Someone, Anyone (M&M, CC/UC, AU, Adult) COMPLETE, 01/20/16

Fics using the characters from Roswell, but where the plot does not have anything to do with aliens, nor are any of the characters "not of this Earth."

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April
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Part 21

Post by April »

Carolyn: Yep, there's no escaping the fact that Amy is Dylan's grandma. That's never gonna change.

Sara:
Krista is amazing and Andy is an ass. Jim can go suck it and Amy can go "f" herself.
:lol: You have strong reactions!
I think Isabel handled that as well as she could and I'm glad Michael actually told her....well most of it at least.
Isabel probably handled that a lot better than I would have.

Rod:
I don't blame Isabel for being upset with Maria living there. Yes for once Michael is trying to do a good thing without getting benefited for it. But as a cheater who is well known to drop his pants for any girl you can't blame Isabel for doubting his reasons.
I agree. Isabel has every right to be upset.
Now normally Jim is one of my favorite characters. But you keep making him look so bad in this story. .....and seeing how so much a like they are I still hold to the belief Jim is Michael's dad
I promise, he's not Michael's dad! :lol: He's not a horrible guy . . . he's just obsessed with football and women. If he could overcome his reputation of being a womanizer, he might not be so bad!
I'm getting a bit tired of Maria feeling bad for herself. Life's hard and you have to suck it up and keep going. Just because you're in a rough patch doesn't mean you have to sit around all the time going " ohh woe is me!" attitude.
Fair enough. Maria's been feeling sorry for herself ever since she got pregnant, so in a way, she's gotten used to it. If she just accepts her life for what it is, she might actually learn to enjoy it a little. But then again, that's easier said than done.

CandyliciousLovah: Yep, Isabel's becoming jealous, and that's making her cling to Michael all the more. Gotta say, I've been there.

Michael:
Wow, April... you are achieving something i didn't think was possible... annoyance with Isabel's character.
:lol: Oh, that tends to happen in my fics. Every character annoys everyone at some point or another.
Okay, Michael may have not told Isabel the whole story with Maria and i understand that he's cheated before... but if you can't trust the person your in a relationship with... THAN DON"T BE WITH THEM!!!
It's very simple, when you think about it, but Isabel's just not thinking that way. :(
Seriously, you would think that Isabel would be glad that he's not thinking about only himself for once.
On some level, she probably is glad. But on a deeper level, she wishes that, if he's going to be thinking about someone besides himself for once, he'd be thinking about her.

Eva:
Amy keeps surprising me in a very bad way. The way she thinks about her own daughter is very low, a bit like Andy is thinking about Michael. They only see the negative things in their children, even when it's not there. It's very sad.
It is sad, isn't it? Both Andy and Amy view their children as . . . disappointments. Krista has taken a different approach. She loves Michael regardless of all his faults and failures, the way a parent should.


Thank you for the feedback! I really appreciate it!








Part 21








Post-game plans were usually a no-brainer: Someone would have a party, and Michael would go to it. But now that Maria was in the picture, part of him felt like he should invite her. Probably wasn’t a good idea, though, what with Isabel still being furious with him. Figuring Maria would just ride home with his dad, he took his time in the shower, trying to work out what he’d say to his girlfriend to get back on her good side. Maybe she wouldn’t be so mad, since they’d won and he’d scored all those touchdowns.

He walked outside with Antonio, a bit disappointed to find out where everyone was meeting up that night. “Parking lot party?” Lame. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” Antonio looked excited about it.

“As long as there’s booze, I’m in.” He spotted Isabel, sitting in the back of Kyle’s truck with Tess, and he actually started to feel nervous. She did not look like the cheery cheerleader girlfriend of a guy who’d just played a huge part in winning the game. She looked like she just wanted to go home.

“Good luck, man,” Antonio said, giving him a pat on the back. He tossed his bag down next to his car and darted across the parking lot to Jase, who appeared to be the one supplying the drinks. Good. When the principal decided to check the cameras, he’d be the one to get in the most trouble.

“Michael Guerin?”

Michael took a step back as a guy he didn’t recognize stepped out of the shadows. Definitely wasn’t a student, but he didn’t look very old, either. He was wearing a sweatshirt that said NMSU.

“Yeah?”

The guy extended his hand in greeting. “Hi, I’m Carl Husen.”

Michael shook his hand unsurely. What was a guy like this doing at the parking lot party?

“You played a great game,” Carl congratulated. “Lit it up out there.”

“Thanks.” He’d pay for it tomorrow, though, when he woke up and all his limbs felt sore as hell.

“Seems to be a lot of hype surrounding you guys,” Carl continued on. “Lots of people sayin’ you’re bound for State finals.”

Michael shrugged. “Ah, maybe. Coach doesn’t want us thinkin’ about anything but Quarterfinals, though.”

“Right, of course.” Carl nodded, smiling. “Hey, listen, I know you’re probably tired, but if you ever get the chance, I’d love to have a conversation with you.”

Michael frowned. About what?

“I’m a recruiter at New Mexico State University,” he said.

Well, that explained the sweatshirt. “Oh, so you were here to watch Kyle, huh?”

“No, I was here to watch you,” he corrected swiftly.

Michael’s eyebrows arched. Me?

“We’re lookin’ to get some high caliber receivers this year, and we think you have a lot of talent. You got a lot of people talkin’ about you.”

He actually felt . . . sort of speechless. This was different from the newspaper articles. A step up. Because now he wasn’t just reading what somebody thought of him. He was hearing it.

“You’ve got a bright future ahead of you,” Carl predicted. “I suppose you’ve already given some thought as to where you’d like to attend college.”

“Uh . . .” Not so much.

“It’s a big decision.”

“Yeah.” One he’d never intended to make.

“You applied to any schools yet?”

“Um . . . yeah, to Alabama.”

“Alabama,” Carl echoed. “Great school. Great football program.”

“Yeah, that’s where Kyle wants to go.”

“And would you say that’s your top choice, too?”

He shrugged wordlessly. Didn’t have a top choice, really, because he hadn’t applied anywhere else.

“Well, that’s obviously an excellent school, and I can understand why you’d wanna play there,” Carl said. “I just want you to entertain some other options, though. Now I know New Mexico State might not be a division one team, but we’re having some success. And we’re looking for young leaders.”

Leaders? Michael thought incredulously. Now he was a young leader? Since when? If this guy only knew who he was talking to . . .

“At a school like Alabama, you might spend three years on the sideline before you ever get to play a snap. Might end up being a little fish in a big pond. But at New Mexico State, you’d be a big fish in a little pond.” He grinned excitedly and said, “Think about it.”

Michael nodded. Sure, sure, he’d think about it, even if he didn’t want to. Because he was a fish in a simple high school pond right now, but as for the future . . . he had no idea which direction he was swimming.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

That night, Michael couldn’t get to sleep. But the nice thing about having Maria there was that he had someone to stay up with. She wasn’t sleeping either, so she came downstairs, and he joined her in the kitchen, where she proceeded to scrounge around the refrigerator for ingredients for a sandwich. He talked her ear off about the New Mexico State guy, just because it was easier to talk to her about his future than it was to talk to his mom or dad about it. Because, unlike them, or unlike his dad, at least, she seemed to believe he had one.

“I felt like an idiot,” he admitted, leaning against the counter. “I just stood there. I didn’t know what to say.”

She smiled, spreading mayo on his bread before switching to butter for hers. “That’s exciting, Michael.”

“It’s weird,” he said.

“Why?”

“ ‘cause most of the time, schools can’t wait to get rid of me. This one actually wants me.”

She laughed a little, tossing her butter knife into the sink. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yeah. For the past four years, I’ve stood off to the side and watch guys go up to Kyle and tell him how great he is. Never me.”

“Until now,” she pointed out.

“Yeah.” Weird. Weird, weird, weird. He knew he was good, but . . . “Do you know how many guys across the state—across the country—play wide receiver? And I’m just one of ‘em. And I play in a town that’s more well-known for UFOs than it is for football or anything else.”

“Well, if you and Kyle make it to the NFL, it’ll be more well-known for football,” she said, unwrapping a few slices of cheese.

“No, I’m not gonna make it that far,” he predicted. New Mexico State wasn’t exactly a hotbed for future professional athletes. Not that he was going to go there. Not that he was even entertaining the idea. “NFL’s always been Kyle’s dream, not mine.”

“But you’re really good,” she insisted.

“Not that good.”

“No, you are.” She slapped the cheese slices, along with a few turkey slices, down on the bread, then put the top layer of bread on each sandwich and slid his to him.

He greedily took a bite, nodding his head in approval. “So did you have fun tonight?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’m really glad I went.”

“See?”

She took a small bite of her sandwich, frowning slightly. At first, he thought maybe she was disappointed with the taste, but when she spoke again, she sounded more confused than anything else. “Why do you downplay it?”

Okay. Now he was confused, too. “Downplay what?”

“Your talent,” she clarified. “Your ability. You act like you’re not good enough to play in college, or at the next level, but you don’t know that. Maybe you don’t even know how good you are.”

He looked down at the floor, wondering how she did that, how she managed to make him actually wonder about things like that, just by voicing the question out loud. “I don’t know,” he mumbled.

“You could be, like, a sports superstar someday.”

He chuckled, trying to picture it. “I don’t wanna be a superstar.”

“Then what do you wanna be?”

“I wanna be . . .” He trailed off, struggling to come up with any sort of answer. He knew what he’d probably be. All his life, he’d envisioned that he’d wind up at some dead-end construction job like his dad. Something involving manual labor. His options were limited.

“Maybe you should figure it out,” she suggested.

“And maybe you should take your own advice.” He set his sandwich down, taking a step closer to her. “Didn’t you wanna be, like, a superstar singer someday?”

She blushed a little and corrected, “Singer/songwriter. But it wouldn’t matter if I was a superstar. I just wanted to sing.”

It was hard not to notice her use of the past tense. “And you don’t anymore?”

“Well, I can’t anymore,” she said.

“Why not?”

“Because . . .” She hesitated, sighing. “You know why not.”

He knew what she was hinting at: Dylan. But it didn’t make sense to him. Having a kid meant she had to throw her dreams away? “You could still do it,” he encouraged.

“No, I can’t.”

“Sure you can.”

“No, it’s . . . it was a passing dream for me. Once you have a kid, it’s like . . . your only dream is to watch him grow up to be smart and successful.”

Huh, he thought. If that was true, then he must have crushed his parents’ dreams. “You should sing somethin’ for me,” he suggested.

“What?”

“Yeah, right now. Go for it.”

She shook her head adamantly. “No, I . . . I haven’t sang anything for a long time. I don’t even have my guitar anymore. I sold it.”

He frowned, wishing he could convince her. Because she sounded so sad. When she talked about his future, she was upbeat; when she talked about her own, it was different.

“It’s okay,” she assured him. “I’ll do something else with my life. I’ll raise Dylan. I’ll be a mom.”

He wanted to tell her she could do more than that, not that being a mom wasn’t important. He wanted to persuade her that she could still sing, that she could go to college and study music, that she could do all the things she wanted to do.

All the things he had the chance to do.

But he sensed she wouldn’t believe him. Not yet, anyway.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Michael barely went to sleep that night, which in some ways made it even more difficult to wake up in the morning than it usually was. He dragged his ass to school, knowing he still had to do some damage control with his girlfriend. Couldn’t put it off forever.

He sidled up to her at her locker, hoping she’d at least be somewhat responsive. “Hey,” he greeted, trying to sound casual.

She looked up at him, then returned her attention to all her books. “Hey,” she mumbled a few seconds later, as if she weren’t sure whether she wanted to say it or not. She opened up her physics textbook and started to check through her homework assignment.

He leaned back against the lockers next to hers, searching for something non-combative to talk about. “God, I hate havin’ games on Thursdays,” he complained. “It’s so hard to go to school the next day. Yesterday felt like Friday.”

“Well, today’s Friday,” she pointed out, sounding uninterested.

“Feels like a weekend, though.”

She shut her book, then shut her locker. “I’m surprised you even came,” she admitted. “I thought you might stay home. You know, with Maria.” With that little subtle jab, she tried to walk away.

He grabbed her arm as she was brushing past him. “So are we ever gonna talk about it?”

She shrugged. “What is there to say? You told me to trust you. I’m trying to.”

“Yeah, but you’re pissed off as hell.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, so . . . “ Great. This was going nowhere. He decided to try a different approach. “Fine, maybe we shouldn’t talk then.”

“What do you mean?”

He gave her a look, knowing she’d be able to read his mind.

She squinted at him suspiciously, connecting the dots. “Are you . . .” she sputtered, lowering her voice. “You seriously want me to have sex with you right now?”

“Yeah, it’ll get us back on good terms again.”

She grunted, shaking her head. “Unbelievable. Michael, you can’t use sex to solve all your problems.”

“Why not?” Seemed like a simple enough solution to him.

“You just can’t.”

Now he was starting to get pissed, too. Here he was, really trying to make things right with her, and she seemed to want no part in it. “Fine, you figure it out then,” he told her. “You come up with something.”

“I just need some time.” She whirled around and stomped down the hallway, but he wasn’t content to just let her go. If he gave her time, if he gave her space, it was possible she’d get even more upset with him, especially if she had a little birdie named Tess in her ear, chirping about what a jerk he was being.

“Isabel,” he called.

Slowly, reluctantly, she turned back around, clutching her books to her chest.

So the first two tactics hadn’t worked. Maybe the third was the charm. “I have an idea.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Micho!” Dylan screamed as he zoomed through the living room with a white bed sheet over his head. Since he couldn’t pronounce Michael’s name, that was how he said it. He bumped into Krista, though, he was coming downstairs, securing a bracelet around her wrist.

“Oh, what do we have here?” she asked. “A little ghost?”

“Dylan . . .” Maria caught up to her son and removed the sheet from his head. “Sorry, I was doing laundry, and he wanted to help fold.”

“Oh, he’s fine,” Krista assured her.

“Where’s Micho?” Dylan asked.

“He wants to play football with Michael,” Maria explained. “But I told him he can’t play right now. He’s probably upstairs doing homework or something.”

Krista laughed at that. “Probably not.”

Well, he must have been doing something. Maria hadn’t seen much of him since she’d gotten home from work and he’d gotten home from football practice at about the same time. “You look nice,” she told Krista. The woman was wearing a dark blue mid-sleeved dress that went down to her knees and black pantyhose. With her hair curled and makeup done, she was actually quite beautiful.

“Thanks,” she said. “Andy and I are going to Tina’s music concert tonight, so I convinced him to look nice, too.”

“Music concert?” she echoed, remember how she used to love those. She’d had her first solo in the first grade. From the moment she’d stood before that small group of people and belted out the first verse of “Jingle Bell Rock,” she’d fallen in love with singing.

“Yeah, Andy hates going, but . . . I kind of like it.”

“Hmm.” Maria hoped Dylan would grow up to love music. Even if he didn’t have a great voice, he could sing in the choir. Or maybe he’d be in band. Something.

“We’re running a little late, though,” she fretted before calling upstairs, “Tina, let’s go!”

A few seconds later, Tina trotted downstairs, wearing a long dress that her mom was probably forcing her to wear and too much makeup to go along with it. “Let’s get this over with,” she groaned.

“Hi, Tina,” Dylan said with a wave.

She halfway waved back at him and headed outside.

“Andy!” Krista called up to her husband.

It took him a little bit longer to trudge downstairs, but when he did, he had the same attitude his daughter did. “Let’s get this over with,” he grumbled, loosening his shirt collar. He looked different than he usually did, too. His hair was actually combed, and he was wearing black slacks and a nice blue button-down shirt. His facial expression was the same as always, though: upset, uninterested.

“Bye, Maria,” Krista said, following her husband out to the car.

“Bye,” Maria returned, waiting until the door was shut to address her son. “Alright, who’s ready for his bath?” She tried to sound excited when she said it, as if it were something to get excited about.

He pouted. “No.”

“No?”

“No bath.”

“Yes bath. Come here.” She tried to grab him, but he nearly squirmed away. He giggled and kept squirming as if it were a game.

“Dylan . . .” Did this always have to be such a hassle?

He laughed, but when Michael came downstairs, all his attention shifted. “Micho!” he exclaimed excitedly.

“Hey, buddy,” Michael said. “Whatcha doin’?”

“No bath.”

“He doesn’t wanna take one,” Maria explained.

“Who can blame him? It’s a lot more fun bein’ dirty, isn’t it, man?”

Dylan nodded exaggeratedly.

“Uh, you’re not helping,” Maria informed.

He grinned. “Sorry. Hey, I was gonna ask you . . . do you think you could help me cook somethin’?”

She raised an eyebrow. Michael wanted to cook? Okay. Weird. “Cook what?” she asked.

“I don’t know, it’s some Mexican recipe I found online.”

“Why do you wanna cook Mexican?”

“ ‘cause it’s pretty much either that or one of those boxed up meals in the back of the cupboard. You know, the kind where they give you all the ingredients in the box, and all you gotta do is dump it in a pan and put it in the oven.”

“Yeah, you should probably just stick with one of those,” Maria suggested. “I’m not the world’s greatest cook.”

“Alright.” He messed up Dylan’s hair, eliciting another giggle, and went into the kitchen.

“Play football?” Dylan asked.

“Sorry, can’t,” Michael told him. “I’ll play with you tomorrow, though.”

Maria handed him the white sheet again, figuring he could occupy himself with that a little bit longer. The bath could wait. “Go play,” she told him.

He put the sheet around his shoulders this time, like a cape, making zooming sounds as he darted back into the living room, probably pretending he was a superhero.

Maria joined Michael in the kitchen, watching him for a minute as he quickly inspected the expiration dates on several boxes of Complete Meals. One was some kind of hideous-looking beef stew. The other was a much more appetizing penne pasta and meatballs. “Which one?” he asked her, holding each up.

“That one,” she said, pointing to the penne.

“Kay.” He tossed the other box aside and frantically searched around for a casserole dish. He didn’t seem to know where they were located, though, because it took him a bit to look under the stove.

“So why are you cooking?” she inquired curiously.

“ ‘cause I have to,” he replied. “I said I would.”

“What do you mean?”

He sighed, studying the back of the box, where a few brief instructions were located. “Isabel,” he said.

“Huh?”

“Yeah, I invited her over for dinner tonight.”

Maria tensed. Isabel. Over. For dinner? That sounded like a bad idea. “Should Dylan and I just stay upstairs then?”

“No, it’s dinner for the four of us.”

Oh, that sounded like an even worse idea. The small knots in her stomach started to expand. “I’m confused.”

He opened up several cabinets and cupboards, rifling through until he found a measuring cup. “Isabel’s kinda been pissed at me these past couple days, so I’m tryin’ to make it up to her.”

“Well, why do I have to be here?”

He sighed as he hurriedly filled up about two cups of water. “Okay, remember when I said she was okay with you stayin’ here?”

She groaned, sensing where this was going. “Oh . . . Michael . . .”

“No, she’s gonna be fine with it,” he assured her. “It’s just, right now, she doesn’t really know what to think about it. So I figured she should come over and get to know you better. And she can see that it’ll be fine, and then she’ll be fine, and . . . it’ll all be fine.” He poured the water into the casserole dish, not seeming to care when much of it sloshed over the sides.

“I don’t know if this is such a good idea,” she warned. In her mind, she was picturing it, and what she was picturing was very awkward and uncomfortable for everyone involved.

“No, it’ll work,” he insisted. “I just need to make her feel included.” Right as he said that, he tore open a package of noodles inside the penne pasta box, but he tore it too far, and they scattered all over the floor. Probably an omen of how the night was going to go.

“Crap,” he muttered.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Staring at her reflection in her full-length bedroom mirror, Isabel had the same doubts almost every other teenage girl had. Did she look good enough? Was she pretty enough? Would Michael think she was pretty?

So ridiculous.

“How do I look?” she asked, smoothing away the few frizzies in her hair. She turned around, posing with her hands out to the sides. She was wearing black leggings and a long red shirt that went down just past her bottom. Michael loved that shirt because it was low-cut up top, and the cleavage was a bit excessive.

“Casual, yet classy and gorgeous,” Tess replied.

“That’s what I was going for.” She wasn’t going to show up to that dinner in some formal ball gown, because then she would just look like she was trying way too hard. But she most certainly was going to look good.

“Okay, it’s official: You’re, like, the prettiest person to ever walk the planet,” Tess proclaimed, crawling up off the bed. “This Maria girl doesn’t even stand a chance.”

Isabel shot her a look.

Not that it’s a competition,” Tess quickly added. “But if it was, you’d totally win.”

That elicited a smile. It didn’t matter if Tess was her best friend and was practically required to say these things; just hearing it at all gave her a boost of confidence.

Tess came up behind her and squeezed her shoulders supportively. “Looks like you’re ready,” she said. “Go claim your man.”

My man, Isabel thought. It was going to stay that way.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

What the fuck was up with these Complete Meals? They never ended up looking as good as they did on the front of the box. In fact, Michael’s penne pasta had turned out to be a complete disaster. He hadn’t added enough water or something, because it was practically glued to the pan, and now he was trying to chisel it away from the sides. Looked unappetizing to say the least.

He was still chiseling when the doorbell rang. “Shit,” he swore, tossing the knife he’d been using into the kitchen sink. He quickly rinsed off his hands, dried them on his pants, and checked his reflection in the microwave. Well, at least he had good looks on his side, because he definitely didn’t have cooking ability.

He scurried to the door, taking a deep breath to prepare himself. Maria came downstairs with Dylan, who had reverted back to his shy form and was clinging to his mom. He must not have known what was going on.

“Michael, really, we can just stay upstairs if that’s what you want,” Maria offered again.

“No, I want you down here.” It wasn’t like she and Dylan were his dirty little secret. He wasn’t going to hide them away. Taking one more deep breath, he pulled open the door just as Isabel rang the doorbell again. “Hey, baby,” he greeted, making sure to over-exaggerate it. He bent down to kiss her cheek, but she just stood there, seemingly confused because he was never cheesy enough to call her ‘baby.’

“Hey,” she finally returned, very little warmth or excitement in her tone.

“Come on in,” he said, stepping aside.

From the moment she came in and saw Maria and Dylan standing there, she looked tense.

“You remember Maria, right?” he said, quickly reintroducing them anyway. “Maria, Isabel.”

“Hi,” Maria said, managing a smile and a wave.

“Hi,” Isabel echoed, managing neither. Her eyes immediately drifted down to Dylan, and she gave Michael a curious look.

“Oh, didn’t I . . . didn’t I tell you Maria has a kid?” he asked, knowing very well he hadn’t.

She smiled, not a happy kind of smile, but that angry kind where she pressed her lips together tightly to keep from saying what she was really feeling. “No,” she answered simply.

“No.” He nodded, already anticipating an argument about that little omission later. “Well, she does.” If anything, he was hoping it’d make her feel better. Obviously Maria wasn’t like all the other girls he’d hooked up with over the years, so maybe she’d feel less apprehensive about this whole living situation.

“Dylan, say hi,” Maria instructed.

“Hi,” he whimpered, biting on his fingers.

“Hi,” Isabel returned. “Dylan, is it?”

He nodded.

“Hi, Dylan.” She managed to smile at the little boy, but when she looked at Michael again, that smile immediately vanished.

Enough talking, he decided, shutting the door. “Alright, let’s eat.”

Dinner was full of the clanging and scraping of silverware against plates. And little else. They didn’t talk. Once in a while, he’d try unsuccessfully to start up a conversation, but it usually fizzled out before it even began, and then they were back to where they started: attempting to ingest a meal that wasn’t complete at all, unless you counted being a complete failure. It was like chewing on rubber, and swallowing was actually painful. Michael noticed that Dylan stopped eating his after one bite and started spitting it out into his napkin instead. Maria didn’t even stop him, because she probably wanted to do the same.

“Kinda chewy,” Michael remarked. “Sorry.”

Isabel nearly choked on hers, barely managing to swallow. “Can I have some more water?” she asked.

“Sure.” He took her glass and got up from the table, amazed that he hadn’t screwed water up, too. Hell, he was screwing everything else up.

While he was refilling her glass, waiting for it to get as cold as possible, Maria managed to strike up the smallest of conversations. “So, Isabel,” she said, “you’re a cheerleader, right?”

Isabel just nodded.

“Hmm.” Maria swallowed hard, smiling a little. “I always used to wanna be a cheerleader. Back when I was little. But I never was.”

Isabel shrugged. “It’s not really that great. You stand on the sideline and wave pom poms. Nobody notices you; nobody watches. Nobody cares.”

“That’s not true,” Michael said, even though it kind of was. He brought Isabel’s glass back to the table and set it down in front of her, accidentally spilling a little on her lap. “I notice.”

“How? You’re playing the game.”

“But when the defense goes out there and I’m standin’ on the sidelines . . . I hear you guys. Go, fight, win, all that stuff.”

“All that stuff,” she echoed, mimicking him. “Gee, you must really listen closely.”

Man, she was backfiring this on him. Chicks were so good at this stuff. “Well, I gotta focus on the game,” he pointed out, taking his seat again.

“I know. That’s okay, don’t worry. I don’t expect you to focus on me.”

He shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a way out of this conversation. He glanced to Maria for help.

“So . . .” Maria jumped in quickly. “Do you think the guys are gonna end up going to State?”

Again, she shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Oh, we’re gonna go,” Michael declared confidently. “I’m gonna give you a lot to cheer about.”

“Can’t wait,” she mumbled, sliding her noodles—if they could even be called that—around on her plate with her fork to avoid eating them. “So, Maria,” she said, “how do you like living here?”

Maria bristled, down casting her eyes towards her plate. “It’s good,” she said. “It’s just temporary, though.”

Right, just temporary, Michael reminded himself. Truth was, though, he was getting kind of used to having Maria and Dylan there. And even though the one-week mark his mom had set out for this arrangement was quickly approaching, nobody had yet talked about her leaving.

“So did you grow up around here?” Isabel asked. “I feel like I should know you.”

“No, you wouldn’t. I grew up in Santa Fe with my mom,” Maria exclaimed. “And then when I was fourteen, I went to live with my dad in Albuquerque. And that was when . . . you know, everything changed. My mom and I just moved here about a year ago.”

Isabel nodded, never once looking at her as she said, “Interesting. So how old is your son?”

“Uh, he’s two. And a half, actually.”

“Oh, so you must’ve been really young when you had him.”

“Yeah. Fifteen.”

Michael glanced back and forth between them, listening closely, starting to feel the slightest bit hopeful. Okay, maybe this isn’t so bad, he thought. They were talking. They were getting to know each other, at least a little bit.

“So, if you don’t mind me asking, where’s his father?” Isabel inquired.

“Oh, he’s . . .” Maria looked down at her plate, instantly looking sad. Then she glanced over at Dylan to make sure he wasn’t listening. He wasn’t. He was playing with two of his noodles now, holding them up and pretending they were people fighting each other. They were probably tough enough to be. “He’s not around,” she mumbled.

“Hmm.” Isabel stared at her for a moment, sounding truly hostile for the first time when she remarked, “Well, then it’s a good thing Michael is.”

Maria shot him an alarmed look, and he didn’t even know what to say. What he was supposed to do, just sit there and lie to Isabel, tell her he didn’t give a rat’s ass about Maria and Dylan? Would that make her feel better, put her nerves at ease? Because he wasn’t going to do that.

“Excuse me,” Isabel said, standing up. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” She quickly scurried through the kitchen and around the side of the stairs towards the downstairs bathroom.

Once Michael heard the door shut, he muttered, “Shit, this isn’t goin’ well.”

“No,” Maria agreed. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s not your fault.” She was being plenty friendly. Isabel was just being a bitch.

“Michael, you have to see things from her perspective, though,” she urged. “This is a highly unusual situation, and you know you weren’t completely upfront with her about it.”

“Yeah, but can’t she just . . . get over it?”

Maria gave him a stunned look. “Seriously? That’s your solution?”

“No, my solution was dinner, but apparently that’s a bust.”

“Okay, imagine if she had some guy living with her. Some guy and a kid. How would you feel?”

He imagined it, and it made him furious. Right away. He wanted to punch that imaginary guy in the face. “Alright, point taken.”

“See? You can’t expect her to just get over it.” She sighed heavily, reaching over to wipe off the corners of Dylan’s messy, sauce-covered mouth. “Okay, you take him upstairs,” she told him. “I’ll talk to Isabel.”

“Just the two of you? Alone?” That sounded . . . well, hot, honestly.

“Yes.”

“What’re you gonna say to her?”

“I don’t know, but it’s probably better than anything you’ll say to her.”

He couldn’t help but smile. She was probably right. “Alright, work some magic,” he said, standing up. “Come on, Dylan.” He grabbed the youngster’s hand and hoisted him into his arms, carrying him upstairs before Isabel could come out and catch sight of him holding a kid.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Maria wrung her hands together, wracking her brain for something to say. Being polite and friendly clearly wasn’t working. What this girl needed was some all-out reassurance that she had nothing to worry about.

She didn’t have much time to come up with what she wanted to say, because Isabel exited the bathroom shortly after Michael headed upstairs. She looked like she’d been crying. Maria wasn’t a makeup expert, but it looked like it’d been touched up.

“Where’s Michael?” she asked.

“Oh, Dylan wasn’t feeling well, so I asked him to take him upstairs,” she fibbed.

“Maybe I should just go then.”

“No, um . . .” Maria stood up quickly, wanting to make this easier on Isabel. And on Michael. Neither one of them deserved to feel like their relationship was straining just because she was there. “Let’s sit down,” she suggested, motioning towards the living room.

Reluctantly, Isabel went and sat down on the couch. Maria sat down in the recliner she’d seen Andy fall asleep in the other night, still holding his drink in his hand. “We should talk,” she suggested.

“I’m sorry,” Isabel apologized immediately. “For asking about Dylan’s dad. That’s none of my business.”

“No, that’s okay.”

“No, it’s . . .” Isabel took in a shaky breath, looking very on edge. “It’s just kinda weird, you know? I barely even know you, and here you are, living with my boyfriend.”

“Just for now,” Maria reminded her. “And Isabel, it’s . . . you know it’s nothing like that.”

Isabel blinked back tears, only managing, “Like . . .” before she trailed off.

“Like what you’re thinking it is,” Maria filled in, “or might be. I promise, there’s nothing going on between me and Michael. He just . . . he feels sorry for me. That’s the only reason why I’m here. I have nowhere else to go.”

“Nowhere?” Isabel echoed, sounding skeptical.

“I can’t afford a place of my own, and my own mom kicked me out. If you even knew how desperate I was for money . . .” She shuddered, remembering James Winston, what she’d done with him for a lousy one-hundred bucks.

“That’s rough,” Isabel said. “I’m sorry.”

Maria shrugged, figuring she’d accepted plenty of people’s pity lately. “Teen mom. Comes with the territory.”

“I guess,” Isabel said. “Look, I have nothing against you. But it’s really hard for me to trust Michael. He cheated on me last year, and we ended up breaking up. I don’t want it to happen again.”

“It won’t,” Maria assured her. “It’s not like that. I know it’s hard, but you’re just gonna have to trust him.”

Isabel sighed, still seeming hesitant to do that. “Do you like him?” she asked.

Oh, that question. She remembered hearing it about a month ago, Halloween. Tina had asked her, and she’d known the answer, even back then. Now, that answer was even clearer. Which was why she lied. “He’s a friend. Nothing more. And I know I’m a friend to him, but that’s all it is. What you two have is . . .” Shaky, she thought. Unstable. “It’s rock solid. I mean, you should hear the way he talks about you. It’s always Isabel-this, Isabel-that. He’s so in love with you; it’s obvious.”

Isabel smiled for the first time since she’d been there, a genuinely surprised smile. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Okay, so this wasn’t exactly the truth. But he did talk about her sometimes, once in a while. She was just . . . adding some embellishments to what he normally said. “And you know, he even said that, he understands why you’re upset with him, but he hopes one day you’ll be proud of him for helping me. Because he’s trying to do the right thing, because he wants to be a better man. He wants to be somebody who’s worthy of being with you. At least that’s what he says.”

Isabel looked . . . elated. There was really no other way to describe it. It was like all her anxiety had vanished, and she trusted him again. Maybe it would only last for tonight, or maybe it would last longer. But however long it lasted, Maria knew she’d just done what Michael had asked. She’d worked some magic.

When it came time for Isabel to leave, Maria busied herself with washing the dishes. That casserole dish alone was going to take a good twenty-minute scrub.

Michael walked outside with Isabel, and they stood together out by her car for a while, talking, looking like they were having a pretty serious conversation. Maria couldn’t help but peer out the window once or twice and notice the way he leaned in towards her, the way he held her hand, stroked her hair. And eventually, after he’d smooth-talked his way back into her good graces, he kissed her, and she kissed him back; and they looked like the perfect high school couple, so Maria had to look away.








TBC . . .

-April
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LOVE IS MICHAEL AND MARIA.
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April
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Part 22

Post by April »

Michael:
I think that Maria just worked some magic that might blow up in her face later. I don't think that Maria and Michael would sleep together while Michael's still with Isabel or Maria won't let it get that far but than again, in one of your stories you never know
Oh yeah, you know me, I like to keep things unpredictable.
There all playing a dangerous game by not being entirely honest with each other and themselves but than again, if i was in Maria's situation.... i wouldn't be all out honest either. There is no nice way to say that you like the person the other is dating.
Yeah, she couldn't exactly be truthful. But she told Isabel some pretty big lies there . . .

cjensen2:
But after this last chapter, I was pretty annoyed with all three of them, Isabel for being so delusional about Michael and putting up with his crap, Maria for lying to Isabel and getting her hopes up about Michael, and Michael for just being a jerk to Isabel and totally not deserving her. But I'm glad you've made them so 3 dimensional and interesting.
That seems to be the trend with my stories. The characters annoy my readers a lot, are sometimes redeemed and sometimes not, but I do like to build them up and exploit their flaws so that they are, like you said, 3-dimensional. Just like real people.
I can understand why Maria said what she said, as she didn't want to screw Michael over after him being so nice to her. But it was actually cruel in the long run to get Isabel's hopes up about Michael's feelings.
Definitely. It wasn't Maria's intention, but surely this did more harm than good.
It's interesting how Michael always talks to Maria about everything, but never brings this stuff up with Isabel. I wonder why he thinks he can't talk to her? Is it because he thinks Isabel is too invested in his future and would want to make plans with him? Because she also believes he has a promising future (though not sure why).
Isabel and Maria are actually somewhat similar in how they view Michael. They both think he has a lot of potential (and yes, that's still fairly debatable at this moment), because they've both gotten to know him more than most people do. But while Isabel often tries to make Michael change, Maria just wants to watch him change on his own, and that's probably why he feels so comfortable talking to her.
I thought it was interesting how Maria really thinks their relationship is unstable and shaky, and I wonder exactly what she is basing that on. Do you think she can really tell how little Michael loves her? Or is it partly wishful thinking?
It's probably a combination. Maria knows Michael well enough to know that he and Isabel aren't the most natural match. Yet she's still envious of what they have because she's starting to feel so close to him, but not as close as she'd like to. So yeah, partly wishful thinking.

Carolyn: Thank you for reading! Glad you keep loving Dylan!

CandyliciousLovah:
Well, that went as well as could be expected. I only hope that Isabel can warm up to Maria eventually and get used to her.
The question is, as Michael's girlfriend . . . should she have to?

Sara:
Michael.....always on the edge of completely stupid and completely adorable....
That's actually the PERFECT way to describe him! :D
I appreciate what he is doing for Maria but hate that he is leading Isabel on and not being totally straight. And now Maria is lying to Isabel's face about it all.....
Yeah, the whole thing is becoming a little more . . . sordid now that Maria is lying to Isabel, too.
Tess seems to get ditzier and ditzier.....she is inhaling too much hairspray.
:lol: She's high-maintenance, but unlike many others in this story, she's actually kind of got her shit together.

Rod:
Now I have to admit Michael's idea of having a nice dinner with everyone there to talk it out wasn't a bad idea. Where he went wrong was not telling anyone before hand and just springing it on them.
He's trying. He's just . . . I don't know. He doesn't think things through very well.
The scout talking to Michael was right about one thing. At Alabama (love you for that by the way :mrgreen: ) he might ride the bench for a few years. While at the smaller school he could play at the start. I'm a firm believer that no matter what school you play for big or small. .....if you're good. ...the NFL scouts will find you.
I knew you would love me for the Alabama stuff. :D It kind of plays a big role in this story as it goes on. And yes, I agree with you, your talent can shine through regardless of what size of school you go to. Especially nowadays.

Karin:
This might be the first time where i don't rote for MM lol.
Oh no! Well . . . don't give up on them yet. ;)
Maria would be a fool to persue a relationship with him at this point. I can't even feel sorry for Isabel, she's an idiot and i hope Maria has more brains than her. I hope she can get her sht togeheter and move of that town asap, if not for her than for Dylan's sake, it would be awful for him to have Michael as a male rolemodel.
Fair enough. Actually, the central conflict of this story revolves around Michael's ability (or lack thereof) to be a good person and whether or not he'll ever deserve the feelings either of these girls has for him.
General ot, what is the difference between AU w/o aliens and the abyss shipping wise? I mean is MI (gag, sorry) considered CC or UC, and are UC fics posted in this section as well?
I don't think anyone would consider MI CC since they were never really together in the show. And the difference between this section and the Alien Abyss . . . well, I've posted fics in both and sometimes struggle with where to put them, but I think the general idea about the Abyss is that it's a "Read at your own risk" section, meaning--to me, at least--that there might be something about the story that makes you REALLY uncomfortable. Like a story where the UC couple might win out in the end, or a story with extremely violent, graphic, and/or dark subject matter.



