Allison
I sit in math class, my notes all shoved in the corner of my desk. I pretend to work, staring intensely at the textbook in front of me. The numbers are all squished together. Who understands this?

y=mx+b . Simple enough, I figure, but the fact that my brain is working over time on other things doesn’t help. Allison, I hear. My name. I hear my name. My head snaps up, and my teacher shoots me a pointed look. Do I look stupid to you, Allison? She asks, and I shake my head, dropping it back down so that her eyes are staring at the top of my head. Well, pay attention, Ms. McGregor. The exam won’t write itself. I nod, understanding this. The exam, only weeks away. I don’t care. I’ll figure it out. I grab a piece of scrap paper from my binder and begin to write.

Dear You.
What is it about You that attracts Me? Nothing that I can think of, but it might be helpful if You could tone down that hard edge charm, or maybe You could stop flashing that irresistible smirk that You always use on Me. You could stop saying Her name in that breathy way. You could stop saying that I am acting jealous. It would also be nice if You would grace me with pleasantries, and stop playing mind games. But mostly, it would be fan-fucking-tastic if You could stop being You.
-Me

Satisfied, I put my pen down and listen to my teacher drawl on about slopes and all that. I smile at my sometimes friend Buddy. It’s going to be a long class.

James
After school, I wait outside for Allison. She always takes ages. I never usually wait for her, you have to understand. We are not friends at school. I have my own friends, and she has hers. I see them laughing right now. They look at me like I’m this rapist that’s going to take away their innocent best friend. I’m not. We’re just going to talk about her story. I read it last night. I see her come out of the school, and I nod at her. Best not to attract too much attention towards myself. People will stare. People always stare. Especially now that they know Allison and I are friends. Friends? Are we friends, I wonder, as she walks towards me, her pace quickening.

Hey, I say when she gets closer to me.
Hey, she replies, and she glances over at her friends. Her friends are staring at her, as she probably expected.
I read the story, I say, and she bites her bottom lip. She knows what I have to say is never good, and I accept that. She knows I’m just honest. I hope she knows I’m just honest.
You will fail in this time period, I inform her, and I watch her tight smile disappear. Her face turns to rock again, and I can see her brain working. Allison’s brain is always working. I can almost see her thoughts. Cannot believe I was happy for two seconds in his presence, she is thinking. She is staring at me, repulsed. Trust me kid, I am repulsed at myself too.

Allison.
I hate Failure. It should always be written with a Capitol Letter, signifying how Awful you are. You have Failed. You will Fail. You are failing. You will Fail in this time period.

Should’ve been the 1950’s, he says, with a careless shrug of his shoulders.

I stare at him. I would have succeeded in the 1950’s, but not now. No way, not now. You will FAIL now. The word failure stings like a citrus fruit on a cut. It throbs, his words repeating in my mind. You will Fail now. I feel like telling him that I know another Failure as well: Us. But he already knows that.

He regards me, and I glare at the ground. I can never look at his eyes. He reminds me of Failure now. The Failure that has taken me by a storm. The knowledge that I could Fail is probably the worst kind of knowledge I’m ever going to have.

I was born now, James, I reply, a hint of anger in my voice. It doesn’t carry. I was angry in my head. I’m not so good at being angry out loud.
I know this, Allison. But you should have been born in the 50’s. He speaks to me like I am in kindergarten. His face proves that he thinks I’m stupid.
I’m not stupid, I tell him, fiddling with my hands behind my back.
I never said you were, he retorts. I am seething. He pretty much let me know that I was.

I look over at my friends. They’re still staring. There’s something about James that freaks them out. There’s something about James that freaks me out, too.

Buddy
She’s talking to him again. She’s always talking to him now. Does she forget that I exist? That I loved her first? I’m moving on, I really am. I just wish she wasn’t talking to him. He’s too old. He’s two years older than she is. His hair is too blonde. His smile is too crooked. He looks at her degradingly. What about me? I treat her well. But no, it’s never me. We talk. We do. But it’s never anything like that. They are talking about deep things. I imagine they talk about the end of the world, and meteor showers. Maybe they talk about love, or about the future. Me and Allison? We talk about pencils. All the time. It’s always the same.

