Unsurprisingly, Miles hadn't come back to school. I was concerned about where he went, knowing that he wouldn't have gone back home. I just hoped he didn't do anything bad; I hoped he didn't get hurt. I would feel so responsible that I wouldn't know how to sleep at night. The self-hatred I was causing myself was justified, but so preventable. I was out of control.

"Hey, where were you at lunch?" Lake asked. He happened to be leaving his locker at the same time I got to mine. I was grabbing my textbook before heading to the cafeteria for my spare.

"Appointment," I lied, pretending to be preoccupied with the stuff inside my locker.

"You missed some good cookies at lunch," he said, looking at himself in the mirror that was stuck to the inside of my locker door.

"I swear you are the only person in the school that stands in line to get those mayo-filled cookies," I replied with a laugh.

"Hey! The mayo thing is totally just a rumour." He was pouting and I knocked shoulders with him playfully.

"Want to hang out after school?" He asked.

"Can't, I have plans," I replied, closing up my locker and starting to walk down the hall with him. Lake's class was just across from the cafeteria.

"With who?" He pried.

"You know who," I answered. His face light up in playful smile. I wasn't sure why the idea of me seeing Cian was so thrilling to him, but it felt nice to have someone always on my side.

By the time my Advanced Functions class was letting out, my stomach was in knots. Whether it was because of the empty seat next to me, or the thought of facing Cian again, I really couldn't tell you. I know Cian said he wasn't mad, but I also knew there was a big difference between not being mad and it being okay, and it definitely wasn't okay.

I got back to my locker, and the guys were making plans to hang out. No one seemed to notice or care that Miles was gone. I felt my blood boiling at the thought of it. Why was I the only one who ever noticed? How could no one else see his pain? Why did they not care? What kind of friends were they?

I threw my shit into my locker and slammed the door shut, drawing attention from the group but not caring, just like they didn't care about Miles. I was turning my lock, about to leave when Beatle stopped me.

"One sec," Beatle said, exiting his conversation with Trick and Lake, "Whiskey, I had a favour to ask."

I didn't ask what it was, but I tilted my head slightly in his direction to acknowledge I had heard him. He got closer, creating distance between us and them, and he dropped his voice a bit lower. He rifled through his bag and pulled out a green, hard plastic pencil case that I knew all too well. I knew inside of it there would be a few grams of weed.

"Mi was supposed to take care of this, but he's MIA again. Can you?" I wanted to tell him to get fucked, but I pushed it down and took the container from him, shoving it into my bag. He only saw Miles' absence as an inconvenience for himself.

"Just text me the info," I replied, curt and dry. I zipped up my bag.

"You're in a great mood," he laughed, the sarcasm dripping from his voice. I avoided making eye contact because if I did, I would just lose it. I felt the anger bubbling over. He had a problem with my mood? Why were they in such a great mood? Miles mattered.

"I'll take care of it, okay? Is that it?"

"Which of your boyfriends has you so wound up?" he retorted, taking a step away from me and back towards Lake and Trick.

I slammed my locked so hard that they all turned to look at me, silencing their probably pointless conversation. I closed the lock and turned, quickly heading for the exit. I think I heard Lake call out to me, but I just kept walking. I could hear Trick and Beatle laughing at me in the background and it made me want to throw up.

I barely made it to the parking lot before for my phone buzzed with a phone number from Beatle, and despite my gut reaction to type back go fuck yourself, I immediately texted the number to plan a time to meetup for as soon as possible so I could get this weed out of my hands. That was another one of those things that I figured Cian was probably fine with only in concept, as he had put it. I struggled to know why I was doing it anymore. It sure wasn't for friends like them. It was all for Miles, it was always for Miles. Anything to get us just a little closer. And now I had destroyed it all, yet I still was standing out at the parking lot with a container full of weed bouncing around in my backpack.