Thank you for the feedback! Much appreciation!








Part 22








Pep rallies. Some people hated them. Michael loved them. Not because they were particularly inspiring, or even interesting, but because he just loved getting to watch the cheerleaders prance around the gymnasium in their short little skirts. He didn’t get to see them much at the football games, but this more than made up for it. Isabel and Tess were in the front of the formation, along with a girl who must have forgotten her spandex, because every time she kicked her leg in the air, she gave everyone quite the view of what was underneath her skirt.

“K-Y-L-E!” they chanted, doing synchronized movements with their arms, holding their metallic blue and gold pom poms in their hands. “Kyle, get a victory! K-Y-L-E! Kyle, get a victory!”

Michael nudged his friend’s side. Everyone was clapping and shouting along with them at this point, and even though Kyle looked a little embarrassed, he was probably more flattered than anything else.

“Last time!” Tess shouted above the other girls. After one more round of “K-Y-L-E! Kyle, get a victory!” they jumped, kicked, shook their pom poms, which made Michael wish they were shaking their breasts, and shouted things like, “Let’s go, Comets!” and “We’re number one!” while the crowd applauded. Maybe it was just because this pep rally was getting them all out of eighth period, or maybe they were actually really pepped up, because it was quite the energetic atmosphere. Tess would be thrilled. Her whole mission in life was to plan successful pep rallies.

She took the microphone while the other cheerleaders stepped back and motioned for her boyfriend to come join her. He acted reluctant, even though she’d told him to prepare a speech for this, and finally she had to say, “Come on, Kyle,” into the microphone to get him to his feet. Everyone hollered as he climbed down off the bleachers and went to stand beside Tess.

Once they were quiet again, Tess cleared her throat and started bragging him up. “When it was announced over the summer that West Roswell and East Roswell would be consolidating after the flood damage this year, some people were apprehensive about it,” she said. “But once those people realized that Kyle Valenti would be the new Comets quarterback, all those concerns vanished into thin air. Kyle came into our school with a lot of pressure on his shoulders, expectations to be the best. Back at East, he set just about every single-season record imaginable. In his senior year here at West, he’s broken his own records time and time again, and he’s added a few new ones to his resume: Most passing touchdowns in school history, most rushing touchdowns, and highest completion percentage. It’s obvious that Kyle is something special.” She blushed before adding, “But then again, I always thought so.”

That got a little “Aww,” from the girls in the crowd, and a sarcastic “Aww” from the rest of the football team. Kyle just shrugged and went with it.

“We all know that he’s bound for bigger and better things,” Tess continued on, “but he doesn’t let that distract him from his ultimate goal, a goal he and the rest of the team will take one step closer towards when they win the quarterfinals game on Tuesday night: Becoming state champions!”

The crowd roared with applause.

“At this time,” Tess said loudly in order to get them to quiet down again, “I’d like to turn the mic over to your star quarterback, and the player unanimously voted MVP by his own teammates for the fourth year in a row. Give a loud round of applause for the one and only Kyle Valenti!”

As it turned out, instructions for a loud round of applause weren’t necessary. It was deafening all on its own. People stood up, and Michael gladly stood up right along with them. Kyle deserved all the recognition and accolades in the world for what he did on the field. He was a hell of a football player, but that wasn’t the only reason why people liked him so much. He was a good guy. He had everything going for him. Everyone knew that.

Kyle gave Tess a quick peck on the cheek before taking the microphone from her. “Thanks,” he said. “Thank you, everybody.”

But they just kept clapping and cheering.

“Thank you,” he said again, and gradually, people started to sit down and become quiet. He had to wait a good fifteen seconds, though, before he could actually start speaking. He took a piece of paper out of his pocket, unfolded it, and took a deep breath before starting in.

“It’s no secret I wanna play on Saturdays for the next few years,” he began. “And hopefully on Sundays for many years after that. But I don’t wanna get ahead of myself. What matters to me, right here, right now, is Wednesday night. That game. That moment. I’ve been playin’ quarterback for as long as I can remember, as long as anyone can remember, but I don’t know what it’s like to be a state champion. Not yet. But let me tell you guys, we’re gonna go out there and get it done. We’ve got great coaches, great fans, and most importantly, a great team of guys. I would not be standing up in front of you right now if it wasn’t for them.”

Everyone clapped again, but it wasn’t quite as loud this time.

“Every time I hand off the football, I gotta trust that the person I hand it off to is gonna be able to move it forward. Every time I throw, I know I got somebody in the backfield who’s gonna make a catch.” He glanced at Michael and smiled. “I think that’s what I love about football so much. Knowing that I’m not out there alone, that I’ve got my friends, my brothers, out there to help me get it done . . . there’s nothin’ like it. There’s nothin’ like hearing the sound of all those cleats on the pavement when we walk together down to the field. So . . . even if I do go on to play at the next level, I know I’ll never forget these games. Win or lose, they’ll always be special memories in my mind. I’ll carry them with me for all time. So I might as well carry some good memories with me. Might as well carry the memory of a state championship with me, because I’m tellin’ you guys, it’s a special season, and that’s where we’re goin’.”

Everyone stood up and roared again.

“I wanna encourage everyone to go to the game tomorrow night,” Kyle went on once they’d sat back down. “It’s out in Carlsbad, so it’s a little bit of a drive, but not bad.”

“Spirit bus!” Tess piped up.

“Oh, that’s right, the cheerleaders are taking a spirit bus, so if you need a way to get there . . . there you go.”

Michael chuckled. Eloquent, Kyle.

“I’ll hand it back over to my girlfriend now,” Kyle said. “Thank you, again.”

One more standing ovation. Why not? Kyle came to sit back down, and Michael told him, “Good job.”

He shrugged. “I just threw somethin’ together at last minute.”

“No, it was good.” Much better than what he could have done. Good thing he was just there in a supporting role and Kyle was the lead.

“Alright,” Tess said. “Well, you guys know, at every pep rally, we like to do a little game or activity to see just how prepared our players are. So for today’s activity, I’d like you to welcome in some special guests. Guys, come on in.”

Two of the cheerleaders had scampered towards the back of the gym to pull open the doors. In came a stampede of football dads, led by Jim Valenti, of course, each holding a football in their hands. They got a nice, steady round of applause, and for a second, Michael wondered if his own dad was among them. Maybe.

“I’m sure a lot of you football players used to toss the ball around with your dad when you were little,” Tess continued on. “Maybe that’s what got you interested in the game. We thought we’d invite your dads here today for a good old game of catch.”

Kyle laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, man, my dad’s gonna love this.”

Michael scanned the crowd of fathers, even though he knew his wouldn’t be there. He’d say he had to work. Couldn’t get off. Too important.

He met Isabel’s eyes for a moment, and she looked sad for him. Why? Did he look like he felt sad about it? He sure hoped not. This was something he was used to. Expected.

“Now guys, if your dad couldn’t be here today, we’re gonna partner you up with one of the cheerleaders,” Tess explained. “Okay, so the object of the game is simple . . .”

Michael tuned her out, looking down at his feet. So his dad wasn’t there for a stupid pep rally. Oh, well. It didn’t really matter.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dylan’s face lit up when he caught the football that night. They’d been out back playing for about fifteen minutes now, and he’d managed to catch about half the balls Michael had thrown. He was definitely taking it easy on him, but Dylan didn’t know that. So whenever he caught one, he thought it was amazing. And it kind of was.

“Nice,” Michael complimented him. “You’re gettin’ good. Alright, throw it back to me now.”

Dylan held the ball over his head with both hands and tossed it as far as he could. It had a lopsided trajectory and not much power behind it, so Michael had to lean forward and to the left to secure it. “Good throw,” he said. “Alright, I’m gonna back up a little now.” He took one step back, then instructed, “You do the same.”

Questioningly, Dylan looked down at his own feet, then took one step forward.

“No, step back,” Michael clarified.

“Oh.” He turned his whole body around and hopped forward, then spun back to Michael and smiled.

Michael laughed a little. “Alright, good job. Here it comes.” He tossed the football again, but he must have tossed it a little too hard, or maybe too fast, because Dylan ducked to avoid it. It landed a few feet behind him. “Oops,” he said softly.

“No, that’s okay. Just throw it back.”

Dylan scurried over to pick it up, proceeded to drop it a few times, and then just kicked it back over to him.

Hmm, Michael thought, watching as it rolled to a stop right in front of him. Maybe he’ll be a kicker. Bending down, he picked the football up and asked, “Are you havin’ fun?”

Dylan nodded eagerly.

“Yeah?” He threw it back to him, lightly this time, and he caught it. “Good.” He remembered standing out in that back yard many, many years ago, tossing the football around with his dad. When he’d been little, they’d done that a lot. But the older he’d gotten, the less they’d done it. By the time he’d been Tina’s age, they’d stopped altogether.

Jim still tossed the football around with Kyle. Like at the pep rally today.

“So you wanna go to a football game tomorrow night?” he asked the little boy. “Watch me play?”

“Yeah!” Dylan exclaimed.

“Yeah?” Michael smiled, holding out his hands and taking another step back. Dylan threw it back to him, a pretty decent and on-target throw this time. He caught it easily. “Think we can convince your mom to take you?”

“Yep.”

“Yeah, I think we can.” Maria had already promised that she’d be there. The only thing better would be to have Dylan there, too.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After every pep rally, Tess made sure to treat herself to a manicure/pedicure combo. Isabel tagged along, and who could blame her? They’d planned that whole fifty-minute pep rally on their own, virtually, with very little help from the rest of the cheerleading squad. And it was stressful. Nobody really understood how stressful being a cheerleader was.

By the time they got the pedicures, the manicures were complete and fabulous. They each sat with their feet in a pedicure tub of bath salts, aloe vera gel, soap, and scented oil, relaxing. Beside Tess, a little girl was getting her first pedicure ever, squirming and squealing while her mom tried to hold her in place. She was able to tune her out, though. Nothing could annoy her when she was in her relaxing place.

“I’m so excited for tomorrow,” she said, closing her eyes.

“What’s tomorrow?” Isabel asked.

Tess’s eyes immediately shot open, and she gave her best friend an incredulous look. “The game, duh.” Had she really forgotten that?

“Oh, right,” Isabel said flippantly. “I’ve had my mind on other things.”

“I haven’t been thinking about anything else,” Tess babbled. “Neither has Kyle. Or his dad. I went over there for dinner last night, and they literally spent, like, three hours watching film of last week’s game. And they’d already watched it once before.”

“Addicts,” Isabel teased.

“Yeah, really. Is Michael stoked?”

Isabel shrugged, shifting her feet in the water. “Probably. Maybe. I don’t know. We haven’t really talked.”

“All weekend?”

“Well, you know, we texted a few times. Nothing substantial.”

“Hmm.” Tess couldn’t imagine that. If she and Kyle didn’t spend time together, they at least talked on the phone, sometimes for a couple hours at night. “So you never told me, how was the dinner?”

“Awful,” Isabel replied swiftly.

“Oh.” Tess made a face.

“No, I mean the food itself was awful. Michael tried to cook, and that never goes well. But the dinner, being there with him and Maria and Dylan . . . that was just awkward.”

“Dylan?” Tess echoed. “Who’s Dylan? Oh my god, does she have a boyfriend? And she brought him there? Like a double date?”

“No, Dylan is her son,” Isabel explained.

“What?”

“Yeah, he’s, like, two or three years old.”

What?” Tess shrieked again. She remembered running into Maria at James Winston’s, her saying that she was dropping her ‘little brother’ off to play. She grunted, sort of hating that she was gullible enough to fall for that. “Little brother my ass.”

“Yeah, so Michael officially has two houseguests.” Isabel smiled tensely, lifting her feet out of the water. They probably hadn’t been in there long enough, but apparently she though they’d been, because she picked up the towel next to her seat and began to dry them off.

Tess leaned forward, trying to picture it in her head. Michael . . . and Maria . . . and a toddler? All under one roof? Weird. “Wait, Isabel, this is a good thing,” she said. The picture in her head was just so weird that it would clearly never amount to anything. “If she has a kid, that means she’s no threat.”

Isabel glared at her.

Not that she was ever a threat before,” Tess quickly added. “I’m just saying . . . now there’s, like, absolutely no chance.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because. Michael is . . . Michael. And sure, he may have some redeeming qualities buried deep down in the hidden depths of his soul, but at the end of the day, he’s still a normal eighteen year-old guy. And normal eighteen year-old guys don’t jump into relationships that require them to be a stepdad. I mean, even if he did feel some kind of attraction to her, this whole kid thing would, like, neutralize it.”

Isabel sat there silently, mulling it over, and Tess once again worried that she’d said something wrong.

“Not that he was ever attracted to her,” she mumbled. Although with Michael . . . well, he was pretty much attracted to anything that had breasts.

“Maybe you’re right,” Isabel pondered. “At first, I was really worried, and it caught me off guard, but . . . you know, Maria even said he talks about me a lot. And she can tell he loves me.”

“See?” As weird as the situation was, at least things seemed to be looking up. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Maria laughed as Michael leaned over her, trying to recapture control of the mouse pad of his laptop computer. “Okay, nothin’ to see here.”

“Stop.” She pushed his arm aside, scrolling through his music collection, recognizing many of the songs. “Some interesting songs you’ve got here.”

“Well, some of it’s pornography,” he confessed. “My video library got mixed with the music one.”

She stopped at a title of . . . something. “Fuck Like a Beast? Must be one of the pornos.”

“No, that’s a song,” he informed her. “One of my favorites, ‘cause it’s like my anthem, you know?”

She laughed, scrolling down a bit. “Me So Horny. Okay, that’s the song.”

“No, actually, that’s porn,” he corrected. “They play the song in the background while they’re doin’ it.”

She laughed, even though she was mildly repulsed. “Okay, note to self: Dylan can never use your computer. Ever.”

“Agreed.” He moved away from her, much to her disappointment, and got down on his hand and knees to search under his bed. “I’ve got more,” he said. “Old CDs and stuff.”

“Oh, I love CDs,” she said. “I just don’t trust technology enough to store all my songs. I like having a hard copy of something, you know?”

“Yeah.” He pulled out a handful of CDs and made his way back towards her on his knees, handing them to her.

“Pearl Jam,” she said, nodding in approval at the first one on the stack. “Good.” She set it aside and took a look at the next one. “Radiohead. Even better.” The boy had good taste, and it took a lot for her to admit that. She was a music snob. She sorted through the next ones, equally impressed. “Nirvana. Can’t really go wrong there. Staind. Their best album.” There was one that surprised her, though. She couldn’t help but make a face as she held it up in confusion. “One Direction?”

He quickly snatched it from her, laughing lightly, embarrassed, and was obviously lying when he said, “That’s Teenie’s.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” When she got to the last three, they were all the same band, just different albums. “Metallica, Metallica, Metallica.”

“They’re my favorite band.”

“Clearly.” She’d already known that, though. He had a poster up on his closet. “They used to be pretty good.”

He made a face, as though he didn’t understand. “Used to?”

“Yeah. I think they sold out with ‘Enter Sandman,’ though.”

“Wha-what?” he sputtered. “Are you kidding? That was one of their biggest hits. The video alone was epic.”

“Okay, the video was great,” she acknowledged. “It gave me nightmares for weeks. The song, on the other hand . . .” She shrugged. “Kind of a desperate attempt for mainstream radio play.”

He shook his head, shocked and clearly appalled, and said, “I can’t even claim that I know you right now.”

“Hey, I’m entitled to my own opinion.”

“I know,” he said. “I know you are.” He sighed, climbing to his feet, and then rambled on, “Except in this case, in which I’m clearly right and you’re clearly wrong, and you should just agree with me.”

“Oh!” She shot to her feet, enjoying this playful banter. It was nice to just talk to him about something trivial, something lighthearted. It made her feel . . . normal. She wasn’t even sure which one of them had started up the conversation about music, or how it had even been brought up, but she was glad it had. “You think you’re all-knowing, huh?”

“When it comes to Metallica, yeah.”

“Well, out of the two of us, which one wanted to be a singer?”

“That doesn’t matter. James Hetfield doesn’t sing. He screams. He growls. Occasionally he shrieks. But he doesn’t sing.”

“Then maybe it’s not even real music,” she proposed, just because she knew that would really get a rise out of him.

“I’m just gonna forget you even said that,” he declared. “Okay? It’s forgotten. You’re forgiven.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes. And if you’re such a music buff, why don’t you tell me who you like?”

“Hmm . . .” She thought about it, glancing down at the album he still had in his hand. “Well, certainly not One Direction,” she teased.

“I can’t help it, okay? It’s catchy stuff.”

She smiled, finding it adorable that he was into a boy band. Did Isabel know that? “I’m kind of all over place,” she told him. “Everything from Sarah McLachlan to Lenny Kravitz. Arcade Fire, Citizen Cope, Birthday Massacre.”

“Birthday Massacre?” he echoed. “What the hell’s that?”

“They’re like this synthrock, New Wave, 80’s sounding group. And the lead singer’s got this really high-pitched feminine voice, but she and the rest of the band dress all gothic.”

Michael looked her up and down, she who was so totally not dressed like a gothic, and just said, “Okay, then.”

“No, they’re really good, actually. And, uh . . . so is Damien Rice. The Joy Formidable. Marcy Playground.”

“Oh, Marcy Playground,” he recognized. “ ‘Sex and Candy.’ I love that song.”

“Yeah, it’s a good one.” Just thinking about that song made it start to play in her head, though, and that made it even harder to be in the same room with Michael.

“So what’s your favorite song?” he asked, leaning towards her just slightly.

“Mmm . . .” She shook her head, deciding not to reveal that one to him. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because if you know that, then you officially know way too much about me.”

“Oh, I’ll figure it out,” he vowed confidently.

“Oh, you think you will?”

“I know I will.”

She laughed a little, forcing herself to look away, wondering if it was bad of her to hope that he would.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Isabel walked into the library during her lunch break the next day, feeling . . . apprehensive. Before going to bed last night, she’d glanced through one of her mom’s tried and true self-help books, looking over a chapter about accepting change. Well, her life had gone through a few unexpected changes lately, so she was determined to accept it. Not only that, she was going to embrace change, make change feel completely welcome . . . even if it wasn’t.

She found Maria working, struggling to locate where to put a book back on the shelf. Dylan was there, right beside her, handing her one book after another.

“Card catalog,” Isabel mumbled, towering over her. “I never understood it, either.”

Maria glanced up, looking surprised. “Oh, no, it’s just . . . the book’s already here. I think this one might belong to a different library or something.”

“Mommy . . .” Dylan wined, pounding his hands atop the stack of books sitting in front of him. “Bowing.”

“Boring?” she translated.

He nodded.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, kissing the top of his head quickly, then stood up and stepped around him to stand in front of Isabel. “Do you need me to help you find something?” she asked.

Isabel almost laughed at that. She was one of the few library patrons who actually still came in and checked out books instead of just using the computers. She knew where everything was. “So you bring Dylan to work with you?” she asked.

“Oh.” Maria glanced back at her son, who was sliding the books off the top of the pile, one at a time, scattering them all over the floor. “Well, when Krista’s home, she doesn’t mind watching him. But when we’re both working, she lets me bring him here. I’m just trying to save up enough money to send him back to daycare.”

Isabel nodded. “Krista’s very understanding.” Most other women wouldn’t put up with that, babysitting a kid who wasn’t even a grandkid. But then again, most other women wouldn’t let relative strangers move into her house.

Embrace change, Isabel reminded herself, determined not to get angry. Welcome it.

“So I was wondering,” she said, “are you going to the game tonight?”

“The football game?” Maria asked.

“Yeah. It’s about an hour away, in Carlsbad.”

“Um . . .” Maria started to play with her hair, looked down at her feet, then looked back up again and nodded as she replied, “Yeah. Yeah, I—I think so. Something fun to do.”

“Are you going with Michael’s parents?”

Maria hesitated, and when she did respond, it was quiet. “Yeah, with his mom at least.”

Isabel swallowed down her resentment at the fact that Krista was so chummy with Maria. Probably just because they worked together. She knew it didn’t really matter. Michael’s mom had always adored her, too, said she was the best thing to ever happen to her son.

“Well, why don’t you ride with me and Tess?” she suggested. “We’re taking a spirit bus, but that usually gets jam-packed full of annoying junior high kids, so we usually ride up ourselves. In the spirit car. Which is just a cheesy way of saying that I drive and Tess sings off-key to all the overplayed pop songs on the radio the whole way there.”

Maria laughed a little, sounding nervous. “That sounds fun,” she said, “but I think Dylan’s gonna come with me this time, so . . .”

“Well, that’s no problem. There’s plenty of room for him. And I’m a very safe driver.”

“Um . . .” Maria looked back at her son again, probably contemplating a way out of it.

“Come on,” Isabel urged. “It’ll be good for us to have some time to . . . get to know each other. I don’t want things to be awkward when there’s no reason for them to be.” Sure, there was a reason, but she was trying to project nothing but the utmost confidence and poise. She was controlling the situation; it wasn’t controlling her.

Maria thought about it for a moment, then gave in. “Okay,” she said. “Yeah, that . . . that should be . . . fun.”

Oh so very. “Great,” Isabel chirped. “Cheerleaders have to be there half an hour early, so I’ll come pick you up around 5:30.”

“Sounds good.”

“Alright. See you then. Bye, Dylan.”

Dylan waved at her timidly.

She spun and walked off, breathing a silent sigh of relief, glad that that was done. It was important to spend some time with Maria DeLuca. Even though it hadn’t been in the self-help book, she knew you were supposed to keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Study hall was pointless. But then again, study hall was always pointless. Michael sat in the school library, doing absolutely no research for the essay he was supposed to be writing for English. Luckily, Isabel was sitting beside him, which made the time go marginally faster. Even though she was usually an avid study hall user, she was distracted today, too. Instead of working, she seemed to want to just talk to him. But then again, she probably already had her essay done.

“So I went to the library today,” she told him quietly.

“Oh, yeah?” It was hard to even pretend to be interested, so he kept his eyes focused on the blank piece of paper before him, trying to conjure up some bullshit to write down. He got a few words out when she said something that actually did interest him.

“Maria was there.”

He stopped writing and looked at her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I talked to her.”

“About what?”

She shrugged. “I just invited her to the game tonight. But I guess she was already going.”

Yeah, she was. Because he’d invited her. He looked down at his paper again and kept writing. Suddenly, the bullshit was pouring out of his pen faster than the speed of light. It was a nice method of looking busy.

“She’s gonna ride up with me and Tess now,” Isabel revealed. “Her and Dylan.”

“Really?” He tried to sound uninterested again, but that captured his attention. Isabel had been so reluctant and closed-off at dinner the other night. He hadn’t pictured her taking the initiative to do something like this.

“Yeah, I think it’ll be good,” she said. “I can bond with your . . . roommate.”

He gave her a look. “She’s not . . .” That sounded weirder than the arrangement actually was. “I sleep on the couch.”

“So? That’s still technically what she is.”

He sighed. Fair enough. She had him there. “Well, that’s good, Is,” he said, glad that she was making an effort. That was Isabel: always rational, way too forgiving for her own good, and compassionate.

“Yeah, it’ll be--” She was cut off when the librarian looked towards them and shushed them. Ironic that his “Shh” was louder than any part of their conversation had been.

They stayed quiet for a few more seconds before she started talking again, her voice barely above a whisper this time. “Hey, so I have to tell you something.”

He froze, slightly panicked. He had nightmares about talks like this, and they usually ended with the word pregnant. “What?” he asked, not sure if he wanted to know.

She bit her bottom lip, hesitating, then smiled slightly and revealed, “I got into Princeton.”

Princeton. Prestigious Princeton. Way out in New Jersey. Her dream school. His mind worked only in fragments as he took it all in. “Well, congrats,” he said. “That’s great.”

“Thanks. I got my acceptance letter on Saturday.”

“Why didn’t you tell me ‘til now?”

She shrugged. “I just . . . wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s just . . . so much is still up in the air. We don’t know where you’re gonna go to college, or if you’re gonna go.”

Oh god, he thought. Not another college talk. A guy could only take so many of these.

“It might influence where I go,” she said softly. “You know?”

He nodded, wishing it wouldn’t. Princeton was where a girl like Isabel belonged. Of course they’d accepted her. How could they not? “We’ll figure it out,” he assured her vaguely, not wanting to go into any more detail than that. More detail meant more promises, some that he probably wouldn’t be able to keep.

Redirecting all his attention to his damn English essay, he pretended not to notice the anxious gleam in her eyes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Simply riding to the game with Isabel and Tess was more stressful than going out on a date. Not that Maria was particularly familiar with the stress of dating, since she’d barely gone on any, but still . . . the butterflies were practically mutating in her stomach, becoming something much larger and more uncomfortable. She agonized over what to wear for way too long before deciding on jeans and a simple white Comets sweatshirt Krista had loaned her. But then the hairstyling took twice as long, as she couldn’t decide whether to leave it down or tie it back in a quick low ponytail. She finally decided to put it in a messy high ponytail, mostly because she was just tired of messing with it.

It was weird. She didn’t want to look glamorous, because she didn’t want Isabel to feel threatened by her—as if she ever would. But then again . . . she still wanted to look pretty. She was riding up in a car with two girls who were practically torn from the pages of fashion magazines.

When she brought Dylan outside, she was a little alarmed to see that Isabel’s car was . . . like a Camaro or something. Top down. There was barely going to be room in the backseat for her and Dylan.

“Hey,” Isabel greeted. Her hair was pulled up into a high ponytail, too, but not a messy one. A perfectly done cheerleader one. Curly at the ends. Tess’s was identical, and they had matching blue bows to secure them in place.

“Hey,” Maria returned, still surveying the car. This wasn’t going to work.

“Relax,” Isabel said, as if she was reading her mind. “I’ll put the top up. Do you have a car seat or anything?”

“Um . . .” She didn’t even have a car. “No.”

“Oh. Well, that’s okay. I’m a really good driver. I won’t get pulled over.”

“But if she does,” Tess piped up, “she’ll just give the cop a flirty smile, maybe show some cleavage. Works every time . . . if, you know, you . . . have that . . . option.” She gave Maria a look.

Glancing down at her own chest self-consciously, Maria suddenly wished she’d just turned down this invitation and gone to the game with Krista. That would have been so, so much less stressful.

She helped Dylan into the back of the car, noticing how Isabel discreetly mouthed, “Don’t be mean,” to her friend.

“I’m not,” Tess insisted.

Yes, you are, Maria thought, but she didn’t say anything. Because she’d expected this. These two girls were best friends. And while Isabel was going out of her way to be nice, probably in an attempt to impress Michael with how cool and understanding she could be, Tess was playing the bad cop role, carrying the hate for the both of them.

Maria belted her son in as Isabel brought the roof of the car up and into place. “Dylan, do you remember me?” she asked. “I’m Isabel, Michael’s girlfriend.”

“Do you remember?” Maria asked him quietly.

He nodded.

Tess craned her neck back and said, “I’m Tess. You might know my little brothers, Trevor and Tucker. Known around town as the Twin Terrors.”

Dylan didn’t say anything.

“No?” She shrugged. “Hmm. Alright, let’s go. I wanna see my man in action.”

“Me, too,” Isabel said. “Only . . . my man.”

They both laughed, and as Isabel started the car, Tess cranked the radio up loud, way too loud. Dylan even covered his ears. As they drove off, Tess rolled down her window and belted out every lyric to an annoying Miley Cyrus song, and Maria pressed her forehead against the window, wishing she were anywhere else. With someone else.








TBC . . .

-April
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April
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Part 23

Post by April »

Sara:
Poor Maria! I wouldn't want to be in the car with Isabel and Tess either. Talk about awkward.
It wouldn't be so bad if they were actually friends, but they're not, so . . .
And Tess's intro for Kyle was cute. She really loves him .
Oh, yes, she does. More than anything. :)

Eva:
The way Isabel and Maria whirle around each other is funny and sad at the same time.
Yeah, they both feel so uncomfortable and unsure around each other.
The scene in the school library was very funny with a Michael who was trying to write his essay and isabel who was chattering. The opposite world!
They're always in opposite worlds, it seems.

Michael:
i think the only reason she agreed to Isabel's invitation was because some part of her hopes to make some friends her own age....
Oh, definitely. Maria would love to have actually have friends. As it stands right now, Michael's pretty much her only friend. But I think she's smart enough to know that, realistically, being friends with Isabel is a long-shot.
But whatever, i'm prepared for the amount of annoyance that will come as the story moves along.
:D Good.

Carolyn:
Well, I hope Kyle gets to fulfill all of football dreams....... Tess is a great support for him.
Kyle's a great guy and deserves his dreams. And yes, Tess really supports him.
And I loved how excited little Dylan was to catch the ball........
Michael and Kyle were probably just like him at one point, young and excited to discover the sport of football for the first time.

Rodney:
Hey!! Pep rallies rocked! For no other reason than they got you out of class :lol: .
That's one way to look at it!
Prove on I/M ' s relationship being a sham....in this entire story the short time Michael has known Maria he's went out of his way and done more for her than he's ever done for Isabel.
Yeah, he never really does anything for Isabel. (Or whenever he does, it's because he's hoping to get something out of it for himself.) She does a whole lot of stuff for him, though. :oops:


Thank you for the feedback! Happy Saturday! After I post this update, I plan on watching college football all day. And it just so happens, this part has a LOT of football in it!

And it also has a music suggestion, the lovely and deceptively simple "Music Box" by The Cinematic Orchestra, which you can listen to here or click on :( when you see it if you'd like to listen. Enjoy!









Part 23








It seemed as if the entire town of Roswell had driven down to Carlsbad for the game that night. There weren’t enough seats in the bleachers, but since it was a state sponsored event, the school’s athletic director wasn’t letting anyone stand or even sit down near the track. That meant that the hill on the opposite side of the stadium was quickly becoming a makeshift set of bleachers as people laid down their blankets and camped out there. Some went high up to have a better view.

Kyle warmed up the way he always did: going through the motions of passing, then going through the footwork of his designed run plays. He knew it must have been loud in there, but all he could hear was his dad’s voice in his head, repeating over and over again something he’d said to him back when he’d been in seventh grade, quarterbacking his school’s junior high team for the first time. He’d been fed up with the coach, fed up with his teammates, and frustrated that he wasn’t getting to play many quality opponents. Back then, he’d felt like the games didn’t matter.

“These are the games that matter,” his father had told him. And something about that had always stuck with them. His dad, the one who lived and breathed nothing but football, wanted a victory at every level of the game. Not just college. Not just the NFL. It was in that moment, in that simple sentence, that Kyle had learned never to take the game for granted, never to think about the next one, because the next one didn’t matter if they didn’t get through the current one.

Everyone was expecting a victory. The cheerleaders were already putting together a spirit bus for the semifinal game next week. Fans showed up tonight with signs that said “State-Bound” and “This Is Our Field.” And technically it was. Even though Carlsbad High School was a neutral site, they were given the title of home team since they were the higher ranked seed in the playoff bracket.

Kyle looked around at all of them as he rotated his arm around in a circle, spotting his dad up at the top of the bleachers, not surrounded by all the other football dads this time, but rather by college scouts. Below, on the track, the cheerleaders were stretching and warming up their jumps and kicks. Tess had her leg on Isabel’s shoulder and was stretching. And right on the edge of the field were the only people besides the players and coaches who had permission to be there: the media. Reporters from every local TV and radio station around. He could overhear one of them saying into the camera, “You have to expect that Valenti will have a big night.”

He knew what his dad would have told him to do if he’d been down there. Block it all out. All of it. The reporters. The scouts. Even your girlfriend. And focus. This game mattered more than any game that had come before it.

Staring determinedly at the goal post down on the end of the field, he tucked the ball into his side zig-zagged past imaginary defenders that would soon be the real thing.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Prices at the concession stand were ridiculous, but Maria was able to get Dylan a hot dog. Unfortunately, he dropped it on the way to the bleachers, so she couldn’t get him another one. He threw a little temper tantrum, and she had to take him into the bathroom to calm him down. But once she reminded him that he was going to get to see Michael play football, his spirits perked up again, and he forgot all about the hot dog he never got to enjoy.

It took a while to find a familiar face, but finally, she spotted Krista. She was in a hard-to-get-to spot, right in the middle of the bleachers, surrounded by other people. Maria lifted Dylan up and squeezed through the crowd, politely excusing herself as she squeezed in next to Michael’s mom. “Hi,” she said.

“Oh, good, you made it,” Krista said. “I’m so nervous.”

“Oh, it’ll be a good game,” Maria assured her, sitting down. She held Dylan on her lap because there wasn’t room for both of them. “How was the drive?”

Krista shrugged. “I don’t really like night driving. Usually I make Andy do it, but . . .” She trailed off momentarily. “He’s busy tonight.”

Maria nodded. No need to ask questions when she already knew that that was just a code for ‘He’s at the bar.’

“How was your drive?” Krista asked her.

“It was . . .” Torturous. Unending. She’d never listened to so much pop music in her life. “Fine.”

“Was it just Isabel, or Isabel and Tess?”

“Both of them.”

“Oh.” Krista handed Dylan the remainder of the potato chips she’d purchased, and he immediately began to devour them. When she nudged him, he remembered to say thank you.

“You’re welcome,” Krista returned. “They’re nice girls.”

It took Maria moment to register that they were talking about Isabel and Tess again. Isabel and Tess whom she still had to ride home with. Unless she just told them she was going to leave with Krista. Would that be like snubbing them? Would they take offense? Did she even care?

“Michael says Isabel’s really smart,” Maria commented.

“Oh, she is,” Krista agreed readily. “Very smart. And talented. That girl has a bright future ahead of her.”

A bright future, Maria thought enviously. Something I don’t have.

“She’s been really good for Michael,” Krista said. “Really good for him.”

Maria nodded, her envy turning into jealousy. “I’m sure she has.” Looking out onto the field, it didn’t take her long to spot him. He was flipping off one of the cameras on his way to the huddle.

She smiled. If Isabel had seen that, she would have been appalled.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Michael didn’t know how he could be expected to concentrate on what Coach Warner was saying when the cheerleaders’ skirts were riding up. Really, they were dedicated, because it was cold outside, and those legs were still bare. Exposed. Would have looked wonderful if they were spread wide open while he . . .

He pulled his mind out of the gutter, managing to hear a bit of the speech Coach was giving.

“You guys are the better team. But you can’t let them go out and play it like they are. You gotta play to your potential. Everyone’s gotta pull their weight.”

Maybe it was supposed to be motivational, but Michael just couldn’t remain interested. Instead, he looked farther away from the huddle, up into the crowd. Somehow, he spotted them right away. Quite possibly the only three people who wanted to watch him more than anyone else out on the field. His mom was talking to someone next to her, but Maria and Dylan were just watching, smiling. When Dylan waved at him, he couldn’t help but wave back, but Kyle swatted his hand down quickly.

“You got somethin’ to say, Guerin?” Coach Warner barked.

He shrugged.

“Well, what was I sayin’?”

“Uh . . . something.”

Coach glared at him momentarily, then just shook his head as if he were accustomed to it. Michael smiled at Maria again. She must have gathered that he’d gotten himself in trouble just now, because she was laughing. Just seeing her laugh made him want to laugh, too.

One horribly off-pitch national anthem later, the game was on, and the offense was out on the field first. Just as they wanted it. There was nothing they did better than score. The plan was to score fast and shock the hell out of their opponent, the Wildcats.

“Blue 32!” Kyle yelled at the line of scrimmage. He was as loud as Peyton Manning, and sometimes, he even called out random nonsense the same way Manning did, just to confuse the defense. Didn’t work on the first play, though. The defense read it perfectly, and when the ball sailed through the air towards Michael, he knew he didn’t stand a chance of catching it. Especially not with the defender clearly tugging him to the ground as he was trying to leap into the air. The outraged cries of the Roswell fans turned into applause when the referee correctly threw a yellow flag onto the field and called defensive pass interference.

Getting back up, Michael brushed himself off. Well, that wasn’t the way they’d planned on starting the game, but whatever. They’d take it. Fifteen yards.

The next play was classic Kyle. At center, Bubba had a bad snap, and Kyle had to recover a football rolling on the ground. He made something out of nothing, though, running forward for about six yards.

“Focus!” Coach was yelling from the sideline. “You guys gotta focus!”

Fuck off, we’re focusing, Michael thought, crouching down as Kyle called the next play. It wasn’t supposed to be a pass, but that was what it turned into when the pocket collapsed. Michael ran his usual route towards the sideline at first, but at last minute, he decided to cut back in to the center. Under duress, Kyle threw as he was being tackled. Michael lunged for it, securing it right at the first down marker.

“First down, Comets!” the announcer bellowed. The pep band played a few measures, the cheerleaders started jumping, kicking, and tumbling on the track, and the fans jumped out of their seats. It had been one of those plays that gave everyone confidence, faith that the team was going to find ways to get first downs even when there didn’t seem to be a way.

The next play was a long pass towards the end zone, and the defense didn’t see it coming. Michael sprinted back, outrunning his defender, and caught the ball in stride. He ran it in for the score, and the whole team erupted in joy. It was so loud that he couldn’t hear anything, but he could feel something: His heart. It was beating. Fast. And that was the moment he realized . . .

. . . he was nervous.

Since when? Since when did he get nervous?

