His mom had a new friend. She was a young woman with brown hair and nurse scrubs. And she had a daughter.
"Maren, this is John."
The little girl, about to go off on her first day of kindergarten, just stared at him. She didn't offer a greeting so he lifted his hand in a shy wave. She looked down at the sidewalk.
The woman knelt down in front of her daughter. "Maren, honey, John is in grade one and he's going to ride the bus with you, okay? You need to be nice to him."
John looked up at his own mother, eyebrows furrowed, a silent worry in his eyes. Morning sunlight shined through her blond hair as she smiled at him and gently stroked his hair away from his eyes. "Remember what I said, buddy?"
He nodded because he did. Be a perfect gentleman, she had told him before they left the house. When he asked what she meant, she just winked and said he already knew. He didn't, but when Maren looked up again, he smiled.
"Cool shoes."
He thought she smiled, but then she looked away and it was hard to tell.
Soon the distant rumbling of the school bus announced it was almost time to go. Both their moms said their goodbyes, Maren's mom a little sadder than his, and the squeaky doors closed behind them. He followed Maren to the first empty seat they saw and waited for her to sit down and move her bag. He was just about to sit next to her when he heard his name being called.
"Back here!" His friend, Stanley, called. Joseph was next to him, and he held a game boy high above his head, trying to beckon him down.
It was tempting, but John looked down at the girl in the seat below him, school bag on her lap, feet swinging and eyes focused out the window. He waved to his friends before taking the empty spot next to Maren. Unlike her, his toes could touch the floor if he stretched.
"You don't have to sit here if don't want to." She said, shrugging. She still just stared out the window. "I won't tell."
He did glance back over his shoulder, but only for a moment. He needed to be whatever a gentleman was, and he had a feeling Maren needed a friend.
So he tapped her sneaker with his. "But I want to sit with you."
She finally looked up. Her smile was small but it made him grin. She looked down at her swinging feet and then at his, pressing her lips together. "Your shoes are cool too."
He knew his plain sneakers definitely weren't nearly as cool as her burgundy chuck taylors—how could you get cooler than that anyway?—but he didn't argue. He just smiled and talked and filled whatever silence came up. By the end of the bus ride he still wasn't sure if that's what being a gentleman was, but Maren was smiling when they stopped in front of the school, and John decided that was all that mattered.
. . .
Mark James was mean. John had concluded that a few days after he first started Kindergarten. Now, a whole year later as he stood at the other end of the soccer field, watching a smirking Mark step onto the field, he knew he was still mean. John was hardly a fan of recess soccer games anymore. He was tripped almost every game and had to duck under a few well-aimed balls more than once. It didn't bother him too much now; he was used to it after dealing with it all through kindergarten. So when he fell to the ground today after being tripped up by a certain bully, and grass stained his pants and he watched Mark score a goal, he wasn't surprised. He got up and dusted off his hands.
A minute later there was a chorus of laughter and John turned to see what the commotion was about. Mark was sitting on the ground rubbing an elbow while a little girl with raven hair, who usually only came up to his chin, stood over him with balled-up fists.
Maren's eyes met John's across the field, then she turned and walked away.
Mark didn't bother John at recess after that.
. . .
"I don't know about this, Maren."
Maren looked over her shoulder at John, who glanced anxiously between her and the faded blue house they were walking away from. Walking away from, and into the woods. They were already quite far in there, the house barely visible through the trees. What exactly convinced him to go this far again?
"It'll be fine." Oh yeah, she's what convinced him. "I do this all the time."
"By yourself?" John asked.
He knew it was a stupid question, and she did too because she didn't answer, just turned and continued her trek over the crunchy fall leaves. He pressed his lips together and looked at the tempting path behind him. He knew he'd follow her though. He always did.
Sighing, he stomped along behind her, like a stubborn dog on a leash. "You know there's bears in the woods."
"Yup." She replied easily. He rolled his eyes. How could it be that she was a girl in grade two and she was still a hundred times more brave than him? "Hurry up."
He obeyed, running a few feet to catch up to her. He examined the shadows under the trees carefully. "And wolves. There's wolves in the woods too."
"Come on."
They continued, passing tree after tree until they came to one much bigger than the rest. It stood tall above them, most of its leaves gone now, thick branches extending close to the ground.
"Here it is." She said.
"Cool." He craned his neck to see to the top, but quickly looked down again when he saw her move away from him. "What are you doing?" He asked.
"Climbing."
"What?" She ignored him, just grabbing onto the lowest branch and pulling herself up with a slight struggle. "That's really high, I don't think–"
"It's fine."
He held his breath when she climbed yet another precarious-looking branch, hands already poised to grab the next. He really didn't think it was "fine," but Maren seemed sure and arguing with her had never gotten him anywhere good. He shook his head as he somehow managed to move his hands enough to grab the first branch. It's not like he could let her go up there by herself anyway, even if she had done it lots of times before.
It was easier for him to climb the branches since he was taller, but he never caught up to her until she reached her destination. She sat on a thick branch high above the ground, and looked out over the woods for a moment before her eyes landed on him a few branches down. He figured he must have looked pretty scared telling from her grin, but he didn't mind if it made her smile like that.
She scooted over on the branch to make room for him and then they just sat there for a minute, shoulders touching, eyes scanning the reds and yellows of autumn far below.
"Cool right?" She asked.
"Yeah." He replied, because it was. She swung her feet back and forth and he wanted to tell her not to move too much in case she lost her balance, but then he figured she wouldn't listen anyway. "Bears can climb, you know." He said instead.
She shook her head for a moment before breaking into a giggle. He couldn't help but smile too.
They stayed up there for a while, talking and looking and John holding his breath when Maren decided to see how far up she could climb. Eventually it got late and they climbed down, starting their trek back to Maren's house.
"Do you know how to get back?" He asked.
All she did was roll her eyes and link her small hand with his, pulling him along, their way lit by the orange glow of the sunset. She didn't say it but he heard the silent request anyway.
Follow me.
He did.
He'd follow her anywhere.
. . .
The transition to junior high was a tough one. John had friends other than Maren of course. Stanley and Joseph had remained his best friends through the years, which, as he looked back on it from his much wiser grade seven perspective, was kind of rare. He liked them, he could count on them, and they were fun to hang out with. Logically, he shouldn't have had a worry about going to another school with such a strong support like his two friends. But he did have one issue that made going from grade six to grade seven a much harder task.
