alyssa

When I finally find Tanner, he's towelling off next to Jace. Jace is a stocky wrestling and/or football guy, all thick limbs and broad shoulders. He gives me this chill nod that in no way matches my current mood, but I try and nod back. I've stopped crying, and with how dark it is, no way will anyone be able to tell I shed a tear in the first place.

"Hey, Tan, do you think we could maybe get going home?" I ask, once again running my fingers through my ponytail. They snag little knots briefly, then tear through. "I'm a little tired."

If Tanner tries to say no or argue with me, I'm going to scream. Like a menstrual banshee. I didn't want to come to this stupid beach. I wanted to stay in and watch subpar Netflix rom-coms, and sketch poor cartoon Noah Centineos and Kristine Froseths and Jordan Fishers. Maybe even make a cup or two of coffee and embrace disgustingly poor caffeine habits at a disgustingly poor time of day. But, no, I just had to come to the beach, to this party. To make friends. To try and prove to me that I didn't ruin everything, that there's something to look forward to in this god-forsaken hell hole.

My dad and brother don't seem to understand that my life would be so much easier if I were just allowed to hermit-out.

Tanner cocks his head. "How tired?"

"Dude, I'm actually really tired," I say, hoping he gets it. Has he seen my texts? I don't know if he's seen my texts. You would think that, with us being twins, he'd be able to sniff the air and know something is wrong. But, Tanner is kind of the worst with picking up on little hints. No telepathy here.

Eyebrows raised in the feverish light of the bonfire, he shrugs. Thank. God. He bends down, reaches into the tote bag we brought, and tosses the keys at me. I miss them—they land in the coarse sand next to me. I awkwardly squat to pick them up, and then I'm off. I don't even know if Tanner gives Jace a proper goodbye. All that matters is he catches up to me within seconds, and I'm grateful for it.

"Okay, for real, what's up?" he whispers as we walk past a group of guys play-wrestling in the sand whilst girls cheer and cajole from the side. He's got our bag slung over his bare shoulder, and is struggling to dry his messy hair as we walk.

Everything seems too close. Too much. The sea glints menacingly in my periphery, and I force down several breaths. "Nothing. I just need out of here."

He lets out a little puff of air. "Fine, whatever." He definitely doesn't believe me, but fine, whatever—I didn't want to come here, but he and Dad asked me to. The least he could do is be chill.

Once we're in the car, Tanner asks "You sure you're good?" as he buckles in. I adjust the rearview mirror, fiddling with it, as if I'll be able to find that perfect sweet spot in an ancient car in the dark. At least Tanner and I are both the same height, meaning I don't have to fight with the stubborn driver's seat.

"I'm fine," I assure him. I can tell that it sounds too tense, too strained, but I don't care. I'm fine. Or, at least, I'll be fine, as soon as we're home.

-

"I hate it when you're like this," Tanner mutters as we walk up the stoop. He bounds; I trudge. "All moody. Dark. 'I'm gonna chip my navy blue nail polish and cry to deep music. I—"

"Stahp it," I say nice and light, trying to sound better than I feel. My hands gripped the steering wheel disgustingly tight on the way home, and the whole way, I couldn't concentrate. Tanner was blasting his girl in red playlist, and all I could think of was how Max and I really did fall in love in October, and it was just very, very hard not to cry. I hate driving anyways, but this was a particularly torturous drive.

Tanner harrumphs and opens the door, ignoring me.

Dad sits on the couch, watching two women talk with some lady who kinda looks like the main girl in Legally Blonde. Actually, it just might be. "Heyo, kids," Dad says, waving at us with the remote. "Apparently there are shows about getting organised. Figured I might try that."

"Father," Tanner says, pointedly ignoring the piles of boxes stacked about the tiny living room, "why on earth would we need to get organised?"

Dad gives us his Pleading Dad face. It's all crinkly and sad, and I hate how much of myself I see in it. "I really don't feel like having a sarcasm talk tonight, Tan."

"I wasn't—"

"No, but you'll get there, and, just, not tonight, okay?"

Tanner kicks off his sandals onto the rubber mat that was designed to stop snow from melting on wood floors, avoiding Dad's Pleading Dad gaze. "Fine. Whatever."