He came off to the sideline and got a drink while the kicking team trotted out to the field. His stomach clenched when the ball bounced off the left upright. And even though the crowd tried to cover their disappointment by quickly applauding the attempt, it was like suddenly they were all nervous, too. Because the door was open. Sure, they’d gotten points, but not seven. Only six.

Watching the defense play was torturous, because they looked like institutionalized elderly people out there. They were moving too slow, not reading the Wildcats’ offense correctly. They were nervous, too, and as a result, the Wildcats gradually drove the ball forward, usually only about four or five yards at a time. But it was adding up. And gradually, first down after first down, they were into Comet territory. Their fans, though there weren’t as many of them there, managed to be just as loud as the Roswell fans were.

“Come on, guys!” Kyle was shouting. “Tough D! You gotta hold ‘em!”

The cheerleaders must have heard him, because the next cheer they did was “Defense, hold ‘em! Hold that line!”

It didn’t work, though. The Wildcats running back was a freakin’ beast, and he zoomed right through an opening. Even from thirty yards out, he was practically able to walk it into the end zone. And that was embarrassing.

And of course, instead of going for the obvious extra point, they faked them out and went for the two-point conversion. And got it.

“Alright, down by two,” Coach recapped. “You guys are fine, but you gotta make somethin’ happen.”

“We got this,” Kyle assured everyone. “Quick score on three. One, two, three!” They all put their hands in the middle of the huddle and shouted, “Quick score!”

It was quick. Four plays, only one minute and sixteen seconds off the clock quick. There were a couple of short passes, mostly to the younger receivers, but the majority of the drive was accomplished with Kyle’s feet. Coach made the risky decision to go for it on fourth down, because they were right past the fifty yard line and only had a yard to go. But Kyle got more than a yard. He got forty-eight yards, good for six points, and this time, the extra one on the kick was good.

Thirteen to eight. Good. But the bad part was that their defense was headed right back out on the field, and they’d barely had any time to rest after the last long drive.

Even though some people were arguing that time of possession was irrelevant in modern day football, the Wildcats didn’t seem to think so. It was pretty obviously their strategy to have their offense out on the field as much as possible, to tire the Comet defense even more. And it was working. With each yard they gained, Michael saw his teammates’ shoulders slump further downward, saw their breathing become more and more labored, and heard his coach get louder and angrier.

“What the hell is this?” he demanded, throwing his headset on the ground. “Defense optional? Get out there and get a sack!”

“Knock ‘em down, roll ‘em around! Come on, defense, work! Work!” the cheerleaders chanted.

But it was no use. After a fifteen play, eighty-yard drive, the only guys getting knocked down were the defensive ones. The Wildcats had a running back who could literally plow right through people, and he was running like a man possessed. He got in the end zone almost effortlessly at the end of the drive, and this time, they kicked an extra point.

The prospect of going out on the field actually made Michael’s stomach knot up. But he went out anyway. Turned out he didn’t even need to. Antonio got the handoff, ran for a good twenty-five yards or so, and then fumbled the ball. Out of nowhere. No contact or anything. Just dropped it. Just like that. Wildcats recovered.

The first half continued on like that. A lot of frustration. A lot of sitting on the sidelines, watching helplessly as the defense tried to contain an offense that was firing on all cylinders. At the end of the half, though, when the score was 29-13 and things were looking hopeless, Coach Warner put Michael in to receive a punt. And when the ball landed like a cannonball in his hands, he just ran. Like a kid running away from home. Like someone who couldn’t get away fast enough. And with only a matter of seconds left on the clock, he found the end zone for the second time that night; and with the extra kick tacked on, suddenly they were only down by nine, and it was anybody’s game again.

They headed into the locker room, not exactly defeated, but needing to regroup. Luckily for them, there was still a lot of game left to play.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

One of the freshman cheerleaders’ moms had brought hot cocoa down to the track, so most of the girls were huddled around her, waiting to get a cup. Tess hadn’t moved from her spot in the center of the formation. She was still facing the field, waiting for the boys to come back out, her arms wrapped around herself as she rubbed her legs together and shivered.

Isabel stood with her, squirming to keep warming. “It’s so cold,” she complained.

“Isabel, I’m nervous,” Tess blurted.

“Why?”

“Because, this game . . .” She trailed off, whimpering.

“Don’t worry,” Isabel assured her. “They’ll come back and win it in the second half.”

“But what if they don’t?” she fretted. “Kyle would be so devastated. He’s worked his whole life for this.”

“Tess.” Isabel put her hands on her best friend’s shoulders, trying to calm her down. “It’s just a game.”

“No, it’s not just a game. Not to Kyle. Not to Kyle’s dad. Not even to me. I want this so badly for him.”

“Then just . . . keep cheering,” Isabel suggested. Really, that was all they could do. Not like it made a difference, but . . .

“Oh, god, listen to me. I’m a cheerleader. I’m supposed to be . . .”

“Cheerful?” Isabel filled in.

“Yes. Not anxiety-ridden and full of dread. I seriously feel like I’m about to pee my pants, and I’m not even wearing any pants. So it could be bad.”

“Okay, Tess, go to the bathroom.”

Tess quickly glanced at the game clock, then said, “Okay,” and scampered off to the right first. She quickly realized she was going the wrong way, though, and turned and headed back to the left.

Isabel laughed a little, shaking her head. Oh, that Tess . . . she took the idea of being a girlfriend to a new level. She knew more about football than anyone gave her credit for, but the only reason she knew anything about it at all was because she knew it was important to Kyle. And since it mattered to him, it mattered to her. Apparently, it really mattered.

“Isabel?”

She whirled around and saw a tall, lanky guy wearing a Carlsbad sweatshirt and stocking cap approaching her slowly. She squinted, studying him, and greeted unsurely, “Hi, um . . .” He looked familiar, but she couldn’t quite place where she’d seen him before. “Who are . . . do I . . . know you?”

“It’s me,” he said, coming nearer. “Alex.”

Alex. She knew an Alex. Couldn’t remember how she knew him, though.

“From the National Young Leaders convention in Washington D.C. a few years ago,” he reminded her. “You were a freshman; I was a junior. We sat by each other during that senator’s speech and got in trouble ‘cause we wouldn’t stop talking.”

That was all it took for her to recognize him instantly. “Oh my god, Alex!” she exclaimed. They’d stayed in touch after that convention, been email pen-pals for a while. “How are you?”

“I’m good, I’m good,” he replied. “You?”

“I’m . . .” She shrugged. “Cheerful.”

“Yeah, so I see. You’re doin’ a good job.”

“Oh . . .” She shrugged. Cheerleading was just a hobby for her. She wasn’t the best in the world, and she wasn’t going to cheer in college like Tess probably would. But it was still a nice compliment.

“I just looked down here and saw you, and I was, like, ‘Wait a minute, is that Isabel Evans?’”

“I can’t believe you even recognized me. It’s been so long.”

“You look exactly like I remember.”

“Oh, god, I hope not. Freshman year was my awkward stage. I was kinda hoping I’d changed.”

“Well, you never looked awkward to me,” he assured her, smiling.

“Oh, you’re too nice.” Freshman year had been the year of the bad complexion, though, so she didn’t believe him. “So what’re you doing here? Not rooting for the Wildcats, I hope.”

“No, I’m just an unbiased spectator,” he explained. “I go to school here in Carlsbad at the university.”

“That explains the sweatshirt.”

“Yeah. But I didn’t have anything better to do tonight, so I figured I’d come watch this game. Everybody says your quarterback’s something special.”

“Yeah, he is. He didn’t have his best first half, though.”

“Well, they’ll turn it around. I’m rooting for the Comets now. No longer an unbiased spectator.”

She laughed a little. “You’re converted.”

“Yeah.”

She shivered, wrapping her arms tighter around herself as a gust of wind blew by. “So . . .” she said. “College. Is it amazing?”

“Yeah, it’s amazing. Best years of your life. Have you applied anywhere yet?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah? Heard back from anyone?”

“Um . . . yeah, actually, I just found out I got into Princeton.” It felt strange to reveal that, because so far the only people she’d told were her mom, Tess, and Michael. She didn’t want to sound like she was bragging or something.

“Pr-Princeton?” he stammered. “Wow, that’s . . . I didn’t know I was standing in the presence of a genius.”

“No, I’m not a genius. I just work hard.”

“Well, that’s impressive,” he said. “And that’s a great school. It’ll be a good fit for you.”

She sighed, wishing it were that simple. “Yeah. There’s just . . . there’s a lot of stuff to consider, you know?”

“Like what?”

“Like . . . it’s so far away.”

“From what? Home? Your family?”

“Yeah, and . . .” She trailed off as the football team came back out of the locker room, getting a huge round of applause as they trotted back out onto the field. She spotted Michael up near the front, shaking out his shoulders, trying to get warmed up again.

Alex looked over his shoulder at the team and said, “Oh, I’d better let you get back to . . . you know, cheering.”

Yeah, because it was so vitally important.

“Do you still have my email, though?” he asked. “I haven’t changed it. In three years. Isn’t that pathetic?”

“Yeah, I probably still have it,” she said.

“Alright, well, shoot me an email sometime. Or maybe I still have your number. I’ll text you or something. We can catch up.”

“Okay.”

“Alright. Good to see you, Isabel.” He waved as he headed back off the way he’d come.

When she was left alone again, standing there on the track, Isabel realized that she was worried, too. But unlike Tess, she wasn’t worried about the football game. It was . . . everything else.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After two minutes of warming up with the team, Michael headed back over to the sideline, bracing himself for another drive where he’d have to just sit there and watch the defense. As he was walking off, he heard Dylan’s high pitched little voice ring out. “Go, Micho!” he yelled. He looked up at the kid and grinned, glad he was enjoying being there. Maria still had him on her lap. He didn’t even look tired, even though he was usually fast asleep at this time.

He felt someone bump into his shoulder, the kind of bump that was clearly on purpose. And when he saw Ryan standing beside him, he wasn’t surprised. He was pissed, though, because he hadn’t had to deal with this tool for a while now, and he didn’t want to again.

“Nice cheering section you got there,” Ryan remarked, waving at Maria. She frowned, confused, and hesitantly waved back.

“What the hell’s your problem?” Michael grumbled.

“Me? Don’t got a problem. I just think it’s nice you got someone else’s kid cheerin’ for you. And the girl . . . hey, she’s no Isabel, but she’s kinda cute.”

“Leave her alone,” Michael warned him.

“You’re doin’ her, right? I mean, you gotta be doin’ her.”

“No.”

“Gotta be,” Ryan repeated, his eyes locked on Maria. He leaned in and spoke quietly when he said, “I’m just wonderin’, after havin’ a kid . . . do you think her pussy’s still tight?”

Michael’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. Any other time and place, he would have punched this idiot. But he couldn’t do that here. He’d get expelled from the game. And Dylan would see.

“Maybe I’ll find out,” Ryan added, chuckling.

Michael stepped in front of him, obscuring his view. “You go near her, I’ll rearrange your fuckin’ face,” he threatened.

“Ooh.” Ryan laughed. “I wonder what Isabel would think if she heard you say that.” Still amused, he walked behind the other players down the sideline, going to stand by the other guys who wouldn’t see a second of playing time. It took everything Michael had to resist the urge to charge after him and knock him down, shove his face into that turf and make him regret ever saying anything.

Focus on the game, he told himself. Because he was going to have to have a big second half.

Miraculously, the defense stopped the other team on third down, which meant the offense got on the field surprisingly quickly. Their first play was a pass play, one that usually worked out and allowed them to gain ten or so yards. But one of the defenders collided with Michael as he jumped up to retrieve the ball. He felt it slip right through his hands moments before he landed hard on the ground, right on his back. Groaning, he heard the crowd yelling, and he assumed that meant he’d see a yellow flag thrown. But the ref—the damn ref who was standing right there—didn’t throw anything.

Michael got back up, taking out his mouthpiece and demanding, “What the hell? You’re gonna throw flags on us but not on them?”

The ref just shook his head and insisted, “It was a clean hit.”

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me? I just got my shit rocked!” He was probably concussed or something, but . . . oh, well. He wasn’t leaving that game.

“Watch it, kid.”

“No, you watch it! Watch the fucking game!” Michael yelled. He felt hands on his shoulders a second later, pulling him backward as the ref’s hand slid down into his pocket, searching for the yellow flag. The other guys on the team knew his temper could sometimes get the best of him, and they didn’t want that to draw a flag.

“Calm down, man,” Kyle said to him. “Come on.”

But that was the problem. He wasn’t calm. Every inch of him felt like a wet shirt being twisted and wrung out. The plays weren’t coming naturally to him, not this time. The pressure was getting to him, and unlike Kyle, he doubted he was strong enough to overcome it.

If it wasn’t for Kyle’s ability to run the football, they wouldn’t have even gotten down the field. Pass play after pass play failed, and eventually, Kyle tried spreading the ball around to different receivers. But they all knew the deal. If Michael couldn’t catch it, none of them would. The throws were perfect, accurate, spot-on. It wasn’t Kyle’s fault.

The crowd was chanting “Go, Big Blue!” when they went for it on fourth down and one. It was supposed to be a run play, but the defense blitzed hard, and Kyle had to scramble around. At the last second, he threw it down field to Michael. It grazed his fingertips, and he bobbled it as he lunged for the end zone. Even he wasn’t sure if he’d managed to secure it until he looked up and saw the same referee who’d neglected to call pass interference throw his arms straight up in the air to signal a touchdown.

Oh, thank God. He put his head down on the grass, breathing a sigh of relief.

But as it turned out, it almost didn’t matter that they got it within two points, because the defense sucked it up again. They didn’t give up a touchdown this time, but they did allow the Wildcats to move it into field goal range. The kick was good, and the crowd got quieter, like a helium balloon that was just gradually deflating.

Kyle ran for a touchdown on their first play of the next drive, that dazzling kind of run where he had to spin past defenders and everything. He even hurdled one to get into the end zone, which probably just about gave his dad a heart attack. But it was good enough for them to take the lead. Momentarily. Because a few plays into the Wildcats drive, their quarterback did the same thing. Less flash, less pizazz, but still the same result. Six points, and a point after on the kick that was good.

It was a game of momentum, like every football game was. And they didn’t have it.

They were down five points, score of 39-34 with two minutes left in the fourth quarter. They had the ball, and Coach called a timeout. They all knew what play they were going to run, though, so instead of talking to them, Coach let Kyle talk. He gathered up all the offensive players and said, “Guys, we got this. But you have to believe we’ve got it. You have to believe we can do this. This is our time. This is our year. Everyone out in the crowd right now who thinks we can’t do it, who thinks we’re done for . . . you gotta prove ‘em wrong. You gotta show ‘em we’re not done for; we’re just gettin’ started.”

He made it sound so simple. But Michael knew it wasn’t simple. Proving somebody wrong, making the outcome different than they anticipated it to be . . .

“Comets on three!” Kyle roared. “One, two, three!”

“Comets!”

There were moments in Michael’s life where everything else just fell away, where he didn’t hear anything but the sound of his own breathing. Moments where everything else was just still, and he wasn’t even sure if he was awake or not. The time his dad had hugged him after his little league baseball team had won the county championship. The first time he’d gotten arrested. The night Isabel had walked in on him in bed with another girl. The first time he’d ever played this game, back when he’d been Dylan’s age . . .

****

Standing in the back yard, Michael stared down at the football at his feet. He felt like he was going to get in trouble, like his dad was going to yell at him. He hadn’t even reached for it.

“Come on, Michael.” He sounded mad. Loud. “I’m not gonna keep throwin’ it to you if you’re not even gonna try to catch it.”

He took a few steps backward and mumbled, “Sorry.”

His dad sighed, then slowly walked towards him and bent down to pick up the football again. “It’s okay,” he said. “You’ll catch it next time.”


*****

Michael took a deep breath, wondering if his dad was listening to the game on the radio. Because this, right here . . . this was a moment.

He felt the sound start to return around him, and his body reacted instinctively when Kyle called the play. He took off down field, lunging to catch a pass that was intended for him. It was too low, though, and he couldn’t secure it. The crowd groaned.

It’s okay, he told himself. You’ll catch it next time.

They moved the ball down the field slowly. Nothing flashy this time. No big plays. Just little ones that started to add up after a while. Three yards here. Four yards there. It was taking too long, though, and they were out of timeouts. With thirty seconds to go, Coach Warner was frantic on the sideline, yelling for them to hurry it up.

Kyle got the ball on a wobbly snap and darted forward, managing to get it to the Wildcats thirty yard line for a first down. The clock stopped to move the chains. When it started back up again, they only had twenty seconds left.

This was it. No time for doubt. No time for nerves. A field goal wasn’t going to get it done. They had to get that ball back into that end zone. Or else they were screwed. Done. Season over. The Kyle Valenti quarterback legacy, cut short.

No, Michael thought. He couldn’t let that happen.

They took a shot for the end zone, but Michael ran into the blocker, and he never made it. The ball sailed in front of him, and there was no way he could catch it. He wasn’t even close.

That’s okay. You’ll catch it next time.

But next time was right away, barely even seconds of a break in between. The clock ticked down under ten seconds, no way they could stop it. Their offensive line was still getting set at nine, eight, seven, six . . .

Kyle yelled something; Michael wasn’t even sure what, but he didn’t need to hear it to know—just know—that the ball was coming to him. And surely all the defenders would know it, too. With three seconds left on the play clock, Kyle got the snap. Michael ran towards the end zone, his ragged breath tearing up his lungs. He could feel defenders behind him, but not close enough to make the tackle. Instinct told him to glance back over his shoulder, and he did so just in time to see the ball soaring through the air, directly towards him.

He had this. He had it.

He dove into the end zone as the ball zoomed into his awaiting hands. But as he was landing, he felt it slip right out the other side, and it bounced away on the turf as he landed hard on his side.

And suddenly, everything was loud. Too loud. The disappointed cries of the fans. The cheers of the opposing team. The announcer bellowing, “And it’s incomplete. Wildcats win!”

Michael rolled over on his back, just lying there. No was all he could think. Over and over again. No! What was that? He’d had it. He always had it. It was a perfect pass. He’d made that catch so many times, so many games. Why now? Of all the times to drop it, why did it have to be right now?

The sinking feeling in his stomach was so strong that he thought he might sink right into the ground.

When he finally got up again, he could only manage to sit there on his knees, looking around at all the disappointment that now surrounded him. His teammates were already walking off the field. Kyle was sitting down at the thirty yard line, his knees up, head in his hands. He looked up at Michael, though, and he just shrugged helplessly. No blame.

But it’s all my fault.

Coach Warner was already yelling. The Wildcats pep band was playing their fight song, and the cheerleaders were dancing. A lot of the Comets cheerleaders were crying; Tess looked inconsolable as she bawled and Isabel hugged her. Jim probably felt like crying, but he was just standing there, looking at the scoreboard, stunned.

And even though he was far away from them, Michael could see his ‘cheering section.’ Not cheering anymore. His mom had her hands over her mouth and was just shaking her head. Maria was frowning. But Dylan was crying, clinging to his mom, burying his face in her hair.

At this point, he didn’t even know why he was surprised. He’d let people down. Again. It happened all the time. And now, it had happened at the worst time.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

( :( )

The only bad thing about the couch was that it was too short, and whenever Michael tried to stretch out, his feet hung off the end. Sometimes it didn’t matter, though, like when he was just lying there with his eyes closed, thinking, unable to fall asleep.

He heard someone coming downstairs and peeked through half-closed eyelids. If it was his mom or dad, he was just going to pretend he was sleeping. He didn’t feel like talking to either one of them.

But luckily, it wasn’t one of them. It was Maria. She stopped and grimaced when she stepped on the last stair and it creaked.

He smiled, finding it cute that she was trying not to wake him up. “It’s okay,” he blurted. “I’m not asleep.”

She stepped down off the stairs, holding onto the railing. “Aren’t you tired?” she asked.

He looked out the window, noticing rain drops splattering lightly on the window. “Yep.” Physically, he’d barely made it home before he’d dropped. He’d taken a beating out on that field, hit after hit. But as tired as his body was, his damn mind just wouldn’t shut off. “What’re you doin’ up?” he asked, returning his attention to her.

“I don’t know,” she replied with a shrug. “Hungry, I guess.”

He smiled. One of the things he’d noticed about Maria was that, even though she was little, she could eat a lot. “Come here,” he said, sliding his legs to the side of the couch, clearing enough space for her. “Sit down.”

She glanced into the dark kitchen, then back at him and said, “Okay,” as she treaded forward. When she got close enough to the window, he noticed that she was wearing one of his t-shirts again. A white Metallica one. It looked good on her.

She sat down on the farthest right cushion, folding her hands in her lap, and didn’t say anything for a few seconds. He could tell what words were going to leave her mouth before he even heard them, though. It was inevitable.

“Are you okay?”

It was the same thing his mom would have asked if she’d been the one creeping downstairs, except she asked it in a different way. When Maria asked it, he felt like he could not answer and she’d understand. And that made him actually want to answer. “I’m alright,” he said. “It just sucks, knowing I let everyone down. Fucked it all up.”

“Michael . . .” She angled her body towards him, staring at him sympathetically. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“But it’s my fault.”

“It’s not like you were the only one playing.”

“But I should’ve made that catch. I’ve made it a hundred times.”

“You win as a team, you lose as a team,” she reminded him, sounding like a coach herself now. “And despite what anyone says, it really is just a game.”

He sighed, agreeing with her on some level. On some level. “I know,” he acknowledged, “but . . .” He tapped his knuckles against the windowpane, watching dazedly as it started to rain harder. “It’s hard to explain, but sometimes it feels like more than that.”

“Why?”

“Just ‘cause . . .” He’d meant it when he said it was hard to explain, so hard that he couldn’t even put it into words. Not that he was good with words anyway. “I don’t know. Now maybe people will think twice before relying on me.”

“I rely on you,” she pointed out.

“Maybe you shouldn’t. I screw things up for people, all the time.”

She frowned, right as thunder rumbled through the sky. “I don’t think that’s true,” she said softly.

“No, it is,” he insisted. “I screwed up Kyle’s dream of going to the State championship. Screwed up my parents’ dreams of just . . . being happy, I guess. And I’m probably gonna screw up Isabel’s college dream, too.” Just the fact that she was even considering throwing it all away because of him . . .

“Michael, stop.”

“Stop what? Bein’ honest?” He sat up, looking right at her when he said, “See, Maria, the thing is, you’re under the impression that I’m a halfway decent guy.”

She opened her mouth to protest, probably tell him that he was, but he wouldn’t let her get a word in.

“But ask anyone, and they’ll tell you straight up, I’m a loser going nowhere in life. Always have been.”

“Then prove them wrong.”

He grunted frustratedly. “Yeah, I tried that tonight. Didn’t work out so well.”

“Michael . . .” She scooted closer, turning her body even farther to face him. “If you’re such a loser, why is that college recruiting you?”

“Probably aren’t anymore.”

“If you’re such a loser, why do you have this ridiculously beautiful and smart girlfriend?”

“Her bad judgment. I don’t know.”

“If you’re such a loser, how come Dylan likes you so much?”

Dylan. He flashed back to a few short hours ago, seeing him cry. Even though he didn’t understand the repercussions of the game, didn’t understand just how big of a loss he’d been, he knew it wasn’t good. In a way, that had been the worst part of the whole night, knowing that that little boy had no other reason to be there but to watch him play, and he’d let him down. “He only likes me ‘cause of the football stuff,” he reasoned.

“No. He likes you because you’re you,” she corrected.

But who the hell am I? Michael wondered. The guy who came home after school and tossed around the football with Dylan in the back yard . . . did that guy really even exist? “Is that why you like me?” he asked, unable to hold back a grin. He probably made that sound a little too flirty, but . . . what the hell? It was his default setting.

She smiled and lowered her head, and he wished it wasn’t so dark on there, because it would have been fun to see her blushing. “The point is,” she said, “I don’t even know where Dylan and I would be right now if it wasn’t for you.” She shuddered, and he could tell she was thinking about James Winston when she whispered, “I don’t even wanna think about it.”

Oh, Maria . . . He wished he could erase that memory from her mind. “Alright, so I’ve done one good deed,” he summarized. “Ever.”

“Well . . . it was a really good deed.” She met his eyes again for a minute, and he didn’t even know what to say to her. She really did still have a good impression of him, even after his monumental blunder in the game that night. It hadn’t changed how she saw him. Not at all.

She believed in him.

Eventually, she glanced down at his shoulder, then reached out and touched the bruises there. “Does this hurt?” she asked, tracing her hands along the line of his white tank.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Hurts more when you press on it.”

“Oh, sorry.” She quickly withdrew her hand, scooting away a little bit again. “You should get some sleep,” she suggested. “Sorry for . . . not waking you.” She stood up and headed back towards the stairs, looking as if she were in no hurry to go.

“Maria,” he called, getting her to turn back around. “You still hungry?”

She tucked her hair behind her ear and replied, “I guess so.”

He wasn’t, but he lied and said, “So am I,” anyway. “There’s some ice cream in the fridge. Why don’t you bring it in here?”

She smiled and said, “Okay. But you have to share.”

He’d do more than share. He’d let her have the whole damn carton if that was what she wanted. Because for some reason, he didn’t want her to go back up those stairs yet. It felt better having her around.

Lying back down while she went into the kitchen, he folded one arm under his head, hoping to just be able to talk to her about something lighthearted when she returned.







TBC . . .

-April
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LOVE IS MICHAEL AND MARIA.
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Part 24

Post by April »

Carolyn:
Loved the reference to P. Manning.......I still hear him shouting .....Omaha, Omaha!
You know, I'm not actually a Peyton Manning fan, but I couldn't resist a reference since the "Omaha!" thing was so huge last year. :)

Rod:
Sucks to lose, but it seems the Comets had no defense at all in the game.
Sort of like my Nebraska Huskers have had at times in the Bo Pelini era. :roll:
Well there's part of my answer to my pm questions. .....was Max, Liz and/or Alex going to appear?
Oh, yes. It took a while for Alex to show up, but here he is. And Max and Liz will also appear, too.

CandyliciousLovah:
Poor Michael. He tried SO hard to get that goal across the line. I'd have been devastated too if that happened to someone in my family or among my friends from school.
Yes, Michael did try really hard. It's such a letdown to lose that game, and feeling like you're the person who let everyone down . . . it's not a new feeling for Michael, but it's still an awful one.


Thank you for the feedback!








Part 24








It was quite a task to take down all the Waste the Wildcats signs the next day. Each one said, Love, Your Cheerleaders in the bottom right-hand corner, even though Tess had done most of them by herself. All cheerleaders had strict orders to get to school early and make sure that any reminders of that game were stripped from the hallway as soon as possible. But Tess and Isabel were the only ones who actually showed up.

They made quick work of it, until all that was left was the huge banner that read, Go Comets! We believe in you! As they were taking that down, Tess groaned, “God, this is gonna be so awkward today.”

“Yeah, probably,” Isabel agreed. At least it was only a half-day. Then they were officially on Thanksgiving break.

“I mean, it wouldn’t be so bad if we didn’t have to come to school today. They should’ve just given us a day off so we can grieve.”

Isabel made a face. “It’s not like someone died, Tess.”

“No. But our championship chances did.” Tess furiously balled up the banner and stuffed it into an already full trashcan.

“Okay, I’m starting to think we all take this a little too seriously,” Isabel said. “It’s just football.”

“No, it’s a way of life,” Tess corrected adamantly. “For Kyle, at least. And since it’s a way of life for him, it’s a way of life for me. I hurt when he hurts. Because we’re soul mates.”

Isabel rolled her eyes, even though it was true. And then she started to wonder if she should be hurting because Michael was hurting. Or . . . was he hurting? Football wasn’t a way of life for him, but still . . . he’d dropped the game-winning pass. That had to sting.

“Did you talk to Kyle last night?” she asked, sort of hoping the answer was no. Because if Tess hadn’t talked to Kyle yet, she’d feel better about not talking to Michael.

“We just texted a little bit,” Tess replied. “I thought I’d let him and his dad deal on their own first.”

Isabel nodded. Knowing Jim Valenti’s outrageous passion for the sport, that was probably a good idea.

“Have you talked to Michael?”

“No.” They hadn’t even texted, though she’d thought about it. “What do you even say in this situation? What do you do?”

“I don’t know, but we better figure it out fast, because here they come,” Tess mumbled quietly as the gym door opened and the football team piled out. They all looked tired, disheveled, as if they would have rather been anywhere else. Michael and Kyle were bringing up the rear, with only the coach behind them. They walked up to Isabel and Tess, and Coach Warner gave Kyle a pat on the back before rounding the corner to head towards his classroom.

“Hey!” Tess chirped, sounding overly cheerful.

“Hey,” Isabel echoed, attempting to smile. “How was your meeting?”

“Oh . . .” Kyle shrugged. “You know.”

Stupid question, Isabel thought. It had probably been one of those You-guys-should-be-proud-of-yourselves-anyway-because-you-still-had-a-great-season type of things. Nobody liked that.

“Do you wanna go somewhere and talk?” Tess asked her boyfriend, rubbing his arm supportively.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, hugged her to his side, and kissed the top of her head. “Sure,” he replied. “That’ll help me feel better.”

Tess looked relieved to hear that, and she wrapped her arm around his waist as he led her down the hall. Even when they were sad, they were adorable.

“What about you?” Isabel asked her own boyfriend. “Do you wanna talk?”

“Already did,” he mumbled.

Stupid question number two, she thought. Of course Michael didn’t want to talk. He rarely ever did. “Well, what can I do?” she asked, feeling like she had to do something. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

His eyebrows shot up in interest, and he glanced down the hall. She didn’t even have to follow his gaze to know he was looking at the eraser room. When he looked back at her, there was a gleam of mischief in his eyes, and she knew exactly what he was thinking.

A minute later, after a truly futile resistance, she found herself being yanked into the room that was little more than a closet, her heart pounding a mile a minute as he quickly shut the door and braced a chair underneath the nob.

“Michael . . . I don’t know,” she fretted unsurely. “What if we get caught?”

“Relax,” he told her, already unfastening her jeans for her. “People hook up in here all the time, like on a daily basis.”

“Oh, that just makes it even more romantic.” Reluctantly, she kicked off her shoes and stepped out of her jeans when he pushed them down. “Are you sure you wanna do this here?”

“Yes.” His hands worked quickly to unzip his own jeans and push them down just past his hips. “Come on, Is. It’ll help me feel better.” He gave her that lost puppy dog look, and she felt powerless to resist. Even though she’d vowed to never have sex in this school building . . . he was always getting her to do things she’d never thought she’d do.

She nodded her agreement, and he didn’t hesitate to spin her around, hook his fingers into the sides of her thong, and push it down to the floor. She bent forward and pressed her hands against the wall, bracing herself as he slid into her quickly and without warning. He started thrusting right away, rapidly, and she knew it definitely wasn’t going to be romantic.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When the recipe books started to bore her, Krista willingly let herself become distracted by the activity in her living room. She stood in her kitchen and peeked around the corner, watching as Michael played a board game with Maria, Tina, and Dylan in the living room. They were all sprawled out on the floor, laughing a lot. Seemed like they were enjoying themselves.

“Alright, Dylan, can you read that?” Maria asked her son, pointing to a space on the board. “What’s that say?”

“I dunno,” he replied.

“It says . . .” Tina bent forward to peer at the space and proclaimed, “Go back to start.”

“What? No!” Michael yelped. “Again? That’s the second time that’s happened.”

“You’re in the lead now, Dylan,” Maria said.

He giggled loudly, high-pitched.

“Michael, you’re gonna lose,” Tina predicted.

“I know, I suck at this.” He made a face when Dylan started to crawl on top of him, right up on his back, and say, “Hey, what’re you doin’? What do you think you’re doin’?”

Dylan just laughed again as Michael rolled over onto his stomach. He easily lifted him up into the air, making a zooming sound as he did so, then brought him back down again. He repeated it several times, and each time, Dylan seemed to enjoy it more and more. When he set him back down again, he said, “Alright, man, it’s your turn.”

Krista couldn’t help but smile. A board game. Really, that was just . . . heartwarming. Michael had taken so naturally to Dylan. It was like he was a big brother or . . . something.

When her husband came downstairs, belching, not even that could ruin the moment. “Take a look at this,” she told him.

He stood beside her for a moment, watching the group. “Huh,” he grunted. “There’s somethin’ I never thought I’d see. Our son doin’ somethin’ wholesome for once.” He shrugged and trudged into the kitchen.

Krista turned her back away from the scene and said, “I think he’s maturing.”

Andy laughed, shaking his head doubtfully. “I wouldn’t hold your breath on that.”

“No, I really do. I’ve noticed a change.” One thing that wasn’t changing, though, was her husband’s drinking, as evidenced by the fact that he didn’t even bother to disguise that he was looking through the refrigerator for a cold beer.

When he finally found one, he wasted no time popping the tab back and taking a big swig. Wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand, he asked, “So how much longer is she gonna be here?”

“Oh . . . I don’t know.”

“Because when you first sprung this little arrangement on me, you said it’d be for a week. But it’s been well over a week, and she’s still here.”

She lowered her voice and stepped closer to him so that Maria wouldn’t overhear. “Well, what am I supposed to do? She doesn’t have another job yet; she has no place to live.”

“So she’s just gonna continue freeloading off of us.”

“What do you want me do? Throw her out on the street?”

“I was just askin’ a question.” He took another drink, and then, as if that wasn’t enough, he took another one. “I don’t know how I’m gonna explain it to my parents when they show up tomorrow. Not sure how they’re gonna feel about me lettin’ some girl and her kid stay here.”

“Then I’ll explain it to them,” she volunteered. “Or Michael can. Or . . . here’s a thought: You could just call them tonight and explain it all before they get here.”

“No, I’ll just do it tomorrow.” He brushed past her on his way out of the kitchen.

“Andy,” she whispered, stopping him. “I know you weren’t completely on board with this, but . . . look at him. Wouldn’t you rather have him here right now, playing board games instead of getting drunk somewhere and getting arrested?”

“Hey, I’m glad he’s not out gettin’ into trouble,” Andy admitted, “but this . . . this whole thing . . . if you ask me . . . it is trouble. It’s just a whole new problem to worry about.”

Krista tensed, because she understood what he was saying. She couldn’t deny that she’d had similar concerns. Like . . . what if he was getting too close? Getting in too deep? As heartwarming as it all was . . . maybe it wasn’t. She couldn’t put on her blinders to that.

Suddenly, Michael’s voice rang out as he entered the kitchen. “Worry about what?” he asked, apparently having caught the tail-end of their conversation.

“Oh, um . . . nothing,” she lied flimsily. “Just . . . you know how I get whenever I have to prepare a big holiday meal. I worry.”

Michael reached into the freezer, taking out a carton of ice cream that was already mostly empty. “Relax, Mom. It’ll be great,” he assured her, reaching into the silverware drawer. He took out two spoons. One for him. Probably one for Maria.

Andy just grunted and headed upstairs, where he could be alone with his alcohol.

“What the hell’s his problem?” Michael mumbled, heading back out to the living room with snack in hand.

Krista sighed shakily, leaning back against the counter. It’s not a problem, she assured herself, wishing she could just watch them play that board game with her blinders firmly in place. Not yet.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Thanksgiving was a ritualistically bad holiday at the Valenti house. It wasn’t that they didn’t have plenty to be thankful for; they did . . . even if the dream of a state championship was now off the table. It was the actual food preparation part of the holiday that stumped them. Every year, Kyle sat on the couch, watching football while his dad tried and inevitably failed to cook a decent turkey. Last year, they ended up having to go out to eat somewhere.

But that couldn’t happen this year, because they had their girlfriends over. And Jim was trying very hard to impress Amy with his non-existent cooking prowess.

“Jim, let me help,” she begged.

“I’ve got it under control,” he assured her.

Kyle just grunted, shaking his head. He didn’t even have to glance into the kitchen to know that his dad was taking things out of the turkey that should have been left in and stuffing in a bunch of crap that should have stayed out.

“I know what I’m doing,” Amy told him.

“So do I. Been doin’ it for years. I’m a very self-sufficient man, you know. Now just go sit down and relax. I’ve got it covered.”

Reluctantly, Amy treaded into the living room, sighing.

Tess sprang up from the couch and said, “Let me try.” She skipped into the kitchen, put her hands behind her back, and innocently asked, “Hey, Mr. Valenti, can you show me what you’re doing? I really wanna learn.”

Kyle smiled. Smart girl. Monitor his cooking by sucking up.

“Sure, sure,” he said. “See, I’m taking some of this stuff out ‘cause . . . well, it just doesn’t need to be there. Unnecessary.”

“Isn’t that the heart?” she asked. “Maybe you should leave that in there. I hear some people like to eat the heart.”

“Huh.” Jim surveyed the small object in his hand, then tossed it back into the bird. “Hand me some of that lettuce.”

Kyle made a face. Lettuce?

“Oh, your dad is a stubborn man,” Amy groaned, sitting down beside him.

“Always has been.” Kyle leaned forward in interest as the Cowboys took a chance for it on fourth down. Pass play. Incomplete.

“Tess seems like a nice girl,” she remarked. “You guys are a cute couple.”

“Thanks.” He had to admit, watching her schmooze his dad was kind of fun.

“Is, um . . .” Amy tucked her hair behind her ear, quietly asking, “Is your friend Michael gonna come by at all?”

“Uh, no. He’s havin’ Thanksgiving with his family.”

She nodded, staring at the TV for a few seconds, even though she clearly wasn’t watching the game. “I was just wondering,” she said. “Is Maria still staying with him?”