I took in a deep breath, pulling my jacket tighter around myself in the winter wind. I could have waited inside, but I couldn't stand the thought of being inside with them for one more second. I couldn't go back and explain my outburst. I just wanted to be left the hell alone. Which made the fact that I now had to text Cian to pick me up all the more ridiculous. I opened our chat and began to type, but he beat me to it.

Incoming Message

Straight ahead

Received 3:06

I looked up from my phone to see Cian already in the parking lot. He was leaning against his shitty old red car, standing out in the sea of black and silver BMWs and Lexus. He smiled as my gaze met his and I carefully crossed the pick-up and drop-off round about towards him.

"How was class?" He asked as he walked back around to the driver's side. I tried not to read too far into the fact he hadn't opened the door for me, but it was hard. He had every reason to be angry with me.

"It was fine," I replied, opening the door and settling inside. He turned on the engine and the radio started up, tuned in to some easy listening AM station.

"Just fine?" We were waiting in a car line up to exit out of the school, onto a road that was filled with more traffic. There were two high schools and two elementary schools on this small street, which made for a terrible rush hour.

"I honestly wasn't paying much attention," I said.

There were a few moments of silence, where the only voice in the car was the radio show host. But we were moving at a crawl and had at least 20 minutes to Carol's, so it was only inevitable that sooner or later someone would start asking some real questions. And Cian chose sooner.

"What happened with your friend?" He asked, attempting to make it seem casual. He didn't look over at me or do anything to signify that it was a big deal. But it was weird. I didn't want to talk to him about Miles; I didn't even want Miles to occupy any space in my brain. But now I had to, because I had brought Cian into this.

"Are you sure you want to talk about this? You said that it was better in concept," I said gently, repeating his wording from earlier. I didn't want it to sound like I was avoiding the question, but I also knew that sometimes people had a tendency to ask questions that they didn't truly want the answer to. You think you want the answer, but when the answer will hurt no matter what the answer is, do you really want the answer?

"I'm sure," he said, softly and short.

"Okay, well I don't really know. He left, as you saw, and that was it. Haven't heard from him, probably won't for a while," I answered, keeping my voice quiet. I felt embarrassed and ashamed.

"Are you upset about that?" He asked. It felt like the stupidest question in the world to me. Was I upset that the guy I was in love with didn't want to talk to me, asked by this guy I am supposed to be dating. Was there any good answer?

"I feel like a pretty shitty person."

"Were you trying to make him jealous, is that what that was?"

My stomach churned at his words. I didn't want to answer that question. To say yes was an admission that I was simply just using Cian. I didn't specifically do it for that reason, but I knew that I wanted to hurt Miles, just a little.

"He had said a lot of shitty things about how you were just using me and you didn't care about me. I wanted him to see that he was wrong," I replied. I felt heat running across my cheeks and immediately knew that I was turning red.

Cian was finally able to make it past a stop light at the end of the street that emptied us onto a more main road that had less traffic. He didn't answer for a minute. He just kept driving and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel along to the music coming from the speakers.

"Well, that doesn't sound like you should be the one feeling like a shitty person," Cian eventually said, attempting to reassure me despite whatever emotions he was feeling. He reached his hand over the centre console to grab my hand, and gave it a light and quick squeeze.

I wanted to jump to Miles' defense. I wanted to tell Cian everything he didn't know; how he couldn't judge Miles for what he said because he didn't understand his life. But it felt so out of touch with the situation, and that it could only possibly make it worse.

"I promise, no more friend surprises," I said and Cian smiled a little.

"I know. But also, I want you to know you can talk to me about this stuff. I know it feels uncomfortable, but I'm not unrealistic. I know your feelings aren't going to disappear over a couple weeks, especially with someone you still see almost every day. And uncomfortable conversations are still better than secrets." He rested his hand on top of mine and I nodded in response. The idea of having these conversations felt sickening and impossible. It would be like putting us both through torture. I couldn't understand why I was worth it to him; he barely even knew me.

"So, do you want to get your car now? You never answered my text this morning about going to yours or mine," he said, and I knew it was about to be a last-minute decision as the intersection for my house was getting closer.