"Thank you." Dad visibly sinks into our rickety couch, which I'm pretty sure is older than Tanner and me. Possibly combined. "So, how was the beach thing? Did you guys meet people? Give me all the deets."

Tanner struts over and flops onto the couch. "It was fine. Hung out with a few people from around town that are in me and Alyssa's grade. Or class, I should say. This school has only five-hundred kids, Dad. Like, I know it's not as bad as some of the schools back in ye olde Midwest, but really?"

Dad ignores him. He's probably still salty from last night's argument. "What about you, Ally Bally? Make any friends?"

I should have predicted this question coming.

"Um, kinda," I lie, trying to think of what will sound most believable. "I met this one girl who was pretty chill. Her name was Elliot, and, yeah, she was ... she was pretty cool."

His smile is bright and chipper. I hate how Dad looks happier than he has in the past month. Like, he's basically aglow. "That's awesome, sweetie. Good job!" Wow, good job, at least you're not a socially inept fuckup! Just a regular one!

"Yeah." I remove my ponytail and stretch it between my fingers. "Thanks."

"Kids here are weird," Tanner says.

"Oh yeah?" Dad props his feet up on the box-slash-makeshift-coffee-table. "Ally Bally, come sit with us. I wanna hear about your night!"

Tanner stares over at me, eyebrows raised in challenge. I hate that he knows I don't want to sit and chill. I just want to go to my room and cry and hug myself to sleep. For a second, I honestly consider ignoring the instinct, but I can't. Some other night. Not this one.

I give into this instinct a lot.

"Actually, I think Imma head to bed," I say, awkwardly shifting my weight from side to side. "I'm pretty tired."

"It's not even ten," Tanner says, which is met with a glare from Dad. Tanner does his whole "I'm not glaring but I'm seething with my eyes aimed at you" thing. It's not my fault that they blew up at each other yesterday. Directly. I mean, they used to fight even before we uprooted our entire lives because I was an irresponsible asshole. This isn't all on me.

"I start work tomorrow," I say, even though I could definitely afford to sleep in till, like, nine.

Tanner rolls his totally non-glaring eyes.

I shuffle over to Dad's side of the couch to give him a quick hug goodnight. "See you in the morning, Dad."

He hugs back. "Sure thing. See how well you're moving on already? I told you you would. Proud of you, kiddo." He squeezes tighter with this, his arms rock-hard cords about me, and I have to wait for him to release me so I can walk down the hall and to my room. I'm not even going to brush my teeth or wash my face tonight. I'm just going to spoon a roll of to-be-soggy toilet paper and die.

Tanner and Dad's chat is still easily discernible, even through my closed door. I hate how small this house is, how thin the walls are. Not just because I can hear Tanner lying about big details—more about my sociableness, not his—and telling the truth about small ones, but because my crying is likely super, super audible. Under normal circumstances, I'd be worried, but tonight? Tonight is a total fuck-it night.

My pyjamas for the night consist solely of a pair of old gym shorts and a shirt from the Hippo Campus concert Max took me to for our first date. I was so excited, because I'd never been on anything that felt like that much of a date, and Max was so amazing that I could barely stand it. They kissed me during the finale, Buttercup—hence the ringtone—and the shirt I got from the opening band Now, Now (we were too broke for Hippo Campus shirts, so we settled on cheaper souvenirs) (well, okay, I was too broke) has been one of my favorites ever since.

Part of me knows-thinks-knows that I shouldn't be wearing the shirt. I should forget about Max for a night and think about something that's not my stupid betrayal-happy heart. But more of me knows that I can't. I just ... can't.

I think about trying to draw again, but I haven't been able to in so long that there's no point. So instead, I curl up just right, adopting the familiar position of little spoon, and imagine Max's arms keeping me close, their breath gentle against the crook of my neck. If I close my eyes, the illusion almost holds.

Almost.

A/N (August 8 2021): 

Ants will survive in the microwave. Theoretically, I guess. I couldn't find any actual studies (I didn't search that hard), but it's more fun to have Schrödinger's Cat and Microwave Dinner Ant, y'know?