Fishing for info, he registered. Got it. “Yeah, as far as I know.”

“And she’s . . . doing okay?”

“Yeah. She’s doin’ fine.” Truthfully, he hadn’t gotten an update on that whole . . . arrangement for a while. He’d been so consumed with football stuff.

“It’s just hard. I feel like I’m not even a part of her life anymore,” she bemoaned. “I miss her. I really miss Dylan.”

“He’s a cute kid.”

“He’s a great kid.” She sniffled, and he actually felt bad for her. He didn’t know this woman very well, but his dad had been with her for a few months now, which meant she was more than just a fling, which meant she was probably a decent woman. As crazy as she was about his dad, spending Thanksgiving without her real family had to suck.

“What’s Michael like?” she asked suddenly. “I know Maria said they’re not . . . it’s not that kind of relationship, but . . . I don’t know. Jim told me he’s kind of a . . . player, I guess you could say.”

“Pot callin’ the kettle black,” Kyle mumbled.

“What?”

“No, he’s, uh . . . he’s got a reputation, that’s for sure,” he openly admitted, “and he hasn’t always made the greatest choices. But underneath it all, he’s not a bad guy. I mean, that’s why he’s been my best friend all my life. He’s actually got a pretty good heart.”

Amy breathed a sigh of relief, and everything about her noticeably relaxed. “Good. Good.”

“Yeah.” He didn’t want to paint a portrait of Michael as some saint, but he meant what he said. Most people didn’t know Michael as well as he did. “Don’t worry about her,” he told Amy. “She’s in good hands.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Pressing her forehead against the cold window, Maria watched as Andy and Krista got out of the car, followed by two people she didn’t recognize. “Wow, are those your grandparents?” she asked.

“Yeah, unfortunately,” Michael replied from beside her.

“They look young.”

“Well, they had my dad when they were in their early twenties, and then my dad had me when he was eighteen, so . . .”

So maybe we can relate, she thought, watching as Grandpa Guerin started to lecture Andy about something that was wrong with his car. “What do I call them?” she asked.

“Uh, my Grandpa’s name’s Tom. He’s an ass, so you don’t really even have to talk to him.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, and my Grandma’s name’s Pat. She likes cats, knitting, all that grandma stuff.”

“Seriously?” That was so . . . cliché.

He chuckled. “No, actually she likes mountain biking and running marathons. She’s really in shape for her age.”

“Wow.” Well, by the sound of it, they had a whole lot of . . . nothing in common.

As they trundled downstairs, Maria asked, “So why’s your grandpa an ass?”

Michael shrugged and replied, “Just his personality, I guess. Every year I try to count how many mean comments he says to me. Last year he set a new record. Seventeen.”

“Oh, Michael . . .” She knew what it was like to have family members rag on you, so she could easily sympathize.

The front door swung open, and Grandpa Guerin entered, wiping his feet on the welcome mat. “Michael,” he greeted sternly. “You’ve still got that dopey hairdo.”

Michael looked over at Maria and mumbled, “That’s one.”

“Why don’t you cut it short?” his grandfather suggested. “Wear it high and tight.”

He just shrugged flippantly. “Chicks dig it, I guess.”

“So I’ve noticed.” The older man surveyed Maria up and down, and she felt . . . awkward. Like she was being inspected.

“Hi,” she said, extending her hand politely. “I’m . . .”

“The girl who’s been stayin’ here. Sure. Hear you got a kid.”

“Um . . .” She didn’t even know what to say.

Michael’s grandfather took off his coat and handed it to his grandson. “Do I even wanna ask you about your grades?” he asked. “Or are they still in the shitter?” He trundled off into the living room without even waiting for a reply.

Michael pressed his lips into an angry smile and declared, “That’s two.”

Thank goodness Tina was still young and adorable and charming. She entertained her grandparents for the most part while they were there that day. She left out some of the recent developments of her young life, like sneaking out of the house and getting detention. But they were still happy to see her grades, and even happier to hear that she’d made some new friends this year. Didn’t seem to matter who the friends were as long as she had some.

But by the time dinner rolled around, it was awkward and strained again. Michael’s dad barely said anything to anyone, even though he was the one most closely related to the majority of the people there. His mom was so focused on the meal she’d prepared that she couldn’t seem to think about anything else. And Dylan was clearly very confused as to who these new people were, so he didn’t say much.

Michael’s grandpa, however, wouldn’t shut up. Even his tone was angry. Gruff. Unsatisfied. When Krista asked them all how the food was tasting, instead of saying it was good and thanking her for making it, all he said was, “Turkey’s a little overcooked, I think.”

Maria could tell it was driving Michael nuts. He sat beside her, at the kitchen table that was way too small for eight people, and every time his grandpa said something that irked him, his fork scraped against his plate, and his grip on the edge of the table tightened.

When the talk turned to football, it wasn’t pleasant. “Heard you lost the championship,” his grandpa said.

“It wasn’t the championship,” Michael corrected. “It was the quarterfinals.”

“Oh, well, that’s even worse, isn’t it? Didn’t even make it there.”

“Oh, but Tom, they had a great season,” Krista jumped in. “And Michael played so well.”

“Dropped that pass, though. You should’ve caught it.”

Michael sighed, clearly struggling not to lash out. “I know,” he said.

Don’t feel bad, Maria wanted to say. But she felt like, the less she said, the better it would be. So she’d say it to him later.

“You got any colleges after you?” Grandpa asked. “Or are the grades too bad?”

“I’m passing all my classes right now,” Michael informed him.

“Well, there’s a first.”

Michael shook his head in disbelief and muttered to Maria, “What is that now, like nineteen? I lost count.”

So had she. But what was worse was that it was probably a higher number than that.

“Michael’s really trying hard this year,” Krista said, sounding genuinely proud of her son. She looked to her husband for some agreement, but he was busy picking apart his turkey, not carrying to tune in to any part of the conversation.

“Whatever happened to that other blonde girl you used to be with?” Grandpa Guerin asked. “She was smart.”

And I’m not? Maria couldn’t help but think. Maybe he hadn’t even meant it like that, but it was hard to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Isabel,” Michael’s grandma piped up.

“That’s right. She was pretty.”

And I’m not? Maria thought again. Realistically, she knew it was hard to compete with Isabel, but . . .

“I’m still dating her,” Michael informed them.

“Good,” Grandpa declared. “She’ll take you places.”

And I won’t? The longer this dinner was wearing on, the faster Maria was wishing it would go. She was starting to think that maybe Andy had the right idea. Just find a distraction, whether it was food or football or something else entirely and go with it. Dylan. Dylan could be her distraction. She looked over at his plate and noticed that he was pushing his green bean casserole all around, not really trying a bite of it. But who could blame him? It didn’t look appetizing, even though it actually tasted pretty good.

Michael’s grandpa must have been noticing the same thing, because he soon asked, “You gonna let him play with his food like that?”

At first, Maria thought he was asking her, but then she saw he was looking at Michael.

“I’m not . . .” Michael looked at a loss for words. He put his fork down and stuttered, “He’s not my . . . what am I supposed to do?”

“Maybe step up to the plate,” his grandfather suggested, “for once. I know you say he’s not your kid, but . . . really, with the way you carry on, he just might be.”

“Oh my god,” Maria whispered. This was . . . too much.

“Okay, let’s just eat,” Krista suggested pleadingly. “Okay?”

“Yes,” Michael’s grandma readily agreed. “That sounds good.”

“I’m not hungry,” Michael grumbled.

Maria felt like she was going to throw up.

But apparently the patriarch of the family wasn’t done yet, because he reached over his wife for the mashed potato bowl and said, “No offense, Amara . . .”

“Maria,” she corrected. Great. Any time somebody had to start out something with ‘no offense,’ it was likely going to be offensive.

“You seem like a nice enough girl, but if my grandson were to have a child, I’d hope it’s with someone classy enough not to get pregnant in high school.”

“Tom!” Krista hissed. Michael’s grandma just looked away as though she were embarrassed, and even his dad jumped in with, “Dad, stop.”

Oh my god, Maria kept thinking on repeat. Oh my god.

Michael quickly leaned over to his sister and said, “Tina, take Dylan upstairs.”

“But--”

“Take him upstairs, now.

She slid out of her seat and grabbed Dylan’s hand, quickly scampering upstairs and out of sight with him.

“I’m sorry,” Grandpa Guerin apologized. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how the hell did you mean it?” Michael roared, his voice rising several notches.

“Michael . . .” his mom cautioned.

“No, you know what, fuck you, Grandpa!”

“Michael!”

His dad slowly got up from the table, groaning, “I need a drink.”

“No wonder Dad turned out the way he did. Look what he came from.” Michael got up and grumbled, “Come on, Maria,” storming out of the kitchen in a blaze of anger.

Quickly, she got up and followed after him, because she couldn’t imagine sitting there one second longer. With Krista, it was fine. Even with Andy, it wasn’t bad. And when it was just her and Michael, it felt perfect. But whenever anyone else was in the mix . . the judgment . . . it was so overwhelming.

She followed him outside, no coat on despite how cold it was. He was enraged. It was evident in the way he walked, the tenseness of his muscles, the way he kicked the trashcan over on his way down the sidewalk. In a way, walking along behind him made her feel pathetic, but it made her feel safe, having him right there with her, knowing that, if she did in fact break down into a million pieces, he’d be there to put her back together.

If he wasn’t putting himself back together, that was. He looked even more upset than he had when he’d dropped that pass the other night. Not sad, this time. Infuriated.

As they walked to the street corner, neither of them saying anything, she realized just how damaged he was, how damaged his family was. Here they were, taking her in, giving her a temporary home, and their home was, metaphorically, at least, in shambles.

He stopped at the street corner, and she stopped a few feet behind him, wanting to give him his space, because he looked like he was about to erupt.

He put his hands on his hips, he shook his head, growling out, “I told you, he’s a fuckin’ jackass.”

“I’m okay,” she assured him. “I’m . . .” She wanted to be tough, to have thick skin, to be able to look past that man’s rude, insensitive comments and say they didn’t matter. But they did matter. When people thought those things about her, whether they said them out loud or not . . . it mattered.

She could feel the tears stinging her eyes, and when he turned to look at her, he must have noticed them right away, because it didn’t take him long to calm down, set aside his anger, and walk towards her. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her into him, holding her close, and on any other night, her heart would have skipped a beat. Because it would have been romantic. But tonight, it was . . . something else. Compassionate.

She hugged him back, pressing her the side of her face to his chest, letting the tears steadily stream down her cheeks. Not breaking down, but not exactly holding it in, either. There was no need to put on a front, an unconvincing act. Not with him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Time was a funny thing. In a way, Maria felt like she’d stayed out too long, left Dylan in that house by himself. But in another way, it didn’t feel like it’d been long enough. A feeling of dread coursed through her when she and Michael returned. She wasn’t even sure how long they’d been away. They made sure to wait until the guest vehicle in the driveway was gone until they went back.

The table was still set when they walked in the door. In fact, everything about it looked untouched from how they’d left it. The only difference was that Michael’s grandfather’s plate was now empty. Apparently he’d finished eating before he’d gone. Whenever that had been. Not soon enough.

None of the dishes were washed. Krista probably already would have started doing them, except . . .

Maria listened. There was yelling coming from upstairs. Michael’s parents. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, though, because they were being too loud to understand. It didn’t really matter what they were saying, anyway, just that they were yelling. Probably not even hearing each other.

Michael just stood there for a second, listening to them. He didn’t look surprised. He didn’t even look angry. More . . . sad.

And then he said, “Come on,” and was heading upstairs, and like she’d done for the majority of that night, she followed him. They stopped at Tina’s bedroom, and he pushed open the door. She was sitting on her bed, drawing, and she had earmuffs on. Dylan was sleeping beside her. When she saw Michael, she took off the earmuffs only momentarily, but when her dad shouted something unintelligible from down the hall, she quickly put them back on again and resumed her work.

Michael bent down and lifted Dylan up. He handed him over to Maria, and then, probably without even realizing what he was doing, he bent down again and kissed the top of his little sister’s head. She smiled a little, a shaky smile, and just kept drawing.

Crossing the hall, they slipped into his bedroom, just the three of them. Maria carefully lay Dylan down on the bed. He was so fast asleep that no movement would wake him. She sat down beside him, close to the wall, pulling the blankets up over her legs and over his entire body, tucking them in underneath his arms. He was making a little wheezy sound because he was breathing with his mouth open. Wasn’t enough to block out the yelling, though.

Michael shut the door and trudged over to the bed. He sat down next to it on the floor, leaning back against his end table, closing his eyes and rubbing his head. He looked tired, and she felt worse than ever that she was taking his bed from him.

She wanted to say something, maybe something that would block out the fighting or distract him from it. In the back of her mind, she remembered that it actually was a holiday, Thanksgiving of all days; but it broke her heart to look at him, because it was so obvious in that moment that he was struggling to find anything he was thankful for.

It’s not fair, she thought. She had plenty of things to be thankful for, and most of things were because of Michael. He didn’t deserve to feel . . . whatever he was feeling as he sat there, listening to his parents argue, replaying everything his grandfather had said over and over again in his mind.

How long had it been since she’d known Michael now? How long had it been since she’d started developing feelings for him? It was a time thing, again . . . it was so strange. Because even though she’d known him for months, and even though those feelings had existed for quite a while, too, she felt as if she were seeing him for the first time as he sat there. Just sitting. Not speaking. It was a version of Michael he probably let few others glimpse, even for a second. A version of him that was . . . very real. And lonely.

Michael Guerin was lonely.

Like most guys, he tried to keep his vulnerabilities hidden. But she was at the point where she knew him well enough, apparently, that he wasn’t trying to hide them. She’d seen him vulnerable following that football game, and she was seeing it even more so now. In many ways, he seemed far more affected than she was by what had transpired at that dinner, by what had been said. It was his family, after all, that was so full of fractures.

Sort of like hers.

She wasn’t about to ask him if he was going to leave. No way. It was his bedroom. Besides . . . it sort of just seemed like he wanted to be near someone. Anyone.

She lay down next to Dylan, alternating between watching him and watching Michael. Neither one of them moved much, yet she didn’t want to look away. But eventually, she couldn’t keep her eyelids open any longer, and no matter how much she blinked, they fluttered shut.








TBC . . .

-April
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LOVE IS MICHAEL AND MARIA.
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April
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Part 25

Post by April »

Carolyn:
This is not what I expected from Michael.....
Did you expect something better or worse?

Sara:
Heart breaking!!! This whole update made me so sad. I feel so bad for everyone here and even Andy. What a sucky household and father to be raised by.
And the saddest part is that now the cycle just continues, and Andy's raising his son in the same type of household.

Eva:
Sad doesn't even come close to what for a family Michael has.
Michael's family has been very broken for a very long time. :(
Would Amy change? Would Amy finally see that she lost more than she was thinking by throwing them out? I really hope so.
She definitely regrets her actions a little bit. Now that she doesn't have either Maria or Dylan around, she's missing them.

CandyliciousLovah:
I only hope that Michael can eventually escape from becoming/turning into his dad and grandpa before it's too late
This is one of the conflicts/issues that drives the entire fic, and Michael's journey in particular.

Rodney:
Well that's a nice family dynamic the Gurien's have going for them there. Michael's dad's drinking makes a bit more sense to me now.
As awful and annoying as Andy can be, it is kind of sad to know he drinks because he's so depressed and has been so broken during his life.

Michael:
I think I kind of understand Michael more and a little about his dad but While i understand it, I still don't condone it. Drinking and having sex can only fix your problems for so long before you remember that problem you were trying to forget.
Yeah, you can't really condone the way they've responded to their problems. Life throws hardships your way, but you can't control that; you can only control how you respond to them.


Thank you for the feedback! I really appreciate it!








Part 25








Morning. Was it really morning already? How it could be morning? It seemed like she’d just gone to sleep.

Maria stirred, careful not to stir too much. At this point, she’d grown accustomed to sleeping with her son beside her, and even though most of the time an earthquake wouldn’t even be enough to wake him, she didn’t want to chance disturbing him.

Rolling over on her back, she yawned, then struggled to open her eyes. She hadn’t slept well. Not by a long shot. Her mind had been racing, even in dreams, mostly because she’d been dreaming about . . .

She sat up. Michael. Was he still . . .

Glancing down at the floor, she saw him lying there, fast asleep. He’d taken one of the pillows down off the bed and was lying flat on his stomach. Apparently he’d changed before going to sleep, because he wasn’t wearing what he’d worn at dinner. Instead, he was now wearing that white tank that prominently displayed all those bruises from that last football game.

What was she even doing there? It felt so wrong, in that moment, being in his bed while he was relegated to the floor. He’d probably slept even worse than she had.

Only because her bladder was the size of a peanut, she forced herself up and out of bed, carefully stepping over Michael’s body and tiptoeing her way out of the room. She went to the bathroom and brushed her teeth, then went downstairs to see if anyone else was awake. Didn’t seem like it. It was early, and the Guerins weren’t early risers. Plus, two of them had stayed up late, fighting.

Breakfast, she thought. When Michael woke up, the least she could do was have breakfast made for him. Or maybe she could clean the kitchen for Krista, do the dishes. It still wasn’t . . . it was still how they’d left it. She could fix that. Easily. She could help out the people who were helping her.

Unfortunately, even though she wanted to, she didn’t get the chance. A loud, insistent knocking came from the front door, and she tensed, worrying that maybe Michael’s jerk of a grandpa was back. But when she peered out the peephole and saw Isabel standing there . . . well, that didn’t exactly make her feel any better.

It’s not like you’re wearing a towel or anything, she thought. You don’t look guilty. There was nothing to feel guilty about. So she and Michael had slept in the same room. Didn’t matter. They hadn’t even slept in the same bed.

Gathering up her courage, she opened the door and greeted, “Isabel!” as cheerfully as she could.

“Where is he?” she demanded, storming inside. “Is he here?”

“Who?” Didn’t hurt to stall.

“Michael. He was supposed to meet me at 4:30 a.m.”

Maria frowned. “Why?”

“We were gonna go Black Friday shopping. He promised.”

“Oh, um . . .” Too bad there was no way to get him out of this one. “I think he’s still asleep.”

“Seriously?” Isabel stomped her foot frustratedly, then glanced into the living room at the couch. The couch where nobody was sleeping, and where, clearly, nobody had slept last night.

“Actually, he might be out back,” Maria corrected. “I don’t know. You could go check.”

Isabel huffed and trundled towards the back door, muttering under her breath something about Michael being a complete idiot. Except she used some huge, smart Princeton word.

The second she was outside, Maria ran back upstairs into the bedroom. “Michael,” she said quietly, shaking him to wake him. “Michael, wake up.”

He groaned, rolling over onto his back. “What?”

“Isabel’s here?”

“Huh?”

“She’s really mad. I think you were supposed to do something with her today.”

He yawned, his eyes still closed, and moaned, “Oh, crap.”

“You have to get up.” He was going to be in even more trouble if she saw him up there.

“Okay, okay.” He forced himself up into a sitting position, squinting his eyes against the morning brightness. He started to stretch his arms, as if he had all the time in the world.

“Go downstairs,” she urged, pushing gently on his shoulder.

“Oh . . .” He yawned again, struggling to his feet. He staggered out of the bedroom, clearly not all the way awake yet, and headed downstairs.

Maria shut the door to the bedroom, leaning against it, pressing her ear in close. It took a moment, but soon, she heard Isabel’s voice rise up from the lower level. “Where were you?” she demanded in an accusatory tone.

Michael’s voice was quieter. She couldn’t hear him. But she kept hearing Isabel, kept hearing how upset she was. Eventually, Michael got a little louder, too, telling her he hated when she was a bitch to him in the morning. That only made her madder. Eventually, they sounded almost exactly like his parents had last night.

“Fine, I’ll go by myself!” Isabel finally decided.

“Fine!”

Maria flinched when she heard the front door slam, followed seconds later by the sound of something shattering. Something small. Probably ceramic. Probably something Michael had just thrown at a wall. Another broken thing in a house full of broken things.

I’m so sorry, Michael, she thought, slumping against the door, unable to wonder if he’d still be dealing with so much drama if she hadn’t been staying there.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Black Friday. Screw that.

There wasn’t one part of Michael that wanted to be fighting his way through any crowds at any stores, so he didn’t feel bad at all for staying home. The Friday after Thanksgiving was a day meant for relaxing. And watching football. Plenty of it. Kyle came over, and they watched game after game. Didn’t matter who was playing. Every game was a good one, so he stayed for the night games, too.

His mom left early that morning to try to do some Christmas shopping, promising she’d be out late. Probably because she didn’t care to be at home. And his dad . . . his dad went out early, too, most likely to one of those twenty-four hour strip clubs or something.

It was nice when the only yelling in the house was coming from Kyle and him as they yelled at the TV screen.

“Come on!” Kyle growled when the TCU defense gave up another first down. He wasn’t a TCU fan, but he’d bet that they would pull off the upset and win against Baylor.

“Nice.” Michael, on the other hand, was loving it. One step closer to winning ten bucks.

“What the hell is this? Their defense is as bad as ours.”

“Worse. Man, you gotta love Big 12 football.”

“Why?”

“ ‘cause it’s all offense.” They weren’t even to halftime yet, and already the teams had combined to put almost forty points on the board.

TCU called a time out, drawing a commercial break, and Michael was considering going into the kitchen to pop some popcorn really quickly when Tina came rushing downstairs. “Michael!” she called. “I need your help. It’s Dylan.”

He immediately sat up straight. “What’s wrong?”

“He had an accident.”

“Is he okay? What happened?”

“He . . .” She whirled her hands about dramatically, just repeating, “He had an accident.” When he just stared at her confusedly, she flapped her arms against her sides and practically yelled, “He pooped!”

Oh.” So it was that kind of accident.

“Yeah, and now he’s crying ‘cause he’s so embarrassed.”

“Well, what am I supposed to . . .” Why was she coming to him with this? He didn’t know what to do. “I’ll go get Maria,” he decided, handing Kyle the remote. “Don’t change the channel.” When all was said and done, they were going to watch this game in its entirety, and at the end of it, he was going to gloat over his sweeping victory and collect on the bet.

He went upstairs and knocked lightly on his bedroom door. “Maria?” Pushing it open slowly, he found her sitting at his computer. She had one of many Metallica songs playing in the background, but she muted it when he came in.

“Hey.”

“Hey. We need your help. Dylan had a, uh . . . an accident.”

She immediately sprang to her feet, looking panicked. “Oh my god, what happened? Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he just couldn’t make it to the bathroom in time.”

“Oh.” She breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay. I’ll go handle it. Thanks.”

“Yeah.” He stepped aside so she could get past him. When she opened the door to Tina’s room and ducked inside, he heard Dylan crying. Poor little guy. It wasn’t a big deal. He was a toddler. Toddlers shit their pants a lot. They’d all been there, done that at one point.

Since he had a rare moment alone in his bedroom, he decided to change into some comfier clothes. He took off his jeans, kicked them over to the closet, and pulled on a pair of sweatpants instead. He then took off his t-shirt and was about to throw on a beater when he looked in his mirror and noticed something . . . odd. He saw his computer screen, saw what she’d been looking at, and it didn’t look like his music collection.

Turning, he made his way back over to his desk, bending forward to get a closer look. She was online and had several Internet tabs open, each one showing a different apartment complex right there in Roswell, New Mexico.

Apartments? He frowned. Why would she . . .

No. No, no, no.

He sat down in his computer chair, unable to think anything but that one word.

No.

He waited for her to come back into the room, which, fortunately, was only a few minutes later. “Okay, false alarm,” she announced. “It wasn’t poop. He just spilled his pudding cup. He’s okay now.”

“Good.” He spun the chair around to face her, wondering how long it would take for her to realize he’d connected the dots and knew why she wasn’t hanging out downstairs with him and Kyle, watching that damn football game.

“He just gets so worked up sometimes,” she said. “He’s really emotional.”

“Well, he’s two.”

“Yeah.” Her eyes drifted down to his chest for a second, and she said, “Are you . . . is there a reason why you’re sitting there without a shirt on?”

Oops. “No reason.” He stood up and walked over to his drawer, pulling out the first t-shirt he saw. He tossed it on, just because he felt like he should, and waited for her to say something about all those Internet pages. But she didn’t. So finally, he had to. “Why’re you lookin’ at apartments?”

She lowered her head and mumbled, “Because. I can’t stay here forever.”

“You can stay.”

“I know, but . . . Michael, this is supposed to be temporary.”

Screw temporary, he thought, shifting around nervously. “Did somebody say something?” he asked. “Was it my dad? Did he say somethin’ to you?”

“No, he hasn’t said anything.”

“Did my mom?”

“No.”

“Then why’re you--”

Because,” she cut in, “I’ve probably already stayed too long. I think I’ve kind of worn out my welcome, don’t you?”

He frowned. How could she think that? What had he ever done or said to give her that impression? Had he done anything at all? “Is this ‘cause of yesterday, all that stuff my grandpa said?” he asked.

“No, I just think I need to find a place of my own.”

“Can you afford any of those places?” he challenged outright. She still only had a part-time job.

“I can try.”

No, he didn’t like the sound of that. She’d get desperate. She’d end up doing something she regretted, just like she’d done with that Winston guy. He wasn’t going to let her go through that again, not if he could help it. “Maria, just stay here.”

“But I’m causing problems.”

He took a few steps towards her, narrowing his eyes in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Your family, your girlfriend . . .”

“Oh, so this is about Isabel comin’ over this morning?” Okay. At least that made sense. “Maria, it’s nothin’ new for her to be pissed at me. She’s pissed at me all the time.”

She raked one hand through her hair, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. “No, it’s just . . . it’s not just that. It’s everything, Michael. I’m a burden. Dylan and I . . . you shouldn’t have to worry about taking care of us. You’ve got plenty of your own stuff to think about.”

“Like what?”

“Like your family, your little sister, football.”

“Football’s over.”

“Okay, so college then.”

He groaned at the mere thought.

“School.”

“That’s not a priority.”

“Well, it should be. You shouldn’t be distracted.”

Didn’t she get it, though? He was always distracted, one way or another. But when she was around, he was more distracted by her and Dylan than he was by booze and parties. And wasn’t that a good thing? “Maria, please,” he begged. “Please don’t go.”

“I have to.”

“No, you don’t have to. And I don’t want you to,” he admitted in a rare rush of honesty. He couldn’t explain it, but standing there with her, he felt like she’d be taking part of him with her if she left. Which part, he wasn’t sure, but it would definitely be one of the few good parts.

“Michael . . .”

“It’s better when you’re here.”

She inhaled shakily, her eyes locked onto his. “This is better?”

He laughed a little. “Yeah, actually.” Sure, last night had been bad. Horrible, really. But most of the nights since she’d been there hadn’t been. “Look, I know my family’s really messed up . . .”

“Michael, I adore your family. Your mom, your sister . . . you . . . you’ve all been so great to me.”

“And we all want you to stay.” His mom hadn’t said anything to him about getting her to leave, so . . . that must have meant she didn’t have a problem with letting their arrangement go on longer than she’d originally intended. “And look at Tina. She loves Dylan. Do you know how much better she’s been since he’s been here? It’s like she’s her old self again.”

“She’s a good girl.”

“Yeah, and I’m . . .” He stopped abruptly before allowing himself to say something ridiculous, to say that he was a good guy. Because he wasn’t. Not in the traditional sense, at least. But with her . . . he didn’t feel quite so bad. “I’m better . . . when you’re around.”

She started to look teary-eyed, and he could tell she was giving in. Maybe she’d never really been that set on leaving in the first place. She looked down at her feet, sniffing back tears.

“Hey.” He put his hand under her chin, tilting her head up to look at him. He just stared at her for a moment, silently daring her to look away. But she didn’t. “Iris,” he blurted. “Goo Goo Dolls.”

Her forehead scrunched together in utter confusion. “What?”

“That’s your favorite song. I heard you humming it yesterday.”

She smiled shakily, just a little, barely noticeable one. “That’s not my favorite,” she informed him.

Damn. Oh, well. Didn’t hurt to guess. “See, that’s why you gotta stay,” he said. “You gotta give me time to figure it out.”

Her smile grew a little bigger, and the tears in her eyes went from looking sad to happy. And he knew he’d gotten his wish: She wasn’t going anywhere.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Isabel’s body language was such an indicator of her mood. Whenever she was in a good mood, she was relaxed, she smiled, flipped her hair. Whenever she was in a bad mood, everything about her was tense. Her mouth was drawn down at the sides, and her arms were always close to her chest.

She was definitely in a bad mood on Monday. Michael could tell just by watching her as she stood at her locker, getting out all her supplies for the first few class periods.

He bravely sauntered up to her, not a doubt in his mind that he could get the more relaxed version of her back. “Okay,” he said. “What do I have to do to get back on your good side?”

She grunted and stared at him incredulously. “Are you kidding me? Like it’s that easy?”

“Well . . .” Usually it was.

“You totally ditched me on Friday.”

“I forgot about shopping. Come on, Is. We both know I’ve done worse.”

“So you think I’ll just forgive you?”

“I know you will.” He didn’t intend to sound cocky, but . . . well, it was kind of hard not to. He had a way with this girl. “Come on, we both know how it goes: I do something wrong, you get pissed, it kinda turns me on, and the next thing you know, we end up back in your bed.” He glanced down the hall and grinned, adding suggestively, “Or the eraser room.”

She slammed her locker shut and adamantly proclaimed, “That was a one-time thing. I’m not doing that again.”

“Why not?” It’d been quick, but fun.

“Because it was . . .” She glared at him as she rifled through the dictionary of her mind for the right word. “Degrading.”

He smirked, seeing nothing wrong with that. “Yeah. I thought so, too.”

“Ugh.” She rolled her eyes and pushed past him, clutching her books and binder tightly to her chest as she headed down the hall.

He quickly caught up to her, not about to give up so easily. “Okay, forget I said that last part. Let’s start over: What do I have to do to get you to not be pissed at me?”

Her lips were pressed tightly together when she asked, “You really wanna know?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Suddenly, she stopped, turning to face him, and pulled out a hot pink piece of paper from her binder. She handed it over to him, a challenging look on her face.

“What is this?” he asked. “You want me to hang this up or something?”

“Read it.”

He sighed. Reading. Great. He hated reading. He skimmed over it, just enough to get the basic gist. “Study Buddies,” he pronounced. “Tutoring?”

“Yes. If you’ll recall, when I was elected student body president, I promised to set up a tutoring program around here. And unlike some people, I follow through with what I say I’m gonna do.” She grinned smugly.

“Hmm. Okay, great. But I don’t get it. You want me to tutor a bunch of annoying kids or something?”

“No.” She pointed to a registration form attached to the bottom and revealed, “I want you to get tutored.”

He just stood there, slack-jawed, completely speechless as she continued on her way. He’d been expecting her to say that he could take her out for a nice dinner, or maybe to a movie or something. Simple. Not this. Not . . . tutoring?

“What the hell?” he roared, once again catching up to her. He grabbed her arm and pulled her into a side hallway that led to the computer lab, because he didn’t want to have this conversation in front of people. “Study Buddies? You think I’m a retard or somethin’?”

“Michael, I know you’re very smart. But I also know you don’t apply yourself.”

“Fuck, Isabel, America knows that.”

“This whole college thing is still up in the air for you, so your grades are more important than ever.”

“My grades are fine,” he reminded her. “I’m passing all my classes.”

“Michael, you have straight D’s.”

“So? I’m passing.”

“It’s not good enough!”

For who? he wondered. Colleges? Or you? The answer was pretty clear in his mind, so he grumbled, “Sorry I don’t measure up to your high standards.”

“No, I just want you to have high standards for yourself. That’s all. Face it, Michael: You kept your grades up so you could play football and have a great senior season with Kyle. But now football’s over, so your grades are probably gonna plummet again.”

“Well, it’s nice to know you have so much faith in me.”

“I do have faith in you,” she insisted. “That’s why I’m trying to get you involved with this. Listen, I know this guy named Alex.”

What, so now there was another guy involved? “Alex.”

“Yes. He’s an English major at Carlsbad. I got in touch with him recently, and he’s the one who helped me set this all up. He and some other university students have this tutoring program, and they’re gonna come here once a week to work with students.”

“And they’re just gonna do this out of the goodness of their hearts?”

“Well, it gives them opportunities to recruit, too. Volunteer experience for their résumés. It’s a win-win situation for everyone involved, including you.”

He shook his head, not seeing it that way. Fuckin’ Topolsky had gotten to her or something, because she was harping on him more than ever. “This is stupid. You expect me to get tutored by your ex-boyfriend?”

“He’s not . . . I met him at a leadership conference years ago. He’s a friend. Like a distant friend, but nice. And someone who could help you.”

He grunted. She sounded so . . . patronizing. Like more of a parent than his actual parents were.

“Fine? You don’t wanna do it? Then I’m still mad at you.” She seized the flier back from him and whirled around, stomping back out into the main hall.

He groaned, craning his neck back, wishing he’d just remembered to wake up and do that damn Black Friday shopping. Maybe if he had, he wouldn’t be in this situation.

The kicker of it all was that she was right, though. His grades were going to change dramatically now that football was done. And even though that didn’t really bother him . . . he was still waiting to hear back from Alabama, and there were slim chances that he might even apply somewhere else. Like maybe at that school that was recruiting him. Maybe.

Even though he hated the idea, hated every single part of it with every fiber of his being, he ran after her, catching up with her right as she was about to get in the breakfast line. “Hey,” he said, grabbing her arm.

“What?”

He sighed, trying not to think about how humiliating and painstaking it would be, trying instead to just envision her having sex with him, because she probably would if he agreed to this. All would be right in their little world. “Sign me up.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Burying his face in the pillow, Michael groaned. “Oh . . .”

Beside him, lying on her stomach, Maria couldn’t help but laugh. His little tutoring predicament, on some level, was funny, just because he so badly didn’t want to take part in it.

“Oh, this is awful,” he lamented.

“I can’t believe you agreed to it.”

He held one hand to his forehead and looked at her in distress. “Study Buddies, Maria. That’s what it’s called. Study Buddies.”

She smiled, admitting, “That’s cute, though.”

“It’s not cute. It’s awful.”

Again, she laughed. “Okay, maybe she’s right, though. This could help you.”

“I don’t care about my grades, though.” He turned over onto his back, putting his right arm behind his head. “I know I should, but I just . . . don’t.”

He looked so comfortable, so casual lying there. Even though she was trying her best to act the same, it was driving her crazy, having him so close to her, in the same bed. “But you care about Isabel,” she pointed out. Had to remember that.

He closed his eyes, angling his face away from her, and muttered, “Yeah, sometimes.”

“What?”

He sighed, starting to sound tired. “No, I do.”

“That’s why you’re doing this. Because you love her.” It filled her with bitterness to have to say that. When he didn’t agree readily, she was almost glad, but prompted, “Right?”

His eyes still closed, he whispered, “Yeah.”

“Yeah, so . . .” She looked down at the bedspread, picking at a loose thread, wishing she could move in closer to him. But when he’d come up there and just laid down beside her after dinner, she’d immediately told herself to put up an invisible wall between them, and not to cross it.

He opened his eyes again, looking back in her direction. “You know, I could just play basketball, or wrestle,” he thought out loud. “Then I could say, ‘Hey, look, Isabel, I’m doin’ a winter sport. Guess that’ll motivate me to keep my grades up.’”

She smiled, shaking her head. “Nah, she’ll see right through it.”

“You think?”

“Yeah.”

“Damn.” He closed his eyes again, turning his head in the other direction.

“Do you even know how to wrestle?” she asked.

“Yeah. I went to State my sophomore year.”

“Really?” Suddenly, she was picturing him in those tight outfits wrestlers wore and . . . good God, that was something.

“Yes. I’m very athletic.”

“And so modest,” she teased, resting her head on the pillow in front of her. Oh, it would have been so nice to just close her eyes, too, lie there beside him, fall asleep. Maybe even curl up next to him in the middle of the night if she got cold. But she didn’t have that privilege. Isabel did.

“I’m tired,” he murmured, his voice starting to sound ever more dazed.

“Don’t fall asleep,” she warned, picking her head back up again. “You can’t.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” And he knew it wasn’t okay. He was just tired, so he didn’t want to move. If he fell asleep and she had to go downstairs and be on the couch for the night, she’d do it. Because there was a boundary. There really was.

“Michael.”

“Just push me off the bed or something,” he told her, his words all starting to blend together.

“What?”

“Yeah, just push me.”

She laughed a little, shaking her head. Well, he’d asked for it. Pressing one hand to his shoulder, she halfheartedly attempted to roll him off the edge and onto the floor. He was a big guy, though, so moving him wasn’t easy.

He smiled, apparently enjoying her struggle, and said, “Push harder.”

She did, but still, he wouldn’t budge. “Michael, seriously.” She gave him one more little push, and this time, he helped her out by rolling over onto his side. He rolled a little too far and landed on the floor with a thud.

“Are you okay?” she asked, leaning over the side of the bed.

“I’m good,” he said, holding up his hand. “Hand me a pillow.”

She grabbed the fluffiest one and passed it down to him.

“This is good,” he declared, bunching it up underneath his head. Curling up on his side, he decided, “I’ll just sleep here.”

She smiled as she peered down at him, an adorable, almost childlike version of him, and she felt unable to make him move anymore. In a strange way, he really did look comfy. And besides, this wasn’t crossing any boundaries. He was on the floor, and she was in the bed. There was plenty of space between them.








TBC . . .