Maren wouldn't be coming.
He knew he didn't need her to get by, and she didn't need him. They both had their own friends, their own classrooms, grades, lives... but despite this, heading to the bus stop that extra half an hour early was more bitter than sweet, and it had nothing to do with the earlier hour. Today he would have to wait alone. No Maren.
So on he trudged, on his normal route to his normal bus stop, which usually only took five minutes, but today took him an extra two. Maybe he was scuffing his feet a little.
He looked up as he neared the stop, where a bare curb side waited for him, save for just one other person.
Wait... nobody else was ever at his bus stop, except...
"Took you long enough." Maren called, slowly standing up before turning to him. "I was beginning to think I'd have to go to the school in your place."
"What are you doing here?"
"You didn't think I'd let you wait at the bus stop for your first day of junior high alone, did you?"
He didn't respond, too busy trying to keep his grin down to an acceptable level. But who was he kidding? He probably looked crazy. She didn't seem to care, smiling too as he came closer. He always found her smile funny, but not in the way where he'd actually laugh. It was because her smile, her real smile (not a smirk or a grin), always had a certain hesitancy to it, almost like she was scared to let anyone see it. Not for the first time, he found himself confused as he looked at her. He couldn't imagine why a girl with a smile that pretty would ever be worried to show it.
As he neared her, he decided that he didn't care what she thought of him, and wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. She squeaked, clearly not expecting it. But she relaxed after a moment, hugging him back a little looser and tucking her chin over his shoulder.
"You know I'm not going with you, right?" She teased.
He nodded, releasing her. Her cheeks were a little red. "I know." He said.
"Well, we need to talk about that, and thanks to you being late, we don't have much time." She looked down the road, but no bus could be seen yet. "First things first: if Mark James tries to mess with you, tell him I know where he lives..."
. . .
"I'm not doing it, Mom."
"Come on, John. It'll be fine."
"Everyone is going to notice."
"It's going to look good."
John glared at the car keys in his mother's hand, not confident they both had the same idea of what 'good' meant. She wanted him to cut his hair, but he didn't think he needed to. It wasn't even that long, but she told him he looked like a shaggy dog.
"No." He shook his head, sitting back on his bed and leaning into the headboard. "I'm good. Thanks though."
She stood in the doorway for a few moments, pressing her lips together and looking at her son with narrowed eyes. He wasn't usually stubborn. Most times she didn't even have to tell him to do things more than once, but the boy apparently had a special attachment to his blond locks that rivalled his mother's persuasion skills.
He watched her leave the room, and assumed she'd given up.
No such luck.
It was fifteen minutes later when there was a knock on his bedroom door. He shook his head, trying to focus on his math homework. See? He was willingly doing homework. He was a good son. Surely she would let him get away with just this one thing.
"I'm not doing it Mom." He repeated.
"Not your mom. But I'll be sure to let her know." It was Maren's voice.
He sighed loudly, unintentionally breaking his pencil lead on the paper in front of him in his irritation. "Did she call you for reinforcements?"
"Oh, stop being dramatic. Are you decent?" He rolled his eyes and got up, moving across his room to open the door. Maren stood on the other side, arching an eyebrow. "So you're in a mood. Awesome."
He huffed, which only proved her point. "I'm not in a mood."
"No, you are." She said, following him in the room and closing the door behind her. "You know what I think will help though?"
"Don't say–"
"A haircut."
He glared at her. It was bad enough that his mom was on his case about it, he didn't need Maren against him too. Getting her off his tail wouldn't be as easy.
Maren sat down in his computer chair and spun it to face him. "Why don't you want to do it?"
"Well... I don't know." He reached a hand up and felt the familiar length curling around his fingers. "I don't need to. It's not even that long."
"It's a little long."
"It's not."
"Do you want me to get a ruler?"
She raised her eyebrows at him as he sat on his bed. He knew she would actually go get a ruler if he fought her on that fact anymore. "It's been like this for so long." He tried. "It'll be weird if it's different."
Maren tilted her head. "Weird for who?"
"Me."
"Why?"
He sighed, adopting the same position he was in before she came in and continuing his worksheet. A few moments of silence stretched by. He penciled in an answer.
"Are you actually ignoring me right now?" Her voice was offended, and he struggled not to stick his tongue out at her.
He wasn't really ignoring her. He couldn't. Not when her every movement made him fight the urge to look at her, not when her voice made everything else disappear, not when just her very presence stirred something in him that made his heart beat that much faster. No, he could never ignore Maren Elizabeth. The mere mention of such an idea was so incredibly wrong that she wouldn't have believed it if he told her.
Still, he heard the chair click and then she was sitting at the foot of his bed, leaning against the footboard and crossing her socked feet on the mattress by his knees.
"Listen, I don't know who you think you are, but nobody is going to care." She stretched to nudge his binder with her foot, throwing off his writing. "You're a guy in grade ten, not... I don't know, Taylor Swift walking down the red carpet."
He filled in another question as he raised an eyebrow, amused despite himself. "Is that seriously the only celebrity you could think of?"
"No." She said. "You're both blond and dramatic. I thought it'd fit."
That was worth looking up for, if only to see the little self-satisfied grin on her face. Since he couldn't think of a retort, he wiggled his fingers on the bottom of her foot and smirked when she yanked them out of his reach with a squeak.
She glared at him, but he saw the humour behind it. "I'm trying to help you."
"By comparing me to Taylor swift?"
"I bet Taylor Swift gets her hair cut."
He shook his head, not bothering to stifle his laugh. It was a losing battle anyway when her grin always made his bad mood vanish like it was never there in the first place.
"I don't want to be like Taylor Swift." He said.
"Well don't." She eased her feet back where they were. "Be like John. John who gets his hair cut because his head is starting to look like a mop."
"It's not that bad."
Her gaze didn't waver. "A dirty mop."
He sighed. His mother would be so smug. "Fine. I'll do it."
Maren cheered and he rolled his eyes. He took his binder off his lap and laid it to the side, swinging his legs over hers to the edge of the bed. She frowned at his retreat.
"Oh, so you're going, like, now?"
He nodded. "Yup. Mom's been trying to convince me to go to the hairdresser's all morning." He grabbed a sweater from the closet. "Why? Will you miss my charming company?"