"We can get the car later," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. Small snowflakes started to fall from the sky, freezing to the windshield.

"Do you like snow?" I asked.

"I don't mind snow. It's better than rain," he replied.

"I love rain," I replied, staring out the window. Something about it felt so cathartic. Like the earth was crying with you, and everything was washed anew. Snow felt pure, perfect, delicate. Nothing I could relate to at the moment.

"Then you'd love Ireland." He smiled as he said it. I hoped we would work out. That one day he would take me, and he would show me where he grew up, his favourite places. But I had this feeling deep down that it wouldn't.

We sat in silence for a bit, nothing but the sound of the radio and rush-hour drivers blaring their horns at each other.

"Since you've expertly avoided the subject, I've made the executive decision that we will go to my house," he said, as we were passing the turn off for my house.

"Is your family home?" I asked. I wanted to be prepared, though I wasn't sure how prepared I could get with 5 minutes left in the drive.

"God, no. You think I would just drop that on you without warning?"

"You're the one who willingly walked up and knocked on my door last time, like some kind of psychopath. How should I know what you're capable of?"

"I'm a psychopath for wanting to be a gentleman? Sorry that I want your family to think I'm respectful!" It was playful banter, and I was loving every second of it. Every laugh and smile from Cian pushed Miles further from my mind.

"Wait, so because I haven't gone up to your door and introduced myself, I'm some harlot who is just running around with you in secret?" I joked.

"Harlot is an interesting word choice. I was thinking more like boyfriend but." I could hear the nerves in his voice as he looked over to see my reaction. I was really glad he was driving the car because I probably would have hit the brakes out of pure shock, and clearly it was written on my face.

"Too soon?" He followed with, and I felt a pit in my stomach. He deserved someone so much better than me.

"Maybe a little," I said, suddenly pretending to be really interested in an old grease stain on the thigh of my uniform pants. I don't know why it felt like it made such a big difference. It's not like I wanted him to see other people. But it felt different. It felt like closing the door on Miles entirely, like if he changed his mind then it would be too late. Which, it should already be too late. There shouldn't even be a door. And that was exactly the problem.

"That's okay, I'm not in a rush. We can remain boyfriend-adjacent." His voice was light-hearted and sweet, and it pulled me from the dark corner of my mind. He smiled and I smiled back.

"Boyfriend-adjacent?"

"Yes, and when you decide I can drop the ending and be just your boyfriend, you let me know."

"Well, that's not very exciting. I'm supposed to get my big movie moment where you ask me to be official," I replied. And maybe that would be enough. That was something I knew that in a million years I would never get from Miles.

"What about my movie moment? I asked first, and you have rudely shot me down. I think that means I'm entitled to a Notebook-esque display of affection when you finally come to your senses."

"You've probably had guys knocking down your door to give you their grand display of affection. I think I deserve one grand romantic gesture," I complained.

"Fine, you get one gesture, but that's it."

I didn't really know anything about Cian's past, except that I could assume that he had also fallen for his friend at some point. He seemed to understand the experience perfectly. But, I had to assume he was experienced. I couldn't imagine anyone not wanting to date him, except, of course, me.

He pulled onto his street. The sidewalks had been dug up for some kind of water line repair, and there were giant, blue plastic water pipes dumped on the yards. His house was the most afflicted, the bottom of his driveway had been destroyed to expose the water line. It didn't stop him from giving the car a little extra gas and forcing its way over the uneven parts.

"It's apparently some kind of water emergency, that clearly can't be that big of an emergency considering they dug it all up and then haven't been back in 3 days," he explained, putting the car into park. I grabbed my backpack from near my feet and pushed the car door open.

He took the mail from the mailbox before unlocking the front door, fighting with it for a minute before it finally gave in. I was grateful for the heat that welcomed us in. We slid off our shoes and he took my jacket and scarf, and then we headed towards his room.

"Do you want water or anything?" He asked and I shook my head.

"How about a change of clothes?" He offered.

