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Chapter 4

24 September 2011

Portal Comics is a dump.

It's tiny, it's old, it's pretty dirty, and it has a particular stench that I can't quite describe.

But there are comic books here. That alone makes it worth the questionable carpet, and the windows that are so muddied up with dirt, that at this point, it almost looks intentional.

It's also the breeding ground for mine and Edward's friendship, and that's probably the real reason I like it so much. Two years ago, when I'd just moved up a grade because I was outpacing everyone so much the teachers didn't know what else to do with me, I was even more of a social outcast than before. Mom took me shopping in Port Angeles, because as we all know, that fixes everything.

I managed to shake her off in the third shoe store she'd taken me to, convincing her I'd be fine on my own. After wandering around, I came here. When I stepped inside, the only other person there besides Alistair, the shopkeeper, was Edward.

We'd been neighbours all our lives. I could sometimes see little glimpses of his house through the woods, especially during the winter, when the leaves weren't obstructing it from view. But we'd never really been friends or hung out, and not only because I was a year younger. But there he suddenly was, checking the price on an X-men T-shirt.

When he saw me, he froze, real panic clear on his face, just like it probably was on mine. We both turned away, and pretended the other wasn't there until he left a few minutes later without buying anything.

I'd figured he was just in there on a fluke, and the way he acted like nothing had happened the next day at school cemented that for me. Popular Edward didn't actually like comics, and everything was fine with the universe once more.

Except that he did like them, and when he walked in to The Port a month later, he didn't panic when he saw me. He scratched his neck and smiled, and after a moment of deliberation, he came over and asked if I'd seen a copy of a volume he wanted.

Once I got over the initial shock, and he was patient enough to wait for my debilitating shyness to pass, it was just a natural thing. The following day, he sent me a link to some comic website he'd talked about, and just like that, I had a real friend.

He showed me the tree-house where he kept all his comic stuff, and it seemed obvious that I'd bring my own things into the mix. His secret and my secret suddenly became our secret, and until very recently, I thought it would continue to be that way, but then Edward decided to go all I don't care any more, and here we are.

Edward holds the door open for me, making it squeak on its hinges. As I step into the place, I throw a nod towards Alistair behind the counter.

He's the only person I ever see working here, but I know he's not the owner. He's only a couple years older than Edward, and he's always wearing one of two Peninsula College hoodies. Today it's the navy blue one.

"Hey, guys," he says, looking genuinely thrilled we're here. This is not surprising, as we're probably the only customers he'll actually see all day.

"Hey," I mumble back, quickly following Edward down to the New Releases display before Al drags me into a conversation. I let that happen once – big mistake. It took 20 minutes before he stopped talking.

I come up beside Edward, who's already sweeping his eyes across the shelves. "Anything good?"

He hums, and I smile to myself, studying his face. New comics always brings out the seriousness in him.

I turn to look at the display, too, and light up at what I see on the top shelf.

"Ooh, Deadpool!" I say, pointing at it. It's just out of my reach, and I put a hand on his arm, almost unconsciously. It's weirdly nice. Maybe I should do this more often. "Can you get it down for me?"

He laughs, grabbing it without effort. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"At home, do you carry around one of those stepping stools?"

"Shut up," I laugh, taking the book from him. "I'm not that short. And also, this is in unfair relation to you. You're a giant."

"Is that good or bad?" He slowly moves further down the aisle, eyes carefully scanning every cover. I follow him, fingers tapping against the comic in my hands.

"Good when I need you to reach things for me. Bad when you… I don't know, hit your head."

He laughs as he passes the Best Seller display without looking at it – it never changes anyway, so we don't bother – and turns to the crate standing behind him. I walk to stand on the opposite side, and together we leaf through the comics there.

"How are your college applications going?" he says, not looking up from his browsing. I keep glancing over to watch his fingers flicking the tops of the comics.

"They're okay. I need to work on them more, but it's kind of boring."

"Right? Like I know I'm supposed to care about something that will affect my life and future so much, but somehow, I just don't."

"I think most people feel that way," I say, trying to make him feel better. I actually do care. A lot. They're still boring.

"Probably," he mumbles, shrugging as he fishes a book out, looks over the cover, and puts it back. I need to stop staring at his hands. "Talking about boring, how's your English essay?"

"Finished it. It was easy."

He look up, grimacing. "You always say that, and it's never true."

"It's not my fault you're stupid."

He's not stupid. He's anything but stupid.

"I happen to have a very busy extracurricular schedule," he says, sniffing. I fight a smile. "If I wanted to, I could finish my essays a week in advance, too. I just don't have time."

"Well, some of us manage without falling behind on schoolwork. Maybe you should work a little harder to keep up."

His lips twitch. "Probably. Wanna show me how it's done?"

"What do you mean?"

The teasing leaves his face, but he still smiles at me. "Well, I've been thinking we should study together. Basketball season's picking up, and Coach keeps saying he wants to get more serious," he says, rolling his eyes. "Whatever that means. But I'm guessing the plan is to make us train more or something. I could use the help keeping up with school."

