So you know that person in middle school you used to pair up with only because you were stuck in a science or gym class without any of your friends? Remember how awkward it was because it was middle school and you hardly knew the person? You never talked in or outside of class, just worked together for thirty minutes or so and when you did talk it was awkward and stiff. Now imagine you see that person again at the place you both so happen to work for ten years later. You both have grown out of your awkward middle school phase and are both more relaxed, social individuals. Then you meet this person again for the first time in ten years and you're both assigned a project together. You both think you're ready to interact better with this individual now that you're older and more confident, but then- then you discover it's exactly the same awkward, silent situation you had in middle school with them, except now you can both see you're social with others but not with each other.

     Yeah, perfect scenario between me and Xalale the next morning.

    We've both been working and communicating just fine with each other lately, sharing personal things and having late night talks- those were nice- but then last night happened with me and my reckless mouth and now we're back to square one. Square freakin' one.

    The moment we both get up, you could cut the tension in the air with a dull butter knife. Grant it, he starts it off by trying to avoid me at all cost- not even being in the same room with me for more than two seconds. I'm feeling stupid, so I try to play this off by attempting to start up a conversation with him, but I sound like Mrs. Mershire and her small talk starters.

    "So, how'd you sleep last night?" I ask him in the kitchen when he comes in.

    "God, I haven't tried pleasantries with him since we've been here."

    The worst part of it all is he won't even meet my gaze. He either leaves or stares off in a different direction. We've backtracked so far in just a matter of a second, all thanks to my mouth.

    The only option to possibly break this uncomfortable situation is to bring up the elephant in the room, but neither of us appear to be trying that method. I wish this was one of those things where we say it then forget like it never happened.

    I'm actually thanking God when Clifford arrives in all his talkative glory. There needs to be some conversation in this house.

    Clifford being Clifford, he doesn't notice the shift in the mood. He just comes in, plopping down in his regular seat next to Xalale, spirits high.

    "So what are we gonna to do today? We should play UNO or Monopoly. Do you have either of those, Mal?"

    "Uh, I could always check..." I'm frowning, looking at Xalale who's focused on something in the entryway.

    "Yes!" He jumps up, going to dig through the pantry. "After that, we should play soccer; I bought my soccer ball. His name is Max."

    While he carries on about his soccer ball named Max, I continue to stare intently at Xalale, hoping he'll meet my eyes and see I want to talk this out, but he's stubborn and doesn't turn. Now, I'm a little peeved. I want to talk, but he's blocking me out.

    Clifford, getting what he wanted from the pantry, goes into the family room, waving us on.

    "I wanna start first."

    Xalale remains at the table, so I sigh, making sure my frustrations are known to him before heading to the family room to get out the UNO cards. Clifford seems excited for this and, of course noting Xalale's absence, asks where he is.

    "Isn't he coming?"

    I pull out the cards and begin shuffling them, now irked, my tone telling it all.

    "I don't know. Why don't you go ask him."

    So he does, flouncing happily into the kitchen while I shuffle the cards in an impatient manner. Moments later, Clifford skips back in merrily but without Xalale.

    "He says he's not feeling in the best condition to do so right now."

     I stop shuffling and scoff in disbelief. That was a bold face lie of an excuse right there.

    "Tell him to stop acting so," I pause, trying to come up with the right word. "Dramatic."

     Yep, best use of my vocabulary right there.

     Clifford goes to relay the message and I resume my frustrated shuffling, over-doing it a bit. He comes back in still alone.

    "He says he's not."

    "Well tell him he's a liar and to get over himself." I snap back.

    Like the faithful messager, Clifford goes back into the kitchen and a second later comes right back with the reply.

    "He said that you need to stop being a hypocrite. Hey, Mal. What's a hypocrite?"

     Slamming the cards down, I brush back a strand of hair that keeps falling in my face, keeping my voice level and even.

    "Tell him that we've already confronted this issue before and he needs to stop beating a dead horse because I've never lied to him to deceive him wrongly."

     Going to deliver my lengthy message, I shuffle the deck again, muttering to myself about how out of proportion he's making this one little issue (that's absolutely his forte).

    Clifford doesn't come back for a while, but when he does he takes a breath.

    "Alright, this one's kinda long. He said that first of all, you have deceived him wrongly on countless occasions and that you need to stop denying such things. Secondly, you should stop pretending to know everything because it's extremely frustrating when he's trying to communicate with you but you act like you know how to fix everything yet you don't fix what's right in front of you. Finally,"-he pauses to remember-"oh yeah! He said you need to quit pressing so hard especially when there's nothing wrong."