"What, you don't like my outfit?" I said jokingly as I gestured at my horrible uniform. Gemma had once called it free birth control, and I think that just about summed it up.

"While I am a huge fan of navy and grey, I just thought I'd offer."

"I'll take you up on that," I said. He rummaged through his dresser and pulled out a t-shirt and a pair of joggers. Then he disappeared, I assumed to leave me to change. The shirt was a band tee of a band I did not recognize with a red blimp on the front. I hurriedly threw it on and shoved my uniform into my backpack.

He knocked on the door and I let him know it was safe to come back inside. Despite the fact I said I didn't need anything, he came with his hands full of water and a bag of chips under his arm.

He stopped dead in his tracks, just looking at me as I sat on the edge of his bed.

"What? Did my hair get messed up?" I hurriedly ran a hand through my hair. I used to keep my hair short because it had always been completely unmanageable, but all it had taken was one comment from Miles about liking my curls to have me growing it out.

"No, no," he said, placing one of the waters down on his dresser, "It's just that you wear my clothes better than I do."

"Oh," I replied, trying to turn my face away to hide the blush I could feel coming on.

He sat down on the bed, next to me but leaving distance between us. I wanted to be irresponsible, and just close the gap and kiss him. To pull him down onto the bed and ignore everything else going on in my life. But those thoughts didn't get far because he immediately pulled me back to reality.

"So, we are supposed to be deciding the rest of your life or something, right?"

"Right," I said shakily.

I knew no one else could make the decision except me, but I also knew I needed the moral support to actually do something. I had been making everything in my life into a tomorrow issue, but I was running out of tomorrows. I unzipped my bag at my feet and pulled out my MacBook, placing it on my lap and pulling up the myBluePrint career planner that my school had us using. The list included university, college and trade schools and went on for 18 pages. And then I pulled out my notebook with the colour-coded legend Gemma had made of programs I actually met the requirements for.

Cian scooted closer to me so that he could peer over at my screen.

"Wow, there's so many options," he said, his eyes wide.

"Yup," I replied, mindlessly scrolling up and down the page.

He seemed to sense my anxiety levels rising, as he shifted a little closer to me so that our thighs were touching. He reached his hand up to the back of my shoulder, using his thumb to trace a pattern on my neck, just above the collar of the shirt.

"I suppose, using the filter to limit some of the options you don't want would be a good place to start?"

"That is exactly where I get stuck. How am I supposed to close doors when I don't even know what I want to do?"

"I get where you are coming from, but I have a feeling that Polish Studies probably isn't in your future," Cian laughed, pointing to one of the options on the webpage.

I opened up the filter dropdown menu and Cian and I went through it choice-by-choice, deselecting options and watching the list shrink. It went to a more manageable 8 pages, and I felt a bit of relief.

"What classes do you like?" Cian asked.

I had thought this over a million times, and it never gave me anymore clarity. "I'm doing well in all of them," I replied.

"Doing well at them doesn't mean you like them. I was awful at math but I still liked the challenge. Which classes do you actually enjoy going to? Like, if you didn't have to go to school, would you still go?"

"Honestly, no, probably not."

"Well, what do you like to do outside of school?"

I didn't want to answer that question, looking around his room that screamed of culture. Music posters stuck to the walls and dried up art supplies left on the desk. He had real interests, hobbies, a job, a life. Fuck my friend, sell drugs, play videogames.

I shook the thoughts from my head and took a deep breath. "I play on the soccer team. And I like to read but I feel like I never have time."

"Do you like your English class?" Cian asked and I immediately shook my head.

"No, I hate it. I always feel like an idiot trying to overanalyze every word, and I wonder if the authors are looking down on us and laughing at how hard we are trying to give meaning to some nonsense they wrote."

"Okay, so soccer. Would you ever want to work with other athletes? Like a trainer or a physical therapist maybe?"

"No, I think it would be too hard watching other people live my dream. I always knew I wasn't good enough to play pro soccer, but it was still a dream at some point," I replied as I deselected those options from the menu. I felt my heart sink a little.

