Disclaimer: I do not own anything from this show. I wrote this on a whim after watching the entire MSCL series in about a day. I hope it does the series justice, but either way, I enjoyed writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it.
He was up in the tall tree again. The one he fell out of once, the one his parents constantly scolded him for climbing. He loved that tree, not really because of the smooth patch of bark that he could lean against during hot summers, although it was nice and comforting in a way. He loved it because of the way the leaves draped across his view of the house next door and how he would always be slightly startled when he realized she was there, looking up at him anxiously. It never failed to take him by surprise, even though he sometimes, in the darkest place in his mind, admitted he was constantly waiting for her to show up there. However, it was far from summer, and the leaves were all gone. He shuddered in the cold.
It was a bad habit. It was like he knew she would ask for his bike again, or for his battered paperback copy of the most recent book they were reading in class. He wondered if she intentionally forgot to give his stuff back so that she could force him to show up and start an argument with him—he briefly glimpsed in his memory the day, the first day, Angela had worn her hair in curls. She was wearing lipstick, dark lipstick that made her look painted and unlike herself. He knew it wasn't for him, but if it was, maybe he wouldn't have minded so much. His throat got tight as he remembered her huffing the name—Jordan Catalano—and the prophecy was fulfilled. It was fate. She was finally going on a date with the guy he had poked and prodded on and on about to her. Maybe it was his own fault after all. Brian wasn't born yesterday. He had a squeamish suspicion that it was he who had blindly planted the idea in her head in the first place, back when they were still in junior high and finally noticing the painfully awkward differences between each other.
"Just look at that guy over there… I heard he's really stupid. They say he'll probably get held back," he trailed off, "Delinquents…" He looked down at the ground, dragging a toe in the dust.
"What guy? You mean the one over there by the wall? Leaning?" She was doubtful, but curious. "He doesn't seem… so bad." Her eyes lingered for a second longer than he liked before they both turned and started walking in the direction of their neighborhood.
"Yeah, like you would know about things like grades and stuff. All you and Sharon talk about is stupid girl stuff like makeup and—and clothes and- and b-bras—"
"We do not! Shut up!" She dropped the book she was carrying—his favorite book—onto the warm pavement. He remembers how the frustration welled up inside him, and then how it melted away as she stooped over in what he hoped was an apologetic manner and snatched the book up. He composed himself.
He relished this part. The part where he knew he had hooked her attention. "You so do! Just the other day I heard you saying—" he took a deep breath to start up a dramatic impression of Sharon's anxious voice, "'Oh, Angela, I don't want to go shopping with my mom on Friday, it's soooo embarrassing—'"
She cut him off with an eye-roll and jabbed a finger at him. "You're always doing that! What gives you permission to drop in on other people's conversations?" He raised his eyebrows in haughty confirmation, but she beat him to it, "I'm not listening! Not listening!" She held her free hand over one ear and the book over the other. He wondered what her ears would feel like if he touched them. His face burned, but an idea struck him and he grabbed the book and ran, praying she would react, longing for the adrenaline of her chasing him down the street. It was like the old times, back before Danielle was born, just him and her, running crazily down the street towards base.
Ha, Chase, her name pounded through his own ears as she shoved him from behind into her front yard. It hurt, but he didn't care because she leaned down and he could smell her hair again before she tore the book out of his numb hands. "I wasn't finished with that yet." She flounced inside and he closed his eyes…
Brian noticed with a jolt that it was dark outside. He should go back in the house before his parents started yelling out into the cold. Since last year, he had abandoned his usual habit of riding his bike in slow, hypnotic circles in the street he once loved. He had resolutely stashed his bike in the damp crawlspace under the house, mostly because he couldn't bring himself to even look at it after that day. She had been looking into his eyes the last time he was on that bike, and he knew that he had been conditioned to feel things, ridiculous things, whenever he wheeled his bike across the yard towards the road. It was like he was trained to wait out there, patiently, ready to hand his bike over whenever she needed it. Well, not now. Now, he was in his tree, trying not to think about his bike, but really trying not to think about her.
It had been a while since he had really thought about her. Well, not exactly. Brian worked off the initial hurt one day at a time at first. Time numbed him slowly as he unwillingly witnessed the red car outside her house night after night. He hardly cared anymore, and he convinced himself that it was the way it was supposed to be and that she had finally found what she wanted all along.
But on cold nights like this, he found he couldn't sleep. He could never, for the life of him, figure out how to get the haunting memory of her eyes that night, the night she climbed into the passenger seat of his car and slid away from him once again. He realized he was glaring at the leaf-less branches, trying to communicate to them with his eyes that he was dying inside and to leave him to die in peace. He was focused so intensely on the foreground that he nearly fell out of the tree again when he heard it.
"Brian?" It was a whisper, but it was unbearably loud as it wafted up to his perch in the quiet yard. He knew she was down there and wondered how long she had been standing there in the cold before speaking. He looked blankly at the outline of her familiar shape on the neatly manicured lawn below.