-April
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LOVE IS MICHAEL AND MARIA.
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April
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Part 26

Post by April »

Carolyn:
Think I would ALMOST rather have a root canal than to go shopping on Black Friday.
:lol: Same here!

CandyliciousLovah:
Things are getting comfortable for M&M.
Comfortable, yes, and a bit too cozy considering he has a girlfriend.

Eva:
Michael is changing and growing further & further away from Isabel and closer to Maria. But will he see that?
Hmm, for that matter, will Isabel see that? Or does she already see it?

Rod:
Ironic how Michael can careless what Isabel has too say until he gets jealous over Alex.
Yeah, the second he here's another guy's name, he's agreeing to be tutored. :roll:

Sara:
Isabel assuming her teenage boyfriend would want to go shopping really shows how delusional she is. SHe needs to wake up, get a clue, get over michael and get it on with Alex. And Michael needs to get a clue...break up with Isabel, get a HS diploma and get his shit together..THEN he and Maria can figure something out.
Michael and Isabel's relationship is becoming one endless cycle of delusions at this point!


Thank you so much for the feedback! I really appreciate it! Happy Saturday!








Part 26








Wednesday was a horrible day. Mostly because it was Study Buddies day. Wednesday was the only night of the week where there were no games or other activities going on, so Isabel was convinced that it was the perfect night for her upstart tutoring program. Everything about this stupid program was, in her mind, just perfect.

Michael dragged through all his classes that day, dreading the thought of what awaited him after school. He even utilized his study hall, trying to finish as much homework as possible so that he could check out early that night. But unfortunately, Mr. Frost had planned a chemistry test for Thursday, and Ms. Alvarez had an English one scheduled for Friday. So he had plenty to study for, and that information was passed along to the tutors.

They all met up in the library after school. Isabel was there at first, just to help everyone get situated, but then she had to leave to attend a vitally important cheerleading practice. He preferred it when she wasn’t there, because then he didn’t have to pretend that he was okay with being anyone’s study buddy.

There were about seven tutors, mostly male, all college-aged. There was one female, but she was unattractive and possibly part male, so that was a letdown. Each one was assigned two students to work with, because, miraculously, about a dozen kids had registered for this freak show. People who attended the same parties as Michael were there, people who played the same sports. He couldn’t believe it. It amazed him that people would volunteer for this shit.

The guy Isabel had mentioned, Alex something or another, was assigned to work with him. Whitehead? Whitmore? Honestly, he didn’t even care. He was Alex’s one and only student to work with, probably because he was going to be such a challenge. Troublemaker. Problem child. Difficult case.

Alex was obnoxiously prepared. He had binders full of reading strategies and graphic organizers for note-taking. He had a supply box full of sharpened pencils, brand new erasers, and white-out. But, worst of all, he had a positive attitude that made Michael want to throw up.

“Okay, before we begin,” he started in, “can you tell me, what kind of learner are you?”

Michael made a face. “I have no idea.” A reluctant learner? A bored one? Did that work?

“Well, what I mean is, do you learn best by seeing things or by hearing things or touching things?”

He pictured himself caressing Isabel’s breasts, learning all the best ways to make her moan during sex. “Touching,” he replied.

“Okay, so you’re a kinesthetic learner. You like to do things.”

Sure did.

“If we can find a way to take what you’re learning and transform it into some hands-on knowledge, that might help you study better.” He smiled encouragingly and opened his pencil box, taking out a perfectly sharpened number two pencil and handing it over to Michael. “You wanna start with English or science?”

Michael set the pencil down, eyeing Alex inquisitively. “I got a question,” he announced. “Why the hell would you and the rest of these people drive an hour just to tutor ungrateful brats like me?”

Alex laughed lightly, taking it all in stride. “I’m studying to be a teacher. So is almost everyone else here. It’s good experience for us,” he explained.

“It’s still a long drive.”

“Well, I get paid. And it’s only once a week. And the girl who set this whole thing up, Isabel . . .” He trailed off, smiling.

“She’s hot,” Michael filled in, messing around a little. “Don’t you think?”

“What? Uh . . .” Alex looked away, seeming flustered. “Well, she’s in high school.”

“But she’s hot. And she can be very convincing.”

“You know Isabel?”

“Uh-huh. I’m datin’ her.”

Alex’s eyebrows rose up in surprise. “Oh. She didn’t tell me that. I had no idea she was your girlfriend.”

“Yep.” Of course he’d had no idea. How could he? Logically, it made no sense, and Alex seemed like a logical guy. “I know what you’re thinking: What a mismatch, right? Smart girl like her, dumbass like me.”

“I don’t think you’re dumb, Michael,” Alex assured him immediately. “I don’t even know you.”

“Well, know this: I’m only here ‘cause she’s forcin’ me to be.”

Alex held his hands up as if to indicate he wasn’t offended and said, “Hey, I understand. I have a girlfriend, too. Sometimes I can’t believe the things she gets me to do.”

“What, like whips and chains?”

“Uh . . .” Alex seemed . . . truly taken aback. “More like . . . chick flicks.”

Michael nodded, pretending he could relate. Too bad. Whips and chains had a lot to offer if you used them right.

“Let’s, uh . . . get started, alright?” Alex suggested. “Let’s go with science.”

In his head, Michael was already thinking of other things he could say to get his tutor sidetracked.

An hour and a half later, he strode out into the parking lot, disappointed that Alex hadn’t been so easy to distract. He probably would make a good teacher someday, because he was focused, and against all odds, he’d actually gotten Michael to focus, too. He was now somewhat ready for that chemistry test tomorrow, which was a major step up from completely unprepared.

Isabel was waiting for him by her car, dressed in her cheerleading sweatpants and warm-up jacket. Her poms were on the hood of her car, and several strands of her hair were falling out of her ponytail, blowing in the cool breeze. “How was it?” she asked.

“Boring,” he answered honestly.

She put one hand on her hip, looking impatient. “Why do you have to be so stubborn about this?”

“I’m not being stubborn,” he denied, sidling up towards her. “I went. I learned. I loved it.”

She stared at him intently, apparently not finding his sarcasm amusing. She shook her head, and he couldn’t tell what she was thinking until she said it out loud. “We’re so different.”

Obviously, he thought. When she learned, she really did love it. But that was just her. “So?” He slowly made his way around to the other side of the car.

“I mean, we’re nothing alike,” she rambled on. “We have nothing in common, except that we both like you.”

He tried the passenger’s side door, but it was locked.

“And then people like Tess and Kyle . . . they have everything in common. And they’re gonna be together forever.”

Frowning, he grumbled, “I don’t wanna be like Tess and Kyle. They’re too cheesy.”

“Well, cheesy could be nice once in a while,” she murmured. “Or maybe not cheesy but . . . maybe just romantic.”

He sighed, noting the gleam of sadness in her eyes. She was asking him for something he didn’t know how to give, something that didn’t come naturally. But he did care about that smart, beautiful girl, and it wasn’t a good feeling to let her down.

Figuring it was the least he could do, he made his way back over to the driver’s side of the car, leaned in, and kissed her cheek. Just a soft, small kiss, but it probably meant more to her than an entire night of sex would have.

“Is that romantic enough for you?” he asked.

It must have been, because the sadness disappeared from her eyes, and a small smile spread across her lips.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dishes. Just focus on doing the dishes.

It was really hard for Maria to focus on anything other than all the flirting going on in the living room. Isabel was over, and she was practically sitting on Michael’s lap on the couch. They were teasing each other a lot, and fighting over the remote control.

“Please,” Isabel was pleading. “I wanna watch Rudolph.”

“We’re not watching that,” Michael said.

“Why not?”

“Because I said so.”

“But I want to.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a classic.”

“I don’t care if it’s an Academy Award winner. We’re not watchin’ it.”

“Michael!”

He chuckled, and she laughed, too. Clearly it didn’t matter what they were watching. All that mattered was that they were having a good time trying to get control of that remote.

Maria scrubbed furiously at a plate that was already clean.

“Mommy?” Dylan cooed from down on the floor. Krista had picked up a few dinosaur figurines after work for him to play with, and he had them scattered out all around him. “Can Micho pway with me?”

“No, he’s busy, honey,” she told him.

But that didn’t stop him. “I wanna pway,” he decided, pushing himself to his feet. He darted into the living room before she could stop him.

“No, Dylan!” She followed him in, but it was too late. He was already standing beside the couch, asking innocently, “Micho, will you pway with me?”

Michael looked between him and Isabel, then apologetically replied, “Gee, buddy, I’d love to, but . . .”

“Dylan, I told you he can’t,” Maria scolded. “Go back in the kitchen. I’ll play with you, okay?”

He lowered his head and mumbled, “Fine,” dragging his feet as he went back into the kitchen.

“I’m sorry,” Maria apologized, mostly to Isabel. That was . . . awkward.

Isabel just nodded, then focused all her attention on Michael again. “I bet you loved Rudolph when you were little,” she said.

Maria lumbered back into the kitchen as Michael answered, “I loved hardcore porn when I was little.”

Dylan was back on the floor, but he wasn’t playing with his dinosaurs anymore. He was picking them up. The thought of playing with his mom didn’t excite him the way the thought of playing with Michael had.

“Dylan, Michael can’t always play with you,” she told him. Because he needed to understand. “Sometimes he has to study or go to school or . . .” She glanced back into the living room enviously. He was tickling Isabel’s sides now. “Do other things.” She sighed, telling herself to get over it. This persistent crush was getting her nowhere.

“Who is she?” Dylan asked.

“Who, Isabel? You remember her.”

He shook his head.

Great. So she had the privilege of explain it all again. “That’s Michael’s girlfriend.”

“What’s that?”

“A girlfriend? That’s, like . . . someone he spends a lot of time with. Someone he cares about.”

Dylan looked at her confusedly.

It was a broad concept for a little boy, so she tried to narrow it down as much as she could. “He loves her.”

“Oh.” Dylan nodded as though he understood it all, even though he didn’t. But then she could literally see the wheels of his mind turning as he asked, “He love you?”

Maria breathed in sharply, so taken aback by the question that she couldn’t get the obvious answer out. As ridiculous as it was, admitting it actually hurt. “No,” she replied, her voice merely a whisper. “No, he doesn’t.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

December was always a busy month at school. Didn’t matter whether it was East Roswell or West Roswell. Regardless of the location, lots of activity was happening. There were basketball games or wrestling matches almost every night after school, and during the actual school days, there was so much fundraising happening that there was very little time for any learning. Not that Michael minded.

“Tis the season!” Tess chimed to the entire cafeteria at breakfast. She and a few of her other cheerleaders had set out a table with information for their Toys for Tots collection campaign. A lot of people stopped by to sign up to donate, a surprising number of them, actually.

“Your cheerleaders are once again collecting Toys for Tots!” she proclaimed, cupping her hands over her mouth to amplify her volume. “Purchase a new, unwrapped item and we’ll donate it to a child in need.”

Michael made his way through the crowd and stepped up to the table. There were tons of little paper stockings kids had colored, each with a name and a toy item they wanted on it.

“Tis the season!” Tess repeated. “To be . . . generous or something.”

“So this is all about charity? Has nothin’ to do with cleaning up your squad’s reputation?” Michael teased.

“Well . . .” She lowered her voice and admitted, “Some of the sluttier, ditzier girls will do well to have some volunteer experience on their résumés.”

“Yeah, ‘cause without this, about the only thing they volunteer for is anal.”

She gave him a look, but she didn’t disagree with him. “That’s wonderful, Michael,” she said. “Wonderful and crude. What lovely holiday spirit.”

“No, I’ll try to buy somethin’,” he assured her. “Do I just grab a stocking?”

“Yep.” Her face lit up when one of the tiniest freshman boys to ever exist approached the table with an already wrapped present in his hand. “Thank you,” she said, smiling graciously. That one smile from her was probably enough to make that kid’s day. Or his year.

Michael was debating between a kid who wanted a football and a kid who wanted X-Men Wolverine action figures when Ryan came up beside him, asking, “So which one’s yours?”

Just argue with him for a minute, make him feel important. Then he’ll go away, Michael thought. “What do you mean?”

“Your kid. Saw him at the game the other night.”

Michael made a face. What the hell was this tool trying to accomplish? That wasn’t even an insult. “He’s not my kid.”

“Whose is he, then?”

“I don’t know.”

“He’s not mine, right?”

Michael laughed at the ridiculousness of that and threw out an insult of your own. “Of course not, Ry. He’s not ugly enough to be your kid.”

“Ooh, touché,” Ryan conceded. “Hey, speaking of not ugly . . . how’s the kid’s mom doin’?”

Michael tensed, snatching up the stocking of the kid who wanted the football. “None of your business,” he grumbled.

“She’s pretty. You know?”

Yeah. He knew.

“But don’t worry about it, I’m not gonna try to sleep with her or anything.”

Michael grunted. Like you’d even stand a chance.

“I mean, if she’s already got one kid, she could easily have another. And I want nothing to do with that.”

That’s enough talk, Michael decided, turning to leave. He squeezed back past a few other people, content to just let Ryan stand there and talk to himself. But unfortunately, Ryan wasn’t done yet.

“I will, however,” he added loudly, “happily let her suck all the cum out of my dick.”

Michael stopped dead in his tracks, the image of Maria after her night with James Winston flashing through his mind. And something in him just snapped. He wasn’t going to let this fucker get away with saying that.

He pushed his way back towards Ryan, grabbed him by the shirt collar, and held him steady as he swung mightily, punching him square in the face.

Fifteen minutes later, he was still sitting in Topolsky’s office, waiting for the principal to come in and issue the mandatory punishment. But much to his surprise, Topolsky herself walked in, looking as MILF-ish as ever.

“So they sent you to deal with me, huh?” he said. “Why not Forrester?”

“Principal Forrester is dealing with Ryan,” she explained, taking her seat across the desk. “Several reliable students claimed to witness the fight, said he was the one who instigated it.”

“Yeah.” At least they had the facts straight. Now maybe he’d get out of this without another round of ISS.

“What exactly did he say?” she asked.

He wasn’t about to repeat it. Didn’t matter how crude he could be. It made him too furious to even say out loud. “He was sayin’ stuff he shouldn’t,” he answered vaguely. “About a girl.”

“Isabel?” she guessed.

No. Not by a longshot. “Sure.” It would just be simpler to let her think that.

She sighed, folding her hands atop her desk. “Michael, I know you may think it’s noble to defend your girlfriend like that . . .”

“Actually, I just thought it’d been awhile since I’d punched anyone in the face, so I was overdue.”

“People are going to say things to set you off in life,” she lectured. “People will upset you. It’s up to you to channel your emotions, to not let it get the best of you. You have to know that there are healthier ways to express your anger.”

He rolled his eyes. Healthier, sure, but none so effective.

“If this is the way you continue to react when people insult someone you care about, you’ve got a long road ahead of you.”

Michael shifted around in his seat, not really dwelling on any of this. So he had a long road. Whatever. He didn’t regret hitting Ryan. He’d do it again in heartbeat.

“Michael? Are you listening?”

“Hitting’s bad. Got it.”

She sighed frustratedly, looking down at her desk. Clearly trying to be his guidance counselor was proving to be quite the arduous task for her.

“Look, Topolsky--”

“Ms. Topolsky,” she corrected.

Ms. . . .Topolsky.” He really did prefer her to the other stick-up-their-asses adults around there. She didn’t seem to think he was a lost cause. “I actually do appreciate you tryin’ to help me, tryin’ to get me on the right path in life and all, but . . . don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but you’re not gonna be the one to help me.”

She stared at him intently, narrowing her eyes, and asked, “Then who is?”

Huh, he thought. Good question.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Since he stayed after school with Kyle to lift weights that night and then stayed even later to catch the basketball game, Michael didn’t get home until around 9:00. He wasn’t in the greatest mood, hadn’t been all day, but at least he hadn’t gotten in a lot of trouble for that fight with Ryan. One less thing to infuriate his parents about.

The house was mostly quiet, so he went upstairs. Both Maria and his mom were in his bedroom, hovering over Dylan, who was lying in bed. They were taking his temperature, and when Maria took the thermometer out of his mouth, his mom asked, “Any lower?”

Michael leaned against the doorframe, frowning. Dylan was sick?

“100.1,” Maria read off the small screen. “Same.”

“Well, just let him rest,” his mom said. “He’ll feel better in the morning.”

“You think?”

“Yeah.” She gave Maria an encouraging shoulder squeeze and said, “If it gets any worse, we’ll take him in.”

“Thanks.”

Michael’s mom left the room, saying, “Hi, honey,” as she squeezed past him.

“Hey.” He went into the bedroom, taking her spot beside the bed, and watched as Maria stroked her son’s blonde hair lovingly, never taking her eyes off him. “Is he okay?” he asked, concerned.

“He started getting sick this afternoon,” she explained. “He was tired tonight, and he has a fever.”

“Probably just a cold,” Michael assured her.

“I know. I don’t wanna overreact. But I know I’m not gonna be able to sleep tonight.”

Of course she wouldn’t. She was a mom. She was a mom who was worried about her kid. Truthfully, he was kind of worried, too, because he was so used to seeing Dylan all hyper and energetic, running around and playing. “You wanna take him to the hospital?” he asked.

“It’s probably nothing,” she mumbled.

“I’ll go with you.”

She looked up at him, and it seemed as if that was all she needed to hear. She nodded, silently taking him up on his offer.

They brought him in to the emergency room, even though it wasn’t an emergency, and had to wait about forty-five minutes until a doctor could see him. Once they got in, though, they got out quickly. The doctor ran a few quick tests, took his temperature again, and informed Maria that it had dropped back down to 99 degrees. Not such a big deal.

Michael sat back in the chair while Maria stood at the examination table, helping her sleepy son stay upright while the doctor checked him over using his stethoscope and a tiny blood pressure machine.

“Seems like he’s doing fine,” the doctor reported. “Just a cold.”

“Just a cold,” Maria echoed. “Not the flu?”

“Not the flu. He’ll be just fine. Have him rest and drink plenty of fluids. He’ll be his old self again in no time.”

Maria breathed a sigh of relief, smiling. “Thank you,” she said, rubbing Dylan’s back as he curled against her. “Sorry to waste your time.”

“No, it’s fine,” the doctor assured her. “He’s lucky to have parents who care so much about him.”

Maria just kept smiling, and Michael kept replaying that sentence over and over again in his mind. Parents. Plural. More than one. Meaning . . .

“You guys have a nice night,” the doctor said on his way out the room.

“You, too,” Maria returned, scooping Dylan up. He clung to her, and she clung almost as tightly to him. Michael took his dad’s car keys out of his pocket and got to his feet, jingling them in front of Dylan’s face. Under normal circumstances, he kind of got a kick out of it, but tonight he was too tired.

They put Dylan back in bed the moment they got home, and it took Maria a long time to leave the room. Eventually, Michael had to pull her up from the bed and lead her out of the room.

“I’m probably still not gonna be able to sleep tonight,” she admitted as he shut the door.

Michael shrugged and offered, “I’ll stay up with you.” He didn’t mind.

They went downstairs, flipping on the kitchen light, and he opened the refrigerator to find something to drink. There was mostly just booze, and even though he normally wouldn’t have a problem raiding his dad’s alcohol stash, it just didn’t seem right to sit there and get wasted in front of her. So he took out two bottles of water instead, one for her and one for him. When he tried to hand it to her, though, she asked, “Got anything else?”

He put the water back and took out two cans of beer instead, holding them up with a questioning look.

“That works.”

He smiled. If she was down for it, so was he. He pushed the refrigerator door shut with his knee and slid one can across the counter to her.

“Thanks,” she said, immediately popping the tab open. She took a decent-sized swig and sat down on the stool.

He sat down across from her, and opened his beer as well, taking it easy by just taking a small sip. He just watched her for a moment, watched the way she absentmindedly played with her hair or traced her index finger around the top of the blue can in front of her, collecting the moisture gathered there. And then he cleared his throat and mumbled, “I think that doctor thought I was his dad tonight.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Sorry.”

He shrugged. Wasn’t that big of a deal. Still . . . it made him wonder about some things. “So what’s the deal with his dad?” he inquired, not even sure if it was his place to ask. “You hardly ever talk about him.”

“Yeah, well . . . there’s not much to say.”

“Did he ever help you with him?”

She shook her head sadly. “No.”

“Why not?”

“He just . . . wasn’t ready for his whole life to change, I guess.”

Michael grunted. “And you were?”

“I’m his mom. I didn’t have a choice.”

He frowned, trying to wrap his brain around the double standard. Somewhere out there existed a guy who was, biologically speaking, just as much a parent as Maria was. And he wasn’t having to do any of the things she was doing. It wasn’t fair.

“Do you think he’ll ever get to know him?”

“Probably not,” she muttered. “Oh, well. His loss.”

“Yeah,” Michael agreed. Dylan was, as far as kids went, a pretty cool little guy. He wasn’t as annoying as most other kids his age, at least not to Michael. And he was insanely cute. Even the most macho of guys could see that. “Do you ever think that maybe he did you a favor?” he pondered out loud, reflecting on his own life experience.

Maria took another drink and asked, “What do you mean?”

“Well, I was just thinkin’ about my dad, and how he wasn’t ready for his whole life to change when he had me. But he stuck around. And look how I turned out.” He laughed lightly, but it wasn’t really funny. He had a lot of problems. Hell, his whole family had a lot of problems. And neither of his parents were really truly happy together anymore. “Maybe if he’d never been in my life, I would’ve turned out differently. Better.” Maybe he would have grown up to be the kind of guy who chose not to punch a guy in the face when he needed to release his anger, the kind of guy who got college acceptance letters and won state championships.

“I think you’re fine the way you are,” she told him softly.

She really did, didn’t she? For some reason, Maria thought a lot of good things about him. “Maybe Dylan’s better off without his dad,” he theorized. “He’s got you. You’re a good mom. You know what you’re doin’.”

She laughed at that, shaking her head. “No, I don’t.”

“Seems like you do.” Everything he’d seen from her so far had left him impressed. “Maybe he doesn’t need a dad. Maybe all he needs is you.”

She sighed shakily, wrapping both hands around the can in front of her, looking . . . skeptical of that. But at the same time, hopeful. “Thanks,” she whispered.

“You’re welcome.” It wasn’t hard to compliment someone when you meant each and every word you were saying.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Pressing furiously on the backspace button, Isabel wracked her brain for the right way to end the latest chapter of the novel she was working on. The way it currently was just . . . didn’t seem right.

“Knock, knock,” her mom said in the midst of opening her bedroom door.

Isabel quickly minimized her computer screen and said, “Hey.” Even though she wanted to be a writer, she was a very private person when it came to her writing. Nobody could read it until it was finished, and even then, she was highly selective.

“Hi, honey.” Her mom came in and stood beside her, asking, “What’re you working on?”

“Oh, just writing.” Now that she was done with all the scholarship essays, she actually had a little free-time on her hands.

“Oh, that’s good. I haven’t seen you do that for a while.” Her mother held up an already opened envelope and said, “This came for you in the mail today. From Princeton. I’m sorry, I already opened it.”

“What is it?” Isabel asked, taking it from her. She took out the letter inside and unfolded it, quickly skimming it for the main idea.

“They were just wondering if you’d received your acceptance letter,” her mom summarized, “and if you were ready to commit.”

Isabel’s stomach nodded. Commitment. That was such a . . . strong, finalized word. “I just haven’t gotten around to it,” she mumbled.

“Probably wouldn’t take long.”

“I know, but . . . it’s a really big decision.”

Her mother laughed as though that were ridiculous. “There’s no decision to be made, is there? This is what you’ve always wanted. This is your dream school.”

“I know, but . . .” How could she get her to understand that it just wasn’t so simple anymore? Her dreams had expanded these past few years, and it wasn’t just about her anymore.

Her mother studied her intently for a moment, sighing heavily when she understood. “Oh, Isabel . . . I think I know where you’re going with this.”

“I love him, Mom.”

“I know you do, but love fades. Look at me and your father.”

“What if it doesn’t fade for me?” It hadn’t so far, not even after he’d cheated on her.

“Honey, if it’s meant to be, then you’ll stay together. But you can’t sacrifice this opportunity for him. Is he even going to college?”

“I don’t know,” she confessed. “It’s sort of up in the air right now.”

“Well, this is your future, Isabel. And you’ve worked very hard for it.” Stroking her hair lovingly, her mom hinted, “I think we both know what you need to do.”

Isabel stared down at the letter in her hand, at the Princeton seal in the corner. That was the root of the problem, wasn’t it? She didn’t know.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Juniors, juniors, don’t be shy! Stand up and give your battle cry!”

Tess was about the only person in her un-spirited class to yell, “V-I-C-T-O-R-Y! That’s the junior battle cry!” Even the other junior cheerleaders on duty at Friday night’s basketball game weren’t cheering much. But Tess, on her own, was loud enough to sound like three people.

Isabel stepped forward, up close to the crowd when it was time for “Seniors, seniors, don’t be shy! Stand up and give your battle cry!”

Michael and Kyle both stood with the other seniors in the student section and bellowed, “V-I-C-T-O-R-Y! That’s the senior battle cry!” Except it really wasn’t. Their team was down by twenty points at the start of the second half.

“Comets, Comets, don’t be shy! Stand up and give your--” Tess looked pissed as hell when the athletic director literally got in front of her and told the entire student section to sit down. “Excuse me!” she huffed. “We weren’t done cheering.”

Kyle just smiled and laughed as the athletic director ushered her away from the students, saying something about how the other team was complaining they were being too rowdy. Tess didn’t go easily, though. She argued with him, then looked over to the other team and started arguing, and eventually, she was just talking, arguing with herself.

Isabel took her captain’s distraction as a chance to slip into the crowd briefly. “Hey,” she said to Michael, “can we talk after the game?”

“Yeah,” he replied, trying to sound like he wasn’t dreading it. But . . . talk. Great. That didn’t sound good.

After a completely unsurprising loss, the gym cleared out quickly, and eventually, Michael and Isabel were the only ones left, sitting there on the bleachers while the sole janitor on duty cleaned up the visitor’s side. She told him about Princeton, about how they’d sent her that second letter, and how her mom had asked her about it.

“So what’re you gonna do?” he asked her.

“What do you think I should do?”

“It’s not my decision to make.”

“Yeah, but . . . I want your input. I mean, my mom wants me to go, obviously. And if I’m gonna go, then I have to let them know sooner rather than later, ‘cause they could give my spot away to someone else.”

He could tell just by the tone in her voice that she didn’t want that to happen. It was obvious to him, what she wanted to do, even if it wasn’t obvious to her.

“What do you think?” she asked again.

He sighed, reluctant to tell her what he thought. He didn’t want to influence her decision too much one way or the other. “Honestly?”

She nodded.

“I think you should go.” It wasn’t a difficult decision as far as he was concerned. Princeton was a great school. Princeton was her dream school. It meant a lot to her. “Your mom’s right, Is. It’s your dream.”

“Yeah, but . . . what about you?”

He shrugged. “What about me?”

“What’re you gonna do?”

That was the million dollar question, wasn’t it? A question without an answer, for the time being at least. “We’ll figure me out later,” he said, not wanting to delay her decision-making any longer. “But you have to go. ‘cause if you don’t, you’re gonna regret it. You know you will.”

She sighed, nodding slowly, silently admitting it.

“We’ll be okay,” he promised her. And maybe they would be. They had plenty of options. In a weird way, they had more options if he didn’t get accepted into Alabama, or New Mexico State, or the few other places he’d applied without telling her. “Come here.” He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her in close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder, seemingly content to just sit there with him and think. Because there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that she was thinking through all the possibilities, that her mind was just racing. But his wasn’t. It just wasn’t.








TBC . . .

-April
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LOVE IS MICHAEL AND MARIA.
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April
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Part 27

Post by April »

HAPPY SATURDAY! (aka: college football day to me!) :mrgreen:

Carolyn:
Study Buddies day.........not exactly what Michael wants to do!
Reluctant learner might be an understatement!
I think reluctant learner would be a BIG understatement!

Rodney:
The only study buddy Michael wants is in sex ed. And I'm pretty sure that don't include Alex.
:lol: Alex is just the wrong gender to be his study buddy for that subject!
Ohh and speaking of Alex....he already has a girlfriend? Got some thoughts on that one but we'll see.
What are your thoughts?

Sara:
Yes Isabel definitely needs to go to Princeton and get away from Michael.
It will be a fresh start for her, but unfortunately, she views it as the end of something rather than the beginning of something.

Eva:
Michael is developing enomously: ok, he's still the impulsive guy he's always been but he's changing too. Taking care of Maria & Dylan, thinking about what kind of guy he is, letting go of Isabel by sending her to her dream college,... It's great to him discover new things about himself.
As I've said this whole story long, this is very much a character exploration of Michael Guerin, and probably the central conflict is his journey to find out if he can really be someone.
And at the same time Maria is discovering herself too. Michael is holding her a mirror, showing that she's doing good things too, that she's a good mom for Dylan,... Something her mom never said to her.
Yes! It's very easy to just say that Maria has been good for Michael, but really, he's been good for her, too. He convinces her to have some faith and belief in herself.
Again it reminds me on a stock-phrase, one that applies to both of them: if everybody keeps saying that you're a loser, you'll start acting like one. And would it work the other way around?
I sure believe it would.


Thank you immensely for reading and leaving feedback!








Part 27








Saturdays at the library were boring. Nobody ventured there on a Saturday. Everyone had better things to do. Well, mostly everyone.

Since there wasn’t much else to do, Maria busied herself with cleaning, mostly dusting, as all the bookshelves, naturally, got very dusty over time. She took a feather duster and was just minding her own business when she spotted her mom at the end of the aisle, pretending to be all engrossed in looking for a book. As if. The woman didn’t read.

Maria rolled her eyes as her mom inched closer, still pretending that she didn’t notice her there, and finally, when she was only a few feet away, she blurted out, “Can I help you find something?”

Amy jumped back a little bit, feigning surprise. “Maria! Fancy seeing you here.”

Maria didn’t even crack a smile. “Fancy that.”

“I was just looking for . . . a book. About something.”

“Sure you were.” How the heck had she even sneaked in here? Maria hadn’t heard her come in.

“How are you doing?”

“Fine.”

“And Dylan.”

“He’s got a cold, but he’s good.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. Should I stop by and see him?”

“No.” That was the last thing she wanted. Things had been going well lately, now that her mom was farther removed from her life.

Amy pulled out a book about cooking, flipped it open, didn’t really even bother to look at it at all, and then put it back on the shelf, in the wrong spot. Maria put it back in the right spot and continued on down the row, still dusting.

“I’m glad I ran into you, actually,” her mother continued, following her. “I was thinking . . .”

Oh, great. This didn’t sound good.

“I know we didn’t end things on the best of terms. Actually, our whole mother-daughter relationship’s been pretty rocky these past few years, but . . . with the holidays coming up, maybe it’s time to put everything aside. You know, reconcile.”

In response, Maria just brushed a small pile of dust off the shelf, right into her mom’s face.

Amy coughed a little, waving her hand in front of her face, and asked, “What do you think?”

“About?”

“About reconciling. Putting aside our differences.”

Maria grunted. “I think it sounds impossible.”

“No, it’s not,” her mother assured her. “Listen, I know you’ve got your other arrangement, but it’s really not fair for you to keep staying with them. I’m sure they’d like things to go back to normal.”

“Well, they haven’t kicked me out yet. Unlike some people,” Maria pointed out.

“But they’re not your family, Maria. They’re not Dylan’s family. I am.”

“You say that like it means something.”

“It should mean something.”

“You’re right, it should,” Maria snapped back, not willing to bend, definitely not willing to break. “When someone’s family, you look out for them. You support them and encourage them. You don’t throw them out on the streets.”

“I didn’t throw Dylan out.”

“No, you just threw me out.”

“I was teaching you a lesson.”

“Well, lesson learned. I’ll never trust you again.” She turned to walk away, but her mom grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

“Maria,” she pleaded, “please reconsider. I miss you. I miss my grandson. I want you to come live with me again so we can make things right.”

Maria shook her head, stunned by the lunacy of all of this. Did she even hear herself? Make things right? Things hadn’t been right for a long, long time.

“So what do you say?” her mom asked hopefully. “You wanna give it another shot?”

Hmm, living with Michael or living with her mom? Wasn’t really a tough decision. “No thanks,” she answered without hesitation. “I’m happy where I’m at.”

Her mom let go of her and crossed her arms over her chest, her face tightening in anger. She looked like a woman who’d just been dumped. “I’m sure you are,” she muttered, her voice full of all sorts of bitter judgment.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Stupid Black Friday shoppers. Didn’t they know that there were even better deals on all the items they wanted once Christmas got closer?

Maria happily accompanied Michael to the toy store the next day. Dylan was still a little under the weather and wasn’t able to tag along, but that was probably for the best, since she intended to buy him a few things while she was there. Not much, because it wasn’t like she could afford much, but just a little something. He’d like whatever he got.

“So how does your family celebrate Christmas?” she asked Michael as they approached the store’s entrance. She really wanted to know. Growing up, it’d been her favorite holiday.

“Well, it’s not like we have any long-standing holiday traditions,” he replied. “Teenie stopped believin’ in Santa a few years ago, so that’s over.”

“Oh, Dylan still believes. She’s not gonna spoil it for him, is she?”

“No, she knows not to say anything.”

“Good.” She really wanted Dylan to believe for as long as possible.

“Usually we just wake up at about 7:30, which is way too early for me, but Teenie gets excited and can’t sleep any longer. So she comes around and wakes all of us up. And then we open presents, usually end up havin’ Christmas brunch after that. And then we just . . . kinda all go our separate ways for the rest of the day. Unless my grandparents stop by. But they’re not doing that this year. Thank God.”

“Thank God,” she agreed. It definitely didn’t sound . . . ideal. But at least there would be a tree, and gifts, and a meal. That was more than what she’d had last year. “Last year, at Christmas, I was still living with my dad,” she told him. “But he spent the entire day with his girlfriend, so it was just me and Dylan.”

Michael held open the door to the store for her and remarked, “That sounds . . . pretty depressing.”

“No, it was really fun, actually. Just me and him. But it was kinda lonely.”

“Well, you won’t be lonely this year.”

No, she thought, smiling at him. I most definitely won’t.

He seemed to know where he was headed, so she just followed him, past a bunch of stuffed animals she was sure Tina would love. Maybe she’d have to get her one. A cheap one, but a cute one.

“Are you sure your family doesn’t mind Dylan and me spending Christmas with you?” she asked, worried once again that she was overstaying her welcome.

“No, they’re cool with it,” he assured her, starting down one aisle, then quickly backing out of it when he didn’t see what he wanted. “Tina’s excited.”

“And your mom?”

“Yeah, it’s fine with her.”

“And your dad?”

He stopped in his tracks and gave her a look. “Screw my dad. Nobody cares what he thinks.”

“Does he think I’m freeloading?”

“I said screw my dad,” he repeated. “Doesn’t matter.”

Maybe it didn’t. Andy Guerin was so detached from almost every single facet of his life. And he hadn’t said anything to her that made her feel as if she were intruding too majorly.

“What about your mom?” he asked. “Did she even reach out?”

“Um . . .” She stuffed her hands in her pockets and looked down at her feet, hoping her body language wasn’t giving it away. “No, I don’t . . . I don’t think she really cares to spend the holidays with me.” God, she hated that she was lying, especially to him. But she didn’t want him or anyone to know that there was another living arrangement on the table for her. She didn’t want to have to leave. “I don’t think she really wants to . . . reconcile.”

“That sucks,” Michael sympathized. “Oh, well. Who needs parents anyway?”

She raised an eyebrow, giving him a pointed look.

“I mean . . . unless they’re a good one, like you,” he quickly amended.

“Uh-huh. Nice save.”

“I tried.”

“What’re we looking for here anyway?”

He rounded the corner into the next aisle and said, “You gotta help me find a football.”

“For Dylan?”

“No, for that Toys for Tots thing. I’m gettin’ Dylan something else.”

Like a little kid on Christmas herself, her curiosity was piqued. “What?”

“Can’t tell you,” he teased. “It’s a surprise.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Night had fallen by the time they arrived home. They’d taken a little longer shopping than had been necessary, including stopping for food.

“Man, this kid’s not gonna know what hit him!” Michael bragged as they walked up to the front door. “He asked for one football? I get him three footballs.”

“One’s pink,” Maria pointed out.

“So? He can give it to his little sister.”

“Assuming he has one.”

“It’s good for girls to take an interest in football. It’s a turn-on.”

“Oh, really?” She laughed. “Okay, I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

They walked in the front door, nearly colliding with . . . two moms. Not just his, but Maria’s. She was there, in the flesh, talking to his mom as if that were just an everyday occurrence.

Maria looked completely shell-shocked, barley managing to choke out, “Mom.”

“Hi, honey,” she greeted, smiling.

Michael set his bag from the toy store down slowly at his feet, trying to get a feel for what was going on here.

“What’re you doing here?” Maria outright asked.

“Oh, I just thought I’d stop by and have a chat with Krista,” her mom replied, “meet the woman who’s been putting a roof over your head.”

Michael had a bad feeling about this. If Amy was there, there had to be a reason.

“Hi, Michael,” she greeted. “Been awhile since I saw you last.”

“Yep.” He wasn’t even going to try to be polite or friendly. Why bother? This was the same woman who had tossed Maria out just because she couldn’t pay a few stupid bills. He harbored no nice feelings towards her.

“Krista and I were just talking about the holidays,” Amy went on, “and I mentioned how much I miss having you and Dylan around, how I think it’d be nice if we could . . . you know, reconcile.”

