Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
If only all problems came with a neat little 'x marks the spot' like solving for x in algebra.
Unfortunately, my conversation with Braden left me on a muddy path leading deeper into hazy shadows, more confused than when I naively picked up the phone.
It was great to hear his voice (SO great!), but there was definitely something off about the entire thing, though the exact 'thing' is hard to pinpoint.
Thanksgiving is next week, which means Braden and my dad will be home, though I didn't actually get a chance to confirm that with Braden on the phone.
It totally slipped my mind after our conversation got derailed over Jake.
Today is Saturday and, thankfully, my mom is off and has already taken Hunter out to run errands and meet up with one of his friends for a playdate.
I'll have the house to myself most of the day.
So, I do what I love most: organize. The laundry gets sorted, the living room gets tidied, and my mom's grocery list gets optimized by section of the store and color-coded.
She doesn't ask me to do that, but I know she appreciates it.
After that, I finish some homework and polish up some college application essays.
The entire morning flies by, and I'm shocked to see it's already late afternoon.
Just as I’ve typed the last word on an essay, my school inbox refreshes with a new email from Coach Kim.
The subject line is “Swim Team Captain.” A tremor runs through my hand as the cursor hovers, then clicks.
For a beat, the lines refuse to stay still.
After a couple of hard blinks, the words sharpen.
Wondrous snippets from the email materialize, such as “recognize your leadership” and “your commitment to the team” and “I would like to schedule a time to discuss your potential as team captain.”
Squee! All my goals are coming true!
My fingers fly over the keyboard as I hit reply to let Coach Kim know I’m thrilled to be chosen and confirm her invitation to meet next week to talk about our plans for the spring swim season.
The organizer is updated with a cute ‘meeting’ sticker on the scheduled date, and then “swim captain” gets moved from my “goals” list to my “achieved” list on the vision board.
That may be a tad premature, but it feels ‘in the bag’ to me.
I shoot off a quick text to Braden to share my exciting news with him, which he immediately responds to with a sweet “I knew you would, babe,” melting my heart. Maybe I was overthinking our issues earlier—he’s so supportive.
To celebrate this victorious ascension to Swim Team Captain, a king-sized candy bar from the Halloween stash is clearly in order. Delicious! Chocolate is life.
My school tablet pings with a Connection Services message. Expecting something ridiculous from Mr. Pi—maybe another poem?—the message catches me off guard. It’s Analiese. Well, I’m 100% positive now after I read it.
55378: Avery, this is Analiese. FYI, I was never going to tell anyone what you said about Braden. I know you tend to super stress about stuff, so don’t worry about it. Some of us have moral standards.
Moral standards? This girl covertly burned my science fair project because she was jealous, which is unhinged behavior.
But ok. Sure. Setting that aside: one, Analiese reached out to me and is being nice about it.
Two, she's talking about me as if she knows me.
Three, she's right. The only possible response:
80085 [Me]: Ok.
She replies instantly.
55378: Geez, I already knew it kills you to notice anyone else, but are you allergic to the word “thanks” too?
And there she is. Suddenly, my king-sized chocolate bar isn’t settling so nicely. Thanks, Analiese.
80085 [Me]: Are you incapable of doing anything other than assuming the worst about me?
55378: I mean, if the shoe fits…
55378: And we both know it does.
80085 [Me]: I know no such thing.
55378: Why do you act so innocent when you do the exact same thing?
80085 [Me]: I do not!
55378: What do you call assuming I’ll gossip about you to the whole school? I heard about your little trip to the office. You’re not the only one friends with the staff. They may have not known your motivations for your campaign to end CS, but I do.
The good mood from earlier—the email, the stickers, Braden's text—deflates like a slow leak. Analiese isn't wrong, unfortunately. And as much as it pains me to admit, she hasn't been wrong about a lot of things lately. My tablet pings again. She’s relentless.
55378: Enough of that. I actually had a question about AP Lit.
Wow, this girl keeps my head spinning. Is this what whiplash feels like?
80085 [Me]: ?
55378: Look, I know we haven’t historically been BFFs and all that, but we respect each other academically, right?
80085 [Me]: Sure, I’d say that’s an accurate assessment.
55378: And we both know you’re a hopeless romantic and somewhat delusional, which in this case may be helpful for the essay assignment for Wuthering Heights. I can’t even stomach the idea of watching the movie. I was thinking…
55378: Do you want to watch it together and outline ideas for the essay?
Interesting. Analiese and I… hanging out?
Technically, we have been ‘hanging out’ at swim class, but there’s not much talking involved.
When we have talked, it hasn’t exactly been a positive experience.
In all our years of knowing each other, a friendly, casual interaction has never once happened—not even about the weather.
Picturing the two of us lounging on a couch with snacks, discussing the finer points of a movie like actual friends, is almost laughable.
But it also doesn’t seem… terrible?
One thing the CS messages have revealed is that Analiese and I occasionally land on the same wavelength—like when she immediately clocked what bothered me about the beta test without needing an explanation.
So… why not try this and see what happens?
Plus, she is right—I do respect her academically.
No doubt our essays will come out stronger from our combined efforts, which is always a plus in my book.
I need all the GPA points I can get if I’m going to achieve my goal of being class valedictorian.
