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In the after they go on a lot of runs. Late at night and even though winter fast approaching, they run. Maybe it’s a vestige of their former-best-friend-psychic-connection, maybe they just have the same habits after all these years, but either way they never plan, it just happens. Night after night, after homework or practice or work, Addy always finds Beth. The air gets colder, the sidewalks get slippery, but the streetlights shine bright as ever so somewhere on the route Addy will glimpse Beth’s bouncing ponytail. They don’t talk, don’t even turn to look at each other, but years of being acutely aware of one another’s bodies means they don’t really need to.
Even on the rainy nights, when she’s exhausted or every muscle in her body hurts Addy likes the run, likes how their tiny town feels a little bigger at night, but mostly it’s that Beth is here. They don’t talk anymore, haven’t since that night on the field and even with Coach gone nothing can go back to the way it was before. They don’t even make eye contact at practice, staying as far away from each other as possible while Beth takes back control of the squad and a new coach who smiles and brings brownies at the end of the week begins to show them all a softer way of doing things. Addy uses their runs to make sure Beth isn’t wasted every night, to let the broken feeling in her chest fade to a dull ache and pretend, just for half an hour, that they’re fine, that they’re normal, that they’re always like this, perfectly in step.
Even though they don’t talk Addy feels Beth every time she walks into a room. So instead she spends more time with her mom and Slocum, trains by herself, watches Beth drive RiRi home. She’s not jealous, nothing pulls like it did when Beth first brought RiRi between them, she’s just sad. Honestly, Addy is a mess right now, between how Coach’s trial ended, the betrayal and manipulation she never saw coming, how entirely fucked her head is because of all that, and Beth’s absence, which yeah Addy knows she asked for but she wasn’t controlling herself and like. She’s never not had Beth. It feels like gravity got flipped or something, like she lost a limb.
Sometimes in the locker room she’ll see Beth flinch at something Tacy mutters, but she can’t do anything, that’s not her job anymore. No one else sees it, none of their other friends know how to see Beth’s exterior crack, but Addy knows all the signs, can tell the second she’s hurting. She doesn’t know what to do with all this information anymore.
The judge recommends she talk to someone, after the trial is over and the verdict comes crashing down on the heads of the guilty. It’s probably good, Addy doesn’t even know where to begin with the mass of tangled feelings in her chest. She goes to see the counselor at school, runs into Beth when Addy’s coming and she’s leaving once, and tries to unravel all this pain she’s been left with.
The counselor, someone named Jenny, turns out to be great. At least that’s something. They start with coach, then go to cheer, and eventually she cries about Beth, tries to explain to Jenny how her confusion about Colette French is nothing compared to the wound Beth’s absence has created.
The winter is long and icy, but they run on the plowed roads and Addy tells Jenny how she feels and makes dinner with her mom. Slowly the world tips back onto its axis. Turns out there are words for some of what she feels, for how Coach treated her and why her relationship with Beth got so bad.
She thinks about it all the time, thinks about her. How she and Beth hurt each other, sometimes accidentally and sometimes not, how Beth had looked at her before the competition, what does she have that I don’t? Addy hadn’t known what to say and still doesn’t, not really. All she wanted was freedom, not to get all caught up in someone who didn’t care about her at all, not to hurt her best friend. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? They hadn’t meant to hurt each other, it just kept happening.
(If she could go back she would, she would find Beth shivering and help her turn off the air conditioning, hold her when RiRi’s teeth get knocked out and she can’t breathe. She’d do it so differently. The only problem is that they really were tearing each other apart. She’s not sure any of that would have fixed things. At least this way, at least now, they can see their sharpest parts, they can try to put their weapons down.)
The only thing she can’t forgive herself for, more than falling into Coach’s web, more than not saying what she really wanted until it was too late, is not noticing how much Beth was hurting. Addy knows Beth, knows her incredibly well, she should have seen it. She should have seen how much Beth’s heart was breaking. Beth could always put her fingers right on Addy’s heart, read her like a book even after Addy finally figured out her poker face in 8th grade. Sometimes it was annoying and other times it was wonderful but it was, always. Beth had been right about Coach too, knew everything Addy was feeling. But Addy was too caught up in everything, too enamored with the chance things could be different to just see her friend. Her girl.
(Beth has always been Addy’s girl, just as much as Addy has been Beth’s.)
It just, like, Beth had never been so hurt before. (Addy had never been so gone before.) It might suck, it might not be healthy, she and Jenny talk about this at length, but the fact is that Beth’s family is awful. Addy knows that, remembers when her dad left, remembers when her mom got injured and got her first prescription. She knows leaving is the worst possible thing, knows Beth clings because she believes, deep down, that no one loves her.
