It’s Wednesday, and I stand infront of my house, along with many others, watching the parade go by. Trumpets sound and drums beat. As expected, Xander is nowhere in sight. I had hopes maybe he would show up at the last second, that maybe he would feel guilty for ditching me. I was wrong. So instead of cheering with the people all around and enjoying myself, I stare blankly at the individuals wearing a variety of bright colors. Cheerleaders flip and twirl and jump for joy as they follow the excitement of the parade.

My dad decided to come out of his room to stand with me and watch. Of course, this does little to soothe me. He smells of sweat and wine, and his hair in unkept as though he’s just rolled out of bed. Dad was never very harsh to me before, when he wasn’t in control of his addiction. But he did become quickly distant, and more frequently I’d find him screaming at me for unknown reasons. This would be another good reason to have Xander here.

He doesn’t really like my dad, to say the least. He’s respectful and kind, but the way he interacts with him, you can tell he doesn’t appreciate the way he treats me. So now that I think about it, I suppose he is harsh.

My dad clears his throat next to me. “This is pretty cheery, isn’t it?” I can easily tell he doesn’t mean it, and I don’t need him making me feel worse.

“Dad,” I turn to him and look up to his bloodshot, emerald eyes. The sight of him makes my stomach flip. He’s so pale. “You don’t have to be out here. You can go back inside.”

He scoffs and combs a hand through his greasy hair, looking at me with an expression I can’t read. “What’s this even about,” he goes on. I feel my heart sinking further into my chest. “Too much noise and color—”

“Dad, please,” I speak louder than originally intended. We stare at each other for a moment. Then he nods his head, clears his throat once more, and turns around to walk towards the house. The sight of him is too overwhelming. He’s been careless about his health and appearance. I love him, and I know he’s just hurting. He misses mom. But that doesn’t excuse his behavior. Lately I’ve felt the only grown-up in the house is me. That’s a lot of pressure to carry.

I feel sorry for telling him off, but he wouldn’t have stopped criticizing the parade. Negativity is not something I can handle as of now. My head is pounding with confusion, and a splitting headache as I hardly got any sleep last night. I probably should’ve drinken water after crying so much, but I was too depressed to get out of bed.

You know that feeling of utter hopeless and loneliness that feels like something’s throne a weighted blanket over you? It makes moving harder, and sometimes you just want to give up entirely. Sometimes I want to just lay down on my bed until everything magically rights itself. I suppose that’s the horror of life—the crippling emotions that break you. If not for the sense of negativity and fear of losing, I would be more confident.

Its kinda like horror movies. It seems scary, but once you take away the sense of fear and utter hopelessness, what hold do they have left on you other than the one you allow them?

If only this were so easy. If only this were a dream, and I could think my way out of everything bothering me. Xander and I would have a chance, and perhaps I’d just turn Bethany into a nagging mosquito. Xander hates mosquito’s. They’re his biggest fear. “If one comes a suckin, Xander goes a runnin,” I would say. Yeah, it’s cheesy, but the truth.

My phone vibrates in the pocket of my shorts. If magical thinking existed, I would’ve been surprised by Xander suddenly texting me. But I’m not. He probably wants to ask about last night, if I’m okay. I tap the notification, and our messages pop up.

“𝙱𝚎𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚊 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚢. 𝚆𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖?” It reads.

My mind immediately shoots to the fact I’m his _second_ option, his backup. But then I chastise myself for ever thinking such a thing, because I know it’s not true. Then I remember what Bethany had told me: _“…You’re not a good influence on Xander, and you should stop talking to him…_”

If I do this, I want to do this the right way. So I respond with: “𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍??" I know she will, of course, so maybe this isn’t the correct way of going about it. But if Xander says it’s okay, then who is she to protest?

Almost as quickly as I send the text, I receive another message saying how he is coming to get me as we speak. Anxiety has already taken a strong hold over my not-so-steady stomach. This probably isn’t the best idea. I didn’t want to talk to him last night. I’m not so sure I want to today, but I can’t help it. He’s so important to me and he makes me happy as much as I’m sad. There is a moment of instant regret after I send a thumbs up emoji. Why did I agree to ice cream?

_Because as much as you’re hurting, you still like him too much to not take an open opportunity to see him_.

The parade marches on with its dancers, drums, bagpipes, and other odd obscurities. It’s almost over and it still stings so much that my best friend in the whole world missed it. It’s almost laughable—the irony. He dropped out on a yearly tradition only to see his girlfriend, and then she was called away. So, in reality, if todays events would’ve taken place all over again, he could’ve been here with me.