A quick, longing glance at my vision board decides it for me: I’m going to hang out with Analiese.
80085 [Me]: Sure, let’s do it. My family is out. Do you want to come here?
55378: I’ll be there in 15 minutes.
Well. Here goes nothing.
I race downstairs and grab some food, queue up the 2011 version of the movie in the den, and wait for the weirdest hangout of my life.
If nothing else, at least the moral high ground is secured: hosting my nemesis, providing food, and being gracious about it.
If she baits me into more arguments, I sincerely don’t think I can be found at fault here.
After setting things up, I open Connection Services and respond to Mr. Pi. We’d been laughing about how bizarre our school mascot is. At rallies and games, the whole crowd hisses together because we’re the Vipers, which is… a choice.
Exactly 15 minutes later, the doorbell rings. I can see Analiese’s silhouette through the shaded window in the front door. One deep breath, then the door swings open with my best attempt at a welcoming smile.
“Hi,” I say, then step aside to let her in.
Analiese brushes past without a word, her eyes sweeping the foyer with an expression impossible to read. But the moment she spots the shoes lined up by the door, something shifts. She toes off her sneakers, places them neatly in the line, and meets my gaze.
“Where are we going to watch the movie?”
Right. Down to business. A small, unexpected sting of... what, disappointment? That’s silly. Her thoughts about this were clear, and when have Analiese and I ever exchanged friendly small talk? My emotions have been all over the place lately.
“In the den. It’s back near the kitchen,” I explain as I lead her.
Analiese hitches her backpack on her shoulder and follows, stopping near the kitchen counter to survey the organized grocery list I left there for my mom. Her eyes flick over the paper as she asks, “What store do you shop at?”
I frown, confused by the random question. “Vons. Why?”
She nods curtly then taps the list with her left index finger. “The entrance is near the produce section. You should list produce first, then dry goods, then baking, then personal items. Dairy and frozen stay last. That way it follows the actual path through the store.”
Every instinct screams to argue—nobody corrects my organizational systems! But she has a point. My list is tidy and color-coded, but the sections don't align with the layout of the store. I swallow my pride and say something I never, ever thought I would say to Analiese.
“You’re right, thanks. That’s a good idea.”
Analiese's eyebrows lift a fraction. It’s clear we’re both treading into unfamiliar territory here.
An awkward silence settles between us, both of us keenly aware that whatever this is, it's new.
Maybe Connection Services forced us to see each other differently.
Or maybe we're just two people using each other for a better essay grade and reading way too much into standing in a kitchen together.
I break the tension with a sweep of my arm towards the couch. “I have the movie ready to go. And some snacks.”
She nods and we both move to the large, comfortable sectional in the den.
We claim spots as far away from each other as possible, while still in reaching distance of the snacks on the coffee table.
I switch on the movie and grab my notebook and pen, ready to jot down any key details. Analiese does the same.
The movie starts, and Catherine and Heathcliff's doomed intensity pulls me in almost instantly. Occasionally, derisive snorts sound from Analiese’s end of the couch to signal her dislike for the story.
I don’t react. Her attitude is expected—one doesn’t jump to burning other people’s science projects without killing a little bit of your soul first.
When the credits finally roll, I cross my legs on the couch and turn my pages of notes back to the beginning. Yes, I took more than one page of notes and may have included a few themed doodles.
“Well?” I turn to face her. "What did you think? Could you feel the love between Catherine and Heathcliff this time, or are you still immune?"
Analiese rolls her eyes. “Pure love? More like pure dysfunction. They’ve said maybe five words to each other, and two of them were grunts. How can you build a relationship on that?”
“Not everything has to be spoken! Didn't you see the way they looked at each other on the moors? They're connected to something deeper than words—to the land, to each other. It was beautiful.”
“Are we using ‘wild’ to mean ‘toxic’?”
I gasp. Toxic?!
She steamrolls on. “Look, I get it—they’re ‘connected to nature.’ But seriously, they’re rolling around in the mud more than they’re talking. That’s not passion, that’s bad hygiene. It’s disgusting.”
No wonder she has no hope for Braden and me.
She's even more cynical about love than I imagined—though, given what I now know about her parents, it's not entirely surprising.
Something tugs at me. An unexpected, almost protective urge to prove to Analiese that love doesn't have to look like what she's seen.
“Maybe if you’re passionately in love with someone, a little bad hygiene is easily overlooked. They’re so consumed by their love for each other they can’t even think straight. Don’t you think that’s romantic? At all?”
“Hardly,” she scoffs. “Since when is lack of thought considered romantic? He barely speaks, she’s a drama queen, and neither of them understands boundaries. If that’s romance, I’m not interested.”
“Okayyy. But don't you ever wish for the kind of love where it's all-consuming and makes your entire body ache? They love each other so much it's practically destroying them.”
Analiese points a finger at me. “Exactly. If a relationship is destroying you, it’s not healthy.”
My eyes roll before I can stop them. “I’m not sure people went to therapy when Bronte wrote the book.”
She shrugs. “Doesn’t mean they didn’t need it. And let me tell you, Heathcliff and Catherine need therapy STAT.”
“Therapy would make for a very boring romance novel. In fact—“
The insistent buzzing of my phone cuts me off. Jenna’s name flashes across the screen. My gut sinks. I know exactly why she’s calling.