    I slam the deck so hard the cards go flying every which way. This startles Clifford slightly, who stares at me wide-eyed.

   "Communicating!? Avoiding me all morning and not even looking at me once is what he considers communicating?" Smoothing my hair back, I try to regain patience in my tone. "Tell Xalale that if he wants to communicate properly with me, he should man up and come in here instead of hid like a coward in the kitchen."

    I could have stopped it, but it simply rolled off my tongue like stating the weather. I could have called Clifford back, who hesitated at delivering a message like that, but I let him go on into the kitchen. I could have given a last ditch attempt and apologized, but the reality of it is I didn't, I didn't do any of that because I wanted him to hear the frustration in my words. Unfortunately, as I often do, I didn't picture the way he would receive this and how he would react.

    After a bit, Clifford wanders back in as I'm collecting the cards.

   "He gave no comment. Can we play UNO now?"

    It's a somewhat sad, pathetic sight to see that the only way we can properly communicate is through an eight year old. I'm still pissed at him for acting out about this, but I've been no better, so deciding to take my dad's advice and be the bigger person, I get up and head into the kitchen, trying to lose my attitude in the process.

    He's still at the table, this time, looking down more at the table, rubbing the bridge of his nose. I can tell he senses me because he stops rubbing, but doesn't look up.

    Taking a seat across from him, we just sit there for a bit, not saying anything and with him not looking up at me. Thankfully, Clifford must be occupied with something in the family room because he doesn't come pestering us.

   Finally, after about a few minutes roll by in silence, I speak up, my voice and nerves calmer than before.

    "Sorry." It's one of the only things I can think to say.

    He doesn't respond nor does he react by looking up at me. His hair falls in his face as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

    Cautiously, I continue, unsure of how to read him.

    "Seems like I say that a lot, huh? But I make a ton of mistakes, you know that by now. I'm surprised when I apologize that people still forgive me. Sometimes I think they only say they forgive me to spare my feelings because they know that I'm going to be apologizing for the rest of my life."

    Pausing, I glance at the microwave clock then back at him where his position remains the same. I tempted to say something else, but then I remember something Clifford told me. He told me that just sitting there helps the situation and it seemed to for him, so I sit there and wait patiently, not sure what to say when the silence does become broken.

    I find myself staring out the window at the sunny day outside. This peace and quiet begins to feel serene to me causing my nerves to cool even more. Silence is the best policy it seems, at least for me, I don't know how Xalale is taking all of this until he breaks my concentration.

   "We seem to share the similarity of offering an apology often."

     He's finally looking at me. I can sense no hostility or frustrations harbored in his voice. I have none as well in mine.

    "Well, my mom once told me that it's just as humbling to ask for forgiveness as it is to forgive. She has a ton of wisdom lessons."

    "She sounds like a wise woman."

    I smile. "She is. It mustn't have been a dominant trait in the gene pool, though."

   He hesitates what he's about to say not, but I patiently wait.

   "Last night- I wasn't certain if..."

   "Yes?" I want him to continue.

   "I said some things last night that were...incoherent. I- It wasn't meant-"

   "Is anyone gonna play with me?" Clifford's alone time must have expired because now he makes his presence known again, whining from the family room.

    I sigh then call out, "Yes, just give us a sec."

    Refocusing my attention to Xalale, he attempts to find the right words again, starting out slow.

   "There were parts I said that- that I didn't fully go in depth with because I knew if I was too honest with myself...I would- I couldn't say it aloud. I'm not making-"

    "I'm so bored!"

     Sighing heavily, I accurately remember why I dislike children so much at times.

    "Can you guys talk later?" He gripes from the family room. "You guys are always together. Let's play UNO!"

    I look at him apologetically.

    "We can finish this later once he leaves."

    He nods, masking whatever disappointment or discouragement he felt in his usual composed manner.

    "Of course."

    Clifford's excitement and eagerness hadn't died when we finally join him in the family room. He deals the cards all while prattling on about how great he is at UNO and the way you play it so it's explained to Xalale. It's an easy game of colors and cards so he gets it pretty quick.

    Our first game goes quickly, with Clifford coming in first- ecstatic at that achievement- me, surprisingly, coming in second and Xalale in third. I'm somewhat surprised luck isn't on his side with this game.

    Starting our next game, Clifford has a hankering to question us about every basic thing he can come up with.