"Of course." She snorted.
He pulled the sweater over his head, and when he got his head through she had stood from the bed and was coming in his direction. She stopped in front of him, calculating grey eyes focused north of his own. She reached up to thread her fingers through his hair, tilting her head. He tried to focus on something else. Anything else. He hoped she couldn't hear his heart pounding.
She nodded. "That's three inches at least." He blinked at her, unimpressed with her comment while a grin stretched across her lips. She chuckled, ruffling his hair before taking her hand away. "It's going to look good, John."
Maren left shortly after that, objecting to being driven home since her house was only a couple minutes walk away. When he got in the car, his mother gave him a type of knowing look that caused a blush to creep up his neck.
"Why is she the only one who can convince you to do things?" She asked.
He shrugged. "She's persuasive I guess."
His mother just hummed, and he refused to think about what it meant.
Maren was late for the bus the next morning. She'd texted him and told him to make the bus driver wait, so he did. It only took her less than a minute to get there after they'd stopped, and John's jaw dropped when she jogged up the steps, out of breath. She quickly thanked the bus driver and sat beside him, clearing her throat as the doors shut and they began moving.
Maren's hair was blond.
She nodded to him. "I told you your hair would look good."
Blond. Why? How?
"You – I... what...?"
Blond.
She rolled her eyes and let out a breath, running her fingers through her blond ponytail. Raven hair to blond hair. He couldn't even imagine the process it would take to make hair that dark into hair that light.
"Well, now nobody's looking at you, are they?" She muttered.
His head swivelled, taking in the faces at each seat, all their eyes locked on the head of hair beside him instead of his own. He was in disbelief, staring at the girl next to him with such awe that she pushed his head away with an index finger to his cheek. He looked back right after, not even deterred when she huffed at him.
"It looks nice." He said. Then, swallowing a spike of fear, he continued. "Beautiful actually."
He didn't miss the blush that creeped onto her cheeks. "I'm dyeing it back tomorrow."
"Then I'll say the same thing tomorrow."
Her eyes flashed to his, and he smiled. She looked so different, but her eyes were the same. She made a sound in the back of her throat and leaned back in the seat, fingers playing with a zipper on her bag.
"You look beautiful too." She said flatly.
He laughed and she let out a stubborn smile.
Sure enough, her hair was back to normal the next day. He told her the same thing, and didn't care that she rolled her eyes.
Beautiful.
. . .
Maren wore black. It wasn't anything particularly different. Just black pants and a black jacket with pockets she could stuff her hands into. John wore a suit.
It had been quick. Someone ran a red light, and the doctors said that her brain died the second her temple broke the window of the driver's side door.
The somber crowd stood in front of his mother's grave, silent as the priest read out some words that John was sure nobody was listening to. The bright sun overhead warmed his shoulders, and he pulled at the collar of his shirt. Birds chirped in the trees, cars passed on the road, the clouds drifted by above. Life went on, but it seemed so wrong. So, so wrong.
John ran his fingers over his short hair.
When his father got up to say some words, he couldn't listen. Henri's voice was thick as he read the words he'd written during the nights he couldn't sleep, and John knew it would be like this for a long time—scripted words, choked voices, sleepless nights. His dreams and nightmares were already equal forms of torture. He vaguely wondered if this were a nightmare. It couldn't be real. He couldn't be here, listening to these words, wearing these clothes. His mother couldn't be going into the ground today. It was too sunny and the sky was too blue against the dark casket. It couldn't be–
A hand gripped his. Fingers threaded through his own and squeezed hard enough to keep the world from crumbling around him. Hard enough that it hurt.
That was the first time he ever saw Maren Elizabeth cry.
They went home after the ceremony, and many other cars followed. People showed up to his house, still in those dark clothes with those downcast eyes he couldn't bear to look at. They also brought food. That truly made it better.
He stayed in the house as long as he could, but eventually couldn't stand it anymore. He threw on a pair of jeans and a hoodie, and Maren followed him out the door. They walked in silence for a long time. He didn't know how much time had passed when they made it to the beach, but the sun was setting and the sky shone in vibrant shades of orange and pink. The air smelled of salt water and the ocean sparkled before them, foamy waves peacefully lapping the shore. None of this was right.
He dropped onto the smooth stones and Maren sat at his side, her face glowing in the warm light. He thought that this was wrong too—that out of everything, his first thought was how beautiful she looked. She could've been an angel, and he'd be a fool to say otherwise.
"It's too nice a day for... this." Her voice was ragged. Maren had loved Lara too, and he knew she was hurting more than she let him see.
"I know."
A cool breeze blew off the ocean, and she leaned into him, her head on his shoulder as he blinked against the sunset.
"You also have a lot of lasagna in your fridge." She said.
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"No." She shook her head, her voice solemn. "There's, like, twenty dishes of it. You should feel way worse."
The sun was warm on his skin and Maren's hair brushed against his cheek, and when his sore throat let out a laugh, it was the only thing about the day that felt right.
. . .
He didn't see Maren again until three days after the funeral. He was glad for the space, glad that she knew he'd want to try and get over it alone for as long as he could bear being alone. And she also must've known, somehow, that he had reached his limit of solitude on the third day.
It was raining the day she showed up at his door. Water dripped from the ends of her hair, and the shoulders and hood of her sweater were dark, patterned by the falling drops. With her grey eyes matching the sky, she almost looked like she belonged there, out in the rain. She'd always liked it anyway.
She asked him if he wanted to go for a drive. She only had her drivers permit, which meant she wasn't technically allowed to drive without an adult in the car, but he told her he'd be back in a minute after he changed. Her mom's old Toyota was idling on the road when he jogged to the sidewalk, and seeing Maren behind the wheel instead of Katerina was almost jarring. He'd never been in the car with her driving before, but he didn't hesitate before getting in. Despite what happened to his own mother, he wasn't scared of driving, or cars, and especially not scared of anything that Maren was involved in.
They went to McDonald's and Maren ordered him a chocolate milkshake without having to ask. She got vanilla and a large fries to share between them. Then she drove to the parking lot of a walking trail that overlooked a lake. Neither made any move to get out—the trail was too muddy for walking now and neither of them were dressed for it anyway. Maren took the fries from the bag and put it on the centre console between them.
