There was dust on our cupcakes, and it was all Gavin's fault. Well, mainly Gavin's fault. It was partially due to the decrepit, neglected, and most certainly rotting treehouse we should take care to visit more often. Our moms had built it with us the summer we were nine and obsessed with Bridge to Terabithia. Don't worry, it was located safely away from bodies of water. In fact, it was located safely away from most everything.

"I told you not to bring them up here," I sighed, staring glumly down at the pale pink box. They were Mom's famous lavender lemon cupcakes with thick vanilla bean icing. My favorite. Gavin was partial to the dulce de leche, but he was also objectively wrong. They were beautiful and moist and dusted with silver luster, and now, silt, rendering them unfortunately inedible.

Gavin raised one to his eye level, dark curls brushing the cobwebbed ceiling. Suddenly, I was grateful he'd surpassed me in the height department as I frantically ran my fingers through my braid in search of arachnids.

"Looks fine to me," he declared, blowing lightly on the top of the cupcake.

I rolled my eyes, "Oh sure, like that's going to—" Gavin took a giant bite, teeth sinking into frosting and sponge and dirt. "Oh my god, there is no way you just did that."

"Tastes fine too," he shrugged, and promptly took another bite of gargantuan proportions. He finished the cupcake on his third.

I wrinkled my nose, "Ew."

Gavin shot me a frosting smeared grin, "Well they're certainly not as good as the dulce de leche ones, but I wouldn't go that far." He had silver on his nose. Nope. Dirt. He had dirt on his nose.

"You ate dirt," I informed him. He was already shoving another one in his mouth. "And probably bugs."

"Want some?" Gavin smirked, lunging towards my face with the contaminated confection.

I shrieked, dodging him and diving into the pile of pillows in the old reading corner. He dove after me, dust raining down around us. The treehouse groaned beneath our combined movement and weight. I couldn't place when it had happened, but somewhere in the past three years we'd begun to outgrow our little hideout. Not only that, but we'd frequented it less and less.

There was a point in time where we biked to this field every day after school, spent hours holed up inside these four walls. We put Christmas lights up, and hung our artwork on the walls with old gum, a glue stick, and a prayer. There was a bird feeder we always kept well stocked with peanut butter, and a shelf we kept even more well stocked with the junk food our mothers would never let us eat.

We pooled our allowances every weekend and headed to the corner store to buy our weight in snacks. Chocolate covered raisins and salt and vinegar chips for Gavin, trail mix and Oreos for me, and a family size bag of Doritos for the both of us. I hated raisins, and would always make Gavin eat them out of the trail mix.

The rest of the shelves were lined with leaves and sticks and jars of rocks we found outside, plus the entire Harry Potter series, and anything by Shel Silverstein. Our stuffed animals kept watch on the windowsill, looming over our old, moth bitten sleeping bags and the unfinished game of Monopoly. Gavin was always the shoe. I, the top hat.

The rug, which had once been purple (I'd won rock, paper, scissors), was now distinctly brown; a result of muddy shoes and avid puddle jumpers with a penchant for worm hunting.

The Christmas lights hadn't worked since we were in sixth grade, and drooped sadly on the buckling wood.

We didn't quite fit here anymore. Our bodies too large and too lanky for the space. As Gavin tried valiantly to smush cupcake on my face, my gaze caught on a peeling sketch of a blue jay, shaded in crayon. The wax had melted slightly, perhaps from heat or water damage, and had dripped downward onto the two Sharpied stick figures below it. One was drawn with coiling, crazy, zigzagging red hair, the other with a green baseball cap and comically large eyes. The top read, in Gavin's messy scrawl, "G + J". The smell of lavender filled my nose.

"I'll kill you," I swore, wriggling out from his grasp. There was frosting on my face. And in my hair, red plaits sticky and sweet.

He pumped his fist in the air, "Victory!" And promptly bashed his head on one of the moist beams.

"Karma," I huffed a laugh, wiping my sweater sleeve across my cheek. I began to loose my braid in an attempt to clean my soiled hair. I had places to be. I couldn't show up looking like I'd survived a bakery explosion.

A cricket skittered over my hand, and I yelped, tripping over a mildewing box of blankets in my haste to get away from the bouncing brown insect. I ended up on top of Gavin, both of us clattering to the floor with a resounding thud, my nose smashed up against his chest. Our limbs tangled together, my hair springing free and billowing out like a fiery cloud around us.

I sat up, pushing my hands flat against his chest, groaning. I could already feel the bruise blooming across my knee. There was a cobweb on Gavin's head.

"Hold still," I murmured, leaning over him.

He drew back, "What is it?"

"You have a cobweb, idiot," I said, gripping his chin in my hand as he squirmed. Our faces were so close I could've counted his eyelashes. He smelled like mint, cheeks flushed from exertion. "Hold still," I reached my fingers into his hair and brushed through gently, carefully extricating the stringy mass that had nested itself in his scalp. "See?" I dusted his hair one last time for good measure, and his shoulders, flicking the cobweb off into the opposite corner of the room.

"Oh." Gavin's face was red.

"What?"

"What?"

"You're looking at me weird."

"You have a spider on your neck."

"What?" Horrified, I grasped at my throat.

"Kidding."

"I hate you," I growled, hoisting myself to standing.

