4. Maisie
MAISIE
I like the quiet.
I like having my own space. I like when the world slows down and no one expects me to talk or smile.
But tonight, of course, the loud, obnoxious frat party down the street is trying its best to ruin that. I can hear the music thumping through the walls, the occasional drunken shout cutting through the air. I just roll my eyes and burrow deeper under my blanket.
It’s late, but I’m not tired. Or maybe I am, but my brain’s too wired to shut off. Not when Six messages me back.
A grin tugs at my lips. Honestly, I don’t know how we ended up here. One wrong number, and now I’m lying in bed in the middle of the night, having an actual conversation with a guy I’ve never met.
But the weird thing is… it doesn’t feel weird.
Maybe because it’s easier this way. Maybe because talking through a screen makes me braver than I really am.
Six:
So tell me. What are you doing tonight if you’re not at a party?
I snort softly, adjusting my pillow.
Me:
How do you know I’m not? I could have just come back from a rager. Shots, dancing, got into a fight, ran from the cops.
Six:
Sounds fake but please continue. I’m intrigued.
I let out a laugh.
Me:
Fine, you caught me. I actually spent the night in bed, eating Oreos and peanut butter.
Six:
What a weird combination.
Me:
Don’t knock it until you try it.
Six:
Okay, okay. So, what I’m hearing is, if I ever want to impress you, all I have to do is show up with Oreos and peanut butter?
Me:
The real stuff, though. The off-brand versions never taste the same.
Six:
Cherries and Oreos? I’m one step closer to cracking the mystery of who you are.
Me:
How would that even work? Are you going to go to every store in the country and ask for their customer lists?
Six:
If that’s what it takes.
I find myself smiling a little, imagining what he must look like when he says that. I can almost hear the teasing tone in his voice.
Me:
A dessert for a dessert. What’s your go-to snack?
Six:
Oh, Cherry baby. You just opened the floodgates. Where do I even start? Brownies, gummies, cookies… Basically anything that’s loaded with sugar.
Me:
So, you’re a child at heart. Got it.
Six:
I’m not ashamed. Sweets are a basic necessity of life.
Me:
Is there anything you don’t like?
The dots appear and disappear for what feels like forever until the text comes through, making my chest tighten.
Six:
Not knowing who you are.
I read his text over and over, my eyes tracing the words. He thinks that only because he doesn’t know me. What if we meet and it’s awkward? What if I’m not as funny or interesting as the girl he’s imagined? What if he thinks she’s not what I thought she’d be?
My stomach churns at the thought, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’d disappoint him.
Me:
If you knew, you’d be bored with me in a second.
I type it without thinking, but it’s true. It’s easy to hide behind a screen, to be someone else, or at least a version of myself that feels braver than the girl in real life.
Six:
Not possible. I’m literally at a party, and all I want to do is leave so I can spend all night talking to you.
I’m pulled from my thoughts when something hits the door with a heavy thud, followed by muffled giggles. Frowning, I get out of bed and open the door.
One of the girls from down the hall is sprawled out in front of me, her head clearly taking the brunt of the fall against the door. She blinks up at me, eyes a little dazed from the impact.
“Oh my God,” one of her friends chuckles from behind her, rushing over to help. “Sorry, Mary.”
I blink. “It’s Maisie,” I say, quieter than I meant to.
Her face scrunches in confusion. “Huh?”
“My name,” I add, a little louder. “It’s Maisie.”
The girl laughs again. “Oh shit, sorry. Did we wake you?”
“No, it’s okay,” I say with a small smile. “I was still awake.”
The girl who fell manages to sit up, rubbing the back of her head. “I’m fine,” she slurs, her words slow and fuzzy, clearly drunk out of her mind.
One of the others snickers. “Sorry again,” she says, flashing me a nervous, sheepish smile as they shuffle away.
They’re already moving on, giggling as they disappear down the hall. I watch them go, a hollow ache settling in my chest.
I don’t know why it stings. It’s not like I expected them to talk to me, or suddenly make me part of their world. I don’t even know them.
But for a moment, I imagined what it’d be like to have a group of friends like that. Not to spend every night alone, tucked away in my room, talking to someone I’ve never met.
Maybe I only like the quiet because I’m used to being alone.
It’s always been this way. In elementary school, I played by myself during recess. In middle school, I learned that blending in was safer than trying to fit in. I stopped raising my hand in class, stopped speaking unless someone spoke to me first.
By the time high school rolled around, I’d perfected the art of staying invisible.
But it didn’t matter. They still found reasons to make fun of me. My body, my voice, the way I took up space that wasn’t meant for someone like me.
I shake my head, snapping myself out of it. No point in dwelling on the past.
I close the door and sink back into bed, my phone buzzing in my hand a few seconds later.
Six:
Did I lose you? Sorry. I should let you go to sleep.
My thumb lingers over the screen before I finally type back.
Me:
No. I’m still here.
I don’t tell him what just happened. I don’t tell him how, for a second, I wished I could be more like them—loud, carefree, a part of something. Instead, I swallow the lump in my throat and focus on the one connection I have, even if it’s just through a screen.
Because maybe this is all I get.