The journal loosely hangs in my hand, the hum of lights at least softening the fluttering in my stomach. My mouth opens to speak before she quickly interrupts, shifting her weight onto the sink.
"Uh, the look you're giving me is saying you're not the Max I'm looking for," Chloe says while trailing off.
I open my arms a little. "Reunion?"
Her chest heaves for a second before taking a step back as if she's seen a ghost. I mean, technically she just did. "It is you, holy shit! I thought you hella forgot about me?"
Freeze frame. I can concur that it was most likely her in my dream. "No, fuck no," I say after a pause. "How have you been?" The cringe hits almost immediately but what else do you say to your ex-best friend after five years of literally no contact? It's not like I'm a social queen, that's more of her schtick. It's like every young adult book in Seattle had in the library, where two people find each other after years of not talking.
"Just… do you have any more classes?" The way she speaks tells me that I'm about to get an earful of loving hate.
I shake my head.
She grabs my hand and lurches me towards the door. "Good, because it'd be really weird if I told you everything that happened since you left in a shitty bathroom. Literally." Damn. I forgot how soft her hands were. Then again, I'm pretty sure her's were the last ones I held. Outside of family, of course.
We speed walk through the front doors and field filled with students, her grip letting go as she leads me towards a dingy truck that looks straight out of a junkyard. Now, I'm not one to judge. Especially since I don't have a car or even a licence. But whoever drives that car has no regard for their life. I mean, poor things probably has a senior discount at the Two Whales Diner.
She leans on the hood with crossed arms and a look that means either trouble, about to cry, or about to punch me. Probably all three with crying last. "First things, first. What the fuck? I know it's not right to assume because it makes an ass outta you and me, but I'm going to assume that you've been here since the semester started. And you didn't even text me anything? Not even a, 'I'm back in town and ready to get down,'? Second of all, how did I not see you at all? Me and my... friend drive by here, the diner, and the junkyard all the time. Do you even go anywhere outside of school? Don't you need to go and see nature and shit for photography?" she says through curled lips.
Woah. Bit condescending there, don't you think? But… ugh. Not wrong. Basically just homework and Warcraft. "I wanted to come back," I squeaked out. My voice probably sounded like I was going to cry. Damn it, Max.
A few seconds of silence later and Chloe drops her arms down to her side. "Did Seattle suck hard or did you make it your new Arcadia Bay?" At least this time it sounded sincere, which is really hard to make her do.
"I mean, I'm here? Rather would've always been here with-"
"Hmm, that's why we texted like, three or four times before you ghosted me, right?"
"I didn't know what to say-"
"You don't even have to say anything! Remember when we were kids and you'd come over just to steal my candy before going back to your place like a sugar gremlin?"
God damn you, Chloe. Why were you blessed with the art of backtalk? "It's just every day I felt bad about not texting, and then I just kept thinking about how you probably hate my guts for leaving you when all that shit happened." I feel like this conversation happened before. Has it? At this point I'm so confused as to what happened and what didn't. That daymare must've been a crazy one.
She sighs, saying, "Samesies." Haven't heard that one in a while. "Look, we're probably both shitty people for not texting each other. Hella shit was happening and that was probably why you blew me off." She takes a step back, pointing at the dingy truck with her arms as if it were a prize. "My ol' reliable, by the way. Fixed it up with whatever was hanging around the junkyard."
Oh. Oh wow. I just telepathically bullied this innocent or probably not so innocent truck and it turns out to be hers. At least it works right? "Did you buy it or did you find it in the junkyard?"
Her eyes snap from the truck to me. "Yes. Now, let's drive and talk. Too many people I know here."
This feels almost too nice. Suspicious. Foul play. I mentally squint my third eye towards her and scratch myself against the rusted door handle. Currently taking bets on;
A: Yelling at me in a more private space.
B: Driving all the way to the lighthouse just to push me off and say the wind blew my skinny ass into the ocean.
Or C: Actually have a pleasant talk.
One of these things is not like the other.