MELODY
...

I don’t hear from Steph right away. Not in the way I want to.

She texts when she gets home—made it safe, miss you already—and I reply with something light, something easy. But then a day passes, then another, and my chest tightens every time my phone lights up, only for it to be someone else.

I try not to be that person—the one who stares at their phone all day, waiting. But I feel hollow. The house is too quiet. The town feels smaller than usual, and I don’t know what to do with that.

A few nights after she leaves, I cave. I call.

Steph picks up on the first ring. “Mel?”

Hearing her voice feels like a rope pulling me back to solid ground. “Hey.”

She exhales, like she’s been holding her breath too. “I was literally just about to text you.”

“Yeah?” I drop my legs, staring at the ceiling. My room still smells like her—a mix of citrus and something warm, something distinctly Steph. “You should’ve.”

“I know.” A pause. “I just… I didn’t want to bug you. I didn’t know if you needed space after I left.”

I let out a short laugh, shaking my head. “Steph, I called you.”

She laughs too, and for a second, I feel like I can breathe again. “Yeah, I guess you did.”

Silence stretches between us, but it’s not uncomfortable. Just there. Like we both know what needs to be said but neither of us wants to be the first to say it.

Steph sighs, and then—

“I don’t want this to just be a thing.” Her voice is quiet, but firm. “I want more.”

My stomach flips. I sit up, gripping my phone a little tighter. “Steph—”

“I know long distance is hard,” she rushes on, like she’s afraid I’ll shut her down. “I know it sucks, and I know we won’t see each other as much as we want, but, Mel… I want to make it work. If you do.”

I close my eyes. I want to say yes. I do say yes, in my head, over and over. But doubt clings to me.

“You’re gonna be busy,” I say, my voice smaller than I want it to be. “Work and all—”

“And you think I’m just going to ditch you?” There’s no anger in her voice, just… hurt. Like the idea physically pains her. “Mel. Come on.”

I swallow. “I don’t think that. I just… I don’t want to be the person you feel obligated to text when you could be out making new memories. Living your life.”

Steph is quiet for a second. Then she says, “You are my life, though. Or at least part of it. A big part.”

I press a hand over my eyes. “I don’t want you to feel stuck.”

“Jesus, Mel, I’m not stuck.” She groans. “Look, I’m not asking you to promise me forever. I just want to try. To call you when I miss you. To visit when I can. To not pretend this was just some thing that doesn’t mean anything.”

I suck in a breath, and for the first time since she left, the weight on my chest loosens.

I don’t need perfect. I just need effort. And Steph is giving me that.

I exhale. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I let myself smile. “I want to try.”

Steph sighs, this time in relief. “Thank God. I was seriously about to get in my car and drive back.”

I laugh. “You’re so dramatic.”

She hums. “Mmm, yeah. But you like it.”

I shake my head, warmth blooming in my chest. Maybe this won’t be easy. Maybe we’ll have nights where  bad reception and long days make us miss each other so much it physically hurts.

But I’m willing to try and so is she. And that’s enough.

The next morning, I wake up feeling lighter. It’s not like everything’s magically fixed, but it’s the first time in a while that I don’t feel like I’m drowning.

I spend most of the day just… being. Not overthinking. Not waiting by my phone. I run errands with Mom, half-listen to Marco talk about some new car he’s been eyeing. I exist, and it’s weirdly nice.

But that night, when the house gets quiet again, I find myself slipping out the front door, sneakers crunching against the gravel as I head to the old basketball court near my place.

The place is empty. The hoop stands there like an old friend, waiting.

I grab a ball from the side and dribble it once, then again. My hands remember what to do, even if my heart doesn’t feel the same fire it used to. I take a shot. The ball sails through the net, a clean swish.

I don’t feel the rush I used to. No adrenaline, no this is everything burning through me.

But I don’t feel regret either.

Maybe that's okay too.

When I get home, Marco’s at the kitchen table, a half-empty glass of milk in front of him. He looks up as I walk in, his expression knowing. “Couldn’t sleep?”

I shake my head, sliding into the chair across from him. “Just needed air.”

He studies me for a moment, then shrugs. “You’re weird.”

I snort. “Thanks.”

Marco takes a sip of his milk like this isn’t the deepest conversation we’ve ever had. “You okay Balls?”

I let out a breath. “I don’t know.”

He doesn’t push, just waits.

“I just… I don’t like it here anymore.”

Marco raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.

“I thought basketball was supposed to be everything. But it’s not. And now I don’t know what is.” I look down at my hands. “And with Dad gone… Mom is ...I don’t know, Marco. It’s different.”

He nods, staring at his glass. “Yeah. It is.”

We never really talk about this. It's been years but sometimes it feels like just yesterday and Mom hasn't fully moved on neither have we.

I swallow. “Jeremiah takes care of us. He’s good. He’s trying.”

“He is.”

“But it’s not the same.”

Marco exhales, tapping his fingers against the glass. “It’s okay to feel that way.”

I shake my head. “I don’t want to just feel stuck here forever.”

Marco leans back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. “Then don’t be.”

I blink at him. “Wow. So wise.”

He grins. “I try.”

I roll my eyes, but his words stick with me.

“Mel, this place doesn’t have to be your whole world. If you want more, go get it.” His voice is steady, matter-of-fact. “Hilton will always be here. But you don’t have to be.”

I sit with that for a moment.

Maybe it’s not just about staying or leaving. Maybe it’s about knowing that no matter where I end up, I’m not trapped.

I nudge his foot under the table. “Thanks, Dumbass.”

He smirks. “Free therapy. Now, let’s talk about the important stuff.”

I narrow my eyes. “Like what?”

“Steph.”

I groan. “Marco.”

He laughs, loud and obnoxious. “I’m just saying, I like her. She’s cool. And you act less like a gremlin when she’s around.”

“I do not act like a gremlin.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You literally just hissed at me yesterday because I stole the last Pop-Tart.”

I scowl. “That was justified.”

“Sure.” Marco sips his milk, clearly entertained. “Anyway. You two gonna make it work, or am I gonna have to deal with your dramatic heartbreak playlist for months?”

I fight the blush creeping up my neck. “We’re figuring it out.”

He nods. “You should.”

He takes the last bits of his milk and yawns. "Bye now, guru needs to rest "

I roll my eyes but smile. I can't believe I needed this conversation.

^^°^^