Me: Hey, Allison.
Allison: Do you have an extra pencil?
Me: Yeah, here.
Allison: Thanks. Hey, do you want to go to Starbucks after school? No one else can go.
Me: Oh, no one else can go? I guess I could.
Allison: Thanks, Buddy. You’re great.

I’m great. She says I’m great. All the time. She’s forever saying how GREAT I am. But what if I don’t want to just be great? I want to be her first choice, not her last. I want to be like JAMES. She doesn’t call JAMES great. She calls JAMES amazing. She calls JAMES an asshole. Why does that make JAMES the better choice? I could be an asshole too. But instead, I’m just GREAT. And then there’s Melissa, who’s seriously into me. But Melissa? Man, who would’ve thought that the weird girl would like ME. That’s. Great.

Melissa
I like girls. But no one knows it yet. I don’t even know if I know it. Well, I know it inside. But I still pretend that I like Buddy. I’ve always pretended to like Buddy. He’s so easy to pretend with. He’s got a nice face, he’s pretty sweet, and he’s never ever going to like me, so I’m safe there. He’s all wrapped up in Allison. She’s okay, I guess. I personally think she’s got the guy wrapped around her little finger, which is a bitch move, on her part.

Buddy sits beside me. This is how it is after school, every single day. You’re considered weird if you leave right after school. So instead, we all try and make small talk before four o’clock, and then we walk to the bus together. We are much cooler this way.

I smile at Buddy. Might as well play it up a little. People’ll stop believing me after a while.

Have a good day? Buddy asks me, and I nod, smiling at him non-stop. I can’t help but be distracted by the little show going on in front of us between my brother James and Allison. I do not see why Allison tolerates James. He is not a good person.

Allison+James=A strange combination that will send Allison straight to the underworld of cliques and friends. She does not want that. But she likes to take risks.

Allison
I look at the sky, as James speaks. He’s talking about third person. The writing tense, third person. I start thinking about the number three. I wish there were three people here instead of two. I wish there was a Third Person. It feels like there’s a brick wall between us, like I always do when he talks to me like this.
Allison, he says and my head snaps back down. Are you listening?
Yes, I reply, and I swallow, thinking back to told times. I am not listening to James talk.
James and I used to be close friends, you know. Before he moved, we were neighbours. I liked being his neighbour. It meant that we could be friends outside of school, but when we were at school, we kind of ignored each other. We were not in the same grade, anyways. Now it’s different. Now we only talk when we’re writing stories, or plays.

But I like him.
I always have liked him.
Like that.
You know, when you say you like someone, and the other person is like: Do you like LIKE them?
So if you’re wondering, I like LIKE him.
My friends accuse us of Sexual Tension. I see it. But I pretend I don’t. Who needs tension when you can have friendship?

Ew. James has this weird sister named Melissa, and she’s staring at us. She’s like, obsessed with Buddy, who’s my friend, but since he’s in love with me, she’s kind of screwed. I feel kind of bad, but what can you do? It’s not my fault that Buddy is pretty much never going to get over me.

We keep talking about my story. Sometimes talking normally takes time. Sometimes it becomes simpler as the conversation goes on. Sometimes is now.

James
Once the awkwardness goes away, Allison and I manage to have a pretty good conversation. She’s a great girl. More than great. She’s…stupendous. I miss her a lot. I hope we can get closer again, because that girl used to be My Life.

Things My Life Used to Consist Of:
Maple Street
Ranch Doritos
Allison
Good grades
Pepsi

Here’s What Happened: Dad decided it was time to move into a bigger house, so we sold the one on Maple Street. That sucked. We had a really tight group of friends on Maple, and when we were little, age didn’t matter. I developed an allergy to one of the chemicals used in the making of Doritos, so unfortunately, my snack of choice was officially off limits. Allison and I drifted due to the move, and that sucked major balls. Oh, and because of all this, my Pepsi addiction turned into a beer addiction. Enough said.

When it’s time for Allison to go, I look around and realize that pretty much the entire school is gone already. My sister included. Melissa usually waits for me, but she is so goddamn impatient. But seriously, does she actually expect that I’m going to ditch The Girl for her? I live with her. I don’t need to walk home with her every day.