"It's too easy, Woods," he smirked lazily, reclining back against the ancient beanbag. I was pretty sure something was living in there.

I shuddered, "Well I'm getting out of here while I still can." I tossed my hair over my shoulder, wondering whether I should attempt to braid it again or if it was simply a lost cause.

Gavin's brow furrowed slightly. He checked his watch, "Where are you going?"

"Grant and I are going to the movies," I said, re-lacing my shoes. I made a mental note to ask Mom if we could go shopping for new ones tomorrow. The tops were scuffed and the navy canvas was fraying around the edges of the sole.

"Without me?"

Up. My hair would have to go up, I decided, after peering into the filmy mirror propped on one of the shelves.

"Well seeing as you aren't invited," I hummed, twisting my curls into something resembling a bun, "yes." The scrunchie looped once, twice, and faltered at the third. "Not that that's ever stopped you before..." I mumbled.

Grant had tried two times before to "take me out", if you could call it that, but his plans were always foiled by Gavin. We were supposed to go to the arcade last weekend. Which we did. With Gavin, who overheard us discussing it after schooling and assumed he was included in our plans. He won me a turtle. We tried to go bowling the following day, but Gavin took it upon himself to book the three of us a time slot at the paintball place. It was honestly really fun, even though I was still yellow and purple all over the back of my thighs. We split a brownie sundae at Gordon's after. Well, Gavin and I did. Grant had been tired and went home.

That was precisely the problem. Whenever Gavin and I were together, it became the Gav and Jules show. It was a horrible habit. It left whoever was with us feeling slightly on the outside, no matter how close of a friend they were. Which Grant certainly was, not only to Gavin, but to me by association. Even Hannah, who had no romantic attraction to Gavin whatsoever, had once told me she sometimes felt like a third wheel when she was with the two of us alone.

So as much as Grant and I both loved Gavin, we needed him to butt out for once. Which was hard. Because the three of us did have so much fun together. We always had. Hannah had moved here in third grade, so before that, the person I spent the most time with other than Gavin, was Grant.

"Why wouldn't he invite me?" Gavin pouted. "He's my best friend."

"Excuse you?" I arched an eyebrow, hands on my hips.

"My best guy friend," he corrected, waving me off. "Whatever. You know what I mean."

"Watch yourself, Maxwell."

"You call Hannah your best friend all the time," he countered. "Do you see me throwing a fit about ti?"

"Yes."

"Shut up."

"In any case, I don't think Grant's much interested in making me his best friend. So no need to worry about thievery on either end."

Gavin frowned, "Oh— are you two— is this like a date?" He scrunched up his face, almost like he was trying to wrap his mind around the word. "Grant asked you out?"

I shrugged, "I guess."

"Why?"

"Because he wanted to go out with me, Gav? I don't know."

"It's just...weird."

"Why is it weird?"

"You're going on a date."

"So?" I squinted. "You go out on dates all the time." He'd gone out with Gia Rankin just the other day. He always took girls to the roller skating rink off Perch. They had really good chili cheese fries.

"That's different."

"How is that different?"

"Because—" he struggled for a moment. "Because— I don't know. It just is. That's me. Now, it's you going on a date."

I bristled, "Oh because no one could ever possibly find me desirable. You, no problem. But me—"

"That's not what I—"

"As hard as it may be for you to believe, some people are romantically interested in me," I cut him off, eyes flashing with hurt.

"Jules," he softened slightly. My cheeks flared red, showing Gavin any vulnerability had grown more difficult as of late. "I didn't mean it like that." He scratched his head, "You know I think you're— I didn't mean it like that."

"How did you mean it then?"

His eyes darted around the treehouse, hands fidgeting with the Strongs of his hoodie, "I don't— I don't know."

"Whatever, Gavin," I rolled my eyes, frustrated. "Do I have any frosting left on my face?"

"No," I turned to go. "Wait," his fingers caught my wrist, "C'mere. You have a little bit right," he swiped a frosting covered thumb over my cheekbone, "there." Gavin tossed me a positively shit-eating grin, and I took a deep, centering breath. Idiot.

"You think you're funny?"

"Very much so." He smirked.

I glared at him, "I think you're lucky my fist is in a forgiving mood."

"I think you're lucky that's an empty threat," he hummed. "Otherwise you'd have to deal with the reality that you haven't won a fight since we were nine," he puffed out his chest, stepping closer to me as he drew himself up to his admittedly impressive new height. Nine was the last time my tick mark had been above his on the wall of our cabin by the lake. "I have certain advantages now."

I shoved at his shoulder, rolling my eyes, "Goodbye, Gavin."

"C'mon Jules," he batted his eyelashes at me. "Five more minutes. We're never here anymore."

So I stayed five more minutes. And ten more after that. I had to run to the movie theatre and cut across Mrs. Schwartz's lawn to make it in time, but it was worth it. It was always worth it with Gavin. And he was right, we hadn't been at the treehouse in a while. I missed it, and I liked the idea that he had too. Even if his ulterior motive was to keep me from going out with Grant.

The movie was fine. Grant paid for my popcorn and held my hand while the Avengers flipped and flew across the screen. Our fingers were greasy from the butter, and it was nice. But somehow, my mind kept drifting to the fading picture that hung on the treehouse wall. The two little stick figures, holding hands.

G + J