Beth whispers it sometimes, right against Addy’s skin in the dark, do you think everyone just has to leave me? Addy’s never figured out how exactly to say, fucking no, never, obviously, not. Beth, you are the best person on the entire planet and they just can’t see it for some godawful reason. Their loss. But they don’t do that much vulnerability, not really. It only happens in small bursts, admissions of weakness and sore muscles rubbed in Beth’s basement. So instead Addy pulls Beth as close as possible, tries to show that she is never leaving I promise.
Addy’s not a liar. She meant that, meant that she can’t imagine her life without Beth, doesn’t want to. It’s then, one morning on a chair across from Jenny, that she decides. Yes. Yeah. If they can figure it all out, try the time warp again, she and Beth might belong together, might be cosmic. Either way she won’t leave again.
It flies through her mind, all of it, again and again. The cramped feeling of their town, how she and Beth kissed, kissed and never talked about it again, started hiding things from each other, how not talking about anything real makes the tightness of their lives feel so much worse, makes the walls close in until Addy can’t breathe anymore.
Wild and fierce and pained and clutching at each other. What if they don’t actually need to hurt?
She thinks that might have been the problem, all the wanting running under their skin. They’ve always talked, talked constantly about anything and everything until they didn’t and that, Addy knows, was the beginning of the end. They stopped really seeing each other, starting dancing in circles and playing awful games and denying everything real, saw who they thought they knew instead. Cheer makes them strong, gives them purpose, has been a thing to strive for since middle school when Addy heard about cheerleading from her neighbor and giddily described what high school might be like to Beth.
(Beth had smiled, said let’s do it, thrown herself in because Addy said the water was warm. They started because Addy was excited and Beth loved it because they were both there.) Cheer means they have a future away from here, means they have power and friends and an endless supply of glittery eyeshadow. But it’s a fight, a dog eat dog world, weakness means you don’t get to be top girl. They’d shown up for tryouts and Addy felt Beth’s eyes narrow before it happened, we’re gonna rule this squad, Addy. We’re going to be the best. (Addy thinks it might all have been for her, that Beth wanted to rule so Addy could be on top too, knowing that Addy doesn’t like the same kind of nitty gritty power brawl that Beth’s parents have accidentally made her so good at)
This squad, the back tucks and tosses and tumbles made them Addy and Beth, but AddyandBeth existed long before any of this. Cheer doesn’t leave room for softness, scoffs at anything that isn’t tight and hurls vulnerability across the room. Maybe this gym, the floor mats and pushups, taught them how to find each other’s weakest places and not be charitable about it.
They’re supposed to be best friends. They were. Woven out of promises and linked pinkies and faces next to each other in the dark. Addy didn’t know they could hurt each other so badly.
It makes sense that everything blew up, makes perfect sense and makes Addy’s head spin. The problem is that they aren’t really friends. Friends don’t do this, don’t obsess over where the other is all the time, don’t feel a rising tide of jealousy when someone new smiles at their girl, don’t sleep in each other’s arms or kiss in the rain or feel a hot impossible need under their skin like this. But if they aren’t friends and aren’t anything else – if they live off of stolen glances and subtext and holding too tightly and reacting too viciously, well it’s no surprise everything blew up. They need each other, need their hands touching and shoulders bumping like breathing but they deny that truth at every possible second and it ruins them.
It only makes sense to be so uncontrollably overprotective of your time with a friend because you want more. Because you want more and you can’t say it.
What hurts the most is that back when they actually talked they never had different version of events. They always agreed on what was going on around them. Stop talking and maybe living in each other’s world stops too. They don’t do this, don’t claw at each other instead of the world. It’s all backwards, wanting to kiss her best friend, wanting to run her hands up and down Beth’s legs, to memorize how she sighs, wanting all these things and never saying anything.
(They go through a period, ages eight to ten, where they tell each other everything. It starts out as a game, to keep track of every important thing that happens in their lives and tell the other but then it grows into habit, into memorizing someone else’s life as well as yours. The habit remains until they break it off, purposefully. Cheer and everything else in their fucking lives makes them too used to secrets and pain and pretending you feel different than you to do keep it going.)
But. Logically. If there’s a reason they broke, and there is a reason, a whole bunch of them, then it can all be fixed. Right? (Jenny nods, yes!)
How come you never choose me? Beth shows her hand and it’s too late, Addy’s too far gone.
This is her coming back.
They run that night, the way they always do, and it’s just a little warmer than the past weeks, something like spring, like hope and change and good things coming drifting through the air. Addy takes a deep breath, glances over to Beth, eyes straight ahead and face pink in the cold. She stops. Hey, can we talk? It’s the first time they’ve spoken directly since the field months ago and Beth stands there, gasping as she catches her breath. She looks unsteady and unsure, looks how Addy remembers from years and years of holding her friend’s hand. Then she smiles, big and bright in the moonlight. It looks a little different, a little realer, a little less hungry. I’d like that.
