Chapter Nine #2
Max turns away from the award. “I don’t think everyone cares as much about winning as we do. We always had that particular flaw in common.”
I’m not sure what to say to that, so I keep walking into the kitchen at the back of the house. “And there’s the backyard. Tour done.”
Max peers out the sliding glass door. “Whoa, you still have the trampoline.”
“Kelsey uses it now. Did you…want to see it?”
“Why not?” Max opens the door and makes a beeline for the trampoline.
Another wave of memories rushes over me as I reluctantly follow him.
We used to love jumping together. I’m half expecting him to start jumping right now, or even do front flips like we used to.
Maybe I can leave him out here like an overactive ten-year-old and barricade myself in my room for the rest of the night.
But he just sits down in the center and tips his chin up toward the sky.
I hesitate, then follow him up onto the trampoline.
“So,” I say quietly.
“So.”
I take a deep breath to brace myself. “I don’t get it, Max. Why are you friends with Brody?”
“Why do you hate Brody?”
“As if that isn’t completely obvious.” I huff and start to stand. “Have fun.”
“I’m new, Hazel. I know our lives have turned out differently and you don’t know what it’s like to have to move schools, but I do. The last thing I want is to come charging into a new school and a new band and immediately make enemies with my section leader.”
I bite the inside of my cheek and sit back down. I wasn’t expecting a real answer. And his answer does make sense, except that Brody is such an exceptional jerk that I can’t respect anyone who likes him.
“Why do you hate him?” Max repeats quietly.
“He’s a sore loser. And a sore winner, actually.”
“A sore loser? Heh, I’ve never met one of those before.” His voice is almost teasing.
“Me neither. And definitely not over something as silly as a board game.”
His gaze snaps to mine. “I hope you aren’t dredging up that Settlers of Catan game.”
“You mean the three-week-long game I won?”
“You didn’t win, you cheated with your house rules! Plus, you kept hoarding all the resources! No one can build anything without wood.”
I laugh triumphantly. “That’s because my settlements were near the forests. I didn’t want to trade resources with you—that’s the same as letting you win.”
“If I remember correctly, no one won because our moms made us pack it away and apologize to each other.”
“Well, I choose to remember it differently.”
I lift my chin defiantly and am shocked when he laughs. I glance at him incredulously and he laughs even louder.
“Wow, I almost forgot that expression. You look just the same as when you were twelve.”
“I do not! Take it back.” God, I hope that isn’t true. Between the beginning of acne, horrid makeup choices, and out-of-control hair, I don’t want to look anything like my preteen days.
“Fine.” He sobers and studies me. “Maybe you look a little different now.”
Flutters fill my stomach at the intensity of his gaze. It’s like he’s dissecting me with his eyes. I blurt out a question to distract him.
“Why didn’t your parents come to the band camp performance on Friday? Did they have to work?”
He squints at me for a moment, then he shakes his head. “You know what, on second thought, you were right. This was a bad idea. I’m going inside.”
“Are you completely incapable of having a conversation?” I shake my head. “Actually, never mind, I know exactly how to get you to talk.”
“Hazel…” he warns.
I stand. “I’ll make you a bet. If you can do a front flip on this trampoline, then you don’t have to answer any of my questions. But if you fall, you have to tell me something real about your life. Something you don’t want to tell me.”
“And why would I ever take that bet?”
“Because you hate to lose. And the only thing you hate more than losing is backing down from a challenge.”
“You don’t know me the way you used to.”
The soft sadness in his voice makes me pause.
What is going on with him? He never acted this way when we were younger.
I wish we could have a normal conversation instead of making everything into a fight, but I don’t know how else to pull the answers from him.
If he’s going to be difficult, then I’ll be difficult right alongside him.
“I’m very aware that I don’t know you anymore.” I put out my hands as if to say duh. “Which is why I’m reduced to making stupid bets with you.”
He studies me and then squints up at the sky. “Fine. I’ll take your bet.”
