Pusher

forty-three.

Bright green wrapped around Tristan's wrist, covering the break like a clunky shell. No one signed his cast. This wasn't middle school where kids swarmed you with markers and questions and big eyes as you told them all about your heroic fumble — snowboarding down the hardest slope only to land in all the wrong ways or crashing your bike in the middle of your most impressive trick yet.

No one asked questions. No one needed to. With the black and blue that ringed his eye, the gash that cut through his swollen lip, everyone already knew Maverick was to blame.

My stomach flipped as I dodged Tristan's gaze, trying to return my focus to my lunch. Sol sat next to me, trying to flip his water bottle onto the table without having it fall and roll off. He gave up trying to make conversation with me long ago — I was too mixed up to say much. Even his best jokes were met with silence, a weak smile at best.

Ducky was off with some of his other friends, eating under the stairwell or messing around in the auto shop. He was still pissed at me for revealing to Miles that we had been dealing together for months. They were still together but apparently my cousin was giving him a pretty severe cold shoulder.

I definitely knew the feeling. To my mother's dismay, I had been skipping Sunday dinners altogether just so I didn't have to sit there while he wryly chewed on his meal and avoided looking at me. He was supposed to be the one person I could tell everything to, and now it was like we hardly even knew each other.

Sol nudged me in the shoulder, lifting my gaze. "Come on, we have to get to class."

Half the room had already cleared out. I shook my head and blinked, trying to drop this haze that surrounded my thoughts and kept pulling me into oblivion. I tossed my lunch, mostly uneaten, into the trash and followed him out.

He split from there and I was left navigating the halls by myself, mind once again drifting to Miles when someone checked my shoulder, hard enough to send me stumbling. I looked up, meeting Raven's steely eyes and tight smirk. To her left towered Tristan, books awkwardly cradled with his cast.

"Watch where you're going," she called back at me.

I ripped my eyes away, forcing myself to turn away and keep going. She wasn't worth it, and besides, if we were to get into a fight I doubted I would be the one landing the punches. I tipped my chin up and kept walking, pretending not to hear when she called me a slut. Everyone around us, however, was much less discreet.

I was glad to slump into my chair once I walked into history class, but my safe haven was punctured with a sharp jolt in my stomach as soon as Ellie walked in and sat a few rows up from me. She brushed her scarlet hair off her shoulder and opened her notebook, scribbling in the top corner.

We hadn't spoke. I thought as the days went on it might hurt a little less, but each one was just another reminder of her absence. No more watching Gone Forever every Tuesday night. No more complaining about Mrs. Harding as we breezed through the hall together. No more rides home that never quite lasted long enough and Friday milkshakes at Benny's.

Instead I filled up my time with the boys. Witty teasing between classes and movie marathons on the nights we could afford to stay in instead of working for a couple bucks. Ducky put up with me and Sol was as friendly as ever, despite my sour moods and absent mind.

Maverick was ... Maverick. Cool and confident, sharp laughter and quirked lips. Endless teasing at my expense. Rough edges, hard eyes and kindness when I least expected it.

A swarm of butterflies flipped my stomach at the thought of him, followed by a sharp assault of anxiety. Neither of us had mentioned that night or the way we practically tore each other's clothes off right in the middle of my kitchen. Sure, it had only been a few days, but we spent plenty of time together since then, and it was back to friendly teasing and a polite distance.