Michael frowned. What the hell? This didn’t sound like the same Amy Maria had described at the toy store that day. “Why the sudden change of heart?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s not sudden,” Amy corrected. “I talked to Maria about it just yesterday.”

He looked over at his companion, confused. These two stories weren’t matching up. But she wasn’t denying what her mom was saying. “What?” he asked.

Her eyes were brimming with tears, so she blinked them back and said, “Excuse me,” before practically bolting back out the front door.

“Maria . . .” Amy was quick to follow, and even though Michael tried to do the same, his mom grabbed his wrist and held him back.

“Don’t,” she said. “Let them talk.”

He let out a heavy sigh, resigned, even though that was so not what he wanted to do. “What does she want?” he asked.

“Uh . . .” His mom didn’t answer, but she sort of . . . grimaced.

“Does she want her to move back in with her?”

Slowly, his mother nodded. “Yes.”

He grunted, hating the idea. “Well, that’s bullshit.”

“Michael . . .”

“No, that’s bullshit, Mom.” Come on, he thought desperately. You have to agree with me.

But she didn’t. She didn’t agree with him. If anything, she seemed to be agreeing with Amy. “They’re family, Michael.”

What the hell was that? Family? He didn’t know because he barely even had one. Shaking his head in frustration, he grabbed the bag of footballs and stomped upstairs.

“Where are you going?” his mom called after him.

“To play with Dylan.” The way things were looking, he might not have the chance to do that much longer.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“God, Mom!” Maria cried, dragging her hands through her hair as she paced around the front yard. “Why’d you have to come here? You ruined everything!”

“What exactly did I ruin, huh?”

“Just . . . this!” She motioned exasperatedly towards the house, having a hard time explaining herself. “I was happy here.”

“Maria, you were freeloading off a teenage boy and his family,” her mother pointedly reminded her.

“Because I had nowhere else to go!”

“And now you do. It’s for the best. Now this family won’t have to handle such a burden.”

“A bur--” Seriously? Things like that made her feel speechless. “See, this is why I don’t wanna move back in with you, because you talk to me like this.”

“Like what?”

“Uh, like I’m a burden.”

“You probably were to them.”

“No, I wasn’t.” She didn’t know whether she truly believed that or not, but for the sake of arguing, it was something she just had to say. “God, can you really blame me for not wanting to live with you?”

“Oh, save it,” Amy snapped. “We both know why you don’t wanna leave.”

“Oh, and why’s that? Tell me, mother, if you’re so all-knowing, why don’t I wanna leave?”

“Because of Michael.”

Maria froze, shocked that she’d been so obvious.

“Because you have feelings for him.”

Feelings? Did that even cut it anymore? Because what she felt for him was . . . strong. Stronger than anything she’d felt in a long time. “That doesn’t—that doesn’t matter,” she stammered weakly.

“Of course it matters. You have a crush on him, just like any other normal girl your age would.”

A crush? Now that really didn’t do it justice.

“But you’re not like other girls your age. Your circumstances are different.”

“Yes, I know that,” she grumbled in annoyance.

“Well, sometimes I think you forget,” her mom ground out accusingly. “I think you met this boy and started to believe that he’d sweep you off your feet and make your life a fairytale. But that’s not gonna happen, Maria, and for you to let that boy become a part of your life, a part of Dylan’s life . . .” She shook her head, looking disappointed. “That’s not fair to him. He has a life, a whole future ahead of him. He doesn’t deserve to be tied down with . . . all of this.”

Maria just stood there, not quite able to disagree. Not able to argue. Not this time. She didn’t realize she was crying until the tears pooled together at her chin and dropped to the ground.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“You don’t wanna play?”

Dylan squirmed, rolling over onto his side, popping his thumb into his mouth.

“You’re still sick?”

The little boy nodded, his eyes closed. He’d be asleep in no time.

Michael rubbed his head, wishing he had a way to make him feel better. “That’s okay.” They’d play tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that.

Maria came crashing into the bedroom suddenly, slamming the door. She leaned back against it, breathing heavily, crying.

“Are you alright?” he asked, standing.

She nodded, then quickly changed her mind and shook her head. “Michael, I’m sorry I lied to you,” she apologized. “I should’ve told you my mom came and talked to me, but . . . I don’t know, I just didn’t.”

“Why not?” He liked to think they were closer than that, that she could tell him anything.

“Because I don’t wanna leave.”

Relieved, he smiled weakly. “So don’t.”

“No, you don’t understand. She’s down there right now, talking to your mom. And your mom’s agreeing with her. She thinks it’s a good idea.”

“What?”

“Yeah, they think it’ll be good for me to go home.”

No, no, no. No, no, no. For some reason, whenever he thought of Maria leaving, no was the only word that came to mind.

“And . . .” She flapped her arms against her sides, looking defeated. “They’re probably right.”

What?” No way. Her mom had gotten to her. She must have said something . . .

“They’re right,” she reiterated. “I can’t just stay here.”

“Why not?” he challenged.

“Uh, because it’s not normal. I’ve been here for, like, a month. I probably shouldn’t have even stayed that long.”

“You had nowhere else to go.”

She sighed, and she sounded like her mom when she said, “And now I do.”

He had no strong argument, no valid reason for keeping her there other than the fact that he liked having her around. Her and Dylan both. He glanced back at the bed, where the little boy was sleeping through their entire conversation. What would it be like not having him around?

“I have to go,” she whispered sadly. But decidedly. Her mind was made up. Or it had been made up for her.

“When?” he asked, afraid of what the answer would be.

It was exactly what he didn’t want to hear. “Tonight.”

No, he thought again, feeling a pull deep within his chest. Too soon.

It all happened so fast, so fast that he wasn’t even aware of most of it happening. She packed up her things, and then she packed up Dylan’s. It was crazy that they had so little, even after being there a month. Most of the toys Dylan played with were Michael’s old ones. But he had a few new ones from when he’d first gotten there. Even so, their belongings fit in two backpacks and a small duffle bag. Nothing else needed.

Michael stood by the front door, watching as they loaded those bags in the car. He knew he was being an ass by not even helping but . . . how was he supposed to help when he didn’t even agree with the decision? He just had an awful feeling in the pit of his stomach that they weren’t supposed to go.

His dad wasn’t home, not that he would have bothered to say goodbye anyway, so it was just him, his mom, and Tina standing on the doorstep, watching, not saying anything. Dylan, though he was tired, got to his feet long enough to give Tina an extra-long hug.

“Come on, Dylan,” Amy called, sounding shrill and impatient.

Lowering his head, he dragged his feet as he trudged back to the car. He stopped in the middle of the front yard, though, and then ran back, straight to Michael. He threw his arms around his legs, hugging him so tightly that he almost lost his balance. “Micho,” he whimpered.

Michael bent down and rubbed his head again, wondering just how much he was going to miss being called that. Beside him, Tina cooed, “Aww,” and his mom actually wiped a tear from her face.

“I’m gonna miss you, buddy,” he whispered, kneeling down so he could give him a real hug this time. Then he gave him a kiss on the cheek, and Dylan did the same to him.

“Bye,” he said.

“Bye.” As embarrassing as it was to admit, he was so choked up, he could barely even get that one word out.

Once again, Dylan turned and walked away, and this time, he actually made it to the car. Michael stood up, meeting Maria’s eyes, trying to gauge whether there was any possible thing he could do or say to get her to change her mind. Because he knew this wasn’t her decision. Not really. Her mom was deciding things for her, and that wasn’t right.

“Maria.” He darted towards the car, and she met him on the sidewalk, fresh tears shimmering in her eyes now.

Oh god, this really wasn’t the time to be a wordless idiot, but lo and behold, no words were coming out. “I don’t even know what to say,” he admitted. I’m gonna miss you? It was what he’d said to her son.

“Michael . . .” She rose to her tiptoes and hugged him even tighter than Dylan had. He held on tight, because more than anything, he did not want to let go. Because once he let go, then she was gone. Possibly forever, and the thought of that . . .

She was the one to let go first, and he really had no choice but to do the same. It looked like she wanted to say something, but she was just as wordless as he was. Smiling sadly, but gratefully, she turned her back to him and slinked over to the car, climbing into the passenger’s seat.

Amy was the last one in after getting Dylan fastened into his car seat in the back. She waved goodbye, a friendly goodbye (as if this visit of hers had been a friendly one), and wasted no time starting up the car and driving off down the street.

Michael watched it go until it turned the corner and he could see it no more. He felt like an over-the-top drama queen of a guy, because he knew they weren’t even going that far away. It was Roswell, New Mexico. Not exactly a big town. But still . . . it felt far.

Suck it up, he coached himself. Get over it.

Tina was the first to go back inside. He didn’t move until his mom called him and asked, “Michael? You coming?”

Back into that house? Back into that bedroom? Sure. Why not?

He trudged back inside, and his mom did her best to try to cheer him up. “Well, that’ll be nice for them,” she said, following him into the kitchen. “And it’s not like you’ll never see them again. She’s your friend. You’ll still see her all the time.”

He pulled open the door to the highest cabinet, reaching around inside.

“Michael?”

Ah, there it was. He pulled out a full bottle of his dad’s favorite whiskey, shut the cabinet, and brushed past his mother, ignoring the devastated look on her face as he headed upstairs with it securely in his hand. Hey, if he was gonna get over this, he was gonna need a little help.

He drank slowly, because he only had the one bottle, and he wanted it to last all night. He didn’t want to have to go downstairs and get another, didn’t want to have to see that look on his mom’s face again. So he stayed holed up in his bedroom with the lights off, doing . . . nothing, really. He lay on his bed for a while, carving a few tally marks into the wall. He’d fallen behind in recent weeks, and his damn countdown was about the only thing he was diligent about. Then he looked out the window into the empty back yard, picturing himself and Dylan back there, throwing the football around. But that became too much, so he just started pacing around the room. Wasn’t a good idea, though, because when he saw one of Maria’s shirts lying on the floor, left behind, he damn near drank the rest of what was in the bottle. Only a little bit left.

He was actually debating going back downstairs and getting some more—because he just wasn’t getting drunk, and he really wanted to—when he heard voices rise up from downstairs. Yelling, again, of course. But it wasn’t just his parents this time. Tina was yelling, too.

He stepped out of his bedroom and stayed at the top of the stairs, gladly downing the rest of what was in the bottle as he caught on to the gist of the fight. Tina had tried to sneak out again. First time in a few weeks. His dad had caught her, though, saw her walking down the sidewalk as he was driving home from the bar. Now everyone was furious.

“What the hell do you think you’re doin’?” he blared. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing!” Tina shrieked. “God!”

“Why do you keep doing this?” his mom cried. “This isn’t you! This isn’t supposed to be you!” She broke into a fit of hysterics, and seconds later, she was rushing upstairs, not even saying a word to Michael as she fled into her room and slammed the door, unable to control the waterworks. Meanwhile, his dad kept yelling at his sister, slurring his own words, not making much sense. And Tina started crying.

Michael sulked back into his bedroom, wishing that his door were thicker. Because he would have given anything to just shut it all off.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sleep wasn’t coming easily that night, so Maria stayed awake, unpacking her and Dylan’s things. She was tired, really, but . . . in a weird way, her own bed felt strange.

Dylan didn’t have that problem, though. As she stood at his closet, hanging up his clothes, and looked over her shoulder at him enviously. He’d barely moved since he’d laid down on that bed. Even if he hadn’t been sick, he would have fallen asleep easily. One of the luxuries of being a little kid.

Once she was done with his clothes, she opened up his little backpack to sort out all of his toys. When he woke up tomorrow morning, it would be good for him to have everything back where he’d left it. A return to normalcy. If there was such a thing anymore.

She took out his dinosaur figurines and set them on his nightstand so he’d see them right when he woke up. But when she reached into the backpack again, she felt a large item she didn’t remember putting in there.

A football.

She took it out, and even though it was dark in the room, the moonlight shining in through the window was enough for her to tell that it was one of the balls Michael had bought at the toy store that day, one of the ones he’d gotten for the Toys for Tots drive at his school. On it, in black marker, he’d written something she had to squint to see.

To Dylan. From Michael. Merry Christmas.

As if it wasn’t painful enough already . . . that just made it hurt even worse. She clutched the football tightly to her chest, forcing the tears to stay inside where they belonged.








TBC . . .

-April
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LOVE IS MICHAEL AND MARIA.
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April
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Part 28

Post by April »

Carolyn: Yes, it was very hard on Michael. :(

Eva:
And there's real life again. Maria & Michael lived in their own world these past couple of weeks. Michael was Maria's hiding place, and Maria offered Michael a place to be himself. And his family followed along.
Oh yeah, Michael and Maria did some great things for each other, but it's like the real world just came crashing back in.

fadedblue: I absolutely LOOOOOVE your sig banner!
I've been such a very cruddy feed backer but I've been keeping up on the story and I'm still loving it. :D
:) No worries. I'm just glad you're still reading!
And this is random, but because I've successfully completed my unintentional mission to read every well written, award nominated Rosfic ever (holy moly I read a lot of fic this year!), I went back and reread 521 for kicks. Man, I forgot how good that was. Just wanted you to know that!
Awesome! That's no small task re-reading that long story! Glad you thought it was good.
And another random college football related aside -- Husband and I both went to Michigan and we can't even watch college football anymore. It's too depressing for us this season! People need to get fired like yesterday!
Oh, goodness, I can only imagine! Michigan's season is just . . . I don't even know how to describe it! It's just been one head-scratching moment after another.

Sara:
Seems like Maria actually helped Michael's home life for everyone....except maybe Andy who is an idiot. But I think she gave Tina something to do, Michael a purpose and Krista another little kid to look after.
Yes, the irony of the whole thing is that, even though the idea was to do something good for Maria by inviting her to stay with them, Maria ended up doing something good for the rest of them, bringing out a lot of positives in Michael, Tina, and Krista.

Michael:
Finally! I'm caught up to what I've missed :D I've been so busy writing I have not had time to read...
Oh, trust me, I get that!
anyway, I kind in a sense agree that Maria and Amy should make up and set aside their differences but Amy just can't manipulate and force her way back into Maria's life. Nothing is gonna get solved that way and it's just gonna create more resentment and anger.
Yes, Amy's methods are not going to work long-term.
But at the same time, Maria couldn't stay with Michael forever. It just isn't possible to live in their little bubble forever...
I think you'll see in this part how they both so desperately miss that little bubble . . . :(


THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE FEEDBACK! I REALLY APPRECIATE IT!

I'm dropping off a music recommendation today: "Take Me Somewhere Nice" by Mogwai. A really pretty and sort of bittersweet song that you can listen to here or click on :? when you see it if you'd like. Enjoy!









Part 28








Tutoring usually wasn’t so difficult. But then again, usually Alex tutored kids who actually wanted to be there. Michael Guerin wasn’t a kid. And he definitely didn’t want to be there.

“Okay, one more time,” he said, trying his best to remain patient. They’d been on the last question of his English study guide for about ten minutes now, and it was becoming painstaking for both of them. No matter how he phrased the question, very little progress was being made. “The story is allegorical because . . .” He trailed off, waiting, praying Michael would be able to fill in the blank.

But just like he’d done time and time again that day, Michael just mumbled, “I don’t know,” flippantly and left it at that.

Alex refused to let his frustration show. He’d had difficult students before, although none quite so resistant as Michael. Tutoring this guy was like walking through mud. “Well, what’s an allegory?” he asked. “Refresh my memory.”

“Your memory doesn’t need refreshing.”

“Okay, then, refresh your memory.”

Michael stared at the paper in front of him for a few seconds, and Alex couldn’t tell if he was just spacing off or really thinking. He was about to ask the question again when Michael slammed down his pencil and complained, “No, you know what? This is stupid. What’s the point of this?”

“The point is to understand the deeper meaning of what you just read.”

“I don’t care about what I just read.”

Alex sighed and rubbed his head. “Okay, Michael--”

“No, for real, what’s the point of any of this?” Michael demanded.

Alex glanced around at all the other students in the library, hard at work with their study buddies. Michael’s voice was getting louder, though, his outburst drawing their curious attention.

“You’re in college. Tell me, you ever used any of this shit?”

“Well . . . I’m studying to be an English teacher, so yeah,” Alex replied truthfully.

“Okay, but for someone like me who’s not gonna be an English teacher, who’s probably not even gonna end up goin’ to college at this rate . . . am I ever gonna use this? Ever in my life?”

Alex hadn’t known Michael long, but he could tell he was a pretty smart guy underneath it all. There was no point in lying to him, because he already had his mind made up. “Okay, you probably won’t,” he admitted.

“See?”

“But what about that test tomorrow? Why don’t you just study up, know it, do well on the test, and then forget about it when it’s over?”

“ ‘cause it’s pointless.” Michael slammed his book shut, obviously growing more and more agitated.

“Sometimes you just have to force yourself, Michael. I hate science. Guess what class I’m taking right now: Biology. Why? Because I have to. Because I can’t graduate unless I get some general education requirements in.”

“Well, there’s an idea,” Michael muttered, getting to his feet. “Maybe I just won’t graduate.” He grabbed his coat and walked away from the table, towards the exit.

“Michael, where are you going?” Alex called after him. “We still have thirty minutes.”

Michael flipped him a backwards wave as he left the library.

Well. His patience was shot.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When Alex had asked to speak with her after Study Buddies that afternoon, Isabel knew it couldn’t be good. When he relayed everything that happened, she was furious. She wanted to find her boyfriend and slap him across the face for being such an ungrateful jerk.

“I just couldn’t get anything out of him,” Alex summarized. “Last week was okay, but this week, he just totally shut down.”

“It’s not your fault,” she assured him. “He gets that way sometimes.” In fact, he’d been in an especially bad mood these past couple of days. He wasn’t hanging out with her or even with Kyle after school. And he’d gotten sent to the principal’s office three class periods in a row for “insolence,” as the teachers liked to call it. Now this. It was embarrassing.

“He’s pretty smart,” Alex noted. “Am I right?”

“He is; he just . . . he hates school. And homework. And teachers.”

“Which is nothing new to me. I’m in a practicum right now with seventh graders. Sometimes when I give them homework, they have the same reaction, but usually they come around.”

Isabel nodded, pressing her lips together tightly. “My boyfriend has the emotional maturity of a seventh grader,” she growled, frustrated beyond belief with him.

“He was just havin’ a bad day,” Alex said. “Maybe it’ll be better next week.”

She couldn’t even believe he was willing to come back after all of this. No wonder he was going to be a teacher. He didn’t give up on his students. “Thank you, Alex, for letting me know,” she said. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

“Hey, like I said, I’m used to it.”

With seventh graders, she thought. There was no reason for him to have to deal with that here.

She went straight to Michael’s house after that, talked to Tina for a few minutes, and then excused herself to go speak with Michael. He was up in his bedroom, doing nothing, apparently, so she walked in and slammed the door shut behind her, demanding, “What the hell’s your problem?”

He just lay on his bed, his arm over his eyes, singing along to some music he had playing.

“What, are you ignoring me or something?”

“Or something,” he mumbled.

Huffing, she marched over to his computer and shut the song off. “Answer me,” she ordered. “What’s your problem? Why did you feel the need to humiliate me and yourself like that today?”

“Don’t know.”

“Michael, he drove an hour to come work with you today. And you just blew him off!”

He sat up, allowing her a glimpse of a bottle halfway hidden under the pillows on his bed. “Let me remind you, I didn’t ask to be part of your stupid tutoring program. You made me.”

“Because it’s what’s best for you.”

“How do you know what’s best for me?”

She threw her hands up in the air, completely exasperated. “You know what? I’m not gonna talk to you when you’re like this,” she decided, starting for the door.

“Like what?”

“Like drunk. Or on your way to getting drunk. Just grow up, Michael!” She opened the door and stormed out of his bedroom, practically flying down the stairs and out of the house. For the first time since she’d confirmed her acceptance at Princeton, she felt completely confident in her decision to do so.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Raising his hands in the air and tossing his head back, Michael yelled, “Yeah!” at the top of his lungs. It felt wonderful to be sitting in the back of Bubba’s pickup truck, getting completely smashed while rock music blared and hot young girls danced around in front of him. One was Roxie, the redheaded cheerleader who had her top off more often than she had it on, and the other was a petite little blonde from Valley Christian Academy named Holly, who definitely wasn’t acting very Christian. Word had it that she was Jase’s part-time girlfriend, but luckily, he wasn’t acting very possessive. Both those girls were wasted, so it had taken very little coaxing from Antonio and Jase to get them to strip down to their bras and panties and continue dancing around, hands all over each other. Only at a drunken Frazier Woods party would you find two girls doing that in middle of December.

The beer was flowing. Bubba was in charge of managing the keg, which was perched right next to Michael in the back of that truck. Whenever he finished what he already had in front of him, he just threw that red cup over his shoulder and held out his hand for another. And Bubba gave him a brand new cup, full to the brim. Repeat as needed.

And it was very needed.

When Roxie and Holly both lifted up their bras and pressed their bare breasts together, they garnered a roar of excitement from all the guys who were watching them. Michael just said, “Ooh,” as his eyes lingered on the blonde. Roxie was gorgeous, and he knew from experience that her mouth did amazing things, but for some reason, he couldn’t take his eyes off the blonde.

“Yeah, that’s my girl!” Jase hooted, urging Holly to bend over. She did, and he started spanking her ass. She just laughed, and soon after, Roxie pranced up to Michael and begged him to do the same. “Come on, Michael,” she urged, grinning suggestively. “Spank me.”

“Yeah, just bend over,” he told her.

“Okay!” She started to, then stopped and said, “Wait. What about Isabel?”

He made a face. “What about her?”

She grinned, licking her lips with her tongue.

Unfortunately, before she could get back in position, Kyle and Tess wove their way through the crowd, approaching Michael. “Hey, buddy,” Kyle greeted. “Heard you were here.”

“Yep.” He downed the rest of the beer in his hand and tossed the cup aside, motioning for Bubba to pour him another.

“God, Roxie, you’re such a slut!” Tess scolded her cheerleader. “Put your clothes on or I’m kicking you off the squad!”

“Go ahead,” Roxie urged, eyeing Kyle predatorily.

“Bitch!” Tess shouted, pushing her aside.

“Whoa, catfight,” Michael remarked hopefully. It wasn’t meant to be, though, because as Roxie stumbled backward, Antonio caught her and started making out with her. Tongues were going everywhere. “Never mind.” What a disappointment.

“Here you go,” Bubba said, handing him another cup.

“Actually, he’s done for the night,” Kyle said, taking it from him. He took a swig himself, then handed it to Jase so that he could drink while he grinded with his girlfriend.

“I’m not done,” Michael argued.

“Sure you are,” Kyle said, helping him down from the bed of the truck. “Come on.”

Even though he felt like he’d been having a pretty good time, Michael went with his friends. Kyle always looked out for him. If he wanted him to leave . . . well, it was probably a good idea.

On the way to Kyle’s truck, Tess asked, “You didn’t sleep with anyone while you were here, did you?”

“No, Tess. I’m not a slut,” he answered. “Unlike your squad.”

“They really, really are,” she admitted. “Well, good. Then Isabel doesn’t even have to know you were here.”

“Isabel,” he echoed, struggling to step into the truck as Kyle held the door open for him. “My girlfriend.” God, he felt tipsy. He could barely keep his balance.

Eventually, Kyle basically just pushed him into the back seat of the truck. He slumped over on his side and closed his eyes, and he must have fallen asleep on the ride home, because he didn’t remember getting there.

The next thing he knew, Kyle was saying, “Alright, here we are.” And then Tess was whacking him on the shoulder, snapping, “Michael, get up. Get up!”

He yawned, stretching, hitting his hands on the roof of the truck. “Home sweet home,” he muttered sarcastically.

“Sleep it off, man,” Kyle suggested. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Mmm.” Michael crawled out of the truck, waving goodbye to his friends, actually pretty grateful that they’d come and gotten him and brought him home. Because if they hadn’t, he probably really would have done something he’d regret. Like . . . Roxie.

He struggled up the driveway to his front door, acting like he was going to go inside. But once Kyle and Tess drove away, he thought about it—as much as his hammered brain could possibly think—and it dawned on him that there was no reason to go inside. He could see silhouettes of his parents and Tina in the living room, arguing. She’d probably tried sneaking out again. It wouldn’t really help the situation if he stumbled in the front door like this, drunk off his ass.

No. He didn’t want to be there.

He turned around and made his way back across the driveway, to the sidewalk. He staggered down to the street corner, trying to focus, trying to figure out which direction to go. Because even though his mind wasn’t functioning at its highest capability . . . he knew exactly where he was going.

It took him longer than he thought it would to get to the little run-down house on Paseo del Norte, because just putting one foot in front of the other was difficult. But eventually, he got there. He was cold, and he was tired, but he was where he wanted to be.

He walked around to the side of the house and took a guess on which window was Maria’s. Knowing his luck, it’d end up being her mom’s, but it was worth a shot. He picked up a twig off the ground and tried to throw it up at the window, but in his drunken state, he threw like a girl, and it didn’t make it all the way up. Probably wouldn’t make much of a sound even if it did.

So he searched around for a good five minutes for a pebble or rock or some kind, and he finally found the perfect one. Not too large, not too small. So he tossed it towards the window, and it made a tapping noise when it hit. No one looked out, though. So he threw it again. And then again. After about four more times, finally, she came to the window. And he could tell it was her before he could see her features clearly because of her blonde hair.

She pushed open the window and bent forward, looking out. “What’re you doing here?” she asked.

“Can I come up?” he called way too loudly.

“Shh!” she hissed.

“I’ll come up,” he offered, looking around the yard. “Yeah, I’ll just climb up this tree.” He braced one foot against the trunk, reaching up to grab hold of one of the branches. He was too heavy, though, and it was too flimsy, so it snapped in half. “Oh, crap.” It was going to take him awhile to figure this out.

“Stay there,” she told him. “I’ll come down.”

While he waited, he kept trying to climb the tree. Like an idiot. But nothing worked. When she came outside, she had on a coat and sweatpants. And an Amy DeLuca’s Alien Collectibles t-shirt. Not one of his Metallica ones.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself as she shivered.

“I walked,” he told her proudly. Because, for some reason, in the state he was in, he was really proud of that.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm.” She nodded, smiling knowingly when she asked, “Are you drunk?”

“No,” he lied, feeling himself start to tip to the left. He stumbled as he caught his balance and then admitted, “Little bit.”

“Just a little, huh?”

“A little . . . a lot . . .” He shrugged. “Same difference.”

“Really? Okay. Well, maybe you should let me drive you home. We’ll take my mom’s car.”

“No, I’ll walk,” he told her. It was the middle of the night. He’d woken her up. Wasn’t fair to ask her to give up all her sleep for . . . this. Whatever it was. “Maria, I just . . . I came by ‘cause . . .” He lacked restraint when he was drunk, so he reached out and picked up several strands of her hair, just because he felt like it. “I wanted to see you.”

She took hold of his hand and pushed it away. “Oh, did you now?”

“Yeah.” He wrapped his fingers around her own, because her hands were cold.

“Michael . . .” She withdrew her hand from his, taking a step back. “You’re so drunk.”

“I know, I know,” he confessed, “but . . . listen to me, I have a brilliant plan.”

“Brilliant, huh?”

“Yeah. You ready?”

She sighed, shaking her head. “Why not?”

“Okay, so here it is: I’m gonna go out and drink and party every night, and get into so much trouble.”

“This sounds like a very bad plan.”

“And Teenie’s gonna get in trouble, too, ‘cause . . . well, now she doesn’t have Dylan around, lookin’ up to her. So we’re just gonna make my parents’ lives miserable by bein’ such bad, bad kids, and eventually they’re gonna see that it’s a lot better when you’re there.”

“So what, they’re just gonna beg me to come back?” she asked skeptically.

“Yeah.” It sounded foolproof to him. “Downward spiral.” He made a whirling noise and circled his index finger around in the air like a tornado.

“Don’t spiral ‘cause of me,” she cautioned.

“I can’t help it.” He lowered his head and took a few steps closer to her, stuttering, “I--I miss you.”

She sighed, not backing away this time, and returned the same sentiment. “I miss you, too.”

Things started to get a little fuzzy for him after that. He faintly realized that Maria was somehow lugging him into her mom’s car, driving him home. And it even felt like she brought him inside his house and somehow dragged him upstairs to his bed. But when he woke up the next morning, his head pounding and his stomach churning, he was all alone there. She was gone again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hangovers were the worst when you felt like your head was splitting open. That was how Michael felt when he got to school the next day. How he even managed to get there on time was a mystery. He chalked it all up to having nothing better to do, as well as Kyle showing up and practically forcing him out the door that morning.

As he headed out to the cafeteria with a gift box in his hand, Bubba and the guys called out to him, “Yo, Mike! Good to see you’re still alive.”

“Yeah, thanks,” he muttered, holding his right hand to his head. He felt like a walking zombie, but other than that . . . alive and kicking.

“Michael!” Roxie chirped, skipping in front of him, halting his forward progress. “I can’t remember, did we have sex last night?”

God, what an airhead this one was. Sexy as hell and fucking adventurous, but dumb as a fencepost. His interest had waned. “Only in your dreams, Roxie,” he told her, giving her a pat on the shoulder as he continued on his way.

Isabel was sitting at a table by herself, slaving away on—what else?—homework. He wasn’t sure if she would even acknowledge his presence if he took a seat beside her, so he just set the gift down on the table, waiting for a reaction.

Even though the little paper stocking was visibly taped to the top of the package, she asked, “What’s this?”

“It’s for that Toys for Tots things,” he explained.

She looked shocked that he’d even participated in that.

“What? I’m not always a world-class jerk.”

“No,” she agreed quietly. “Just lately.”

He sighed, unable to deny that. It made sense in his mind, but it wasn’t something he could explain to her without making her feel even more upset. Really, what was he supposed to say? I’m sad because Maria left?

He sat down beside her, hoping she’d take the lead on this uncomfortable conversation, because he really didn’t know where to start. He wasn’t one to share his feelings. Not with her, and not with most people.

“What’s with you?” she asked bluntly. “You’ve been in such a bad mood this week.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

His mind raced to come up with a plausible excuse. Isabel knew him pretty well. If the lie was too far-fetched, she’d be able to tell. “I guess I’m just stressed,” he mumbled. And that was . . . actually sort of true. He’d been stressed ever since he walked in his front door and saw Amy DeLuca standing there.

“About what?” she asked, her tone patient and encouraging.

“Everything.” There. Nice and vague. Perfect.

“Such as . . .?” She trailed off, her voice inflecting upward.

Dammit. She wasn’t going to let him off the hook so easily. “My parents are fighting all the time,” he told her. Again, not a lie. “And Tina’s gettin’ into all sorts of trouble.” True, too. “And . . .” He sighed, distressed. “I haven’t heard back from any colleges I’ve applied to. And the fact that I’m stressed out about it probably means . . . deep down, I might actually wanna go.” That was . . . what the hell was that? An admission? Even he wasn’t sure whether that was true or not.

“Michael . . .” She scooted her chair a bit closer, reaching out to hold his hand. “Everything’s gonna work out,” she promised, suddenly sounding like that girl who was madly in love with him again. “You just need to relax.”

He raised an eyebrow, looking her up and down suggestively. “I bet you could help me with that.” Once again, the cycle continued. Fight, then make up. That was what made the fighting worth it.

That night, he invited her over, and the whole dinner with mom and playing a game with Tina was really just a show meant to cover up what they really wanted to do. Once Tina went to bed and his mom went upstairs to watch TV, he brought Isabel up to his bedroom, and they got it on.

She was exhausted after the first round, but he made no secret about wanting to go again, pressing his groin against her backside, letting her feel his renewed erection.

“Okay, just a minute,” she relented, reaching over to pull open his nightstand drawer. “Do you have any more?”

“Any more what?”

“Duh, condoms.”

“Oh. Yeah.” He kissed the back of her neck, tasting the salty sweat on her skin.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“What?” Whatever it was, he didn’t even care.

“This.” She took out a folded piece of paper, and he knew what it was the moment he saw it. Something he did care about. Something he looked at before he went to sleep at night.

Unfolding it, she revealed a crayon drawing that Dylan had done. It was a picture of the two of them, throwing the football around in the back yard. It was scribbly, of course, and the name he’d signed in the corner was more just a random collection of lines than any actual letters. But it was from Dylan. So he’d kept it.

“Oh, that’s cute,” she said, sounding uneasy. “Did, um . . . what was his name again? Dylan?”

“Yeah.”

“Did he make this?”

“Uh-huh.” Great. Sex was probably going to be put on hold now. Finding the drawing of a kid whose mother used to sleep in that bed was . . . a very unique cock-block.

“That’s cute,” she repeated, folding it back up and putting it in the drawer. “Michael, should we, uh . . .”

He reached over her and snatched up a condom, determined not to get trapped in another long, drawn-out conversation, not when this was going so well. “Come on,” he urged. “Keep relaxin’ me.” Again, he pressed his hips against her, his cock pressing into the small of her back this time, making her moan.

“Okay,” she agreed breathily, arching back against him.

His mouth latched on to the side of her neck, and his hands slid around to cup her breasts. Yeah, this was a good night. He couldn’t complain about getting laid. But still . . . he wondered what he would have been doing if Maria and Dylan had been there.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Tension. It lingered in the air non-stop at the DeLuca house. Maria never once felt like she could let her guard down or be at ease. It was hard to explain, but her relationship with her mother had been like this for years. They’d been really close once, back when she’d been younger. But starting around the teenage years, she’d started making choices—admittedly bad ones—that her mother didn’t agree with. And it didn’t matter how much time wore on between then and now, because her mom never did quite seem to forgive her for the past.

Even something as simple as doing the dishes was tense. She washed while her mother dried, and awkward small-talk filtered in between.

“That was delicious. Where’d you learn to make that casserole?” her mother asked.

Maria scrubbed at a plate, dazedly replying, “Michael’s mom made it once. When I was over there.”

“Oh.” Suddenly, Amy wasn’t so quick to praise it. “Well, it was pretty good.”

Maria subtly rolled her eyes. Yeah, of course. It had gone from delicious to pretty good, just like that.

“Thanks for helping with the dishes,” her mother said.

“No problem.” She wasn’t a little kid who had to be congratulated on doing her chore. She handed the plate off to her mom, wishing they could just do this in silence.

“Maybe after Christmas we could talk about how you could help out with some other things around here,” Amy proposed. “Like bills.”

Maria stopped what she was doing, giving her mother a sharp, accusatory look. “Seriously? We’re starting that up again?”

“Well . . .” Her mom shrugged innocently. “You have a job.”

“Part-time.”

“But I assume you’re still looking for another one.”

She looked back down at the soapy sink in front of her, trying to avert those judgmental eyes. “I haven’t really been looking very much lately,” she confessed.

“See, I think you just got a little too comfortable over there.”

“Well, God forbid I ever be comfortable.” Or happy, she thought. Or . . .

“I’m just saying, you had it too easy.”

Maria gave her an incredulous look.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” her mother corrected. “You know what? Never mind. I don’t wanna fight.”

Too late, Maria thought. Wasn’t their entire relationship just one big fight?

“I think Dylan’s happy to be back,” her mom remarked, once again trying to sound upbeat and positive.

“I think he misses Michael,” Maria retorted. And he did. It was obvious. Every night, he asked where Michael was. Every single night. And sometimes he asked where Tina was, too.

Of course, her mom felt the need to voice her opinion on that matter, just like she felt the need to voice her opinion on every matter. “I think you need to be careful with that. You don’t wanna confuse him.”

“He’s not confused,” Maria denied.

“No, but you are.”

“Excuse me?”

“Jim told me some things about Michael Guerin, and I have to tell you, Maria, I don’t like what I heard.”

Maria grunted. Yeah, as if she cared. “He’s a good guy.”

“Really?” Amy laughed at that and turned her back to put a few of the dried dishes away in the cabinets.

“Well, maybe he’s not class-act like Jim Valenti . . .”

“Jim is an amazing man.”

“But he’s kind.” She happened to know that for a fact.

“Oh, sure,” Amy said sarcastically. “And whatever happened to the last good, kind guy you let into your life? Where is he now?”

Again, Maria looked away. Because it was true. They’d had conversations like this before. But Michael was different. She could tell. There was something else there that other people failed to see.

“Oh, that’s right, he’s not here.” Apparently satisfied that she’d made her point, her mother set the dishtowel down and said, “You can finish up,” before heading upstairs. Probably to call her own boyfriend and gush about how supposedly wonderful he was.

Maria held on tightly to the scrub brush in her hand. Suddenly, even though there were only a few dishes left in the sink, it looked like way too many. It looked like a mountain, one she had no desire to climb.

She held onto that scrub brush tighter, so tightly that her hands started to hurt. All week, her anger and frustration had been building up. She felt like a prisoner here in her own house. Because it wasn’t her house. It was her mom’s. And every single day, she said something that got under her skin, something designed to set her off, something meant to prove what an immature child she still was.

She wasn’t going to give her mom the satisfaction of seeing her melt down again. She wasn’t going to let it get back to the point where she would once again be thrown out on the street. No. Not this time.

She left the dishes where they were and went into the living room to pick up the phone. Quickly, she dialed Michael’s number, hoping he would pick up. It only took a few rings before he did.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” she said, feeling relief just upon hearing the sound of his voice. “Can you get me out of here?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The plan was in motion. Step one for Michael consisted of getting his mom in the car and driving over to Maria’s house. It took a little convincing, but not much. The whole drive over there, though, she fretted, all the way there. As she was pulling up in front of the house, she asked for the umpteenth time, “Are you sure we should be over here?”