   "So what's your favorite number?"

   "What kind of question is that?" I ask, scrunching my nose at it and my bad hand.

   "Mine is eight because I'm eight."

   "Typical."

   "What about you, Axel?"

   He places down a card, skipping me- how wonderful.

   "I don't have one." He mutters, playing a card.

   "You both are boring." He places down a reverse, so it's back to Xalale.

   "Well, I like the number three because a genie grants you three wishes and the clock tolls three times at midnight."

   Unfortunately, my reply has prompted another question.

   "If you had three wishes, what would you wish for?"

    Xalale gives me a draw two, so I do, sighing in annoyance.

   "I would wish for every Spider-Man comic in the entire collection, spider-like abilities, and a lifetime supply of candy, the chewy kind."

    He finally plays his card making it Xalale's turn to play and answer the question.

   "What would you wish for Axel?"

   "Wishing is a fool's dream."

     "He's such a cheery individual. He would brighten anyone's day."

    "Nuh-uh," Clifford protest. "One day your wish might come true. Like one day I might get every Spider-Man book in the collection or receive spidey senses, you never know."

    This kid couldn't be a lawyer, or at least, a successful one.

    Xalale doesn't answer the question, instead putting down the worst card in the universe- a wild card, draw four.

    "Red."

    As Clifford places down a red card, he diverts off the wish question. "You know, red's my favorite color."

    "I know." He mutters.

    "Oh yeah, I already told you."

    I'm skipped, yet again, grating my nerves to the breaking point.

    "FYI, I'm still in the game, just in case you guys ever wanted to let me play," I announce, aggravated.

    "Hey Mal? What would be your three wishes?"

    I think for only a few seconds, enough for Xalale to complete his turn, changing the color to green. I don't have green. Wonderful.

    While I draw about a dozen cards from the deck, I reply.

   "Well first I would wish to see the world like everywhere I want to travel, then I would wish for a nice cottage to live in for the rest of my life, and maybe, lastly, good luck, I always need some of that."

    I finally draw a green card and place it down, making it Clifford's turn.

   "Aww, why do you still wanna leave Cauldron?" He whines.

   "We already discussed this. I just want to get out and see the world, live a little. Besides, I never mentioned leaving Cauldron for eternity." Though that wouldn't be too bad.

   Clifford now turns his attention to Xalale, not playing a card yet.

    "Can you believe Mallory doesn't want to stay in Cauldron? She wants to go to Europe or something. I think Europe's stupid. Cauldron is better."

    Rolling my eyes, I brush off his childish, immature beliefs about one of the best places on Earth.

    "You know," I grumble. "Transylvania is in Europe."

    "Really? Oh, well, Europe's stupid except for Transylvania."

    A regular number is what he places on the pile. It's now Xalale's turn.

    "But why do you wanna leave in the first place?"

    "I just need to spread my wings and,"- I look at Xalale, hoping for back up on this-"I need direction."

    For some reason, he doesn't react the way I thought he would (as if he's predictable). He pauses, looking at me with a furrowed brow before slowly looking back at his hand of cards. I'm confused on what that meant, but brush it off as well.

    "I'll buy ya a compass just so you don't have to leave. Compasses give you directions, don't they?"

    I actually find it touching that Clifford earnestly wants me to stay here in Cauldron. At least somebody, other than my parents who are supposed to care, wants me here. But still, I've wanted to break free of this town for ages, I won't be deterred so easily.

   "Thanks, but I think I've already found the direction I want to go."

   I was so caught up in our conversation that I didn't notice Xalale had said UNO and got out. Guess luck was on his side after all. Clifford and I actually have a fierce battle, but in the end, even though I could have tumbled him, I let him win and be gleeful about it.

   "Let's play outside, now," Clifford suggest, now in a new excitable, energetic wave.

    He doesn't bother waiting for our response before scooping up his soccer ball, slipping on his shoes, and heading outside. I can't help but grimace at the idea of playing any sports seeing how horrid I was in gym class all those years I was forced to take it. It all depends on whether or not I feel like being a good person and getting over my hatred of sports to appease Clifford.

     "All you have to do is try once then you can sit out." It's a beautiful thing when my pessimistic and helpful side coincides together.

    It's only when I get up do I notice that Xalale has been staring at me again with that indeterminable look. He glances away once I stand up, but I notice it anyway. I'm gonna have to talk to him about that when we talk tonight because it gets on my nerves most of the time. Pushing that issue aside, I go to the front door to put on some sneakers and prepare to embarrass myself for lack of athleticism. At least it's only in front of Clifford and Xalale, who both know I'm not the most gifted individual, rather than the whole freakin' gym class of about forty.