She didn't say anything, and he didn't either. John realized how rare it was for silence between two people to be just as comfortable as talking. He remembered how she told him once that trying to talk to people who were going through pain was stupid. Nothing could be said to make them stop hurting. The words came in the form of an angry rant after she broke her leg, but he felt the same applied to the situation now.
So they sat there, letting the sound of rain on the windows fill the silence, and staring out through the windshield. The lake was blurred from the running water. Or maybe it was just because his eyes were tearing up.
Like at the funeral, Maren took his hand. She didn't offer any words, or give him any pitying glances. She just squeezed his fingers, the world somehow stayed intact.
. . .
The first time they kissed was during the summer before John went off to university. His friend Stanley, who Maren truly couldn't stand, threw a party, and John invited her to go with him, claiming he'd throw himself out a window before the night was up if she didn't come to keep him company. They had somehow ended up in the now-messy living room of the Worthington house, nearly thirty people sprawled on couches and a hardwood floor, trapped in the juvenile game she thought she'd never play again after middle school.
"John, truth or dare?"
She wasn't surprised to see that Mark James was the source of the question. Apparently Stanley hadn't invited him, but he showed up anyway, and now Stanley was too drunk to care. Just the sight of Mark made Maren's blood boil, but she tried to look nonchalant for John's sake. He glanced at her with a raised eyebrow, and she rolled her eyes, taking a sip from her red cup. John smiled a little, lifting his beer as he turned back to Mark.
"Dare."
Mark smirked, and Maren knew what he had in mind couldn't be anything good. Maybe John would have to drink something gross, or lick the bottom of his shoe, or–
"I dare you to kiss Maren."
Maren coughed on her drink.
John's beer was almost to his mouth, but he froze, face slack. Whistles and laughter sounded around the room, and she willed her face not to turn red. Apparently everyone knew they were close. She saw all their eyes move back and forth between them on the small love-seat, some gazes interested, some gazes doubtful, some just drunk. Mark raised an eyebrow, waiting.
John glanced at her with fear in his eyes. She was scared too. Her stomach knotted and turned, and her heart pounded so hard she feared Mark may hear it from across the room. But those eyes... she knew those eyes. She'd been looking at them since the first day of kindergarten. They were a deep blue, thoughtful and hesitant, familiar and hypnotizing. They were the kind of eyes she could get lost in, staring for hours until she'd memorized every fleck of colour and named every shade of blue. They were the kind of eyes that pulled her heart in every time she made the mistake of looking into them.
John shook his head, even as Mark called for him to hurry up. "We don't have to, we can leave."
She sighed. Always a damn gentleman.
Before she could think too much about it, her hand found the back of his neck, and she pulled his face to hers. His lips tasted like beer, and hers probably tasted like vodka, but neither of them seemed to care. Something sparked in her, something that was somehow new and familiar at the same time, and confirmed what she had refused to think about for a while now. She found that she quite liked kissing John.
It didn't last long, not nearly as long as she wanted it to, but she pulled back anyway, tearing her eyes from him before she lost the fight against the urge to pull him in again. People whistled more and Maren's face burned. She took a long sip from her drink.
Later she'd tell herself she only did it to shut Mark up, but when she looked at John every time after that, she knew she did it for herself.
. . .
Maren cried the day John went off to university. Not in front of him of course. She'd waited until after she had gone over to see him off.
When she entered his room there was a mess of boxes littered around, suitcases and Rubbermaid bins packed to the brim with so much stuff she was sure it wouldn't all fit in his small sedan. So she told him so.
"That's not all fitting in your car. Are you blind or something?"
John looked up to where she was leaned against his doorframe, hands in the pocket of her hoodie. It was a rainy day outside and her clothes and hair were wet from the walk over. At least the weather matched the occasion.
"I don't see how that's any of your business." John said haughtily. "It's my stuff."
"It's going to be my business when you break down on the trans-Canada and you're too afraid to call Henri to come get you."
She ambled into the room while he smiled, dropping the snooty act almost as quickly as it started. She eyed the boxes. There were no labels or any other means of telling what could be in them. "John, you need to get rid of some of this stuff. Your roommate is going to sue you for taking up so much space."
He laughed, but there was a solemness to his gaze. She knew it would be there, but she didn't want it to be. She wanted everything to be normal, to hangout without the pending months apart looming over them like the rainclouds outside.
"Do you want to help me?" He asked.
She did. "Well, clearly you need it."
He gave her a dry sweater to change into, and they got to looking through the boxes. A lot of it was spare clothes that he couldn't fit in his suitcase, and she assaulted him with a sarcastic long-winded speech about the importance of having a surplus of jeans until he caved and put some of them back, leaving himself with a reasonable number. They went through it all—the box with a mountain of school supplies, to the box with even more clothes, and then, hilariously, to a box full of sports trophies that he'd won throughout the years. He did fight her on that one, but when she'd asked him how they were useful to him in anyway for the twentieth time and he came up with no response, he put those back too.
Finally she got to the last box while he still worked on reorganizing his trophies. Clearly it was a bunch of things with memories attached to them. Keychains, a couple little novelty snow globe things, and pictures. She wasn't surprised to find that there were pictures of his family. Lara's face smiled up at her from one of the picture frames, a younger John and Henri beside her. He wasn't that much younger in the picture than he was now, but he'd grown a lot. The years had obviously filled him out. He was taller, shoulders broader, with a strong jaw and eyes that held a certain wisdom in them ever since that sunny day a little over a year ago. She could almost pinpoint the moment he changed, when his smile came a little less often, and his voice got a little more steady. His mother's loss hadn't hardened him though. He was exactly who she had wanted him to be.
Maren felt a sharp sadness within her. Lara hadn't gotten to see the man her son had become, but she got to look at him everyday. And now he was leaving.
Then she noticed something else about the box, and froze. Amongst the pictures, the little toys, and the memories, she was there too. She recognized a hockey puck they had gotten years ago when a team shot it over the glass. There was a rubik's cube that she'd given him in junior high, just to annoy him. She remembered him bringing it to lunch for weeks, trying to finish it, but only getting more annoyed with the object. She'd tried too, just to get him to stop agonizing over it, but she couldn't get it either. The colours were still mixed up on the stupid thing.
And then the pictures—there were so many pictures. Her with his family, him with her and Katerina. He even had pictures of two of them together as children, him grinning at the camera while he tugged her stubborn form closer by her hand.