“Yeah, she called me,” he reminded her.

“I know, but I just don’t know if it’s our place to get involved.”

“Mom. Are we just supposed to sit around and do nothing?”

She sighed unsurely, bringing the car to a stop in front of the house. Luckily, step two of the plan was already in full swing. Maria and her mom were inside, fighting. Yelling. Loudly. So loud that some of their neighbors were peeking out their front doors curiously, probably about to call the cops.

“Oh, goodness,” Krista whispered.

He gave her a look, an I-told-you-so kind.

Maria opened the door a minute later, throwing several bags of belongings out onto the front lawn. “Quit telling me how to live my life!”

“Maybe if you listened to me, your life wouldn’t be in shambles!”

Michael and his mom both got out of the car right as Dylan came out of the house. The little boy’s face lit up when he saw him, and he yelled, “Micho!” as he ran straight towards him.

Michael bent down and scooped him up into a hug. God, it’d been too long since he’d seen him.

Maria grabbed her things and came towards the car. “Thank God you’re here,” she choked out.

“What happened?” Krista asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

“We just started fighting,” Maria cried, holding her face in her hands. “We always fight.”

Amy appeared in the front doorway a moment later, fuming. “Oh, of course!” she yelled. “You called him!”

“Mom, do something,” Michael begged. He, of course, knew where this was headed, but he wanted his mom to feel like it was her idea.

His mom slowly approached the house. “Amy, let’s go talk inside,” she suggested.

“With all due respect, this is a family matter. I’d appreciate if you stayed out of it.”

“Let’s talk inside,” Krista repeated calmly. “Where your grandson can’t hear.”

Michael held Dylan with one arm, opening the door to the backseat with his freehand. He gently set Dylan down and closed the door. This was a good plan. The only downside was that Dylan had to overhear a pretty intense argument.

Relenting, Amy slipped back inside the house, and Michael’s mom followed her, closing the door.

When they were gone, Maria was finally able to crack a smile. “Thanks for coming.”

“Yeah, no problem.” He was always up for a little late night theatrics. “So how much of that was staged?” he asked, leaning back against the car.

“Not much, actually,” she admitted. “I kind of set her off by insulting Kyle’s dad a lot. But then she just took it from there.”

“That’s good, though,” he pointed out. “I mean, not that you guys actually fought, but it was good for my mom to see it. So now she can see that you’re a lot better off with us.”

“Yeah.” She stood beside him, leaning back against the car in the same way he was, and inquired, “Do you really think she’ll let me stay again?”

“Oh, yeah,” he answered confidently. “I buttered her up the whole way here. And I reminded her how much better Tina and I were acting when you were there. Less drinking, less trouble.”

“God, we’re so bad,” she said, a gleam of mischief in her eyes.

“I know.” He grinned. “But it feels so good.”

She laughed a little, but she immediately put back on her sad face when Krista came back out. Michael got serious again, too, even though, on the inside, he was doing backflips at the thought of not being alone again tonight.

“Krista, I’m so sorry you have to deal with this,” Maria apologized.

“That’s okay,” she said, sniffing back tears. The whole scene seemed to have really . . . affected her. Mission accomplished. “Maria, why don’t you and Dylan come stay with us tonight?” she suggested, rounding the front of the car.

Michael shared a secret smile with Maria. Because they both knew it wasn’t just going to be for tonight. They had her, reeled her back in. Their unconventional living arrangement was back in full swing, and personally, he couldn’t have been happier about it.

Maria still had to act shaken when they arrived back at his house and unloaded the car. Dylan looked . . . perplexed, but not exactly disappointed. When he saw Tina, he immediately asked her to play. But she told him she was grounded and wasn’t allowed to leave her room. And then when he asked her what it meant to be grounded, she just told him not to worry about it.

Unfortunately, his dad was home, which meant lots of questioning looks. “Let’s go upstairs and talk about it,” his mom suggested. “Okay?”

Screw you, Dad, Michael thought. She’s staying. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

( :? )

He hauled her bags up to her room for her—her room, his room, whatever—and left her on her own to get settled. Then he occupied himself downstairs, getting all the pillows and blankets situated on the couch to his liking. But once it was time for him to lay down, he just . . . didn’t feel like it. This was her first night back, and it seemed like such a waste to just . . . crash.

So he headed back upstairs, stopping first at his sister’s room. She must have gotten a cell phone from someone, because she was chatting up a storm with one of her friends, by the sound of it. The only sound coming from his parents’ room, on the other hand, was the television. Which was better than fighting.

He slipped into his bedroom, where Dylan was already completely out of it. Maria was lying beside him, watching him sleep adoringly.

“Hey, I just wanted to say . . . goodnight,” he thought up quickly.

“Night,” she returned just as Dylan’s entire body jerked. She smiled and laughed softly.

“What was that?” Michael asked, stepping into the darkened room. “Did he hiccup?”

“Yeah, he does that a lot when he sleeps.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s so cute.” It dawned on him that, since he’d gotten to know Dylan DeLuca, he’d said the word cute more than he’d ever imagined he would. But hey, when it applied . . .

He wasn’t even aware that he was squeezing onto that bed until he was already lying there, flat on his back, his head turned to the side so he could watch Dylan, too. He was probably going to be a snorer when he got older, because he slept with his mouth open.

“Thanks for taking us back,” Maria whispered.

“Never wanted to let you go in the first place.” He didn’t mind saying it. It was true.

“Michael . . .” She so looked like she wanted to say something. It was the same look she’d had on her face right before she’d gotten in her mom’s car and left. He couldn’t tell what was on her mind, though. Was she going to thank him again? Ask him why he’d done it? Whatever it was, he wished she’d just say it.

But instead, she just said, “Never mind,” and closed her eyes. She was tired. Regardless of how real that fight may or may not have been, it had to have taken a lot out of her.

He knew he had to get up and go back down to that couch. Or at the very least, the floor beside the bed. But for some reason, his body just didn’t want to move. He lay there for a few seconds, watching her, watching Dylan, wondering if it would really be so bad if he just . . . stayed.

Don’t be an idiot, he told himself. Get up. So that was what he started to do.

But then she weakly grabbed his shirt and whimpered, “Don’t,” pulling him back.

He lay down again, not sure if he’d be able to get back up this time. Because he was pretty tired, too, and that bed suddenly felt very, very comfortable.

“Don’t leave me,” she pleaded, sounding as if she were about to fall asleep any second.

He knew he should. He knew he really should. But for some reason, he just couldn’t. Maybe it was just because it was her first night back, or maybe he’d gotten used to sleeping in his own bed again. Whatever the reason, he didn’t get up. He laid right there, eventually shutting his own eyes, telling himself it was okay for him to do so. Dylan was resting in between them, so that made it alright.








TBC . . .

-April
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LOVE IS MICHAEL AND MARIA.
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April
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Part 29

Post by April »

Carolyn: Yes, it's sad. Michael spiraled without Dylan and Maria around. :(

Rod:
You know I think this Michael is neck and neck with 521 Max in my book.
:shock: Really? 521 Max was a narcissistic rapist.
He's going to have to do something major to get me to like him.......like rescuing a house full of orphans and kittens from a raging house fire!
:lol: I'm used to writing male characters that have to do A LOT to be redeemed in your eyes (and sometimes never are.) No orphans or kittens are currently planned for this story, though, so I guess I'll have to try something else. ;)

simplyshiny:
Sorry for the long review, I just felt like I had to share all my feelings!
I don't think any writer on here would EVER grumble about a long review. :D
Tess: I love how bubbly you always make Tess. It fits Emilie De Ravin's looks so well. It's so odd to see her hating Maria. I guess I got so in to the 520-series Tess/Maria best friends groove (and even in Passions they didn't hate each other) that I almost forget that TV show Tess and Maria didn't like each other at all.
I love a bubbly Tess, and this is probably the bubbliest, perkiest one I've written. I loved writing her and Maria as BFFs in the 521/522-universe, so it was kind of weird to write them this way here at first.
I feel bad for her though, thinking all she has in life is Cheerleading and Kyle. That seems to be a popular feeling for small-town cheerleaders. Am I odd in hoping something HUGE happens to shake her up and want more?
I don't think it's odd to hope that. Tess is very happy with her life and has a bright future, but her future is VERY much tied to her boyfriend. It's always good to have some independence.
Kyle: Yay! football player Kyle! I'm loving the football scenes, though the whole time I was SURE he was going to get hurt or something would happen to his chances. But he seems like such a good guy and there is such focus on him playing college and pro-ball that I feel like something is going to happen...it just wouldn't be an April story without some big (fabulous) drama
I really enjoyed writing those football scenes, though it was challenging. Yes, I'm a fan of the big drama, although with Kyle . . . he is the guy whose entire life goes according to plan, so we'll see how it turns out.
And Jim is the quintessential former high school phenom football dad. So much pressure, I wouldn't be surprised if he's the reason Kyle might crack.
It is a lot of pressure. Jim's not a super bad guy or anything, but he has a VERY singular focus.
Michael's family: I'm loving that Michael's family is such a center of this story. His mom seems so nice, and everything in her life is in shambles. I mean, here she is with an alcoholic husband, a son who is well on his way to becoming an alcoholic and a daughter who is following in both their footsteps. But she still lets a stranger come live with them. Amazing.
You know, sometimes I feel like my original characters are rather one-dimensional, but not so with this family. I've enjoyed writing this family and exploring their complex dynamics.
You have this amazing ability to write Isabelle both detestable and pitiable. While detestable might be too strong of a word for her in this story, she is definitely pitiable.
I agree.
She wants so much for Michael to be the perfect boyfriend, she seems to be trying to change him, mold him to be more like her. But in her life, everything IS perfect. Perfect grades, school record, friends, mother, everything SEEMS perfect, but she works so hard, it can't be fun.
If you have to work so hard to make it last, it's probably not worth it. Poor girl just can't see OR won't accept that.
I hope she sees in Alex what she wishes she could see in Michael.
Alex is EXACTLY what she wishes Michael would be. But Michael will NEVER be him.
I feel like we haven't really met Maria yet, she is still so guarded. We've seen her down and out and desperate, but we haven't seen much of her genuinely happy.
It's really sad. For the past 3 or so years of her life, Maria just hasn't been very happy. But with Michael, she's letting herself begin to feel that way.
Michael: Michael has already made HUGE changes in the story, but he still has a very long way to go. He's always had people TELLING him he has to change and PUSHING him to do better. But now, having responsibility seems to actually have made the change start to happen. First with football and now with Maria and Dylan.
I love writing this Michael. The whole internal conflict of whether or not he will ever actually manage to BE someone has been pretty compelling to write.
Liz and Max: I'm waiting with bated breath to see them introduced. Will they be the despicable assholes they were in 520? Looking for redemption like in 521? Or will they be confused and lost like they were in Passions? OR something completely different. In any case, you never write them with the best morals, which I feel always makes it very interesting.
:lol: I "never write them with the best morals," huh? That's probably the nice way of putting it. :)

Sara:
I'm so glad they are back at michaels even if it does confuse the situation a bit. They are all such a freaking mess!!
And it's hard to say whether they are more of a mess with each other or without each other!

Eva:
What can I say about Michael? That he is immature, sad, pathetic, caring, searching for his way through life? All the words can be used. It was an ugly week. We weren't used to this Michael anymore. In his loneliness he fell back again. But then again, this wasn't the Michael we saw in the beginning either. This Michael knew why he drank, why he didn't go all the way down. This Michael was still thinking, searching his way (literally and figuratively). Even when he was wasted. He's a teenager who's learning by trying. And my heart goes out to him.
Oh, Michael . . . he is just all over the place. But having Maria there with him certainly keeps him in check and boosts him up. It's sort of scary that it was so easy for him to spiral back downward again, though. :(
But I'm not sure that it was a good step to take Maria back in. Granted, she had an awful life back home. Amy didn't change a thing. She can only see the negative things in her daughter. But I'm not sure this is a solution either. For now, yes. They really needed each other. But for the long run?
They're definitely living in the moment, thinking all about short-term satisfaction rather than thinking about the long-term repercussions of what they're doing right now. We'll have to see how it turns out. ;)


THANK YOU VERY MUCH FOR THE FEEDBACK! I APPRECIATE IT A LOT!








Part 29








Dammit, that allegorical poems English quiz was today. Crap. Michael knew he was probably fucked, but he found that stupid study guide in his locker and unwrinkled it, figuring he might as well cram before class.

When he slammed his locker shut, Isabel was standing there. Like right there, not looking happy. “Whoa,” he said, startling a bit. “Hey.”

She didn’t even crack a smile. “Just admit it.”

Oh god, was she pissed at him already? How was that possible? He hadn’t even spoken three words to her. “Admit what?”

“I heard something this morning from a very reliable source.”

“If that reliable source is named Tess . . . she’s not reliable,” he warned.

“Well, she heard it from someone else who actually is reliable.”

“Meaning Kyle.”

“But I’d rather hear it from you, so just confess.”

He sighed, figuring he knew what this was about. But it’d be fun to mess around a little bit. “Alright, I’ll admit it,” he said. “I was recently voted Sexiest Man in America.”

She gave him an impatient look. “Really, Michael?”

“Alright,” he sighed, “you got me. It was Sexiest Man in the World.”

She rolled her eyes.

Unable to help but laugh at his own joke, he urged, “Come on, lighten up.”

“No, I wanna hear it from you.”

“Hear what?”

“You know what.”

“That I’m lettin’ Maria stay with me again?”

“Yes.”

He shrugged. Well, there it was. She’d heard it. “I am.”

“And once again this was a decision you made without even consulting me.”

“It was a spur-of-the-moment thing,” he informed her.

“I know, but . . .” She put one hand on her hip and ran the other through her hair, looking, for once, as if she were struggling with words.

“Hey, it’ll be fine,” he assured her. “It’s just like it was last time. Nothing more.”

“I know.”

“So don’t freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out,” she denied readily. “I’m okay with it.”

“You’re okay with it?” Yeah, right.

“Really, I am,” she insisted. “I was okay with it last time, and I’m okay with it this time. I just . . . I wish you’d let me know beforehand, that’s all.”

“Sorry,” he apologized. Sometimes, it was better to just suck it up like that.

“It’s okay,” she said again. “I’m okay. We’re okay.”

Inwardly, he breathed a sigh of relief. Good. Meltdown averted.

Almost as an afterthought, she asked, “You’re still sleeping on the couch, right?”

He flashed back to last night, falling asleep right there in that bed, and then to waking up in it this morning. And then he outright lied. “Yeah.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

With absolutely no desire to sit through a basketball game that night, Michael headed home after weightlifting with Kyle. It was amazing how much less he was dreading it now that . . . now that things were better again.

“Honey, I’m home,” he joked as he strode into the kitchen.

“Funny.” Maria was at the stove, stirring some red sauce or salsa in a small pan.

“What’re you makin’?” he asked her.

“A beef nacho casserole. My specialty. Sort of an appreciation dinner for your mom. And you.”

He kicked off his shoes and leaned in to get a closer look. “Looks good.” He dipped his finger into the sauce and took a taste. “Mmm, tastes better.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He picked up his shoes and tossed them out by the door, then took off his jacket and hung it on the coat rack. “That should be my motto in life, you know,” he mused. “Looks good, tastes better.”

She just shook her head at that and teased, “You’re so weird.”

“I know.” He walked back over to the stove and dipped a different finger in this time to take another taste.

“Hey, so I kinda wanted to talk to you about something,” she announced, swatting his hand away when he kept tasting. “Stop it.”

He laughed a little, then took the spoon from her so she didn’t have to keep stirring. “What about?” he asked.

“Just . . .” She leaned against the counter, hesitating before she said more. “I faintly recall falling asleep in the same bed with you last night.”

Oh, yeah. That.

“And I’m pretty sure I even begged you to stay there.”

“Nah, you didn’t beg. You kindly requested.” He grinned, finding it adorable that she seemed kind of . . . embarrassed about it.

“Well, I shouldn’t have,” she said. “It was wrong.”

“Ah, you were so tired, you didn’t even know what you were saying.”

“That’s no excuse,” she insisted. “I don’t want things to be weird, you know? And I don’t wanna cause problems for you and Isabel.”

He shrugged, not seeing it as a big deal like she was. “How’s she gonna find out about it?”

“Well, I mean, I’m not gonna tell her or anything . . .”

“Neither am I.” Problem solved. “So it’ll just be our little secret.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” What Isabel didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. He didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty about keeping this from her, either, because he didn’t want any of the three of them to have to deal with the drama. His intentions were good.

“Okay,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief. “I feel better now.”

“And if I fall asleep there again tonight,” he added, predicting that he might just end up doing that, “then that’ll be our little secret, too.” He just smiled at her, suspecting she wouldn’t put up too much of a fight on that.

And indeed she didn’t. Slowly, a smile crept across her lips, too, and that gleam of mischief that had shone in her eyes last night when they were plotting to get her back where she belonged . . . that little gleam returned.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Putting up the Christmas tree was a big deal. For pretty much everyone involved. Maria said Dylan had never had a tree before, so he was going to be elated. And Michael’s family hadn’t decorated a tree in years. But during the middle of the afternoon on Saturday, in the midst of doing absolutely nothing in particular, his mom decided that she wanted to have one this year. So she sent Michael out to the Christmas tree lot to get one, and while he was there, she and Maria took Dylan and Tina to the store to buy some nice, new decorations. Garland, beads, lights, ornaments . . . they had the works. There was definitely a gold theme this year. Before they even started working on it, Tina boasted that it was going to look nicer than any other Christmas tree that ever existed.

Michael wasn’t the most helpful when it came to decorating. His main responsibility was to haul the damn thing into the house and get it set up properly so they could start. Other than that, he was content to just sit back on the couch and watch the four of them work, because, in a strange way, it was very entertaining.

His mom and his sister actually looked . . . happy. Or at least not sad, in his mother’s case, and not rebellious, in his sister’s. Tina looked like a little girl again. No makeup. No fancy clothes. Just a fifth grader and her family, decorating a Christmas tree. She looked young. She was young.

It was easy to forget that his mom was young, too. Compared to other moms of kids his age, at least. She had grey hairs nowadays that she hadn’t had a few years ago. Wrinkles, too, that hadn’t once existed. But as she wrapped that garland around that tree, she had a smile on her face, and she, too, looked her rightful age.

Dylan was just a hoot. There was so much going on that he probably couldn’t even process it. When he looked at that tree and all those decorations, he was probably just in awe of the sparkles and the bright colors. His main job was to hang stuff up near the bottom of the tree, because he couldn’t reach up much higher. There were some gold apples that he was particularly fond of. So the bottom of their tree was decked out in golden plastic apples.

And then there was Maria, and watching her probably entertained him most of all. It was freezing cold outside, but they had the fireplace going for the first time in years, so she was prancing around in short little pink shorts. When she bent down to retrieve a dropped ornament on the floor, he couldn’t help but stare . . . at the view. Because it was pretty nice view. And then when she stood up on her tiptoes to place that ornament at the top of tree, and the tight white shirt she was wearing inched up to reveal her stomach . . . well, he couldn’t look away from that, either.

“Oh, this looks so nice,” his mother raved, taking a step back to admire the tree. “What do you think, Michael?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, his eyes still on Maria. “Looks good.”

“We need to put the star up on the top, though.”

“I wanna do it,” Tina said, raising her hand as if she were in school.

“Me, too!” Dylan chirped, even though he probably didn’t even know what he was volunteering for.

“Oh . . .” Tina put her hand down and said, “He can do it.”

“Are you sure?” Maria asked.

She nodded.

“Okay.” Maria took the brand new gold star out of the box and handed it to her son. Michael could tell she was trying to figure out how to make that work, though, because he’d gotten a pretty tall tree, and getting Dylan all the way up there wouldn’t be the easiest task for her.

“Here, I got it,” he said, getting up. “Hop up, Dylan.” He squatted down in front of the little boy, bent his head forward, and instructed, “Up on my shoulders.”

Dylan almost accidentally stabbed him in the neck with that star, but luckily, it was only plastic. He crawled up like a kid climbing a jungle gym, and Michael groaned and stood up slowly, holding onto both his little legs to keep him in place. “Alright, right at the top.”

Dylan reached out his pudgy little arms and positioned the star right at the top of the evergreen, then clapped his hands proudly.

“Good job,” Michael told him. It was crooked as hell, but whatever. They could straighten it out later.

“Good job, Dylan,” Tina echoed.

“It looks lovely,” his mom reiterated.

“See? I told you it’d be the nicest tree.” Tina smirked.

Michael carefully set Dylan down again, giving him a quick high-five. “Awesome, man.” When he glanced at Maria, she was just watching, smiling.

They were just putting the finishing touches on the tree when his dad came home from work. His clothes were filthy. Typical for a construction worker. He stopped at the foot of the stairs and just looked in on them for a moment, almost as if he were stunned by what he was seeing. Michael stared back at him, wondering if it was too much to hope that he might come in and join them. Maybe even just for a second. And of course it was. Because after a few seconds of staring, he just went upstairs without saying a word.

Ass, Michael thought. But then he slipped out of the living room to go talk to him.

He couldn’t believe how many empty beer cans were scattered around his parents’ room. They were mostly piled in the corner, underneath his dad’s desk. It seemed like there were more than ever before. He wondered how his mom could even bare to look at that when she woke up in the morning.

“Didn’t know you were puttin’ a tree up,” his dad mumbled as he untied his work boots.

“Yeah, Mom wanted to.” And so had he. And Tina. And Maria and Dylan. Everyone who wasn’t a depressing stick-in-the-mud jackass had wanted to put that tree up.

“Looks alright, I guess.”

Looks better than you, Michael thought. Unlike his mom, his father was looking even older than he really was. “Hey, Dad, I need a favor,” he came right out and blurted.

“Not interested.”

“I just need your help with something.”

His father chuckled angrily. “I don’t think you can be helped at this point.”

Fuck you, Michael thought. Fucking fuck you. But he didn’t say it, because . . . well, even he knew that wasn’t the way to ask for a favor. “I need help with a Christmas present,” he revealed. “For . . . someone.”

“Let me guess: Maria.”

“No. Dylan.”

His dad tossed his shoes aside, shaking his head, “Oh, boy, you just keep sinking in deeper, don’t you?”

“What?”

Sounding completely uninterested, his dad stared at him blankly and asked, “What do you need?”

Michael reached into his back pocket and took out a piece of paper. He unfolded it to reveal a completely rough and unartistic sketch of what he had in mind. Handing it do his dad, he gauged his reaction. The frown on his face said it all. What was on that paper would be difficult to accomplish in what little time they had. Difficult . . . but not impossible.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Even though Tess didn’t need a megaphone to be loud, she used one anyway at breakfast on the second to last day of school before Christmas break. “Thank you to everyone who participated in this year’s Toys for Tots charity drive!” she hollered. But nobody was listening. Nobody wanted to be there. “Thanks to you, many children in need will experience some Christmas cheer this year.” Then she tossed the megaphone aside and muttered, “Thank God that’s over.”

“Oh, come on, Tess, where’s your holiday spirit?” Isabel teased.

“Oh, I have spirit,” she assured her. “I just also have toys coming out of my eyeballs. Do you know how long it’s gonna take us to deliver all these?”

Isabel bit her bottom lip nervously, feeling bad that she was about to flake. “Yeah, about that . . . I’m actually not gonna be able to help.”

“What?” Tess yelped. “Are you kidding me?”

“Just get Kyle to help you or something. I can’t. Michael and I are exchanging gifts tonight.”

“Oh.” If it was anyone else, Tess probably wouldn’t have been so forgiving; she’d have issued a demerit or something. But since it was Isabel, she didn’t make a big deal out of it. “What do you think he’s getting you?” she asked eagerly. “I mean, besides his standard gift of, like, multiple orgasms.”

Isabel blushed, knowing that would, in fact, be part of the present. “I don’t know. Hopefully something good.”

“What’re you getting him?”

Nervous butterflies flittered around in her stomach as she tried to maintain the courage for the present she had in mind. “Something he’s been wanting for quite a while.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Oh god, please like this, Michael thought, barely able to watch as Isabel reached into the gift sack. Stupid sack. It had a Duck Dynasty Santa on it, but that was all he’d been able to find on short notice. Luckily he felt more confident about the gift inside. Maria had given him the idea for it, and anything had to be better than last year, when he’d truthfully forgotten to get Isabel a present.

Her face lit up when she lifted out a black Adidas sweatshirt that had Princeton Tigers written on the front in orange and white. “Oh my god,” she gasped. “Michael . . .”

Oh, yeah. Score.

“I love it!” She held it up to her front, beaming with excitement. “It’s perfect.”

“There’s more,” he informed her.

“Really?”

He nodded, motioning for her to dig down farther in the sack.

“Oh my.” She set the sweatshirt aside on the bed and reached down to the bottom, taking out the items he was a little more enthused about: a Princeton bra and panties. Both items were black, and the panties said Go Tigers! on the butt. As for the bra, the tiger mascot was present on both boobs.

He wriggles his eyebrows, hoping she’d model those particular items for him tonight. “Nice, huh?”

She laughed. “Where did you even find these?”

“I ordered it all online.” princetonsluts.com, to be precise, but he wasn’t going to tell her that.

“Well, thank you,” she said, putting all three clothing items back in the sack. “I especially like the sweatshirt.”

He especially liked the underwear, but . . . oh, well. Differences.

“Your turn,” she declared, handing him a small square-shaped package. “I hope you like it.”

Like a little kid, he tore through the paper, eager to get to what was inside. There was a cardboard box from some company he didn’t recognize, and he had to use scissors to get through the packing tape. But once he did, what was inside was . . . admittedly, pretty damn awesome. A Metallica live concert on Blu-ray.

“Oh, cool,” he remarked.

“Apparently this is, like, super rare,” she informed him. “But everyone says it’s one of their best concerts. I guess they do, like, three covers of Beatles songs, which are kind of awesome.”

“Yeah, this is great. Thanks.” He glanced at the back, noticing that she’d chipped away at the price tag. But if it was as rare as she said it was, it probably hadn’t been cheap.

“Do you like it?” she asked.

“Yes, very much. Thank you.” He leaned in and gave her a quick kiss. Phew. What a relief. A gift exchange that had gone according to plan. No tears, no drama, no pretending to like a gift when you really didn’t. He was satisfied, as was she.

“I, uh . . .” She scooted a little bit closer to him, putting one hand on his thigh. “I actually have another present for you.”

His mind, always living in the gutter, started to imagine the possibilities. “You gonna jingle my bells?” he teased.

“Mmm, even better.” With her free hand, she reached back into her purse, slowly pulling out . . . something he only had ever dreamed he’d see in her hand: a tube of anal lubricant.

“Holy fuck,” he swore in disbelief. No way. He wasn’t seeing things straight or something, because this was the same girl who, only months earlier, had vowed to never do this with him or anyone. Ever. For all time. She thought it was disgusting.

Yet there she was, practically laying out the welcome mat. She handed the small black tube over to him and smiled encouragingly, and he knew . . . oh, he knew . . . he was one lucky son of a bitch.

When they first got started, it was fine—lots of foreplay just to get her in the mood—but he could tell she was nervous. Whenever he even laid a hand on her, she started to shrink away from him. Once she was on all fours and he was poised behind her, ready to try it out, she seemed as if she were on the verge of tears.

“Michael, I don’t know,” she whimpered as he pressed the tip of his cock to her entrance. “I don’t know.” She jolted forward, out of his reach, and then started to turn around.

“It’ll be fine,” he assured her. At this point, she was more lubed up than was humanly possible, and his cock was so slippery, he could hardly even get a hold of it.

“I’m nervous,” she confessed.

Yeah. That much was obvious.

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

Hadn’t it been her idea? “Just relax,” he told her. “I’ll go slow.”

She sniffed back tears, mumbling, “Okay,” as she turned around and got on all fours again.

“You wanna lay down or somethin’?” he asked. Past experience had taught him that sometimes the girl might just be a little self-conscious.

“No.”

“Alright.” He put both his hands on her hips, pulling her back against him a bit, but once again, the second she felt his erection even brush against her, she jerked away again.

“No, Michael, I can’t,” she decided, starting to cry. “I’m sorry.”

He sighed. At this point, it was more work than it was worth anyway. He wasn’t going to pressure her into doing something she obviously didn’t really want to.

“I’m really sorry,” she cried, looking so small as she sat there, naked, in the middle of her bed. She covered her face with her hands, literally sobbing, probably because she was embarrassed.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he assured her, putting his arms around her. “Come here.” He pulled her heaving body in close, hugging her, trying to let her know that he wasn’t mad. Because he wasn’t. Not really. The girl had every right to have second thoughts, to change her mind. Even if it was a bit of a letdown. “It’s fine.”

“I’m sorry.”

Yeah. So was he.

He talked to Kyle about it the next day, at lunch, because . . . well, they had a bromance, so they could talk about that stuff. They had to talk quickly, though, before Isabel and Tess came and sat down with them.

“So she started cryin’ huh?” Kyle asked.

“Yeah.”

“That’s always awkward.”

“You’re tellin’ me.” He hadn’t ended up getting laid at all last night, because after the failed anal attempt, Isabel was so worked up, she told him she thought it’d be best if he just went home. His biggest concern, at this point, was that this was going to throw a wrench in their sex life, which, up until this point, had been pretty damn good.

“How’d you get Tess to do it?” he asked, seeking the wise ways of the boyfriend master. “How’d you convince her?”

“Didn’t have to,” Kyle replied with a shrug. “It was her idea.”

“Yeah, and this was Isabel’s idea.”

“But Tess didn’t just do it to please me. She wanted to try it, too.”

Michael frowned. Therein lay the problem, didn’t it? Isabel’s heart hadn’t been in it. She’d only suggested they do it because she knew it was something he wanted to do, not something she wanted to do. Why was it so hard for them to get on the same page? For Tess and Kyle, it seemed so easy.

“I mean, we made it really romantic,” Kyle went on. “Mood music and candles and everything.”

“Candles.” Dammit, he should’ve thought about candles. Not that that would’ve helped. Romance wasn’t his area of expertise.

“Ah, maybe next time,” Kyle said as the girls approached the table with their lunch trays in hand. Isabel was wearing her Princeton sweatshirt.

“Yeah,” Michael muttered. But he really doubted if Isabel would ever even be willing to try it again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was such a good feeling to officially be on Christmas break. And as an avid school-enthusiast, Isabel could only imagine how exciting it was for someone like Michael, who barely even managed to get himself there in the morning.

Oh, Michael . . . The sooner they had mind-blowing regular sex again, the better. He’d acted normal all day, but she couldn’t help still being very embarrassed.

“Hey, Mom,” she chirped when she arrived home that night, hoping to curl up in her pajamas and do some writing.

“Hi, honey.” Her mom must have just gotten home, because she was still wearing work clothes as she sorted through the mail. “How’s it feel to be on winter break?”

“Amazing,” Isabel admitted, setting her backpack down on one of the kitchen chairs. Incredibly, she still had homework, though, essays that were due the first day back. “I can’t believe I only have half a year of high school left, though.”

“Oh, don’t remind me. It’s all going too fast,” her mother fretted. “Before you know it, I’ll be all alone here.”

“I’ll call every day,” Isabel promised.

Her mom smiled knowingly, shaking her head. “No, you won’t.”

No, Isabel admitted internally. I probably won’t. She sat down next to her mom, picking up a few envelopes off the table, glancing at who they were from. “Are these Christmas cards?” she asked. There was a pretty sizeable stack of them there.

“Yeah, mostly,” her mom replied. “Why don’t you look through them, see if your dad actually got around to sending one this year?”

Isabel grunted and used her fingernail to slice open the first envelope. “Yeah, I doubt it.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

Maria’s heart pitter-pattered in her chest as she and Michael lay on the living room floor that night, right next to the golden Christmas tree. Dylan was sprawled out on the bed, and neither one of them had the heart to move him. So they went downstairs, and Michael turned on the tree and started up the fireplace. He laid out a blanket and took two pillows off the couch. And they just laid there together, talking, passing time. Andy and Krista were out, and Tina was in her room, so it was just the two of them. Just the way she liked it.

“Something you don’t know?” she echoed, flattered that he was taking an interest.

“Yeah.” Reaching up over his head, he started to play with the apples Dylan had hung on the bottom of the tree. “Or do I know everything?”

She smiled, because even though he did know her well, there were a lot of things she hadn’t told him about. “No, there’s a lot you don’t know,” she informed him, not even sure where to start. She’d become a very private person over the years, picking and choosing what to share. There were some things in her past that she was deeply ashamed of and never talked about, but if she couldn’t tell him, then who would she ever be able to tell?

“Okay,” she said, turning onto her side, figuring out which of many secrets she wanted to spill. “I’ve never told anyone this before, but when I was fourteen years old . . .” She hesitated, wishing she didn’t have this kind of story to tell. “I was arrested.”

His mouth dropped open, and he shot her a look of disbelief. “What?”

Nowadays, it was hard to imagine; she got that. But back then, it had almost been inevitable. “My mom and I were living in Santa Fe. It was my first year of high school. I sorta fell in with the wrong crowd right away. I started drinking and partying nonstop.”

“Been there,” he said.

“Yeah, but this was excessive.” There were nights where she had drank so much that she’d literally blacked out. And it’d been scary. “Anyway, around Halloween, my friends and I decided that it’d be really fun to steal my math teacher’s car.” She rolled her eyes at her own unbelievable idiocy. “So we did. And we were wasted, of course. So when we got caught, we all got hauled off to jail for underage drinking and possession of a stolen motor vehicle. The only reason they let me off with a warning was because my teacher didn’t press charges, and I didn’t have any priors.”

“Damn,” Michael swore. “You’re badass.”

“It wasn’t badass. It was stupid.” Hindsight was twenty-twenty. She saw things differently now.

“I bet your mom was pissed.”

“Yeah, that was sort of the start of our relationship decline. But it didn’t get better after that. Like, you would think it would be a wakeup call, but it wasn’t. I just got worse. I started doing drugs. And when Christmas rolled around that year, my mom’s present was to catch me and a friend up in my bedroom, snorting coke.”

Michael’s facial expression changed from one that was almost . . . impressed, in a way, to one that was empathetic. “Wow.”

“Yeah. So that was the final straw for her, and she sent me to live with my dad in Albuquerque. She thought he’d be able to get me back on the right track.”

“But you ended up gettin’ pregnant.”

“Yep. So . . . not so much.” She rolled back over onto her back, trying not to get choked up. It was emotional stuff to think about, though. Her whole life had changed that year, when she’d been just fourteen, fifteen years old. She’d still been a kid. She hadn’t known what she was doing.

“How’d that happen?” he asked.

“Well, see there’s this little thing called a condom. We didn’t have one.”

He chuckled lightly. “No, I mean . . . I know how, but . . . where’d you meet the guy?”

“Just at school.” It had been completely non-romantic, too, meeting him in lunch detention. But at the time, it had been a whirlwind, one she’d been all too happy to get swept up in. “He kind of had everyone fooled, because he was pretty well-off, so everyone assumed he wouldn’t be into the drug scene. But he was, so he was exactly the wrong person for me to get involved with, but . . . I just . . .” She shuddered, even though the fireplace was crackling behind her. The memories . . . they weren’t easy. When she thought about Dylan’s father, she could picture him so perfectly. Those dark eyes, that dark hair . . .

“You loved him?” Michael filled in.

She wiped the image of him from her mind, nodding, blinking back the tears in her eyes. “He was my first . . .” She trailed off, afraid that she might be oversharing. But after years of keeping everything inside, it felt good to open up. “He was the first guy I was ever with. The only guy. I was young, naïve. I thought I was gonna be with him forever. But . . . we’d only been together, like, four months when I found out I was pregnant, so . . . I guess it just wasn’t meant to be.”

“Guess not,” Michael agreed, plucking one of the apple ornaments off the tree. He handed it to her, and she wasn’t sure why, but it made her smile. Like he was giving that to her so she’d feel better.

Was it too crazy of her to think that she was meant to end up here, with him?

“It kinda sounds like . . . having Dylan might’ve . . . I don’t know, saved your life,” he speculated.

“Yeah, it probably did.” She’d thought about that, about how carrying him around for nine months, not being able to drink or get high or do any of the stupid things she’d once done, had been such a blessing in that respect. “I had to change. But . . . you know, his father didn’t, so . . . I don’t even know what he’s up to nowadays.”

“He doesn’t even pay child support or anything?” Michael asked.

She shook her head. “No. I don’t want him to have anything to do with Dylan’s life.” As it currently stood, they were probably better off without him, especially if he still had a drug problem.

“What’s his name?” Michael asked.

She sighed reluctantly, because she had deliberately not spoken his name for so long now. It had taken her years to get over him. But no matter how much time passed, he was still a part of her life, and because they had a son together, he always would be.

She turned her head to the side, staring right at Michael, and quietly uttered her response: “Max.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Isabel was once again backspacing, not quite satisfied with what she was typing, when her mom came into her bedroom. She was dressed in her robe and nightgown, probably on her way to bed.

“Hi, honey,” she said quietly. “I found this mixed in with the bills earlier. Thought you might wanna see it.” She handed her daughter one of the Christmas cards.

Isabel closed her laptop and sat up straighter in bed, taking the card from her mom.

“It’s from your brother.”

As her mom left the room, Isabel pulled the card out of the envelope, taking a quick look at it. Nothing special. Santa on the front, a simple Merry Christmas on the inside. In fact, the only thing that was handwritten was her brother’s name, scrawled out below.

