Evangeline Channing

"What the hell?"

Against my better judgement, I hirple towards the figure on the open porch across the street, too eager to get out of the goddamn rain to stop and question whether the shady silhouette roaming the street at midnight might be dangerous.

Frankly, my mind is so foggy that I can't even be sure I'm not imagining it, in some misty-eyed heartbroken haze.

As I get closer, though, and my sight gets clearer, the figure starts to look familiar, and I'm sure I've seen that AC/DC t-shirt before...

"Scott?"

Scott's tall figure moves cautiously into the porchlight, and his eyes meet mine with wary curiosity, like I've got a face full of tattoos, or I've grown a third arm or something.

Oh God. I've been balling my owed out for the last hour. I must look like absolute shit. That's why he's looking at me like that.

I drop my head quickly, wiping the mascara streaks and God knows whatever else from my face.

"What are you doing here?" I say, coughing once to clear the obnoxiously nasal sound of a post-crying voice.

"Sorry, I just- you seemed upset earlier, and then I saw you leaving the party, and it was raining and everything, and... I don't know, I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

I nearly laugh at how far away I am from being okay. But I wouldn't even know where to start.

When I look up, I'm ready to tell Scott a lie, or make up some lame excuse about needing to go home just to get him off of my back, but suddenly, I recognise it: the careful stare and stiff demeanour - the way he's looking at me. The reason he's looking at me.

"Oh, my God," I breathe, my red face in my hands. "You saw."

It's not a question, so he doesn't answer, but he doesn't need to.

In a strange sort of way, I wish I could see what he saw. I wonder what I looked like at my absolute lowest, crying at the door of someone who...

I clear my throat, shaking my head before I upset myself and burst into tears again in front of the someone that I definitely don't know well enough for all that.

Part of me is relieved that Scott saw what happened, as opposed to someone else. There's such sympathy in his look, in his soft, strong brows, that I almost feel... comforted. As comforted as I can feel for now, anyway.

"Evangeline..." he sighs, "are you alright?"

I shrug, hoping to look indifferent at best; fine, at least. "You saw it," I say.

And just like that, the mere mention makes the floodgates open all over again. Before I can stop myself, I'm crying like a baby, and trying to blubber apologies for crying, which only makes me feel even worse, and cry even harder.

"Hey, hey..." he says, his husky whisper soothing and firm. When he moves towards me with arms raised in concerned, I don't know if it's a gesture of goodwill or a genuine invitation, but I don't care either way: I step into them, and against his chest, I stop holding back the tears – I'm too tired to try.

I can tell he's not quite sure where to put his hands. His presence in itself is warming enough, but I can feel his hands hesitating behind me, like a jerky scanner.

It's fair enough really. We've only properly been talking again for a month or two, and then bam. Suddenly I'm post-breakup blubbering in his arms. I'm not sure I'd know exactly what to do either.

Soon enough though, they settle on the middle of my back, drawing small, slow circles to the pace of his steady breath.

"You're okay," he whispers, and for a moment whilst he holds me, I can breathe.

"I just don't know what's happened," I sniffle, once I can get words out again. "I swear, I'm not just some delusional kid with a crush. We... we were something, I just don't get it, I..."

I feel my breaths shortening as the tears threaten to spill once more, but Scott starts to trace his soothing circles again, calming me before they can. I take a deep breath, and my eyes seem to shut by themselves.

"You don't have to explain anything, Evangeline," he says quietly, with stilled hands, "not if you don't want to."

I nod against his chest, and when he nods back, I feel it against the top of my head.

I swear I could fall asleep like this. I probably would if my eyes hadn't snapped open at the sensation of something large and heavy around my shoulders.

"It's just a jacket," Scott explains when I jolt awake and out of his hold, "my jacket – it's still raining, and you just looked... really cold."

I snort looking down at my dress – he's not wrong: it's soaked right through.

"Like a wet rat, you mean," I joke, shaking my head at the state of myself, "thank you, Scott, really, but I think I've exploited your kindness enough this evening – morning. Besides, you'll need a jacket too. It's not your fault I was too stupid to remember mine."

I start to take the leather jacket off of my shoulders, shivering when the cold hits my shoulders again before it's even all the way off.

"Evangeline."

With his hands over mine, Scott clasps the jacket in place, holding my gaze intensely.

"I think you deserve a little kindness. Keep it on, alright? Please – just until we're back somewhere warm, or something."

From his eyes, I can tell he has a lot to say. I know there's a lot to be said about everything he just saw. But he's careful, and he's said it all in just a few, caring words.

"Don't be the one to put yourself through hell," he adds, when I gnaw at my lip in contemplation, and although he nods to the beating rain, something tells me he's talking about more than that.

I sigh. I don't feel like it, but grateful hope stretches my lips into something like a smile.

"Well, help me put it on then," I tease, and I can't help but give in to a proper smile when I see the relief that washes over his face.

His jacket's the epitome of cool – hooded, black, leather and vintage – but it's way too big on me. Even Scott looks amused as he helps me slide my arms in.

"Thank you. Jesus, what do they feed you footy players?" I joke once the jacket is on. The hem falls just above my knees, and the sleeves completely obscure my hands.

"Dunno what you're talking about," Scott laughs, pulling the large hood over my head measuredly, careful not to disfigure my ponytail. "I think it's a perfect fit."