She reached into the box, carefully picking up a photo strip they'd gotten when he dragged her into the little photo booth in the mall. The faces he made were priceless in them, and hers was bored until the third frame, when he'd gotten tired of her stoic act and dug his fingers into her sides so she nearly jumped out of the thing. In the fourth picture he'd tugged the hair-tie from her ponytail to get a reaction, and in the fifth her fist was blurred as she swung it at him. He was grinning as he tried to block the assault, knowing he'd deserved it. The day wasn't actually that long ago. She remembered the whirring of the machine as she put her hair back up, and John laughing as he showed her the finished product. The machine had malfunctioned and only printed one copy, but she suggested he keep it since she'd probably just lose it. He hadn't lost it. He hadn't lost a thing.
Finally John realized where she was looking and came over beside her, chuckling at the photo strip as he took it from her loose grasp. She stood, frozen, staring into the box. The more she looked at it, the more memories it brought up. Flashes of her childhood went through her mind, and in all of them John was there, just as he was now.
Just as he wouldn't be after today.
She hadn't realized until now that her throat felt funny. "You... kept it all."
John looked into the box as he dropped the pictures back into it. "Yeah, I guess I did." He scratched the back of his neck, ears turning red. "I didn't want to forget anything."
Of course he didn't.
She was blinking fast and John frowned at her. "Maren? Are you...?"
She nodded. Without thinking, she reached for him, knowing he'd be there. He always was. She wrapped her arms around him tight, burying her head in his shoulder, and he didn't ask questions, just held her to him while she breathed it all in, trying to memorize this moment, and every moment before. She only had pictures on her phone and a few trinkets to remember him by, but he had kept everything. Everything.
So she might have cried a little in front of him.
She left his house quickly after that, saying goodbye and wishing him a safe trip before she left. She hurried through the rain, got to her house, and went straight to her room, ignoring the questions her mother tried to ask as she stormed through the house. She locked her bedroom door and sat down on the bed, blinking ahead at the grey wall in front of her.
A familiar scent caught her nose, and she realized she was still wearing his sweater.
A tear was already halfway down her cheek by the time she realized she was crying, and she swore, angrily wiping it away. However, no matter how many curses she muttered, or how hard she clutched the fabric in her hand, the tears didn't stop coming.
She didn't watch for his car to go down the road. Instead, she laid on top of her sheets, watching the fan blade spin around and around, hoping to distract herself from the heaviness in her gut that increased every minute he was gone.
It didn't work.
. . .
The months he was gone were... difficult, but not impossible. She had other friends after all, and texted him all the time. It was nice to see him enjoying where he was. When she spoke to him on the phone, which was almost every night, he'd tell her about his classes, the hockey team he was on, the weird students, and the even weirder professors. They'd talk for an hour sometimes, laughing about each other's stories from the day to the point where she'd almost forget that he was eleven hours across the province instead of ten doors down from hers. She'd roll her eyes at herself in these moments for being so dramatic about him leaving. But then she'd have to hang up the phone and stand alone at the bus stop the next day, and she remembered why it had been so hard to see him go.
The gravity of it really only hit when he came home for his winter break. She found herself tapping her foot the whole day, distracted so much that it had warranted a fair bit of teasing from her friends, but she didn't care. He was coming back.
He left the university right after his exams were over, and when the text came at 11:00 that night that he was home, she forgot to put on a jacket before she ran out the door.
Even dodging the ice on the sidewalk, it only took her five minutes to get to his house, pressing on the doorbell repeatedly in a way that she knew would make Henri roll his eyes. He was in the middle of doing just that when he swung the door open, letting out an unsurprised chuckle when he saw it was her on the other side.
"He's in the kitchen." Was all he said.
She headed straight for the directed room to find John standing by the counter, putting a piece of bread in the toaster, probably hungry after the long trip. He looked over his shoulder when he heard footsteps and her heart squeezed at the sight of him. She'd expected him to look different for some reason, like the months apart would morph him into someone new, someone so different that fear filled her at the thought of barging in there only to see a stranger staring back. He hadn't changed though. He looked the same except for the way his hair flopped a little bit over his eyes, and he was wearing a hoodie from the university. But when he grinned…
Yeah. He was back.
The force she collided with him would have made anyone else stumble, but he braced himself for the impact and barely moved an inch when she crashed into him without hesitation, holding onto him like he was threatening to leave again. She breathed in his scent, felt his arms wrap around her, and let his warm laugh settle something into place that was missing ever since he'd left.
They had to have stayed like that for a couple minutes at least, because she only pulled away when the toaster dinged. He didn't move to get his food though, watching her as she took a step back. Her eyes were stinging, and she couldn't remember ever crying from joy before.
"I missed you too." He said.
She blinked back the moisture in her eyes and cleared her throat, only comprehending then how unlike her the moment before was—rushing in here like a bat out of hell and practically throwing herself in his arms. And she wasn't a hugger.
Warmth bloomed on her cheeks. John looked like he was trying not to laugh.
"You need a haircut." She said stiffly.
He raised his eyebrows. "Oh, so I'm back for five minutes and you're already bossing me around?"
"You said you missed me. That includes the bossing around part too."
Something shined in his eyes, and she'd tease him for crying if she wasn't on the brink of it herself. "I missed everything." He said, his voice suddenly serious.
"Me too." The words slipped out before she could control it.
The corner of his mouth pulled up. "I think I missed a lot actually." He said. "Are you a hugger now?"
She didn't know what to say to that, but it didn't matter. He opened his arms again, and she had a feeling she'd never stop returning to his embrace.
. . .
John went back to school in January. The cold season only made his absence more apparent. Because John was warm and steady, like a furnace in a cold room, and when it was winter and the furnace was gone, things died. Maybe the metaphor was a little dramatic for someone who was only missing a friend, but Maren couldn't remember ever hating winter more than she did that year.
It might've had to do with something he said to her on the phone.
"I have to go. You know how hard it is for me to pick out an outfit."
"Where are you going?"
A pause.
"Joseph set me up with someone in his physics class."
She hadn't been sure what to make of that, or the feeling that clawed at her insides like an enraged animal. But he said he had to go anyway, and she thought it was better not to think about it.
"Alright, well send me a picture before you go. I want to make sure you don't blind the poor girl."