He's not the only jock to have asked me this. When I first moved up a grade, both Mike Newton and Tyler Crowley made some weak attempts at charming me into doing their homework for them. When they realized I was less than impressed, they gave up and ignored me, just like everyone else.

I don't think Edward's actually asking me to do his homework for him; he wouldn't have to, being smart enough to manage just fine on his own. So this is… weird.

"What kind of help?" I ask, trying not to look as suspicious as I feel.

He shrugs. "I dunno. Motivation, I guess. If I do my homework with you, I can't procrastinate."

I consider him for a moment. That makes sense. "So, like… study dates?"

"Yeah," he says, a broad smile breaking out on his face. "Study dates. You bring cookies, I'll give you coffee, and we'll study. It'll be great."

"Oh, I see what's going on," I say, pointing my finger at him. "You're just after my cookies."

"No. You give those to me anyway. This is completely different."

"Uh-huh."

"It is."

"Sure it is."

"I'll even let you into my house," he says. "No more damp, smelly shack ten feet up a tree."

I feel my smile slowly slip away as I frown and shift on my feet. "Your house?"

He nods, shrugging. "Yeah, or yours, if you'd prefer that. I don't care either way."

"Oh. Right." That's new. Maybe this is another part of his I don't care any more thing.

His eyes cut back and forth between mine. "What?"

I shake my head. "No, nothing. I just wasn't… I mean, I've just never been to your house before." And right this second it hits me, like a gut punch, how weird that is. I've never been to his house. I've never been to his house.

How can you be best friends for two years without ever going to each other's houses?

"Well, I thought it would be nice with some change," he says, smiling in this earnest way he has, while my stomach continues sinking. "Also, I'd like to not have to worry about falling out of a tree while I'm trying to do my math homework."

I force on a smile. "Yeah, I guess that would… make things easier."

"Right. So what do you think?" He looks almost shy as he asks me, but slightly hopeful too. Oh god, he knows I've never been to his house. I mean, of course he knows, but he also knows. He realized it, same as me, but probably a long time ago. Is that what this is all about, the whole sharing a car and not caring any more if anyone sees us hanging out?

I suddenly feel sort of nervous. My chest feels uncomfortably hot, which I know means it's breaking out in red blotches, which happens when I'm embarrassed. Why am I embarrassed? The heat spreads up my neck, to my ears.

"Uhm, yeah, sounds good. It's… it's getting cold, anyway. Last winter sucked." I look down at the comics again. I can't concentrate.

Edward's quiet for a moment. "Yeah. Hey… You okay?"

"Huh? Yeah, I'm fine," I say, throwing him a smile. I suddenly really, really want to get out of here. He frowns slightly as he looks me over. Can he tell I'm blushing? I take a step back from the crate. "I, uh, I don't think I'm going to find anything today. I'm going to go wait out by the car, okay? Take your time," I say, waving my hand around the store.

He blinks, looking confused, but I turn around and head for the door before he can say anything. My cheeks flush hotter, and my stomach swirls uncomfortably.

I zip up my jacket as I walk around the building, heading to the back alley where we parked. There's an old picnic table where the workers from the coffee shop next door spend their breaks. It's empty now, and I sit down to wait.

I feel so awful.

He's my best friend, and I've never been to his house. I've thought about what his room looks like sometimes, especially in the weeks after he first told me he keeps his comic book stuff in the tree-house in case one of the guys from the team came over to hang out, but I've never felt the need to see it for myself. I've never wanted to suggest we hang out there.

I've never asked him to come over to mine. Whenever I've had the house to myself for an afternoon, I've never picked up the phone to text him that he can come over and watch a movie or something. Never.

How insane is that?

God, I'm so…

I lean forward, resting my face in my hands. I'm so mean, and selfish.

I picture myself in Edward's shoes earlier this week, when he was asking me to hang out today. How would I feel if I'd gone to him, laying my hesitation to the side to let him know I'd like to hang out more, only to have him react the way I did? I basically threw a tantrum at the suggestion we sit in the same car for an hour. What if he'd done that to me?

I would've died of shame. I'd think he didn't actually like me, that we weren't as close friends as I'd believed.

My face burns at the very idea.

But the worst part is that despite this awful feeling, despite knowing I'm being a bad friend… the idea of going over to his house still makes me nervous.

What's wrong with me?

I only get to sit here in silence with my misery for two minutes before Edward is walking around the corner, a bag hooked on his fingers. I straighten up, watching as he comes over. I'm so incredibly lucky he puts up with me, despite how freaking exhausting I am.

"Hey," he says, frowning slightly in concern. A gust of wind blows past, making his plastic bag crinkle. He takes a step closer and sinks onto the bench next to me. "You okay?"

I pull the sleeves of my jacket down over my hands. "Yeah, I'm fine."

He watches me closely. "You sure? Because it kind of seemed like you were freaking out."

Glancing at him quickly, I consider lying, just because it would be so much easier. "About what?"

"Coming over to my house, apparently."

I look away, which I realize too late is pretty damning. A beat of silence follows before he lets out a small grunt, like he's surprised he was right. I take a deep breath, hoping words will fall out of my mouth that will fix this entire situation.

"I didn't… I wasn't trying to freak you out or anything," he says quietly, before my mind has a chance to rescue me.