    In all honesty, it's not as bad as I thought, at least I'm not as horrible as I previously thought. I can kick the ball a good distance, even shooting it into the make shift goal once or twice. It's hard to keep up with Clifford, he's a stealthy, nimble thing on the field, knowing how to control a soccer ball with ease. That compared to his usual, bouncing, energetic movements are quite a stark contrast- it impresses me.

   On the other hand, I'm really beginning to doubt that, although he appears like simple sports should be no problem for him, Xalale is not very skilled in them. It could be the fact that these sports are foreign to him, but he's just not as calculating on the field as he is on a chessboard. He, first of all, doesn't have proper coordination (which is odd seeing how he has such a wicked strike with a sword and other various weaponry). Secondly, he doesn't put enough effort in- surprise, surprise.

     "You know you have to run with the ball when it's passed to you?" I tell him.

     He shrugs me off about it. I know he can run- he's a pretty swift runner- but it's all about him applying himself to doing it.

    Clifford shows off some of the moves he's learned and practices some simple kicks and passes.

    "Where'd you learn to play soccer so well?" I ask him. "You're really good."

    At this, he beams.

    "Really? I used to play on a team- I still do. We're called the Blizzards and we play in the fall and spring. I also play soccer with my friends all the time."

    He passes the ball to me and I practice with it for a bit before kicking it back to him. We do simple moves for a bit, improving our kicks and whatnot.

    Clifford notices what I already have about Xalale. So being the ever helpful soul, Clifford trots over to him to assist him better.

    "You should use the side of your foot to control the ball better," He instructs, demonstrating. "Then when you're close enough to the goal, kick it with the point of your foot. Like this."

     Clifford retrieves the ball and places it down for Xalale to try. Hopefully, he'll give it an effort. It seems he does, somewhat, in kicking the ball, not so much controlling it. Unfortunately, he doesn't even make contact with the ball. I have to cover my smile at this so as not to deter him any more than he already is. He's more frustrated than anything else, but Clifford just encourages him to try again.

    Oh and he does try again.

    Unfortunately, like mentioned, Xalale must not have the best coordination when dealing with hitting or striking something in front of him and he majorly miscalculated the aim of his kick, which he put his full frustration into swinging. Clifford was not standing a safe distance away and, well, Xalale's foot never came in contact with the ball, so, let's just say that was the end of soccer time.

    For his part, I was surprised how little Clifford cried out in pain. He, instead, crumpled to the ground, curling up in a small ball of pain, clutching his knee.

    I rush over, as Xalale kneels down next to the boy inspecting the injured knee. At first, I want to be mad at Xalale for such a terrible slip-up, but it was just that, a slip-up. He didn't mean to kick him so hard, he didn't mean to kick him at all. I fall to my knees as well, trying to see the extent of the damage.

    The only sounds coming from Clifford are muted whimpers of pain which make me hope that the results aren't too grievous.

   "Clifford," I touch his shoulder to get his attention. "How badly does it hurt?"

    His only response is a low moan of discomfort. He continues to keep himself in a protective ball, holding his knee.

    "Is it grave?" Xalale asks me.

    "I don't know." I try getting Clifford to answer my question again.

     He lets out the same groan of pain that's hard for me to decipher.

    "We need to bring him inside."

    So Xalale carries Clifford inside, careful not to cause him further pain and lays him on the couch. I hurry into the kitchen to put some ice in a baggie for him to place on his knee. He still won't answer to how much pain he's in, but I can gather it's quite discomforting.

     "Why am I always playing nurse?" I wonder nervously, as I inspect his now swollen kneecap. "I hope it's not shattered. Please let it not be shattered, that's all we need at a time like this."

   But I know Xalale must have kicked him good and squarely in the knee.

     "How am I supposed to explain this to his mom!?"

   For our part, there's really nothing we can do unless he tells us the full extent of his pain and the exact details of what hurts.

   I kneel down next to the couch.

   "Do you want me to call your mom?"

   He shakes his head no, relieving me slightly. Maybe it's not as bad as it looks.

   "Does it hurt a lot?"

   He offers a little nod.

   "I'm going to get you a pain reliever so it won't hurt as much, alright?"

   He nods again, still gripping his knee up to him.