He laughed and hung up. She received the picture ten minutes later—him standing in a mirror that was barely big enough to fit his whole body, casual in a pair of jeans, a white t-shirt, and a loose plaid long-sleeve to go over it. He had his tongue stuck out and his eyebrows quirked dramatically, like that was supposed to make him look any less attractive.
Something boiled in her, and it was rich and unpleasant, like if bile were an emotion. But she stuffed it down. She texted back, telling him everything looked good and wished him luck. He sent her a thumbs up emoji in response.
When her phone rang later that night, and John's face lit up the screen, she let it go to voicemail. She wasn't sure why.
. . .
When John came home that summer, things were different with Maren. It wasn't anything obvious. In fact, everything was so normal that sometimes he'd be convinced he was making things up. But then she'd grin at him, or say something a particular way that just made everything stop, and he'd find himself unable to do anything but look at her. It's not like she had never rendered him speechless before, but in these times he felt as though he was knocked off his feet with... something. Though he wasn't sure what.
The summer night was pleasantly cool as John leaned on the rail of the deck at Stanley's house, a beer in his hand. He was home for the summer, and Stanley, of course, threw a large party to celebrate the completion of "everyone's first year of actual life." John knew his friend better than that though, and he knew there didn't need to be any reason for celebration for Stanley to have a party. He just liked having them.
"Wait, so you're telling me you were dating this girl," Stanley pointed at a picture of Sarah Hart from her Instagram page Joseph showed him, "and you broke up with her?"
"I guess so." John shrugged and Joseph tugged his phone out of Stanley's grip since Stanley was staring for a little too long.
"Why?"
That was a question John gave up asking himself. Sarah was nice, talkative, pretty, and sweet—everything any guy would kill for. But every time they went on a date, John felt a strange guilt in him that only grew stronger the more Sarah smiled at him. The relationship had lasted a month.
"Whatever." Stanley took a swig of his beer. "All I'm saying is that if she didn't make the cut, your standards are impossibly high."
As if on cue, the reason for his impossibly high standards appeared in the doorway.
"There you are!"
And Maren was drunk.
Glazed grey eyes locked on John as she paused in the doorway directing a wobbly point in his direction. Her unsteady steps took her across the wooden deck as she completely ignored a grinning Stanley and Joseph, who found quite a bit of amusement in watching the ever-stoic girl become uncoiled after a few drinks. John found it funny too, but more because she always put up a fight against going to these things, only to show up anyway and embrace the activity to its fullest extent.
"Here I am." He replied, spreading his arms.
Like an instinct, she immediately collapsed into him. Apparently she forgot about the drink in her hand, and John watched the red cup drop to the ground, whatever concoction that was inside spilling across the wood. He feigned a dramatic sigh as he wrapped his arms around her, squeezing and rocking her back and forth so she let out a giggle that only ever surfaced after hour two of any party. A grin crept onto his face.
Despite his amusement, he took her shoulders and gently pushed her back so he could see her face. It was flushed and strands of her recently taken down hair drifted in front of her face. She rolled her unfocused eyes, disappointed from the shortness of the hug. Drunk Maren was affectionate.
"How many drinks have you had?"
She hummed, going for mysterious but only managing to achieve a squinty-eyed hesitation at best. "None."
"Right."
"It's true." She argued—lied—as she turned and leaned on the railing beside him. She made an 'O' shape with her hand and put it up to her eye so she could look at him through it. "Zero."
Before John could convince her to give him a real answer, Stanley held up a hand. "I got this. Hey! Maren, over here!" He snapped his fingers in the air like he was trying to get a dog's attention. Obediently, Maren lolled her head in his direction. He smirked and winked at her. "How you doin', sweetheart?"
A lazy grin spread across her face as she leaned against John for support. Her voice was hilariously slurred when she answered.
"How you doin'?"
Stanley hummed in affirmation, eyeing John. "That's a four drink reaction right there."
"Maybe five." Joseph offered.
John watched Maren cautiously as she seemed to look around for her lost cup. Not able to find it, she took his beer from his loose grasp and drank that instead. He nodded. "Right. Well, we're going home."
It didn't take much convincing to get Maren to agree to the plan, although he was almost sure nothing he told her was being fully comprehended. She easily let him guide her through the house and onto the sidewalk in front of it. She lost her beer somewhere along the way.
His house wasn't actually that far a walk from Stanley's, only far enough away that their bus stops were separate. So John led Maren down the sidewalk, coaxing her along with soft words that would never work if she were sober. He had done this exact thing a few times before, and found himself thankful that her stubbornness went away almost completely when she drank.
"I wanna go back."
Almost completely.
"No, we're going home. Back to my house."
"Why?"
"Because you're going to be mess tomorrow."
Of course, there was no hope of her comprehending anything right then, but he always liked to explain what was happening, even if his assurances were falling on deaf ears.
Suddenly she stopped walking. Assuming she was too unbalanced to continue, he started to wrap an arm around her to help her along, only to stop short when she turned in his grasp, looking up so her nose almost touched his. Before he could put more space between them, her cool hands came to rest on either side of his face, and he was too frozen to move.
"You're my favourite. Y'know that?"
He wasn't sure if it was her hands on his skin, or the proximity that made his heart pound.
"Your favourite what?"
"Everything."
Both. Definitely both.
The cool night air was suddenly stifling as she kept her eyes on him. Her hands on him. John could only stand there, knowing he should step away not being able to will his legs to move. She was drunk. Whatever he was feeling wasn't right. His heart pounded forcefully in his chest.
"I love you." She said.
He cleared his throat. "I love you too."
They had said the words many times before, and sometimes it was joke, and sometimes it was serious. But they were friends. People were allowed to love their friends.
She shook her head. "No, but..."
She stopped, eyes dropping down to his chest. He waited on a held breath for her to continue, to say whatever her drunk mind conjured up. He didn't know what it would be, but he wanted to hear whatever she was hesitating to say so bad.
Maren turned and threw up in the bushes.
John didn't know if the interruption was a blessing or a curse.
He quickly regained control of his movements and stepped forward, pulling her hair away from her face and smoothing a hand across her shoulders. He supplied soft reassurances to her as she crouched over, breathing heavy.
He helped her stand straight again, and she muttered something incoherent as she slouched against him. It sounded like a groan.