“See, I still know you pretty well. Wait!” I point at him. “Did you have a trampoline at your last house?”
“No.”
“Did you join gymnastics or tumbling there?”
“No.”
“When’s the last time you did a front flip?”
He smirks. “Here. I landed wrong and almost broke my neck, so you took pity on me and made me a big plate of nachos and put on The Two Towers.”
“Oh. Right.”
I’d forgotten about that part of the night.
It happened right after I found out his family was moving.
I was heartbroken and secretly hoped that if we spent the evening curled up on the couch next to each other, he’d finally realize how much I meant to him and kiss me.
Instead, he spent the whole time telling me trivia about Viggo Mortensen and how many of the Rohan riders in the Lord of the Rings were actually women in beards and makeup.
“Well, I didn’t forget.” He stands and starts jumping cautiously. “Those were good nachos.”
“I see your eating habits haven’t changed. All right, let’s see this amazing front flip.”
Max starts jumping higher, and I move to the edge of the trampoline so he doesn’t accidentally land on me. Tension coils through me as I watch him, hoping he’s as bad at front flips as he used to be, although I swear I don’t care whether I learn more about him or not. I just want to win the bet.
Max has some real height to his jumps now. I hold my breath as he flips forward…and lands spectacularly on his back. I slap my hand over my mouth before I can yell in triumph.
He groans and rolls over on his side. “I should never have taken that bet.”
“And yet I knew you would.” I do a jumpy victory dance. “You’re not dead, right?”
He squeezes his eyes shut and slowly sits up. “Go ahead and gloat.”
“No gloating.” I consider for a moment and then do a twirl. “Actually, lots of gloating.”
He eyes me skeptically. “What do you want to know?”
What happened after you moved away?
Why are you so different now?
When did you stop liking me?
I want to know everything.
I swallow, trying to decide how much I can ask without making him stalk away in annoyance.
“Um…I guess I want to know what’s going on with you.”
“That’s a really broad question for a single failed flip,” he says in aggravation. “I’m just…I don’t know. Adjusting, like I said before. To the new apartment and new family arrangement and trying to help out Mom and be supportive when she isn’t at her best. It’s a lot.”
“New family arrangement?”
He stares at me like he can’t decide if I’m ignorant or rude. “My parents’ separation?”
I lean back in surprise. Mom and Dad had insinuated Max was struggling, but I figured he was just angry about having to move.
“Oh…I didn’t know,” I whisper. My animosity falls away at his defeated expression. “I’m sorry, Max. Really.”
“Your mom didn’t tell you all the details? You two are so close.” The openness in his expression vanishes as soon as he mentions my mom.
Pain pricks the back of my mind. The last time he was around us, Mom and I were super close.
We hung out all the time, talked about everything.
I even raided her closet so I could wear whatever fit me.
That’s probably why I still prefer vintage clothes from the nineties.
But a lot has changed since then. All her enthusiasm about my future feels smothering now. I don’t want to admit that, though.
“She never said a word.”
“I—” He stares at me like he can’t believe what I’m saying. “I figured…well…huh.”
“Your mom isn’t doing well?”
“She’s the one who wanted the separation, but it’s hard. Money is tight and the apartment is small and…you know, she’s sad.”
“Ah,” I whisper. “And I guess that explains why you didn’t have anyone at the band performance.”
He shrugs and messes with his shoelaces. There’s so much more I want to ask him, but I’m scared to ruin this very tentative peace between us. We’re no closer to becoming friends, but maybe we’ve shifted a few millimeters away from being enemies. I’ll take it.
“I don’t have any nachos to offer, but I can put on The Fellowship of the Ring until our parents are finished?”
He’s silent for a second and then shrugs again. “Yeah, okay. Did you know that scene where Ian McKellen hits his head in Bilbo’s hobbit-hole wasn’t scripted?”
I sigh deeply and walk to the house. “Yeah, I think you told me that a time or two.”