"Hey, it's okay," Cian grabbed my hand and squeezed it reassuringly for what felt like the millionth time today, "you're doing good. This is progress."

Half an hour later, the list hadn't moved. We hadn't figured out any secret passion that I had, and we were down to a list that all seemed plausible, but nothing felt specifically right. We had been looking at salaries, work hours, the job market needs.

At some point, Cian looked up from the notebook that he was scribbling down notes into.

"Bailey, I don't think it's supposed to go this way. It feels like this is starting to become some sort of strategic decision now rather than just you... following your dreams." The way Cian said it felt like he was treading carefully, as if I was a stale grenade that was waiting to burst at any moment.

"I don't know what else to do."

"You don't have to do anything. You know that, right? You can take some time, figure things out. And who knows, maybe you will find your true calling and you won't even want to go to school," Cian offered but I immediately started shaking my head.

"I have to go. I don't know what I would do otherwise. I can't just stay here, wasting my life working towards nothing. My family would be so disappointed in me."

"Wow, okay," Cian said, biting down on his bottom lip and looking distantly towards his bedroom wall. The hurt that washed over his face felt like a knife to my chest.

"Cian, I –"

"You know how privileged you are to be able to say that, right? To be able to look at this list of schools and be able to pick any one you wanted? To not have to worry about which one offers the best academic scholarships, and how much it would cost to rent an apartment nearby, and if you will be able to balance school and a job. To not worry about abandoning your responsibility to your family. You get to pick some options off a list. And everything is going to work out," Cian spat out the last part bitterly, jealously. How could I have been so oblivious to how hard this would be for him to watch? I had been sitting on his bed, complaining about an experience he had dreamed of having.

It felt like the world was falling in on me, like everything I did was wrong, like I didn't even know who I was anymore. I always thought I was good. But how could I think that when I hurt everyone around me?

Cian stopped and the room went silent, but the silence hurt my ears as if it was screaming. I felt freezing cold, but I was sweating. I started to shake, and I wanted to stop, I was trying to stop, but I couldn't stop. I knew I should feel something, I knew I should do something, but I was just frozen. I felt numb and like nothing, and I wished I could be nothing. That I could just disappear and start over and do it better next time.

"Bailey? Bailey just breathe with me, okay? 1, 2, 3." I could hear Cian's voice, but it sounded so far away. I wanted to react, to show him I heard him, but the effort needed to do anything felt impossible. I felt catatonic.

"Come on, Bailey. Just take one breath with me."

I was hyperventilating and I didn't think it was possible to stop, I just hoped that I would eventually pass out.

Maybe I would die.

Wouldn't that be for the best for everyone.

My breaths started coming harder, and Cian wrapped his arms around me. It hurt and it felt like it would never end.

But I didn't die. My breathing steadied out slowly, leaving behind dread and a pit in my stomach instead. Cian had pulled me down onto the bed at some point, so I was lying down on my side, and he was rubbing my back. Each second that past felt like an eternity and I didn't know how to re-enter life after that.

"I'm so sorry, that wasn't fair," he said eventually, his voice a whisper as he wrapped his arms around me, holding me closely. I took a deep breath. My face was wet with tears that I didn't notice falling.

"It's true."

"It's not true. I was feeling hurt. Feeling angry at things that have nothing to do with you. You didn't get to choose to have your life, and you didn't give me my life. I shouldn't have said anything. I know that you didn't mean it to have anything to do with me. I know that but it still hurt. Because if you think that if you didn't go to school that it would be wasting your life away, then what do you think of me?"

We laid in silence, him holding me and my breathing suddenly hitching at the question. The immediate articulation of his feelings, making sure to understand it wasn't me, it was nothing I had experienced before with Miles.

"That you are too good to be here right now explaining that to me," I said, closing my eyes and taking in a shaky breath.

"You are good, Bailey. You are worth it."

And I cried. I cried for fear, for guilt, but mostly relief.