"I know..." He mumbled, supporting her weight as he started down the sidewalk again, now at a much slower speed. He pressed a brief kiss to the top of her head. "I know."
He brought her back to his house to avoid Katerina witnessing her daughter in such a state. It was also pretty late, which meant he had to step carefully in the house so he didn't wake Henri. He brought Maren to his room, took off her shoes, and laid her on the bed, where she seemed to pass out as soon as her head touched the pillow. After taking all the precautions—propping her up on her side with pillows, putting a bucket by the side of the bed—he sighed and brushed her hair away from her face before leaving to set up a bed on the living room couch. It took him two hours to fall asleep.
The next morning was filled with headaches and cursing and nausea on Maren's end, and slight amusement on John's end. He heard her groans when she woke up and convinced her that getting a shower would help, so she did, grumbling about the stupid party, and stupid Stanley, and vodka, why vodka? as she went.
She got changed into a spare set of pyjamas she'd left there and when she came out for breakfast, he had a few aspirin waiting on the table for her next to a glass of juice.
"I love you." She sighed gratefully as she took the pills in her hand.
Forcing a smile that she didn't even look at, John picked up his glass and put it in the dish washer. He watched her for a moment, tired eyes, slow movements, wet hair in a loose ponytail. She didn't remember the walk home last night.
He left the kitchen before the once completely normal sentiment could leave his mouth.
I love you too.
. . .
She remembered.
At first she was hoping that the memories were just some hangover-induced dream, but she knew that theory was wrong as soon as she thought it up. She remembered the walk home, the way the alcohol clouded in her mind, making her thoughts spill out until a wave of nausea mercifully stopped her from continuing. It was amazing, maybe, how she usually forgot the trip home from a night of drinking, but somehow managed to remember every detail from last night. But then she thought that maybe the mind just had a way of imprinting stupid decisions and stupid words.
But they were true words.
John didn't know how true they were.
Loving him wasn't anything new. She had admitted it to herself when she was around thirteen, that yes, she loved John Smith. Even then, it wasn't a romantic love. When she looked back on all the memories they shared, she couldn't exactly pinpoint the very moment it changed, but secretly figured it had something to do with a party, a dare, and a kiss. Maybe that was the moment she realized that what she felt for him was more than what they were. But what could she have done about it then? A month after that he had left for university, and saying goodbye was hard anyway, she couldn't imagine what it would've been like to tell him how she felt right before he drove away.
He would leave again soon, but this time she would go with him. She'd enrolled in the same university and got in, so they'd be going together this year. No tearful goodbyes, no tearful reunions. So what was stopping her now?
Fear, she knew, was only an excuse. But it was a damn good one.
. . .
To John, it wasn't surprising that within days of arriving at the university, Maren had already cursed the institution a dozen times. School had never really been Maren's thing, but she needed to complete some sort of secondary education to get into the police academy. She only had to be there a year. John remembered because she reminded herself everyday. Out loud. Multiple times.
"A year..." Maren was sitting across from him in the library, shaking her head at whatever was on her laptop screen like it deeply repulsed her. Her fingertips dug into her temple as she continued her muttering. "Only a year..." Her pencil tapped on the table, faster and faster. "Ten courses... thirty credit hours... 365 days of school..."
"You know it's not actually a full year of school, right?"
Maren jumped at John's voice, eyes darting to his. Did she even know she was saying it out loud?
"You're only in school for, like, less than eight months." John continued.
He knew from her glare that she wouldn't be taking that fact into account anytime soon. "It already feels like it's been a year. You told me biology was easy."
"Maybe not easy." Her eyes flashed with a dangerous annoyance at him and he quickly continued. "But it's interesting."
"I'm learning about plant phyla. There's four, and I would've been fine living my life without knowing what a bryophyte is. Do you know what a bryophyte is?"
There was silence for a second... two seconds... three...
"It's moss. It's fucking moss, John."
"Plus liverworts and hornworts."
"Yeah, well I don't know what either of those things are, so I don't care."
He gave her a pointed look. "You have to know that's not how school works.
She threw her pencil at him, where it bounced off his chest and onto the floor. He grinned, but she stubbornly lodged her head in her hand, face squished where her cheek rested on her fist. Her eyes went back to staring at her computer, and John set up to continue writing his paper.
A sigh.
"Can you grab that for me?" She asked.
"You threw it at me and now you want me to pick it up?"
"It's my only pencil."
"Are you kidding me? You came to university armed with one pencil?"
Her mouth dropped open, offended at his accusation. "It's a mechanical one!"
John tried to look at her seriously, he really did. But her eyes were wide and she was making a wild gesture in the direction her pencil laid on the floor, and he couldn't help but break into a laugh. He knew the whole thing just served as a distraction for her—the pencil throwing and the complaining only worked to take her mind off her actual work. He shouldn't encourage it, because he had promised Katerina he'd try to keep her focused, and she obviously needed to study, and he needed to write a paper. But when she grinned at him, he knew he'd stall with her until the library closed if she asked him to.
So he leaned down, picked up her pencil, and passed it across the table into her waiting palm.
"What would you do without me?" He teased.
Maren let out a huff of air, and shook her head. Then she looked up with that same hesitant smile she only gave to him, and shrugged. "I hope I never have to find out."
He chuckled a little, ignoring the weightless feeling in his stomach that was all too familiar by now. "Me too."
. . .
The second time they kissed was on New Year's Eve, or technically New Years morning. By many standards, it wasn't much like the first kiss—this time there was no truth or dare, neither of them had anything to drink, and the brisk winter air was a stark contrast to the humid summer of the year before. The one similarity was that Stanley was throwing yet another party.
The kiss didn't happen in the house though. Somehow, Stanley had let the party run out of beer, so he feverishly slapped some money in John's hand before ordering him to the store to "save New Years." Apparently he was the only one Stanley knew of that hadn't had anything to drink that night. John agreed only because he wanted a break from what might possibly be his friend's biggest party yet. And Maren... well, she was never far behind John.
They sped off to the nearest liquor store and both ran in, hastily filling up the cart with as many cases of beer they could fit in it before taking a spot in the terribly slow-moving line of customers. When all was said and done, the trip that should have taken fifteen minutes took forty-five between the long line and the sloth-like store employee. John had to park way down the street since the curb was over-flowing with cars near the house. Maren and him took two cases of beer each—all they could carry—and nearly ran up the sidewalk. By the time they made it to the pathway that led up to the mansion's door, they were puffing and red-faced from the rush of it all.