"Brian? Are you... sleeping or something? Oh, never mind—" He could hear the slight shifting of her weight as he closed his eyes in deep pain and waited for her to go back inside. He waited, counting in measured rhythm… twenty-three… twenty-four. He waited for the sound of her front door clunking solidly into place. Maybe he had miscounted. It was still quiet. He imagined he could hear the sound of fabric sliding roughly over bark.
She was down there, sharing his tree. This is just great, he thought, I can't even be alone in my own misery anymore. Brian finally gave up and steeled himself to lean slightly to the left and tilt his face towards the source of this new complication. He knew it would be no good to continue ignoring her. She knew from years and years of experience that he was fully aware of her presence and was dying to find out why she was there. Habits were hard to break. She needed him again, and he couldn't fathom why this time. He knew it was bad, but he couldn't fight the curiosity any longer. He swung one leg, two legs, over the edge of his branch and he worked his way down carefully. After eons, his feet came to rest on solid ground and so did his eyes.
"Yeah? What?" It choked him a little. Whatever, he didn't care anymore.
"Brian…" Her voice sounded like it did the last time they spoke. Of course, it wasn't really the last time. They had seen each other in the halls, mechanically went through the motions of speaking. It was really the last time he spoke to her with his heart. She was waiting. She was never this patient. It irked him.
His eyes slid to land at the point where her shoelace lay, irritatingly untied, in a shadowy patch made by the streetlamp through the leaves. He sighed and licked his lips before stooping to sit against the tree roots in his usual place, on her left, with the gnarled knot poking him slightly in the small of his back.
He had always given her the good spot. He was taken back to a time when she was crying. Angela Chase was crying, and not because of him this time. It was their first day of school, and his parents had bought him a fresh set of pencils. He loved the way the wood slid off the tip as he twisted his brand new pencil in his brand new pencil sharpener. He loved writing, and he knew from the conversations his mother had with Mrs. Chase that he had quite an extensive vocabulary for a boy of his age. He had already impressed Ms. Smith by answering three questions in class about the state bird, and he didn't seem to notice how the other children watched him darkly out of the corners of their eyes. He wished he was sitting next to Angela, but they had assigned nametags on their desks. It was unfair.
The first recess wasn't at all like what he had imagined in the anxious months leading up to this big first day. Nobody seemed to want to play with him. He sat dejectedly on one of the picnic table benches and stared through his curly bangs at Angela kicking a ball with the other kids. He wanted so badly to join them, but instead he occupied himself with watching quietly. He snapped out of his thoughts as he watched a bigger kid stalk into the midst of their game and swipe the ball. He watched helplessly as Angela ran towards the bully and demanded for the ball back. He watched as his best friend got pushed roughly into the mud.
She wasn't usually one to show her emotions, and he knew she was struggling to keep it inside for the rest of the day as the other kids pointed and laughed at the giant stain on her clothes. It wasn't until they stepped off their brand new bus that he blurted out, "Are you okay Angela?"
She didn't even reply as she ran towards the tree. She was already pressing her face into her arms and quietly crying when he reached her. He sat down and waited. Maybe she would stop soon so he could show her his new pencils. He didn't like how this day was going.
Later, as they sat under the tree talking about what she wanted to talk about and never once getting the chance to show off his pencils, he noticed the tree knot pressing into his back. Usually he would ask to trade places, to take his turn, but this time he didn't. He just wanted her to keep talking to him.
Now, he wished he could be on the moon, on Mars, somewhere further than the edge of the galaxy on a cold and dark rock so he could avoid turning his face and glancing at her eyes again. He wanted shut his mind to the swirling turmoil, wanted to turn off his ears from hearing her breathe, wanted to shrink away from the warmth of her body as it rested quietly next to his shoulder. She was still waiting. He could feel the rushing in his ears.
"Okay, so you're out here. Clearly you need to talk about something or you wouldn't be out here, in my yard, in the middle of the night. I mean, shouldn't you be somewhere right now, like on a date or with your friends? Why don't you have a coat on? It's freezing!" He babbled on and on, forgetting what he was talking about. She just sat there, he could feel her there, waiting. "What!" He couldn't stand her refusal to pick up the other end of what he wanted with all his heart to be a fight.
"Brian, I… I wanted to—to ask... Look at me, Brian." He dragged his eyes away from the driveway and let them land where they would. He hoped it wouldn't be on her eyes, but it was. He looked away again. He couldn't allow her to see, not anymore. She knew now, and he wasn't going to kid himself again about what she probably thought about him. But she was still here.
"Look, Chase. Whatever it is, I probably won't be able to help you or anything, if you're asking me for help or something. I mean, it's really late for one thing, and—here, take this, you're shivering." Brian started taking off his jacket, but her hand was on his and he couldn't move for a moment. He shook her off and managed to work his arms out of the fabric before turning towards her and looking her in the face.
Angela's eyes were there again. She was biting her lip, and he looked down at it, transfixed, as he slowly lost momentum and froze with one arm stretched out around her shoulder, and the other arm ready to grab the jacket and pull it around. Angela blinked, and he finished the movement before hastily twisting back to facing the street. She called his name again, and he forced himself to turn once more towards her voice.