I thank him again with another little, involuntary smile, and he shrugs it off before clearing his throat.

"Do you wanna head back to the party?" He asks. "To... talk to your friends, and stuff?"

I shake my head. I can't bear the thought of talking about any of this yet, especially not with everything that happened with Babe tonight – last night.

"I think I'm just gonna go home. I'm too tired for strobe lights."

He nods with understanding. "You got a ride, or...?"

"Don't need one. I live right... there," I say, pointing to my house, a matter of metres away. The lights are out, unsurprisingly. The thought of Mum and August home and sound asleep makes me a little sad. With the way tonight has gone, I'd have been better off staying in for a movie night with them.

Scott's eyebrows raise with a look that says he has even more questions now than he had before. I can only imagine.

Did your mum know about you and Macklin?

Did you ever meet him at his house?

Did he ever meet you at yours?

If those are indeed the questions on his mind, he doesn't ask them. He just tilts his head with a shameless smile.

"Mind if I walk you?"

I stop to really look at him for a moment, his face illuminated by the shitty light porchlight. Once I do, everything seems so simple.

I'm hurt, yes. And the wound feels so raw, so deep, that I feel like I should see it outside of myself, in a pool of red, or a festering gash. But, as little sense as it makes, I look at Scott, his cheeks pink with cold and eyes clear with good intentions, and I feel better. Maybe not great – certainly not perfect, but so much better. So much less... alone. When I think about it in that way, I don't care how long we've been friends again. Scott won't judge me, or ask me too many questions, or tell me 'I told you so'. He's the only friend I want here right now.

"Not at all," I say, taking his outstretched arm and linking it with mine.

He takes the rain brazenly, as though it doesn't faze him at all, although I see him shiver slightly and grit his jaw as he braves it. I don't bother telling him to take the jacket – I know how that'll end up – but my heart warms a little at the sight.

"So..." He starts.

"So, how was the party?" I ask quickly, to save him the awkwardness of coming up with something to talk about other than the shitshow that was me being broken up with.

He nods, apparently impressed.

"It was pretty cool. Everyone seemed to be having fun as well. I liked the game – that Never Have I Book thing."

"Never Have I Ever Judged a Book by Its Cover," I laugh. "Yeah, I liked that, too. Oh, you should tell me who yours was! The person in in the room you've had a crush on."

I eye him teasingly, and I realise that this is helping – forcing myself to act like everything's okay. I know that at some point tonight will hit me again like a freight train, and when that happens, I don't know what I'll cling to. But for now, I feel alright, I think.

Scott laughs, rubbing the back of his neck nervously in that way that guys do, and I get the feeling I'll have to pry it out of him day by day.

"Ah, I don't know about that..."

"Come on! I've just borne my entire soul to you, Scott, you've got to give me something here."

That makes him laugh, and I like that whilst I wait for the freight train, I can joke about it with him.

"Okay, I'll give you clues."
"Fine – five."

"Five? That'll make it too easy for you!"

"Duh, that's the point."

"Okay, okay," he concedes with a shy grin. "First clue... she's a she."

"Scott!" I whine. "That's a shit clue – of course, she's a she."

"What do you mean 'of course'?" He says amusedly, his eyebrows raised in fake offence. "Did you just assume my sexuality, Evangeline?"

"Oh, piss off, Kellerman. Give me a good one for clue 2."

His grin widens as we begin to slow down, and, rather proud of himself, he announces,

"Gosh darn it. Well, as much as I'd love to give you the next clue, I think you're home."

I swivel around, and although that 2 minutes felt like 2 seconds, he's right – we're right in front of my house.

"You're off the hook for now, Kellerman," I squint, feigning strictness, "but mark my words: I'll be back for my clue."

He laughs again, and it makes me laugh too, but his expression turns serious and hesitant again.

"Evangeline... Will you be alright?"

I sniffle, almost expecting the tears to run, but they don't for now, and I breathe out in relief.

"I think so," I sniffle, meaning it. "I'll... figure it out."

"Good. Uh, goodnight," he nods as he begins to head back down the hill, but before he's too far gone, he turns back.

"Text me in the morning, alright? No matter how you're feeling. If you want to, I mean, just- I'm here."

"Thanks, Scott. Really. For everything."

He nods yet again, and I'm starting to get a feel for Scott – an idea of the real boy, rather than the one on school posters and in awed corridor whisperings. He's humble. And insanely kind.

I take a deep breath as I open the front gate, and it's not until I go to unlock the front door that the thought crosses my mind: shit, what if I wake Mum up? I don't feel like telling her why I'm not sleeping over at Babe's, or explaining why I've got mascara stains all down my face at 1am in the morning...

I've never been more thankful for August's basement-level bedroom as I shimmy through the low window. I have every intention of creeping across and out without a sound, but the second my soggy sock touches the floor, the floorboard creaks, and August – the lightest sleeper I have ever met – stirs awake. Sort of.

"Angie?" She says groggily. "How come you're back?"

"Tired," I say, peeling off my socks and climbing into Auggie's bed before she can get a good look at my face. "Party was kinda boring."

"M'kay," she nods readily, her eyes closed again before they were even fully open.

"Goodnight, Angie."

I try to say it back – 'goodnight' – but it feels trapped in my throat. For some reason, 'Goodnight, Angie' makes me want to cry again, because it's then that I realise that nobody will ever call me Evie again. I'll never be his Evie again.