Mess To Be Made

29

Tyler never texted me back.

For two weeks, the only moments we shared were when my fingernails ran noisily against his desk.

Clack, clack, clack clack. Clack, clack, clack clack.

I hated it. For nearly 14 days, I spun in my own mind. The days were long, but the time seemed to all blend together. I couldn't stop my mind from asking endless questions that I didn't know the answer to.

Does Dad know? Should I tell him? Should I confront her? Why isn't Tyler talking to me? Why is Spencer being so persistent? Why is Sean acting like I'm fragile? What if I don't get into any colleges? What is Tyler doing right now? Does he talk about me? Is he dating Kelsey? Does he even think about me? Why am I constantly thinking about him?

Does Dad know?

I haven't had sex in 23 days—who's counting though. I was surprised because I could do it with Spencer, every day, if I wanted.

I didn't want to, though. I was finally beginning to admit that to myself. No matter how many times I opened my messages to text Spencer, I couldn't bring myself to make the move. There was a small boulder that lived in between my lungs, making every breath more difficult than normal. I recognized it. I'd felt it before. It was fear.

And I was fearful of this fear. Because last time, the way I solved it—the way I made breathing easier—was by having sex.

With each day that passed, I became less and less confident that solution was going to work this time.

So I was exploring other avenues. I was getting high three times a day now. Lunch, after school, and after dinner. I tried smoking one morning before school but that was a disaster. My fatigue in the morning was mind-altering enough. Sleep hadn't been coming easy.

Some things had been better though. Aaron and I talked on the phone for two hours one night. My mom seemed less agitated. Rachel and Lindsay seemed happy with their "boyfriends." Even Caleb was being nicer to me. Well, respectful, at least. He wasn't calling me the school slut anymore.

What a high bar we'd set.

But Tyler—he was only becoming a bigger and bigger problem with each passing day. I was practically obsessive trying to figure out why he didn't text me back. Why he didn't text me at all. After what we talked about that night. After he held me while I sobbed embarrassingly like a child.

I wanted to know. I wanted to talk to him. He consumed my thoughts way, way too much. But I had too much pride to double text him.

"Just go fucking talk to him," Cory said. He sounded tired. Probably of this conversation.

I placed my lips against the paper and inhaled harder than I should have. I wanted to though. I coughed as I passed it back to him. "No way. I texted him last."

"Oh my god, Allie," Cory said and the exhaustion in his voice made me look at him. "I'm not going to tell you this again. He's intimidated by you. He's the, kind of, new kid and you're Allie Carson."

Cory had figured out who my mysterious crush, Tyler, was. It was the Tuesday after Winter Break when we smoked together and he smirked at me. "So, Tyler Hennessy, huh?"

"Who's that?" I tried to lie.

"Oh, I don't need to tell you," Cory said with a grin on his face as he held a joint out to me like a piece of candy. Like I was a trick-or-treater on Halloween. Like he had something I wanted.

It was fucking rude.

I snatched the joint from him. "How'd you figure it out."

"I have connections," he said, with a theatrical wave of his hand. "People, places, things."