   Returning to the kitchen, I search in the cabinets for the over-the-counter pain medication. Cursing slightly when I can't find it, I figure it's pushed all the way in the back of the cabinet- how ideal- so I have to climb on the counter and peer into the cabinet. I'm relieved when I see the bottle of Advil in the back. Doing a quick check of the expiration date- you can't be sure about anything in this house- I take out one pill (I'm not really sure what you're supposed to give to someone under 12, it says ask a doctor) and a glass of water. Clifford takes it with no difficulty, which is good, but now there's nothing we can do but wait.

    He dozes off after a bit, so I take my computer and sit in the kitchen as not to disturb him. Surprisingly, Xalale stays in the family room with Clifford, sitting in my father's chair, lost in thought. I asked him if he would prefer sitting in the kitchen, but he declined my offer. I can tell he feels somewhat guilty over this incident so I let him stay.

     Every time I go to check in on Clifford, Xalale is still there, in thought, watching over the boy. I'm pleased when I notice the swelling has gone down a bit, but there will definitely be a bruise.

   As nervous as I am about this all, I'm getting pretty hungry- I don't usually play soccer to the extent I have today. Plus, cooking gets my mind off my worries. I ask Xalale if he wants anything, but he replies that he's not hungry, so I just make myself a grill cheese sandwich, or two.

   It's only after an hour or so that I hear talking coming from the family room. Peering into the room, I see Clifford's awake and not holding his knee anymore, he also seems more responsive.

   "Hey, Mal. I was just asking Axel what was cooking and he said you were making lunch. I'm kinda hungry, whatcha makin'?"

    I come over to the couch. "How are you feeling?"

   "That thing you gave me helped with the pain, but it still feels kinda sore. What are you cooking?"

   He doesn't seem in as much pain, plus the color has returned to his freckled face and he's looking up at me with his regular curious filled eyes, but I'm still on edge.

   "What does your leg feel like? Like how sore?"

   "Not too too bad. It smells like you made"-he takes a deep whiff-"grilled cheese. Am I right?"

    I'm still tempted to call his mother seeing how the pain isn't fully gone away, but he's acting like himself and he's getting on me about making him a sandwich so I take a bit of comfort that he is feeling better and go prepare him something to eat. He, of course, waste no time chatting it up to Xalale. Even though Clifford is acting like his normal self and the pain is only mild in his knee, I can sense Xalale is still in down spirits.

    Even with Clifford trying to convince me he's okay and it only being three, I call up Mrs. Mershire explaining the situation- of course fibbing a bit on how he received the injury. I lie and tell her I accidentally kicked his knee while playing soccer with him. Me being such a klutz, it sounds like a believable story and she says she'll be right over.

   "Aww," He whines when I tell him this. "I wanna stay with you guys and play Monopoly. It's gonna be boring going home early."

   "She'll be here soon."

   So Clifford spends the last few minutes of his time retelling a story that happened in 1st grade with Julie Lichtenstein. I listen to him as he talks with food in his mouth and lacklusterly tells his story. Even though he's talking to both of us, I can tell Xalale is anywhere but here in the moment.

   Mrs. Mershire's car has just pulled into the drive as Clifford stuffs the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth and finishes his anecdote.

   "She screamed so loud that the fourth-grade classroom heard her. I said 'See, I told you you had a spider in your hair'. I thought it was cool because if it bit her she might get spidey powers."

   The knock at the door tells me that she's waiting on the porch now, so I tell Xalale to head to my room then answer the door, leading the worried woman into the family room.

   "Hey mom. I'm alright so you didn't have to come get me." He says.

    But she fretted over him anyway, inspecting the knee which still was a little swollen and tender and asking me an array of questions. Finally, she half lifted, half supported her son and made her way to her car outside. I follow to the edge of my porch.

   "Thank you, Mallory, for calling me," She says, even strapping him in. "I'll take him to the Patient First in the next town for a check up."

    After securing him in, she walks up to me giving me my daily pay and a reassuring look.

   "Don't blame yourself, Mallory. Accidents happen. I know you didn't mean it, he'll be fine."

   I play along, giving her a sheepish smile in return.

   "Thank you, Mrs. Mershire. I really am sorry about this all, you shouldn't pay me for-"

   "No, no, it's yours, dear," She says, refusing to take back the money.

   "Thank you."

   She smiles warmly at me then gets behind the wheel, waving goodbye as she backs out of the drive. Clifford waves as well, holding his soccer ball to his chest. I watch them pull away, then for a minute or so after they've disappeared, linger on the porch before heading back inside.