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Max can’t make up her mind— If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll see Lucas or is it If I’m lucky, I won’t see Lucas ? She’s been switching back and forth between the two as she helps set up the concessions stand for the basketball game. It’s painfully confusing— almost dizzying— and all she wants to do is put on her headphones, and listen to music so loudly, she can’t hear her own thoughts. It’s almost all she does now, to the point there’s been this on and off ringing in her left ear. She doesn’t care enough to take care of it, though.
If anyone thought Max agreed to help run the concessions stand— they’d be dead wrong. Ms. Kelly had insisted that doing something productive would be good for Max, and signed her up to volunteer. So, here she is, unboxing all-too-sweet sodas alongside two other students (whose names she can’t remember), who are only here because it’s better than detention. And as much as she aches for those damn headphones, she needs to hear the orders she’s being given.
As she stuffs bottles of Pepsi in a cooler, the doors of the gymnasium lie ahead of her. The basketball team runs around in what looks like chaos to her, but to them (to Lucas) is organized, strict drills. Her eyes land on Lucas (by accident, she tells herself), and they rest there (because she has no where else to look, she tells herself). He dribbles the ball in one hand, then the other, then passes it to Jason. Fucking Jason. She clenches her jaw just seeing the two so close together.
She hates Jason with a passion that makes her chest burn. The dumbass walks into any room like he owns it, using the deaths of classmates for team spirit. Like Billy died to keep their spirits up— like he died for the sake of their motivation. And not like he died because he was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Not like he died because his mind was corrupted. Not like he died because for some reason—Max will never know why— he decided to play hero— to die for her, for Eleven, maybe for himself— like it fixed every fucked up thing he’d ever done.
It makes Max want to scream and throw Jason on the ground, and kick him until he cries for her to stop, and rip out his stupid blonde hair. But she can’t, no matter how badly she wants too— so badly, her fists ache. So, she ducks her head, puts on her headphones, and blasts music so loudly, she goes numb.
Lucas briefly meets her gaze, and he recognizes that fire in her eyes. It’s one of the things he’s always loved about her, and always will love about her. He takes a few sidesteps away from Jason and turns to Patrick instead (for Max, he tells himself— because it’s true).
“Max,” the custodian helping the students set up concessions calls, snatching up her attention, “I think that’s enough soda. Maybe you can get the popcorn machine set up?”
She nods, “yeah, okay.”
“Great. It’s in the cafeteria, just plug it in anywhere it’ll fit.”
She turns towards the cafeteria, but before she leaves, she casts one more glance through the gymnasium doors. She tells herself she’s not looking for Lucas, and she’s not disappointed when he’s out of sight— but that’s a lie.
Watching his teammates dart around the court, Lucas thinks of Max. She’s right there— right there . Right out those doors. It’d take him thirty seconds to walk across the gym and across the hall to the concessions stand. His heart physically aches for it. It’s like there’s some sort of lasso wrapped around his chest, dragging him towards her. But, like a stubborn ass, he digs his feet into the ground and refuses to let himself be pulled anywhere.
He used to give into the tug, letting it inch him closer to her. But, it seemed like every time he came closer, she recoiled farther and farther until she became so far away, he had to squint to see her. He’s holding onto that little speck of her in the distance, terrified that if he comes closer, she’ll go farther— and truly disappear.
The sharp screech of a whistle makes his head whip away from the gymnasium doors to look at the court. His eyes widen and he rises to his feet as he sees Jason flat on his back, clutching his ankle with his face scrunched up in pain.
“Oh shit,” Lucas mutters to no one, watching Jason swear under his breath while Patrick snaps at an opponent— likely the one that pushed Jason to the ground.
Two other teammates rush to help Jason up, and a timeout is called.
“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Jason insists as he sits on the bench with the coach inspecting his swollen ankle.
“Like hell you are,” the coach snaps, “you’re out for the game.”
“But-“
“Jason, you’re our best player, we can’t afford to let this get worse. Okay?”
Jason grits his teeth and nods stiffly, “yessir.”
“I can get you some ibuprofen from the nurses’ office,” one teammates offers— he’s like Lucas, trying to work his way up the hierarchy, trying to fit in.
“Not on an empty stomach,” Patrick disagrees.
“Sinclair,” Jason points to Lucas, making his heart drop, “get me something from concessions, will you?”