My chest compresses uncomfortably. I shake my head. "I know. And it wasn't… I don't know why I freaked out. I guess I just realized I've never been to your house before. Which is really fucking weird."

"It's not that weird," he says in a barely believable tone, with a half-shoulder shrug.

"It's weird."

"All right, so it's weird," he concedes. "But why are you freaking out? Just come over to my house, and that'll literally solve the problem."

I turn my face down, twisting my fingers together in my lap.

"What?"

"Nothing."

He sighs, and I can feel him looking at me, staring a hole in the side of my face. My blatantly lying, blushing red face.

"What's wrong with coming to my house? What's the problem?"

"There's no problem," I say, but he shakes his head.

"There is, though. We're… We're best friends, you know? And like we've just established, you've never been to my house. And I've never been to yours." He stops, and lets out a small snort. "I mean, we sat in the same car for the first time ever today. There is a problem."

I don't like what he's implying. "And what, I'm that problem?"

"I didn't say that."

"Sounded like it," I say, crossing my arms. Never mind that I was thinking this exact thing three minutes ago. "Like, what, I'm a bad friend because this stuff makes me uncomfortable?"

"I didn't say that," he repeats, frustrated. "Don't change the subject."

"I'm not changing the subject," I say, my own frustration building. "I'm trying to figure out what you're saying."

"I'm saying that I know attention makes you uncomfortable, but I think you're taking it a bit far. Coming over to my house to study isn't a public thing. It's not like we have to make a big announcement," he says.

"I know that!"

"So what's the problem?"

"It's not – I don't know! It's just, like… like, blah, you know?"

He blinks a few times. "My house is blah?"

"Stop it," I say. "You know what I mean."

"I honestly, really, don't."

"It's not like I don't want to go to your house, or like, hang out with you," I say, squinting against the wind, and because of how awkward this is.

"So what is it?"

I shrug. He waits for me to say something else, but it's hard to defend something when you're not even sure what it actually is. I don't know why going to his house makes me nervous, and It just does is never a good argument.

The silence stretches. He leans forward, arms on his knees. His jacket creases near his shoulders and pulls across his back. He looks sad, and I really don't like that.

"Can you just…" He trails off. Bouncing the bag on his fingers, he starts over. "If I didn't have to be the only one pushing for us to hang out all the time, that'd be really nice."

I twist my fingers together, more tightly than before. "That's how you feel? Like the only one pushing?"

"I am the only one pushing," he says, sitting up straight. His eyes are tired when he looks at me. "Name one time you've had to convince me to hang out with you."

A lump catches in my throat. I don't even have to think back. I know he's right.

"I'm sorry," I say, and I inexplicably feel like crying. I hate crying.

"It's all right," he says, and some of the tension falls away from his face. "Just, you know… Don't make me try so hard."

I nod.

"And maybe next time we hang out, you don't tell your mom you're shopping with Angela," he says, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. A smile hides there somewhere, too, but I can still see the serious note underneath. Something that might even be a little hurt.

His silence in the car earlier suddenly makes a lot more sense.

Swallowing against the lump, I shake my head. "I won't."

"Okay." He reaches up to scratch his neck. "Does, uh, does she really not know we're friends?"

It shames me now, to say it. "No."

"Oh. Why?"

I let out a humourless snort. "She's very… I know how she'd have reacted if I told her, you know?" I pause, taking a deep breath. This is going to be embarrassing. "When you and I first started hanging out, it was so… Us being friends became really important to me, and I didn't want Mom to be a part of that. For a lot of reasons, but mostly because she's always bugged me about making friends, and I knew that she'd like, take credit for it somehow. And I didn't want that. So it was easier to just never tell her."

He watches me the whole time, eyes searching my face. I clear my throat, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "So, yeah. I know it's stupid. But it's my own… thing. Me being weird." And selfish.

The hiding smile comes out, lifting the corners of his lips. "So what you're saying is, you never told your mom we're friends, because you like being friends so much?"

My snort this time is a lot less dry. I laugh, nodding. "Exactly."

"I guess that makes sense," he chuckles, glancing at me. His eyes are warm and soft, and something tickles along my ribs as they meet mine. The lump in my throat dissipates, tugging a knot between my shoulders away with it as it goes.

Another gust of wind drags by. He hesitates for a moment, and then swings his bag onto my lap. "I got this for you."

Peeking inside, I see the copy of Deadpool I grabbed in the store. I completely forgot about it earlier.

He gets to his feet, hands in his back pockets. I gaze up at him, almost having to shield my eyes. The sun isn't out, not by a long shot, but the grey sky behind him is still bright. It sets his face slightly darker, and I can't clearly tell what his expression is.

"You didn't have to do that," I say, but he just shrugs. I mumble a thank you, watching as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

"You wanna get drive-thru?" He points his thumb towards the car. "I'm craving some fries."

Squinting as I smile, I give a little nod and stand to join him.

"Yeah. Sure."

You guys are the best. Thank you so much for still reading this silly story.

Meg and Kim have to put up with me sending them pictures of my bleeding blisters, so I thank them for still being my friends.