Max.

She set the card aside on her nightstand and opened her computer again so she could keep writing.








TBC . . .

-April
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LOVE IS MICHAEL AND MARIA.
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April
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Part 30

Post by April »

fadedblue:
Whaaaaa...! Logically, this connection makes a ton of sense but I was still stunned lol.
Cool! I love to be able to stun my readers. One of my missions in life. ;)
And I have a feeling this is only the beginning...what kind of crap will hit the fan between now and graduation day?
Oh, it is most certainly only the beginning. LOTS is left to happen!

Eva:
Once you think it's getting more simple, than you write stuff like that! So Max is and Dylan's father and Isabel's brother? Oh, boy! This is going to get complicated!!
You know me! I love complicated!
By the way, loved the Christmas scenes and fun. I'm wondering what Michael will get for Dylan.
It's a pretty amazing gift, one of the best Dylan will ever get.

Carolyn:
What.........?? Max a father.......???
Yep!
Now you have my attention.
Good! :)

Rodney:
Ahhh and now the April drama is about to start!!!
Of course! Drama is a trademark of my stories!

Sara:
Didn't someone leave FB really recently about when Max will come in....well, there he is!
Yep, there he is! Not in the flesh, but still . . .

Michael:
well bring on the drama :wink: I knew things were going to smoothly in this fic.
Yeah, I can never allow things to start going too smoothly in one of my fics! :)


Thank you for the feedback! I really appreciate it!

There are lyrics in this part to the song "Sweet Surrender" by Sarah McLachlan. This is one of my favorite songs EVER! You can listen to it here when you see the lyrics. (The lyrics are from the second verse and chorus that starts at 1:07.) Alternatively, you can listen to this beautiful cover of the song by Mariah YJ here. This girl has a really beautiful voice and deserves more recognition!

Enjoy!









Part 30








Michael let himself into the Valenti house when knocking didn’t work the next morning, bellowing, “Kyle! Get your dick outta your girlfriend’s ass and come help me with Dylan’s present.” He headed down the hallway towards his friend’s room but was stopped short when the door to Jim’s room opened, and none other than Amy DeLuca poked her head out. She was wearing a thin white slip, so she grabbed a robe and covered up immediately when she saw him.

“Is Kyle here?” he asked her, willing to at least keep it cordial.

Kyle swung open the door to his room, looking like he’d just gotten out of the shower. “Give me five minutes,” he said. “Oh, hey, Amy.”

She waved modestly, blushing until he closed the door. Then she came out of the bedroom, but not before Michael caught sight of Jim, sprawled out on his stomach, still asleep. “How cozy,” he remarked, heading back out into the living room.

She shut the door quietly and followed him. “That was quite the awakening,” she remarked.

“Well, I like to make an entrance.”

“I think you like to make an exit,” she said. “Or at least help my daughter make one.”

Oh, here we go, he thought, ready for any barbs she threw at him. Over the past month, he’d developed a very strong opinion about this woman, one that had moved her from the MILF category to the I-can’t-stand-being-in-the-same-room-as-you category of acquaintances.

“She called and told me you guys were fighting,” he recapped. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Here’s a thought: Stay out of it.”

He shook his head at the ridiculousness of that notion. If she really thought that was possible, she had no idea just how invested he was. “She needed me.”

“I’m fairly certain she doesn’t need you for anything.”

“Oh, and you know everything, don’t you, Amy?” he growled sarcastically. “You know everything about me.”

“I do know a lot about you.”

“You know what your boyfriend told you; you don’t really know me,” he corrected.

“Well, you don’t know me, either.”

“Maybe not, but I’m guessing your ultimate agenda involves getting Dylan back into your house and raising him yourself. You really don’t want Maria there, ‘cause you two clash all the time.” Maria had confessed to him that that was what she thought her mom had really hoped to gain by inviting them back into her house. Not a renewed relationship with her, but one with Dylan.

Amy shifted uncomfortably, not denying it. “That’s . . . incredibly rude,” she said, folding her arms across her chest.

“Incredibly right,” he muttered.

Thankfully, Kyle came out of the room a second later, still looking plenty disheveled, but put together another to come help out with the big Christmas undertaking now. “Ready,” he announced, heading out the door.

Michael was quick to follow him, but Amy was quick to speak up again. “Michael.”

Even though he was tempted to just walk on out as if he hadn’t heard her, part of him really wanted to say something to put her in her place again.

She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously and asked, “Are you sleeping with my daughter?”

That . . . he had no snappy response for. If she knew so much about him, didn’t she know he had a girlfriend? Everyone just assumed . . .

“Is that why you’re letting her stay there?” she asked. “Because you’re sleeping together?”

It dawned on him in that moment that she probably wasn’t the only one who thought that. Friends, neighbors, people at school . . . they all knew his reputation and probably all thought the same thing. If they really believed it, then they believed he was a creep. Like James Winston.

“I haven’t laid a hand on her,” he informed her sternly.

“Do you really expect me to believe that?”

“No. But it’s true.” As much as he could label Amy DeLuca a judgmental bitch, her judgment was something he’d brought on himself, because his reputation was something he’d built up—and in some respect, even prided himself on—for years. Because of that reputation, even he could understand why he wasn’t her first choice for knight in shining armor.

“Guerin, let’s go!” Kyle called.

Let’s, he thought eagerly, hustling out to the car. He wanted to get away from that woman and back to her daughter.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Winters in New Mexico were strange. Even though it generally stayed bearable, once in a while, it could get pretty cold. The past few days had been nothing but frigid, so of course that made Maria’s Christmas shopping all the more miserable. Luckily, it didn’t take her very long.

She hauled her one and only sack in the door that afternoon, almost dropping it when she peeked into the kitchen and saw Michael standing at the counter, his back towards her as he made himself a sandwich. Completely shirtless. Bare chest and jeans. He looked like a guy from one of those sexy cowboy calendars.

Grinning dazedly, she set her sack down. It may have been cold out there, but in this house . . . it was getting hotter and hotter all the time.

“Hey,” she greeted, standing in the doorway.

He glanced back over his shoulder and returned the same. “Hey. Did you go Christmas shopping?”

“Yeah.” She literally had to lick her lips as she watched him. The slightest movement accentuated the muscles in his back. And the fact that he seemed completely unfazed to be standing like that in front of her somehow made it all the more arousing.

“Find what you need?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She forced herself to function and not just stand there, staring at him like a lovesick idiot. “I couldn’t afford much. I mostly got stuff for Dylan. But I got something for all of you guys, too.”

“You didn’t need to do that.”

She shrugged. “I wanted to.” God, she thought, there’s so much I wanna do right now . . .

What the hell was wrong with her? This wasn’t just longing, which she’d grown rather accustomed to. This was . . . lusting. Pure and simple.

He put the second slice of bread on the top of his sandwich and turned around, taking a bite, just leaning against the counter and smiling at her. He didn’t even have to be doing anything to make her mind go to guttural places.

“You’re shirtless,” she remarked stupidly, immediately hating that she’d even brought it up.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, looking down at his bare chest, pretending as if he hadn’t realized it. “Huh.”

She rolled her eyes, amused. “Why?”

“Maybe just to drive you crazy.” He took another bite of his food, smirked, and asked, “Is it working?”

Oh, god yes, she thought. But she couldn’t say that. “No.”

He nodded knowingly and came towards her, brushing past her on purpose.

“Is Kyle over here?” she asked, trying to sound unaffected. His truck was in the driveway.

“Yep.”

“Helping with Dylan’s present perhaps?”

He shrugged and back-stepped towards the laundry room. “Perhaps.” With that same smirk on his face, he rounded the corner and slipped into a room she’d only peeked into once, one Krista said was just a storage room. He and his dad had been doing something in there for the past few days. It got kind of loud once in a while, and even though she suspected she knew what they were working on, she was more than willing to allow it to play out, let him surprise her. Because something told her that Michael was an excellent tease.

Good lord, she thought, astounded by her own physical feelings in that moment. Was she really such a lunatic that the sight of a shirtless guy could get her all worked up like this?

She brought her sack of presents upstairs and stashed them in the back of the closet, figuring she’d have enough time to stick everything in a gift sack before he ever came back upstairs. And Dylan was at the park with Tina and Krista, so there was no chance of him finding them. Yeah, she’d wrap them soon. But first, she had to take a shower.

She told herself that it was only because she hadn’t taken one that morning, because she’d been so eager to get up and get shopping that she’d just skipped it. But that wasn’t the real reason, and she knew it the moment she stepped into the tub and pulled the shower curtain shut.

She adjusted the shower knob and turned the water on, standing under it even while it was still warming up. She got her hair wet quickly, starting to smooth water over her shoulders and chest just as the water started to get too hot. It wasn’t that hot—not really. But it felt hot. Because every inch of her skin was . . . tingling. Imagining.

Don’t, she told herself, allowing her right hand to drop lower, resting atop her stomach. She wasn’t some sex-crazed nympho ruled by her hormones. She had way more self-control than that. But still . . .

Her hand roamed lower, gradually come to a stop between her own two legs.

She held her wet hair back with her left hand and closed her eyes, unable to get his image out of her head. This wasn’t the first time she’d gotten herself off, but it was the first time in a long time. And it was the first time in a long time it’d had nothing to do with Max.

The whole time she touched herself, she imagined what it would feel like if Michael Guerin was the one touching her instead.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

What the fuck’s wrong with these lights? Michael wondered frustratedly as he once again plugged in the Christmas lights outside. The damn things were pretty awesome. Gold icicle lights. They’d never had icicle lights before. Or they’d never hung them, at least. But after digging around in the back of their garage, he’d found them, and all evening, he’d been determined to get them up. He didn’t have a good way to get them up on the roof, so he just put them around the two front windows and the door. It looked . . . kind of crappy, but in the back of his mind, he was able to convince himself that it would look good once they were lit up.

His mom came outside in her flannel pajamas and slippers, shivering and wrapping her arms around herself. “Aren’t you cold out here, honey?” she asked.

“Nah, I’m alright.” He unplugged the lights again and went up to a suspiciously dark bulb by the window, thinking that maybe that was the problem one. One went and the whole chain of them went.

His mom stayed up on the porch, watching him intently. “Christmas lights, huh?”

“Yeah.” He compared the suspect bulb to the one beside it, but he didn’t notice a huge difference. “I feel like the dad in that movie. The National Lampoon one, you know? When he’s tryin’ to get the lights to work.”

At first his mom smiled, but then that faded and she asked, “You feel like a dad?”

He frowned, fairly certain he hadn’t said it like that. “You know that movie,” he reminded her, heading over to the plug again.

“I know,” she said. “I just . . .” She shuddered again, probably not because of cold this time. “I’m really proud of you lately. You’ve made some changes.”

Again, he tried to plug the lights in, but got nothing. “But?”

“But . . .” She sighed, pulling her sleeves down over her hands. “I don’t want you to feel like a dad.”

“Mom.” He gave her a look of assurance, because she was really overreacting. “It’s just ‘cause of the lights.”

She smiled uncertainly, nodding, and left him with, “Well, I hope you get them to work,” as she headed back inside.

“Thanks.” He waited until the door was shut, then just stood there, thinking about what she’d said. She didn’t want him to feel like a dad? Did that mean she didn’t ever want him to be one? Or she didn’t think he’d be a good one?

Screw it, he decided. It didn’t mean anything. All he wanted to think about what his damn Christmas lights.

He tried plugging them in again, and this time, miraculously, they lit up.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Micho.”

Even though his first instinct was to block out the noise and keep sleeping, the fact that he could faintly register that it was Dylan’s voice caused him to stir.

“Micho.”

He felt the little boy on top of him, gently hitting his chest to rouse him.

“Micho, wake up.”

Even though it felt like he’d just gone asleep, he forced his eyes open, coming face to face with one excited kid.

“Christmas!” Dylan exclaimed.

Michael smiled sleepily, feeling some of that same excitement for the first time in years. Christmas.

He woke Maria up, and the three of them went downstairs. Tina was already down there, snooping through gifts, shaking a few.

“Wow!” Dylan gasped, his eyes growing as big as golf balls as he took in the sight in front of him. It took him but a second to launch himself into the pile of presents beneath the tree, searching for one for himself.

“Awesome,” Michael agreed, following right along behind him. They hadn’t had this many presents under the tree for a long time. They hadn’t even had a tree for a long time, or lights, or anything. This was a welcomed change.

“Kinda hard to tell which one of you is the kid,” Maria remarked, still standing on the stairs.

“I know,” he admitted, unabashedly shaking a gift that had his name on it. Really, there weren’t that many gifts, probably not as many as a lot of families had. But to Dylan and, to a lesser extent, even to Tina, it probably looked like a whole lot.

“Look!” Dylan yelped, ecstatically holding up a small sack that had a picture of Rudolph the reindeer on it. The nose glowed red and everything.

“Cool, man,” Michael said, glancing at the gift tag. “Hey, that’s from Santa.”

“Really?” Dylan sounded astonished.

“Yeah.”

“Did Santa . . .” Dylan tried to peel back the tape on the sack as he struggled to for his words. “You . . . did Santa . . . you get anything?”

“Did Santa get me anything?” Michael translated. “No, no, he didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’ve just been naughty this year.” He glanced up at Maria, and she rolled her eyes. Then she stepped down off the stairs and came to join them in the living room.

“This is really nice,” she said. “Dylan’s never had a Christmas like this before.”

“Yeah, well . . . neither have I.” It just felt . . . different this year. It all felt different.

His parents came downstairs a few minutes later, when Dylan and Tina were already admiring their first gifts. “Merry Christmas, everyone,” his mom cooed, stopping to give her daughter a kiss on the head.

“I hate this fuckin’ holiday,” his dad groaned. Michael chose to ignore him. And so did everyone else.

The sounds of torn and crumpled paper filled the air that morning. As painstaking as it was, his mom insisted that they take turns opening gifts, because that was the way she’d done it when she was a kid. They let Tina be the one to hand them all out, with the promise that she wouldn’t have to be the one to pick up afterwards. She wasn’t the best gift distributor, though, since she was distracted by her own presents, particularly all the girly magazines Michael had gotten for her.

His mom seemed pretty pleased with what he’d gotten her, too. The first thing was a new dress Maria had helped him pick out. Purple. Supposedly a very on-trend shade of purple. Long-sleeved so she could hide the arm flab she was always so concerned about. Tight enough that she wouldn’t swim in it, but loose enough that it would be flattering. And the second thing was his football photo in a nice frame. She’d been asking him for one for a while. And now she had it. As for his dad . . . oops, he’d conveniently forgotten to get him anything.

He got Dylan a few toys, as did Maria, obviously. The kid was so easy to shop for. He even had fun playing with the boxes and bags things came in. As the morning wore on, though, it was clear that his favorite gift was his new football, which was way nicer than the football he already had. This one had the Comets logo on it. The school’s booster club had been selling them.

Considering she didn’t have much money to spend, Maria had gotten some pretty decent gifts. His mom seemed elated when she unwrapped a fifteen dollar gift card from Maria to one of her favorite restaurants, Café Sol, where Michael was guessing the two had gone on their lunch break a few times. And even though Michael’s dad seemed far less enthused about it, he managed a subtle “Thanks,” which was better than nothing. Tina pretty much loved the fact that Maria got her makeup, and she wasted no time putting way too much of it on her face. She looked like a raccoon with all that dark shadow around her eyes.

“I didn’t know what to get you,” Maria admitted, handing one of the few remaining bags over to him.

He lifted it up, trying to guess what it is. Nothing was shaking around inside, but there was definitely some weight to it.

“Just open it,” she said.

Eagerly, he tore open the top of the sack and reached down inside. The moment he grasped the neck of a bottle, he assumed alcohol, so he carefully pulled it out to take a better look at it, concealing it from both Dylan’s and Tina’s view. It wasn’t beer, though.

Root beer.

There were dozens of bottles in there, packed in tightly with tissue paper.

He smiled, remembering all that time spent at the Crashdown, getting to know her, not tipping her nearly as well as he should have while she got him his food. And his drink.

She blushed, looking away from him, and he wasn’t sure if it was because she was embarrassed about her present, or because she could tell that he actually really liked it. Because he actually really did.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

By 10:00 that morning, all the presents were opened, and everyone had gone their separate ways to do their own thing. Krista and Andy headed out to Michael’s uncle’s house, but thankfully, Michael stayed put, because, in his own words, his uncle was the only person who got hammered more frequently than his dad did. Tina was still around, but off in her own world upstairs, trying on new clothes, applying new makeup, and reading new magazines just like any preteen girl would have.

Maria sat on the couch with Michael, each of them drinking one of his root beers while Dylan slept on the floor. He was lying atop a small mountain of bags and wrapping paper, his mouth open, drool coming out. In his hand, he held his new football, as if it were a stuffed animal, almost.

“He’s out of it,” Michael remarked.

“Yeah, he is,” she agreed.

He took a big swig, then set his empty glass on the coffee table. “How’re we gonna get him to clean up this mess if he’s asleep in the middle of it?”

“Wake him up,” she suggested.

He stared at Dylan for a minute, as if he were contemplating it, then conceded, “I don’t think I can.”

“I know.” He was so cute when he slept. It was hard to disturb him.

Michael thought about it for a few more seconds, then said, “Wait, I know how to wake him up.” He got to his feet, navigated his way through the mess on the floor, and knelt down beside Dylan, gently shaking his shoulders. “Dylan. How would you feel about one more Christmas present?”

Maria’s breath caught in her chest. All morning, she’d been waiting to see what this big gift was. Michael had been teasing it for so long now. She more or less knew, because it was really hard to keep it a secret. But Dylan was going to be totally surprised, and she couldn’t wait to see it play out.

“Dylan, wake up,” Michael urged. “Open your eyes.”

Sleepily, Dylan rolled over onto his back, stretching his arms and legs in the air.

“Wake up, buddy,” Michael kept urging, scooping him into his arms. “I got one more present for you.”

Dylan liked presents, so his eyes gradually opened wider. Even though he was still tired, he was a little more alert now.

“You want your last present?” Michael asked, jiggling him up and down a little.

Nodding groggily, Dylan rested his head on Michael’s shoulder and popped his thumb into his own mouth.

“Alright. Let’s go.” Michael stood up, motioning for Maria to follow him as he carried Dylan around the back of the stairs towards the old storage room. As she put one foot in front of the other, the thought crossed her mind that this was too much, that maybe he shouldn’t have done this, if it was in fact what she thought it was. But . . . how could she possibly resist any of this?

Michael carefully set Dylan down on his own two feet in front of a closed door and said, “Alright, open it up.”

Dylan looked up at him, puzzled. Clearly he’d been expecting another box or bag. Not this.

“Open the door,” Michael instructed.

Dylan hesitantly reached for the doorknob, turned it the wrong way, then twisted it the other way. When he pushed the door open and walked inside, he didn’t seem to understand the significance of what he was walking into, but Maria understood it right away, right from the moment when the twin bed with the blue dinosaur bedspread came into view.

There were two bookshelves stacked with more toys, most of them Michael’s old ones. Cars. Action figures. Games. And a few books, which had probably belonged to Tina. There was also a worn, but functional, dresser and a floor-length mirror. Right next to that was a blue bean bag chair that Dylan would love. The walls, once a dingy dark grey, had been repainted a fresh white. And painted onto the one nearest the bed was her son’s name: Dylan DeLuca.

It looked like a completely different space. Sure, it was small, but it was a bedroom. It was his bedroom.

Maria felt breathless. And speechless. And . . . a lot of other things.

At first, Dylan looked bewildered, but when he sensed that it was his room, he exclaimed, “Cool!” and then immediately hopped up onto the bed so he could bounce around.

“Glad you like it,” Michael mumbled, smiling as he watched him.

Oh my god, Maria thought, tears welling up in her eyes when she so much as glanced at Michael. This wasn’t just a gift for Dylan; it was a gift for her. It was . . . it was probably the most amazing gift anyone had ever given her. Knowing that she and her son were so welcomed there, knowing that he wanted them around . . .

“Mommy, look!” Dylan yelped, giggling gleefully as he hopped down off the bed and ran over to the bookshelf to take a look at everything that awaited him over there.

Oh god, she was going to lose it. Smiling tearfully, she excused herself and ran back out into the living room, stopping near the bottom of the stairs. She was almost inclined to dart outside, maybe get a little fresh air, but that idea faded quickly when Michael came out after her.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked.

She nodded silently, making sure not to look at him. She didn’t want him to see her getting all emotional. But . . . it was an emotional present, so really, who could blame her?

“Do you not like it?” he asked.

“No,” she assured him quickly, never once her intention to give him that idea. “I love it. It’s just . . .” She couldn’t keep one tear from spilling over. “Michael, I got you root beer.”

“So? I love the root beer. It’s symbolic.”

“It’s a beverage. This is a bedroom.”

“Kid deserves to have his own room,” Michael reasoned. “It’s no big deal.”

It was a big deal, though. He had to know that. Why else would he have tried to keep it a surprise? Why else would he have waited until it was just the three of them to reveal it?

“I can’t believe you did this,” she nearly whispered, her mind suddenly racing with the possibilities. That was just a room for Dylan, not a room for her. So did this mean . . . was he still going to share a bed with her at night?

“I pull off good Christmas presents every once in a while,” he said. “Don’t get used to it, though. It doesn’t happen very often.”

She laughed a little, overwhelmed with gratitude. “Michael . . .” She still felt pretty speechless, so much so, in fact, that all she could say was his name. With tears still threatening in her eyes, she just looked at him, really looked at him, feeling like she was in a trance. Because he wasn’t looking away from her, either. And right then and there, in that moment, it dawned on her . . . something that had been true for quite a while now . . .

She was in love with him.

So badly, she wanted to tell him. Or show him. Definitely show him. But there was no real chance of her doing that, especially not when there was a knock on the door. Unlike her, he was able to break himself out of the trance, and he went to answer it. Maria’s stomach clenched when she saw Isabel standing on the other side. Almost as if she’d been sent there, as a reminder: Don’t get too happy, Maria. This guy isn’t your boyfriend, and he’s not Dylan’s father. Don’t get ahead of yourself.

“Hey,” Isabel greeted, looping her arms around her boyfriend’s neck, kissing him sensually.

Maria had to look away.

“Merry Christmas,” she murmured.

“Merry Christmas,” he returned. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“Well, I know we already exchanged gifts, but I brought some for everyone else,” she said, gesturing towards the large box outside, full of gifts. She glanced over Michael’s shoulders and smiled politely. “Hi, Maria.”

“Hi,” Maria echoed quietly. Maybe it would be a good idea to slip back into Dylan’s new room and just hide out with him for a while. With the door closed. Because Isabel probably didn’t know there was a new room there.

“Where is everyone?” Isabel asked, bringing her box into the house, nudging the front door shut.

“Oh, Tina’s upstairs,” Michael replied. “Tina!”

“And Dylan’s, uh . . .” Maria trailed off, searching for something to say to fill in the blank. Jumping on his new bed? Playing with his new toys? Enjoying his new bedroom?

“Dylan, come out here,” Michael called. “My parents left for a while. They’ll be back later.”

“Oh, then I’ll just leave this here,” she said, handing Michael a small sparkly blue sack. “It’s a gift certificate to this really expensive French restaurant. My mom and I have gone there a few times. I thought it might be nice for your parents to have a romantic date night together there sometime.”

“Huh,” Michael muttered, rolling the sack like a bowling ball into the living room, where it landed right beneath the tree. Maria could tell exactly what he was thinking: His parents would never use that gift certificate. Especially not for a romantic date. They’d probably never eaten French food in their entire lives and had no interest in doing so. Truthfully, they’d probably gone years without having any sort of date that even resembled romance.

Tina came skipping downstairs, a pile of makeup caked on her face. “Hey, Isabel!” she greeted cheerily.

“Hey, you,” Isabel returned. “Wow, you’re . . . all done up.”

“Do you like it?” Tina asked, striking a model pose.

“It’s . . . very dramatic,” Isabel answered deliberately. “Here, I’ve got a gift for you.” She handed Tina a medium-sized rectangle package wrapped in metallic red paper.

Tearing through it quickly, Tina’s face lit up when she revealed yet another supply of makeup inside. “Ooh, thank you!” she exclaimed, hugging Isabel excitedly.

Maria glanced down at what was in Tina’s hand. Oh. Great. It was from some fancy cosmetic company whose name she couldn’t even pronounce. There were about a dozen different shades of blue eye shadow, along with a dozen different shades of pink, purple, green, and brown. It was probably really expensive. It was probably going to make Tina completely forget about the makeup she’d already received.

“And for you two . . .” Isabel handed them the last two items in her box. One was a large, lightweight bag for Dylan, and Maria’s was an envelope.

“Isabel, you didn’t have to get me anything,” Maria mumbled, only because . . . well, wasn’t she expected to say that kind of thing in that situation? She watched first as Dylan pulled a stuffed animal out of his bag, one of those bears from the Build-a-Bear workshop, and hugged it.

“What do you say?” Maria coached him.

“Tank you,” he said, forgetting the ‘h.’

“You’re welcome,” Isabel said.

Maria sliced open her envelope with her fingernail, already working on a reasonable reaction. Maybe just a standard Oh, that’s so nice. Or a slightly more enthused, Wow, Isabel. She ended up going with neither, because she wasn’t sure what she had in her hand. “What is this?” she asked.

“It’s for this nail salon Tess and I go to right off of 13th street,” Isabel explained. “You can go there and get a free manicure/pedicure whenever you want. It’s really relaxing.”

Maria just nodded, trying to fake some enthusiasm. But she was so not a manicure/pedicure girl. She bit her nails whenever she was nervous, and the thought of some stranger touching her feet grossed her out. “Well, thank you very much,” she managed. “That’s . . . really nice of you.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Isabel said. “So what were you guys doing?”

“I got a new room!” Dylan exclaimed.

“Zoom!” Michael blurted, nearly at the same time. “Yes, Dylan, let’s zoom on into the kitchen and grab something to eat.”

“Um, well, actually, I was thinking you might wanna come over to my house today,” Isabel suggested. “My mom fixed a big meal. My aunt and uncle are there, and so is my cousin. You know, the one who goes to Yale. And so is the one who goes to Harvard. I haven’t seen him in, like, forever.”

Maria noticed Michael start to shift uncomfortably, probably wracking his brain for some way out of it. “So you probably wanna be able to catch up with him, right? I don’t wanna get in the way.”

“No, you won’t be in the way,” she assured him. “I’d love to have you there.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Oh, poor Michael, Maria thought. A cousin from Yale and a cousin from Harvard? And a girlfriend who was now bound for Princeton? Seriously? That sounded like the last place on earth he wanted to be, because he’d be surrounded by people whom he had a whole lot of nothing in common with. But Maria knew Michael well, so she knew that was where he’d end up going.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was awful from the moment it started. Lots of small-talk. Lots of sitting around in the living room, waiting for the food to be finished instead of actually eating it. It wasn’t until 6:00 that they actually moved into the dining room and got seated. It was ten minutes after that that the damn prayer was finally done. All Michael wanted to do was load his plate up with ham and potatoes and chow down. But they did everything in order. First they passed the salad and the vegetables around.

“What’s this?” he asked Isabel when her cousin handed him a casserole dish filled with some disgusting creamy green mixture in it.

“It’s a broccoli/spinach casserole,” she informed him quietly.

He made a face. Why would anyone make that at all, ever, let alone for Christmas dinner?

“It’s really good. You should try it,” she suggested.

He passed it on to her, declining. “It looks gross.”

“Shh,” she hushed him.

Oops. Hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Hopefully Diane hadn’t heard him.

Isabel’s cousin Naomi was the one from Harvard. She sat to his left, reeking of arrogance and entitlement. She had short, string brown hair, wore menswear and glasses, and was, quite possibly, the most unattractive woman to ever walk the planet. It was actually hard to believe she and Isabel even came from the same gene pool. Clearing her throat, she started up a new conversation: “So Michael, Isabel tells me you play football. How’s that going?”

How was it going? How’d she think it was going? It was the end of December. “We lost in the second round of playoffs,” he informed her.

“Oh.” She bit into a celery stick and mumbled, “That’s unfortunate.”

Unfortunate? Couldn’t she just say ‘That sucks’ like any normal person? Well, at least she was better than Harry, the Yale cousin who was practically mute and had spent most of his time there that day writing up a research paper that wasn’t due until his next semester of classes. He’d actually brought his laptop to the dinner table with him and was continuing to type even now.

“Michael, where are you going to college?” Isabel’s aunt—Karen? Kitty? Kim? Something—asked. She and her husband had apparently both attended Brown university, so it was a wonder they hadn’t asked the question sooner.

“I don’t really know yet,” he admitted, glad he was sitting on the opposite end of the table. Wasn’t far enough away, though. Ever since he’d gotten there, he’d felt the pressure of being judged, and he couldn’t wait to leave.

“He’s keeping his options open,” Isabel added.

If I have any options, he thought dryly.

“Well, where did you apply?” Aunt Something asked.

“Uh . . .” He scooped a large helping of mashed potatoes onto his plate, stalling. Chances were, the schools he listed off weren’t going to impress this bunch. “Alabama. New Mexico State. Baylor.”

“I didn’t know you applied there,” Isabel said.

“Yeah, they got a good football program.” If he was going to play college ball, he wanted to play for a good offense.

“Anywhere up north?” the aunt asked. “Princeton?”

His stomach knotted up. Total judgment. They wanted to know if he would be following their dear sweet niece as she pursued her lofty educational dreams. “I don’t think Princeton really wants me.”

“Anywhere near there?”

Oh shit, he hated this. He hated it so much. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t the center of conversation. “Can you pass back the spinach casserole?” he asked quiet cousin Harry, hoping to change the subject.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Home had never looked so wonderful. Actually, with all the Christmas lights, it didn’t look half bad.

Michael pulled his mom’s car into the garage and walked back out to the front of the house, where Maria was standing outside, looking at the lights. “How was it?” she asked right away.

“Awful,” he answered bluntly. No need to sugarcoat it with her.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Imagine your worst nightmare, and multiply it by a thousand. That’s what it was like to me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It was college-this, college-that. Career-this, career-that. And politics.” He made a face.

“Ugh, I hate politics,” she agreed.

“I know. I didn’t understand half the crap they were talkin’ about, so I just sat there and nodded. Almost dozed off.”

She laughed a little.

“Seriously.” He sighed, happy that was over with. “Anyway . . . I think it’s safe to say I didn’t impress anyone today.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m pretty impressed with these lights.”

“Yeah, they do look pretty badass, don’t they?” Maybe next year he’d go out all, try to have the best lights on the block. But maybe he wouldn’t still be living there. Hard to say. “Are my parents home yet?” he asked.

“No,” she replied. “Your mom called. She said your, uh . . . your dad wanted to stop at the bar.”

He nodded. Of course. Hell, the best Christmas present for him probably would have been a prepaid tab at some local dive. Well, they’d be out for a while. “And Dylan and Tina?”

“Sound asleep. Both of them.”

“Really? Tina is?”

“Yeah. She was tired. And Dylan had no problem falling asleep in his new room. He loves it.”

“Good.” That room hadn’t been easy. He and his dad had built the frame of that bed themselves. He and Kyle had first misassembled and then correctly assembled the bookshelves. And the painting had been quite a process.

So if his parents were out, and Dylan and Tina were both asleep . . . then it was just the two of them.

Perfect.

“Come inside,” he said. “I got you something.”

She followed him, an inquisitive look on her face. They both kicked off their shoes by the door, and he took off his coat and flung it onto the coat rack. “You got me something else?” she asked.

“What do you mean? I didn’t give you anything yet.”

“The bedroom,” she pointed out.

“That’s Dylan’s gift, not yours.”

“It’s a gift to me, too,” she insisted.

“Fine, but I got you something else.” He grinned, motioning towards the couch. “Go sit down. Close your eyes.”

“Michael, what is it?”

“Sit down and close your eyes and you’ll find out,” he teased.

Reluctantly, she treaded into the living room and plopped down on the couch, sinking down on the middle cushion. But her eyes remained open.

“Maria.” He gave her a playful warning look.

“Okay, fine.” She crossed her arms over her chest and shut her eyes.

“I’ll be back,” he told her, heading upstairs. He peeked in at Tina quickly, just to make sure she hadn’t snuck out, and indeed, just as Maria had said, she was fast asleep. Then he slipped into his bedroom, flipped on the light, and got down on the floor to search under his bed. He’d pushed it all the way over against the wall, this gift for her, worried for the whole two weeks that he’d had it here that she would discover it and ruin the surprise. But there was no other good place to keep it. Luckily, this had worked.

Reaching under, he grasped the neck of the guitar, hauling it out into the open. Then he opened his desk drawer and searched around for the pick. It was organized chaos in that drawer, but somehow, he found it pretty easily. He quietly strummed the guitar once, imagining what the look on her face would be when she strummed it. And then he took it downstairs.

Maria was still sitting on the couch, right where he’d left her, looking impatiently excited now. But her eyes were still shut. He carried the instrument carefully, not wanting it to make any noise on the way down. Stopping in front of her, his own anticipation mounted. “Hold out your hands,” he told her.

She rested both arms on her legs, hands out and palms facing upward. From the moment he laid the guitar down in her lap, she knew what it was, because her expression changed from one of playfulness to one of pure shock. But she kept her eyes closed. “Michael . . .”

“Okay,” he said. “Open your eyes.”

Her bottom lip trembled before she did so. When she finally did see the guitar for the first time, she literally gasped. Just a small gasp, but noticeable.

He smiled. Maria and a guitar. It just looked right.

“Michael . . .” she said again, barely loud enough for him to hear.

“Do you like it?” he asked, not waiting for an answer. “This kid at school was gettin’ rid of it, so I bought it from him. It looked like it was in pretty good condition.”

“Michael.” She didn’t seem to be able to say anything else. And her eyes never left that guitar.

He sat down beside her, running his hands over the strings. “I don’t know how to play,” he said. “Is it hard?”

She swallowed hard, looking more than a little emotional. “Um . . . yeah, I guess, when you’re first starting out.”

“How’d you learn?” he asked her.

“Taught myself.”

“Really?” Man, the girl was . . . talented.

“Yeah.”

She may not have had an acceptance letter from Princeton in her back pocket, but he knew she was smart. And creative. And understanding. “You should play somethin’ for me.”

“What?”

“Yeah. Sing something.” He’d known her for months now, but he didn’t truly know what that voice hers sounded like.

“I don’t know,” she said unsurely. “I haven’t . . . I haven’t sung anything for a really long time.”

“So?” What did that matter? She loved to sing. He knew because he heard her humming all the time. When she was in the shower, when she was making breakfast, when she was putting Dylan to sleep. But she never let herself just sing.

“Michael, this is too nice,” she said. “I can’t take this.”

“It’s a used guitar, Maria. It wasn’t that expensive.”

“No, I mean . . . I shouldn’t take it.”

“Why not?” Why did she do this? She never talked about her own dreams. Or whenever she did, she seemed to think they were just a distant memory, nothing more. But maybe they weren’t.

“Michael . . .”

“Maria.” He put one hand on top of the guitar and just looked at her, waiting for her to look back at him. And when she did, he saw such gratitude in her eyes. No, not gratitude. Something else. Something more. She was . . . touched. He’d touched someone. In a different way than he was accustomed to.

“What do you wanna hear?” she asked.

Leaning back against the arm of the couch, he settled in. “Anything.” He’d put in some special requests some other day. Maybe a little Metallica. Nirvana. The classics. For now, he just wanted to hear her voice, get her out of her shell.

She sighed shakily, rearranging the guitar so that it sat correctly on her lap, the neck extended to the left. He handed her the pick, and she secured it in between her fingers. Shaking fingers. Trembling.

Don’t be nervous, Maria, he thought. It’s just me.

She let out another deep breath meant to relax herself, positioned her fingers on the chords, and strummed it once, just to test it out.

His mind raced, wondering what she was going to sing. When she started in, singing and playing at the same time, it was a song he didn’t recognize, but he liked the lyrics right away.

“You take me in
No questions asked
You strip away the ugliness that surrounds me.”


He watched her, all of her. Her mouth as it formed the words. Her hands as they expertly moved over the strings. Her eyes as they fluttered shut. Her head as it moved in time with the music. He watched with complete and utter interest. And intrigue.

“Are you an angel?
Am I already that gone?
I only hope that I won’t disappoint you.”


Her voice was low, seductive. Full of emotions he didn’t even have words for. When she sang, he could tell just how much life she’d lived in eighteen years. It was more than most people lived in a hundred. But most people didn’t know. They didn’t know her.

In that moment, he felt lucky that he did.

“When I’m down here on my knees . . .”

But just listening to her sing made him feel like he was getting to know a whole different part of her, one she kept hidden from everyone else. This moment, for her . . . it was huge.

It seemed huge to him, too.

“Sweet surrender
Is all that I have to give.”


For someone who hadn’t sang like this in years, he certainly couldn’t tell. If there were flaws, he didn’t hear them, because to him, it sounded one-hundred percent undeniably, completely perfect.

“Sweet surrender
Is all that I have to give.”


She sang the final note, strummed the final chord, leaving him wishing that it wasn’t over, leaving him hoping that he could convince her to sing more. But even though it was done, and she was finished, he just sat there, unable to say anything. He was feeling something, but words weren’t an option. It was just like something inside had . . . sparked. Something that had been on low-burn for a long time.

Oh my god.

His heart was racing, and he couldn’t look away.









TBC . . .

-April
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LOVE IS MICHAEL AND MARIA.
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