_God, my train of thought is making my head throb more_…

I’m not sure when, but everyone eventually clears out and goes back home. I remain in front of my house, sitting on my sidewalk. The street before my eyes is oddly interesting now.

Eventually, another shadow joins mine and sits. I know who it is. “Whats up, Gi?” I don’t want to look at him, but something compels me to meet his line of vision. His brilliant blue eyes search mine. Hopefully I don’t have bags under my own.

He wears a white hoodie and shorts. He’s a big shorts guy and I always poked fun at him for it. Today, I couldn’t seem to spot anything to make fun of, though. Because he’s perfect. I’m heavily persuaded to move his black hair from his face, but I refuse the urge. He doesn’t smile when I do. Instead, his brows slightly crease together, and he stares down at me with a gentleness. “What’s going on?” he asks. I know exactly what he means. Why do I look so unhappy? Why had I hung up so quickly last night? Why was I crying?—There’s no use in trying to hide that part. He obviously knows.

I open my mouth to speak, but find I have no answer. Or, not an answer I feel led to give. “Alright.” He sighs and pushes off the ground. “Let’s go get some mint chip.”

He knows Mint Chocolate Chip is my absolute favorite ice cream. It almost makes a real smile appear to my portrait. But I don’t allow it to surface, because obviously none of us feel like smiling much. I rise and wipe the grass from the back of my light pink shorts. He waits for me to meet his gaze before he begins walking to his white sports car. I follow closely behind.

The drive was more than quiet, and once we got our ice cream he parked in front of my house. When’s the last time we did this?

“So,” he finally speaks and takes a lick of his chocolate chip.

“So…” I stare out the window but I feel his eyes on me. Its so unnerving.

“Talk to me,” he says. What he really means is: Why do I seem so sad and distant? He shoulder know, I think. He’s the reason. Not that it’s his doing, because it’s not.

This time I finally turn to him. It’s cruel how unbelievably beautiful he is. My mind swirls with so many thoughts and memories that all come down to me trying with difficulty to keep myself together. “Okay,” I say with a small smile. “The ice cream’s great. Thanks.”

He sighs and looks down to his feet before turning back to me. He can’t know how I really feel about him. It will ruin everything. We’re best friends. If we weren’t, he’d still have others, but not me. He’ll never understand how hard it is for me to accept people and for them to like me.

“Gianna, please. We both know something’s up, so just tell me already.” He sets his ice cream cup down in the cup holder and twists his body to show I have his full attention.

“I—” he grabs the mint chip from my hands and places in the other holder next to his. Xander looks so amazing—too dangerously magnetic for me to keep staring so easily. I look out the window but suddenly feel strong yet gentle fingers urge my chin back towards him. Then he wipes tears from my eyes. I’m not sure when I started crying, but all I know is I can’t stop now. Xanders brows crease together as he uses the sleeve of his hoodie to dab at my face. “I can’t,” I say, but it’s so faint, so helpless. And I can.

“Gi, you can tell me anything. You’re my best friend here, remember?” he says.

_That’s the problem_.

I don’t want to just be his friend! I want to be his everything. I want to be the first thing he thinks of when he opens his eyes. And wouldn’t it be spectacular if the second I opened my own, he would be the first thing I see every morning? No, that’s just one of my ridiculous fantasies.

He places a hand on my thigh and rubs, tenderly. It’s nerve wracking more than it is reassuring. There’s a battle going on inside my head and one side—the side I’m trying best to keep under wraps—might win if he doesn’t stop. Maybe I should leave.

“It’s okay,” he speaks.

“No, it’s not,” I cry.

“Well why don’t you tell me so I can help you?”

“I can’t, Xander,” I try. “_You_ can’t.”

“Let me at least try,” he pleads. That’s it. I can’t take it anymore. It’s no longer clear who’s in charge of my head. But all I know is the battle has been won. I grab him by the caller and pull him close before he can even think about what’s going on. Then I press my lips to his, and an explosion sets off. At first he tenses and stays so still. But after a moment, he indulges, and he kisses me back as though he’s wanted to his whole life. Or maybe those are simply _my_ thoughts getting in the way.

His arms wrap around me and then rest, tangled in my hair. God, I hope no one’s outside. I nearly laugh. Who cares if some one sees?

I feel my chair go back, and then Xander’s on top of me. It’s all so shocking, but I don’t want to tell him to stop. I feel the heat of him through his clothes and sigh as he presses a lingering kiss to my neck. But then he stops and stares at me.