Allison
James grins at me, and I smile back, unsure of why we are so HAPPY all of a sudden. I like it. All of a sudden, we’re back. WE are back. The US that used to exist.

Hey James, I say, a twinkle in my eye. Do you want to go see the new Jonathon Rhys Meyers movie that’s out?
Well, he says, considering this, I’ll see that if you’ll see the new Western with me. The one with Clive Owen.
I raise an eyebrow.
But if I see that, then you have to see the new Jonathon movie, PLUS the new Kate Hudson movie, I inform him, a grin still planted on my face.
Kate Hudson is definitely worth TWO Westerns, plus a Tarantino, he decides.

I laugh, and punch him in the arm. Just like before.

You are such a jerk, I tell him, and I wrap my arms around his waist, hugging him.
I’ve missed the feeling of his arms around me. I feel safe, like he’ll always protect me. The truth is, I’d watch any movie with him, even twelve Westerns.

I know, he replies, and he brushes the hair out of my face.

Bye, Alli, he says, pulling out of our hug. He uses my old nickname. I miss people calling me Alli.
Bye, Jamie, I say, using his old nickname, too.

He stares at me for a moment. I begin walking away before I change my mind about going home. I don’t want to miss the old times too much, because as much as we want it to be like before, it never will be.

Melissa
It takes about 602 steps to get to my house from school. That means I have 602 steps to think about things. 602 steps without my dumb ass brother talking about Western movies.

I think about To Kill a Mockingbird, which I should be reading RIGHT NOW.
I think about how I hate red pencil crayons.
I think about how I want a reason to tell everyone that I am gay.

I can’t think of a reason. I feel like I should have a reason.

I could tell my parents, because when prom rolls around, I’m not going to have a date. And they’ll want to know why.
I could tell my friends, but they might not like me anymore. They might think it’s weird. They might feel strange about how we used to swim in the kiddie pool together, naked.
I could tell Buddy, but he’d be mad at me for pretending to like him.
I could tell my brother, but he’d be weird about it. I don’t know why, he just would.

I know I will never tell them. They’re just going to have to figure it out on their own.
I mean, eventually my parents will wonder why I never have a date. My friends will wonder why I never talk about guys like they do. Buddy will figure out that my flirting skills work better on girls, anyways, and James will probably just get some sort of vibe.

He is amazing at vibes. I look down at the ground, and when I hear someone shriek, I look up quickly.

It’s my mother.

Can I ask you something? She walks up to me quickly, talking as she walks. And I wince. I know what she’s going to say. It’s going to be something about—
WHY, Melissa Georgina Colburn, must you wear that hippy dippy headband all the time?
--My headband.

Because, mom, I say slowly, I like it.

Okay, Melissa, she says, rolling her eyes. A classic Colburn Mother move, passed down from one Colburn girl to the next for use on their only daughters.

You like the strangest things, sweetie, my mother says warily, as though anyone else would be acceptable as a daughter. She loves Allison. I always thought she wished I was more like Allison than like myself.

I have now walked 602 steps, 40 of them with my mother. Joy.

Buddy.
I sit down at my desk and begin recalling the day’s events in my head. Nothing particularly interesting happened. Life, I’m starting to discover, is a repeat of events. Every day. The same thing.

9:00 School starts. I hate school. I hate teachers, I hate my friends, and I hate Allison. Erm. Kind of.
10:00 Still at school. Still sucks. Still hate my friends. Still hate Allison. Kind of.
11:00 I realize I forgot to do a project.
11:05 I decide I am doomed for life and will never get into university.
12:00 I get a detention for not doing my project.
1:00 I eat lunch alone, unless I am Allison’s Last Resort.
2:00 Still at school. Still sucks. Still hate my friends. Still hate Allison. Kind of. Still going to fail at life.
3:00 Bell rings, life is good again. I do not show up for my detention.
4:00 Home. Alone. In my room. Reflecting.

Which brings me to now. I have decided that tomorrow, I will go to detention. I am turning over a new leaf, you see. One in which when I do stupid things, I actually participate in my punishment. It’s quite the concept. I’m shocked I thought of it.