"Wow, I really didn't think we were going to make it." Maren grunted.
"Me too." John admitted with a breathless chuckle. "But, hey. Can't mess with the dream team I–"
A roar of cheers sounded from the house in front of them, quickly followed by horns and clapping and excited screams of 'happy New Year!'
Maren and John both stumbled to a halt as the commotion continued inside. The cheering continued until someone turned the music back on again, and muffled bass beats replaced the sounds of celebration. The pair were left outside, staring in disbelief.
"We missed it." Maren said.
John sighed, breath unfurling in a cloud of fog. "We missed it." He repeated.
They stood for a moment, numbly clutching the cases of beer and blinking at the twinkling lights that lined the eaves. They looked at each other. John pressed his lips together, and Maren's jaw hung open. The intense mission they had just endured was mostly in vain. And it was kind of funny. They both started laughing.
Soon the cases of beer weighed too much, and John put his down, tempted to take a seat, his legs tired from the rushing around and now weak with laughter. Somehow Maren managed to hold onto her load, the two cases hanging from her arms, shoulders shaking.
"We tried so hard." She said through her laughter. "God, I wonder what that guy at the checkout thought of us."
John couldn't stop grinning as he remembered the confused look on the poor guy's face as Maren and him loaded case after case of beer onto the counter with gravely serious expressions and the efficiency of two people on a life-or-death mission. Now that he looked back on it, the strange looks people were sending them were probably completely warranted.
"How many cases did we buy?"
Maren shook her head, helplessly looking down at the load still in her arms. "I have no idea."
The bottles clinked inside the cases as she finally put them down. He laughed again as she unzippered her coat and started fanning herself, despite the temperature being well below freezing.
He shrugged and looked toward the house, where the muffled sounds of the party returning to normal were seeping from the walls. "So, we missed ringing in the new year."
"We did." Maren agreed. "I think this is the first time ever that I didn't watch the countdown on TV."
John looked at her. She was gazing at the house, eyes shining with the colours of the twinkling lights, her face lit up in gold and red and green.
"We can count it down now if you want." He said.
She turned to him, confused. "But it's already done. It's 12:00."
"It says 11:59 on my watch."
"You're not even wearing a watch."
He shot her a look. "It says 11:59."
She laughed, and it was the best sound he'd ever heard. "Fine." She stepped closer, tilting her head to look up at him. "Start counting."
"Alright. Thirteen... tw–"
"Why would you start at thirteen?"
"Do you want a countdown or not?"
A chuckle left her mouth as she rolled her eyes, and he struggled to remember what number he left off on. She mimed zipping her lips and nodded for him to continue, face deadly serious.
He started again. "Ten... nine... eight... seven..."
She was looking at him, and it made it hard to focus. He wondered how long the snowflakes had been drifting down around them without either of them noticing.
"... six... five...four..."
The lights danced on her face, reflected in her eyes, and John was reminded of sunsets and salty air, autumn leaves and rainy days, sunny mornings, the low rumbling of a school bus in the distance.
"... three... two... one."
Those grey eyes blinked up at him, striking and vibrant and making something inside him burn with a familiar warmth.
He smiled at her. "Happy New Year."
Maren took a breath in, but her voice was barely a whisper. "Happy New Year, John."
Then she pressed her lips to his.
They'd only kissed once before, but they knew how to fit together. Her hand found the back of his neck, and his found her waist, tugging her closer even if there wasn't much closer they could get. They fell naturally into it, like they'd memorized the rhythm. Or maybe—probably—it was just there all along. Fireworks popped somewhere in the distance.
They pulled back, but she didn't move her hand away. She could leave and go inside right now, and he'd never mention this to her again if that's what she wanted. But she didn't go. He followed her lead, keeping his hands at her waist, thumbs rubbing the fabric of the hoodie she wore under her coat as her fingers curled into his hair. They stood for a moment, breaths fogging in the air. Maren's eyes were focused on her feet.
"Was that just for New Years?" He asked finally.
"No." She laughed a little, and it had never sounded so nervous. He stayed silent until she brought her eyes to his, the red lights on the house shining more vibrant than ever on her cheeks. "That was for me."
The third time they kissed was almost directly after the second time.
John didn't know how long they stayed out there, but the sound of the door opening made them jump away from each other like they'd been electrocuted. He nearly tripped as he stumbled onto the snow-covered lawn, wide eyes darting to the source of the sound. Stanley stood in the doorway, smirking. John wished the snow would bury him, and had a feeling Maren was hoping the same.
"I'm happy for you lovebirds and all, but please bring in the beer."
They both jumped into action, Stanley watching their progress with crossed arms like some type of disappointed chaperone. He raised an eyebrow when they got through the door and laid the cases down.
"You got more than that, right?"
"Yes." John said. "The rest is in my car."
"Can I trust you guys to go out and get it, or will you get too distracted?"
John's face burned, but Maren just rolled her eyes and took his wrist, pulling him back out the door. Maren went to pull her hand away when they got outside, but he caught it and laced their fingers together. It felt natural. Right.
"Is there a reason you're walking so slow?" Maren asked. He didn't realize he was, but he just smiled at her.
"Trying to savour the moment?"
She wrinkled her nose at the cheesy line, but grinned all the same. She tugged his hand to make him pick up his pace. "Come on."
He followed her.
He always would.
Hey guys!
I know I should be updating my other story, but this idea struck me a few months ago and I finally had to get it out before I went insane. I promise I will be solely working on the next chapter of Lorien Legacies High School now (half of it is already done so it's not like I was completely neglecting it).
Reviews:
J– Yeah, when I wrote the last chapter I was not aware that things with the NASA logo on them are a huge trend right now (it always takes me, like, twenty years to follow up on trends, especially style ones lol). I also own a NASA shirt, but I guess the difference with me is that I actually do consider myself a massive nerd. I hope you're doing well, and thank you so much for your lovely review and your continued support on both stories!
Thanks also to Booklover123, Water girl, Ranleyyyyy, Legacies Lover, and everyone who reviewed the chapters before for your awesome reviews. Seeing what you think of this literally makes my day :)
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this a little bit. Stay safe, thanks for reading, and let me know what you thought in the reviews :)