And they do.
(Beth walks Addy home that night and they finally break the surface tension on all these things they have to say. It’s nowhere near the end of this but as Addy lies in bed that night she feels good, feels relaxed. It’s a start.)
Turns out they’ve come to a lot of the same conclusions, Beth’s spent as much time thinking about all of this as Addy. But there’s some new, some horrible. Addy has more details about Coach, realities that she’s never told anyone before and – Beth’s story, full of vague feelings and half finished fear, about their night at the motel makes Addy’s heart drop through the floor. I can’t sleep she says and Addy pulls Beth into her arms. They’re on the couch in Beth’s living room, which has been determined a neutral space for these conversations, and Addy hasn’t touched Beth in so long. It feels perfect. This should be weird, should be awkward, Addy thinks, but they’ve never been awkward, just too practiced at cruelty and kindness. Beth relaxes the second her back makes contact with Addy’s chest and they stay like that until Beth’s breathing finally slows to what Addy recognizes as rest.
Here’s what they decide, examining their friendship like it’s a book from English class. (Without the Sparknotes.) They don’t need to kill themselves like this, don’t need to rip out their hearts as offerings to prove love. They can just care about each other, keep all their organs intact. Beth is terrified to lose the one person who loves her best, the only one who really knows her, clings and squeezes and doesn’t know when to stop. Addy stopped talking and Beth was too scared to ask why, ask if Addy was done with her, if this is when you break my heart. And Addy? Addy doesn’t ever say what she wants. But after months of therapy and her whole world imploding Addy realizes, she’s learned how. No more ducking and running. It’s not so much that they belong to each other as it is that they fit together, slide together in just the right ways. And after this mess they learn how to do it a little differently, to be on entirely equal ground and it’s even better.
Vulnerability fucking hurts but it’s a clean pain, less like a shoulder out of its socket and more the burn from their runs. It makes them cry, but it makes them laugh too and the way they come out of it, strong and clear and all pretense stripped away, just I miss you, it’s all so worth it.
The world is already out to kill them, they don’t need to do this to each other.
It’s ok for things to just be easy.
Addy never thought Beth was perfect, or unbreakable, just loved her. She says it once, in the brand-new spirit of communication, you don’t need to hide anything from me, I love you and Beth bursts into tears. (To Beth, Addy hung the stars)
This kind of trusting each other is new, really new, but it works. It washes over them in cool waves, easing the burn of sore muscles and sting of squad infighting. Addy does her own thing some days, works and plans and thinks about what she wants for the next four years and Beth sees other friends and turns out they can share each other with the world, can go out and still always come back to each other.
Ease is good, just a little breathing room is good, Maybe things are even better this way, them both happy and wanting to be here. Addy thinks about this some nights, weekends when Beth is curled up in her bed, hair tickling Addy’s nose. Maybe this is perfect.
Skin against skin, nothing held back, this is how they work best.
This is strong, so much stronger than they knew. It’s a lifetime and just right now and defending your best friend without a thought, knowing what hurts and what doesn’t and choosing the doesn’t every time. It’s winks from the ground to the top of the pyramid, hands firm on clenched thighs to keep them all off the ground, it’s how Beth looks when she really is happy, bright teeth and brighter lipstick and joy running through her whole body. (Addy’s heart beats faster when Beth smiles, without fail.) I don’t need a god to worship, I just need a friend. It’s the way they stare at each other, eyes on eyes, eyes on my girl. It’s a connection forged from a hundred thousand walks down school hallways, hours and hours of giggling at practice and dancing in Addy’s room and breathing in tandem.
Addy does it, finally kisses Beth again when she just can’t stand it any longer. They’re in Addy’s bed on a Saturday afternoon, the comforting sounds of her mom in the kitchen coming under the door. This is one of their new things, spending time doing anything simple or easy or safe, anything that doesn’t end with a pounding hangover or the buzz from anything that hurts just a little. And it’s here, when Beth turns her head up from their laptop movie search and Addy can smell her shampoo, see all the little colors in Beth’s eyes that she leans forward, guides Beth to her, and it feels like everything falling into place. This is exactly how AddyandBeth are supposed to be.
(They talk about it later, after long afternoon of Addy’s hands in Beth’s hair, Beth’s fingers pressing tight and sweet against Addy’s waist. They talk and it’s easy and good and after that everything just flows.)
You’re still my girl, right Addy?
As long as you’re mine.
So, forever?
Exactly.