“Uh…” Lucas stares dumbly, trying to come up with an excuse, but the best he can think of is ‘I’m allergic to food.’ Which doesn’t even make sense. So, he nods and mutters, “okay.”
Jason waves him off and he jogs down to court with the other teammate, who’s off to find ibuprofen.
When Lucas exits the gym, his foot hits the tile and suddenly becomes a hundred pounds heavier. His eyes land on Max and his mouth goes dry. And he just sort of stands there— like he’s forgotten how to move.
She wouldn’t admit it, but it’s been almost nice for Max to be busy like this. She actually forgets about the basketball game a few times, while she’s rushing around to get this woman a pretzel and that man a hot dog and that kid wants candy, but he only has one quarter and not two, but Max gives it to him anyways.
Only once, so far, has the unending heartache made itself known. A young man— light brown, long hair and wearing a white tank top— walked up to the stand and, for a moment, Max saw Billy. She saw his shit-eating grin and sharp, blue eyes boring into hers tauntingly as if to say: “remember me? Remember when you stood there while I died?”
She doesn’t believe in ghosts— not like other people do. And definitely not like those stupid Ghostbusters movies Lucas showed her (she laughed at them at the time, but looking back, they piss her off), where the ghosts are thirsty monsters, barely portrayed as having once belonged to a body, a life, a family.
She believes in ghosts like this. They walk right up to you, wearing someone else’s body but bearing their own face for just a split second. And a split second is all it takes for Max’s heart rate to spike up and vision to blur.
She had excused herself, saying she needed to get more sodas from the cafeteria. But the sodas weren’t in the cafeteria. She had lay on the cold, dusty tiles and pressed her forehead to them, trying to calm her breathing before she could hyperventilate. It was only five minutes that she sat there, but if felt like hours. And the entire time, all she wanted was her music.
But that was about a half hour ago now, and she’s busied herself with stirring the pot of cheese dip to keep it from sticking or getting a thin layer of skin on the top. She swirls the spoon around, watching the (disgustingly) gooey, probably fake, cheese flow around it. It’s gross, but also amusing in it’s own strange way.
She’s not sure what makes her look up from the yellowish-orange pool of slime, but when she raises her head— she locks eyes with Lucas.
Whether it’s a moment of strength or one of weakness, Max is unsure, but she finds herself walking away from the cheese pot, without even noticing she’s doing it.
“Hey,” Lucas chokes out, and only then does Max realize she’s standing right in front of him, with only the counter between them.
It’s just business, Max tells herself, “what can I get you?”
“Um…” he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, “Jason needs something to-“
“So he sent you to get him something?” She frowns, feeling the same fire in her fists that she feels whenever Jason puts her brother’s name in his stupid mouth.
“Yea-“ Lucas stops himself, noticing the spark in her eyes, “only because he hurt his ankle! He needs some ibuprofen, but he can’t take it on an empty stomach so…”
She nods, but the fierceness hardly fades (and that makes Lucas’s heart melt a little), “okay, so what does he want?”
Lucas shrugs, “I dunno. But he hates pretzels, so probably not-”
Max looks over her shoulder at the other two students, “one of you get a pretzel.”
They exchanged uninterested glances, then one of them shrugs and saunters to the back to get a fresh pretzel. When Max turns back to Lucas, his eyes shimmer with amusement and his lips are quirked into a small smile. Absorbing the sight, Max’s heart tugs at her, as if trying to yank her closer to him.
“He also hates salt,” Lucas adds.
And Max calls to her fellow volunteer: “put extra salt on it!”
“You got it,” they obliviously call back.
Again, Max meets Lucas’s gaze and this time, he’s grinning broadly with twinkles of admiration and mischief dancing in those warm mahogany eyes— even though hers are so cold and dull in return. Max never knew a smile could hold so much charm and sweetness until she met Lucas and his contagious beam. So fucking contagious, she has to bite down on her cheek to stop herself from smiling back.
You’ll never be one of them— those basketball kids, she wants to tell him, you’re too… you. And they could never, ever even be a fraction of you. And you could never ever be a fraction of them . Stay that way.
She wants and she aches, but never will she say it out loud.
The other student hands Max the salted, oversized pretzel and Max holds it out to Lucas, who’s careful not to let their hands touch when he takes it. Then, he sets fifty cents down on the counter, his eyes never leaving Max’s.
