between his thighs, never lifting her head from his shoulder.

“So what does that tell you?” Avery probes.

“Avery,” Kat says around the chocolate in her mouth, “That doesn't mean anything.” Avery sighs heavily, reaching into the bag now resting on Kat’s lap.

“Are you being stubborn on purpose or are you just stupid?” Avery says snidely, pulling Kat’s head closer as he awkwardly unwraps the chocolate with both his hands, including the one draped over Kat’s shoulder.

“Both.” Kat says. Avery can hear the smirk in her voice.

“You like him, though.” Avery says.

“So? Doesn't mean he likes me back.” She says thickly, her teeth gummed up with sticky caramel. Avery chooses not to highlight her confession; he doesn't want to scare her off.

“He felt it just that same as you did.” Avery counters quietly, referring to the pulsing light right behind the breast bones that he felt just two measly months ago.

“So what?” Kat sighs heavily, “Just because we’re... we… just because he felt that stupid light doesn't mean he feels the same way. He likes me as a friend. A fat, bitchy neighbor girl.” Avery rolls his eyes.

“But you have to try to talk to him—“Avery pleads, ignoring her assumption of herself. Kat snorts.

“—Hey! You made me talk to Max! Max Matthews, the Football Admiral that uses to kick my ass? At least try, Kat.” Avery implores. Kat sighs heavily.

“Fine. But not right now. I need time.” Kat says. And Avery knows that she will and is too tired to fight with him anymore.

“Go on a date with him. He lives, like less than a hundred feet from you.” Avery says, snatching the second bag of candy off the coffee table.

“Sure. We’ll double with you and Sport-o.”

“I’m done talking to you now.” Avery grumbles, flicking Kat’s ear one last time.

“I love you, Avy.” Kat laughs, “And you love me, too.” Kat adds, swiping the bag out of his lap. Avery sighs, throwing his head back against the Wright’s couch.

“But it’s against my better judgment.” Avery smiles, anyway.