His mind wondered at the nerve of this girl. Just the other day, he had been standing at his locker, and she was standing at hers. Jordan Catalano waltzed by, but she didn't even swoon like she usually did when he passed. She didn't even tense up—it was like she never noticed he was there. Rayanne was lingering behind Rickie and Angela was glancing back and forth between the two. That was when Rickie looked over at him and gave him another one of those terribly frustrating looks like he knew everything Brian was thinking. Jordan Catalano kept walking then, with his head down, and disappeared around the corner. It had been a daily routine for a long time now, and he couldn't quite explain it to himself. Maybe they had reached some new level of their relationship where they didn't have to stare grossly at each other every time he walked through the hallway. He didn't care as long as she just did what she wanted and let him be numb in peace.
"Brian, I wanted to ask you for, I mean, I wanted to tell you that I've been thinking a lot lately, about everything really, and how you said—it's really hard to explain, but…" It was just like the time he mistakenly thought she was asking him to go to the dance with her. He wasn't going to fool himself into hoping for ridiculous scenarios anymore. He was past being that immature. His mind tuned back into her voice, and he was starting to realize something. "You see, it's like getting caught up in something because it's how you always made it seem to yourself, that it was real or something much grander than it is. But it isn't, and you realized that it never was that amazing after all, and that you deep down knew all along that what you were feeling was—different." She looked at him hopefully, like she was waiting for him to catch on to something.
He was shocked. Was she feeling that sorry for him? He blurted, "Do you think I'm stupid? Did you come out here just to say how stupid I am? I mean, it's been over a year, Angela!" The hopeful look started to slide off her face, and she looked out-of-focus as he let the emotion pour out of him. "I can't believe you came out here to—to sit here and flatter yourself over the fact that I—that you know I'm still here, hanging on to your every word or something, like—like I worship the ground you walk on. Well, don't. You don't have to explain it to me or anything, or like, pretend to pity me. Because I don't care. You can be with whoever you want, even Jor—"
She was pushing her index finger into his chest. It hurt, but he was breathing hard and his face felt red. Her voice grew, "You don't know what you're talking about, Brian! I'm not 'with' him, and for your information I haven't been 'with' him in a really long time. Will you, for once in your life, hear me out?"
He let the air stream in and out of his nose, his mouth clamped shut. He couldn't tear his eyes away now, not if he wanted to. It was like it used to be, she had his full attention and he couldn't argue with it. Then it clicked into place. What she had been trying to tell him wasn't about his old feelings for her. It was about what he always quietly hoped would come true as he lay in bed at night on those bad days when he couldn't sleep.
She was talking again as if in a dream. "Brian, I did an undefendable thing… I made a selfish decision and I had to live with it. It was my fault for being so naïve, for believing in something that… that wasn't really ever there." She was looking up at his face with the most honest and open expression he had ever seen. He felt oddly flattered that she had it down by heart, even after an entire year. It paralyzed him with anticipation, but for what, he didn't understand. All he knew is that she was moving closer to him, or he was moving closer to her, or the world around them was shrinking.
They were whispering again. "I never got the chance to say what I needed to say to you Brian… It was too hard to put in words, we've known each other for too long and I needed you, I needed you, Brian. I was just too afraid to mess it all up…" He could only breathe out one word, "Angela," before he felt her fingers on his cheek. He was dying to run, run far away so that he didn't have to feel this pain welling up inside him, but he was also dying to let it continue for as long as he was alive. He waited for something to happen. He felt her warm breath floating up to him from her mouth and let his eyes wander towards her lips for the first time in what felt like forever. He didn't know what to do with his hands. With a sinking feeling, he felt her hand disappear from his skin, and he dejectedly let out a breath he was holding.
But when he looked at her again, he finally saw the understanding there that he saw once before, on that cold day he watched her fade away from his life. Then she kissed him.
She kissed him, and he still didn't know what to do with his hands, and he didn't know if he was kissing her back the right way, and he was overwhelmed with the smell of her hair and the tears on his face. They were probably her tears, but he couldn't be sure. Then he felt her wrap her arms around his sides and he finally realized what was happening. He grabbed her shoulders and started to pull away to look at her. "Do you realize what you're doing to me, Chase? You," he closed his eyes, "you just can't show up here and, and blurt out all your feelings and then just like, expect me to just accept it or something." She would have been hurt if she hadn't recognized the tone of his voice. She rolled her eyes and grinned.
"Seriously, Krakow? After I sit here in the freezing cold and pour out my heart to you, that's all you can say?" This time, he initiated a kiss for the first time in his life. It wasn't as weird as he thought it would be, kissing Angela Chase. And he was absolutely fine with letting her rest her head on his shoulder, and for her letting him put his arm around her waist, and for the chance to finally learn how soft the edges of her ears felt under his fingers. He couldn't care less about the raging pain in his back or that his feet were completely numb with cold. He could live with that for as long as she kept him out here.