“Thank you,” he says, and Max waves him off— it’s just business.
She hates that she watches him leave, because the moment he steps into the gym— a massive weight hits her whole body. It coats her, not like the comfortable weight of a heavy blanket, but more like a building that’s collapsed on top of her, leaving concrete slabs on her shoulders. Slouching at the weight, feeling as though chains drag her closer to the ground, she excuses herself to get more sodas from the cafeteria.
Once tucked away in a dark corner, she gives in to the weight and she crumbles to the ground. Hiding her head in her arms, she can feel the world caving in with the burden of all her pain that will never see the light of day. Never to be spoken aloud— never to be heard. Only meant to sit there, building and building upon itself until the smallest wounds become a thousand bricks on her shoulders— until everything hurts.
She used to call Lucas when she hurt like this. Sometimes, he’d go over to her house and lay beside her while she wept, letting his shirt get soaked in her tears. He’d mutter any comfort he could think of, but so painfully often there were no words. No words to fix the past or heal the wounds or give them normal lives. So, he’d wrap his arms around her and, in silence, hold her and some of the weight that rested on her shoulders.
Through her reclusiveness, she aches for those days. Just go back, part of her cries out as if it’s that easy— just go back . As if there’s not an invisible rope tied around her waist dragging her away from Lucas. She can physically feel the pull sometimes, when it takes away her desire to smile at him or makes her spit a rather rude remark. Even with her arms outstretched, it tears her farther away from him making her pine for him to reach out his hands, so that maybe she could reach him.
She lays here, on the cold tile, wishing she could listen to her music.
It’s within the last few minutes of the game, and the other two volunteers have abandoned their stations to watch the game from the doorway. Max can grit her teeth all she wants, but she doesn’t really care that they’ve left her to clean out the popcorn machine. It’s rather nice to get a break from their bitchy voices as they complain about how much they’d rather not be there— but it’s better than detention.
It’s while she’s hopelessly scrubbing some grease that she hears someone (Erica, maybe?) shout:
“Go, Lucas, go!”
And her heart skips a beat, and before she even knows what she’s doing, she’s rushing away from the counter and shoving past her classmates. She sets one foot inside the gym and her eyes dart around the court.
“Lucas is playing?” She almost says it like she’s demanding an answer.
“Yeah,” one classmate replies, “he’s subbing for Jason. Finally got his hands on the ball.”
Max’s eyes land on him and again, she bites her cheek to stop herself from smiling. And again, she’s not sure if it’s strength or weakness that keeps her eyes on him— but it doesn’t matter. She stares intently, regardless as to why.
His feet dart around the court and past opponents in lightning-like bursts. Then, he stops as a taller player towers over him, ready to snatch the ball from him.
Shoot, Max thinks sharply, as if he can read her mind, shoot the ball!
There’s a chance, and Lucas knows this, that he could chuck the ball over his opposer. There’s a possibility he could score the point and he knows this, Max can see it.
C’mon, Lucas! She trusts him to score the point, she knows he can make it, just go for it!
But the clock is ticking down all too fast, and his confidence ticks down with it. He locks eyes with Patrick, and throws the ball at the ground, bouncing it right into his teammate’s hands.
Max sighs as Patrick makes the point— although she’s not sure why she cares. She doesn’t care, she reminds herself.
While the crowd bursts into thrilled cheers, Max backs away, her gaze lingering on Lucas. She waits, wondering if he’ll look at her (even though he doesn’t know she’s there)— but he doesn’t. He pats his teammate on the back and Patrick praises him on the “great pass.”
So, Max whirls around on her heels and returns to the concessions to tend to the customers wanting to snack on their way home.
It’s another half hour before she’s finally free of the school and, the moment she steps outside, she puts on her headphones. When Kate Bush’s Cloudbusting meets her ears, Max lets out a sigh of relief— like she’d been holding her breath for hours— and it’s like being swept off the ground, away from everything that weighs her down. For a while, she’s able to blast her thoughts into silence.
But every time it rains—
Kate Bush sings, carrying Max’s heart to Lucas (no matter how hard she tries to ignore him)
— You’re here in my head
Like the sun coming out
Oh, I just know something good is gonna happen
I don’t know when
But just saying it could even make it happen