I could've kept going with this chapter but it would have been excessively long then, so instead I opted to split it in two parts.
Also, I gotta say I love writing teenagers. They're so much fun with their not-fully-developed prefrontal cortices. Keeps me on my toes.
"What?!" Amy shrieks into the phone. Natara can hear her scrambling to sit up straight on the other end of the line. "He just said he loves you, just like that?"
"I mean, I guess," she says, pulling on a lock of her hair. She pins the phone between her ear and her shoulder as she paces around her room.
"Well how did you react?"
"How do you think?" she asks sarcastically. "It was the middle of the night. He was drunk and I was half asleep. I got the hell out of there."
"Wow," she hears Amy breathe into the phone. "That's crazy."
"I guess I kind of knew it already," she admits, more to herself than to Amy. "It's not like being subtle is a strength of his."
"How did you know?" Amy asks. She can hear the genuine curiosity in her friend's voice.
"All of his notes, for one," she says. "Obviously. I don't think he would have kept sending them all these years otherwise. And also-"
"Whoa, whoa, wait," Amy interrupts. "What do you mean 'all these years?' What notes?"
"Come on, I had to have told you about Mystery Boy," she says, switching ears. "I know I brought it up at least once."
"You told me about Mystery Boy, but you never told me you found out who he was!" Amy squeals. "How did you find out? When did you find out?"
"Uh, I guess about a month ago," she says, counting the weeks in her head. "Maybe a little longer. He sent me a note on graduation and basically admitted it all." It's not entirely true, but it's simpler to explain. Plus, looking back, the fact that she kept every note she ever got from Mystery Boy is a tiny bit weird, and she's not sure if Amy would judge her for it.
"That's so cute!" Amy exclaims. "It's like something out of a movie!"
"Yeah, it would be," she says, "but I don't think that movie would include him showing up at my house in the middle of the night, drunk out of his mind."
"Yeah, that's a good point," Amy concedes. "Did he give a reason at all?"
"Not that I can remember." She thinks back, combing her memories for any small detail. "Truth be told, I'm not sure I even asked him. I don't think it even crossed my mind."
Even now, she doesn't really have a burning desire to know why. He must have had a good reason, or at least, what he thought was a good reason. And she knows alcohol leads people to do things they wouldn't necessarily do otherwise.
What concerns her is that she hasn't heard from him at all today. Granted, that's only a little unusual, and she's sure he's probably just sleeping in after the night he had. Still, she ran out of there pretty fast. What if he got sick? Or what if he didn't even remember coming to her house last night, what he said to her?
"Natara?"
"Huh?"
"I asked if it would be worth it to go see him?"
"Oh," she says, shaking her head, "sorry. I guess I'm just distracted today."
"It's fine, I understand," Amy says.
"I guess maybe it would be," she answers. "I have to face him sometime. It's just…"
"Just what?"
"Just, what do I even say to him, Amy?" she asks as she sighs and runs a hand through her hair. "I'm not good at this. Do I pretend it never happened? Do I tell him I don't feel the same way?"
"Don't you?" Amy asks. Natara frowns.
"No!" she almost yells. "Not really, I think. I don't think I love him."
"You think?"
"I don't exactly have a handbook on what love feels like," she scowls into the phone. "The last person I dated was Oscar Santos, and that was for, like, two months in middle school!"
"Well," her friend says, drawing the word out, "what do you feel?"
"I don't know," she says. Her brows furrow. "He's nice and all, or at least he is when he's not drunk. And he's funny. I swear he always knows what to say to make me laugh. And sometimes when he's not too guarded, he says the sweetest things."
"Okay, but how do you feel about all of that?"
"I like it," she admits. "I won't deny that. And I like him. I like being his friend."
"And is that enough?" Natara bites her lip.
"I have to go, Amy," she says in a rush.
"Yeah I'm sure you do," her friend replies. She can hear the smirk in Amy's voice and hangs up. She hastily gets dressed, not really caring what she looks like. She's grabbing her purse and is halfway out the door when her mom calls out to her from the living room.
"Where are you going?" she asks in a voice that plainly says she knows what the answer is. Natara draws in a breath and prepares herself for the conversation that's about to follow.
"Out," she says vaguely.
"Out where?" Her dad emerges from the kitchen, his arms crossed like they always are when he's unhappy.
She lifts her chin and looks him in the eye. "To meet up with a friend." It's not a lie. Her dad frowns at her.
"Oh? And which friend would that be?" he asks. "I would hope it's not that boy from last night."
"He has a name," she snarks. "I know you know it."
"Doesn't matter if I know his name or not," her dad says. "He had no business showing up here in the middle of the night. It was highly inappropriate, not to mention disgraceful."
"I'm sure there was a reason-"
"I don't like that boy." Natara bristles. She can feel her hands curl into fists but can do nothing to stop the words that fall out of her mouth.
"Then it's a good thing it doesn't matter if you like him or not," she seethes. "I'm eighteen, an adult. I don't need your approval."
"Natara!" her mom gasps. "That was rude!"
"He was rude first!" Her hand flies out to indicate her father, who only glowers at her. Her mom stands and crosses her arms as well.
"He's looking out for you," she says. "And I have to agree with him on this. I don't like you hanging out with that boy."
"Funny, neither of you seemed to mind a couple weeks ago when we went to see the fireworks," Natara says bitterly. "In fact, up until now both of you haven't had a problem with him."
"Honey, we're just concerned that he might not be the best influence," her mom says, reaching out to her. "Drinking so heavily and then coming over and waking us up at two in the morning…. It's not a good look, sweetie."
She pulls away from her mom's arm and steps toward the door. "Is that all you care about? How it would look to the rest of the world?"
"Of course not," her dad says. "We care about your wellbeing. We want to make sure you're making the best choices. And often that means surrounding yourself with people who also make good choices."
She turns away from her parents and grabs her purse, and she takes that second to unclench her teeth. "You don't know him," she says. "I do."
"We know enough."
"You don't."
She turns and leaves. She doesn't even give her parents the satisfaction of watching her slam the door. It's only after she gets into her car that she allows herself to let out the small scream of frustration that's been building.
She doesn't understand what her parents find so hard about giving anyone a fair chance. She knows for a fact they don't know all the details about Mal's parents, and the sadness and anger that must bring for him. Maybe if they did, they would be more understanding. But she doesn't get why they can't be understanding now.
Did he make a few questionable choices? Sure. But she herself has as well. So have her parents. It's not fair that Mal's should be held against him.
She's still fuming about it by the time she pulls up to Mal's house. She wonders if it would be a better idea to drive away and give herself a chance to calm down. Then she worries that she might not have the courage to do what she wants to do when she's calm. So, she yanks her keys out of the ignition, strides up the steps to his front door, and knocks.
There's an electricity in her veins again, similar to the night of the fireworks. She bounces slightly on her toes as she waits, trying to get some of her excess energy out. When she hears footsteps on the other side of the door, she stops bouncing and takes a deep breath in, ready to greet Mal.
