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Misty never feels more alive than when she's standing on the sidelines of the soccer field.
Girls fall to the ground in tangles of legs and every time, she dares to hope for the best, breath catching in her throat. It usually doesn't happen. Mostly they have shinguards and walk it off without another thought directed towards those pretty bruises marring their skin like constellations. But sometimes they give Misty a taste of what it means to love.
At their game, Nat goes down, and Misty just knows it's a big one. Can hear it in the sound of her thudding to the ground, feels it in the way her own skin thrums with anticipation. She dashes to her side, clumsy but determined.
"Are you okay?" She reaches for her leg without waiting for an answer. "Tell me when it hurts." Her hand closes around porcelain skin. It doesn't look broken, but she definitely sprained it at the very least. Drops of blood start to rise up at the spot where their opponent's foot had made contact. There are scratches in her skin, grimy and dirty and beautiful.
Nat shoves Misty away. "Get away from me, I'm fine," she hisses, curling in on herself like a little spiky hedgehog.
"It's okay," Misty coos. "I'm not going to hurt you. But I need to see it to help you, okay?"
"Don't bother, I'll just walk it off." Nat tries to stand, only to fall back to the ground with a hiss of pain. "Fuck."
Well, isn't that a pleasant surprise? Misty does her best to hide her smile. "I don't think it's broken, but you really shouldn't walk on it. Let's get you cleaned up. I'll help you off the field." Without waiting for a response, she grabs Nat's arm — she's wearing a long-sleeved shirt under her jersey; she probably runs cold — and loops it around her shoulders, then reorients them into a standing position. Their height difference is a bit awkward, but Misty can make it work.
"I don't want help," Nat says through gritted teeth, but leans against Misty and hobbles along with her anyways. "I can deal with it myself."
"But you don't have to! That's my job, silly." Technically, it isn't, but she knows Natalie won't press her on it.
It's always a treat when she gets to take care of Nat. She doesn't even mind when she gets prickly about it. Usually she's the person on the team who's nicest to Misty (except for maybe Jackie) but she gets so shy when she's hurt. It's a side of her Misty so rarely gets to see, the honesty and vulnerability she hides from the world, and it steals the breath from her lungs every time.
When they make it to the locker room, Misty gently helps her sit on one of the benches, then scurries away to grab the first aid kit she keeps in one of the unused lockers. She hates leaving Nat's side for even a second but this is necessary if she wants to get closer.
First, she cleans and bandages the scrapes. That part is easy, and shouldn't take as long, but she makes sure to do it slowly and carefully to minimize the risk of a mistake. And also so she doesn't accidentally hurt Nat. And to savor the experience and memorize each of her little hisses of discomfort, the feel of her skin.
Once the little stuff is dealt with, she moves to examine her ankle, where most of the damage seems to be.
"This is a pretty nasty sprain. I can make a splint for you, but you should probably go to the doctor and get it checked out for real. X-Rays and probably a boot, at least for a few days. Actually, I could drive you right now, if you want, since you're not getting back on the field anyways. My driving isn't great but I do technically have my license, and my mom lets me use my dad's car since—"
Nat grabs Misty's hand and yanks it away from where she had been prodding at her swollen ankle. Her fingers are rough and callused but her skin is warm. Misty hopes she never lets go.
"No. It's just a sprain. You've done enough; go back to the team."
Misty tilts her head and frowns. "You walked here, though. How are you gonna get home?"
"I'll bum a ride off Shauna or something."
"The team goes out to dinner after every game. You'll have to wait for hours and you really need to elevate your leg or there might be permanent damage. I can't force you to see a doctor, but you still need to take care of yourself."
"I don't know, Misty, I'll figure it out, can you just go away?" She pulls her hand away and immediately Misty feels the chill of its absence.
She's being meaner than normal, but Misty doesn't mind. She's just vulnerable right now, which makes this a bonding opportunity. A glimpse into the parts of her she doesn't want anyone to see. Misty's honored and elated and she won't let this chance go to waste. "No. I'm not leaving your side until I know you're either at the hospital or taking care of yourself safe at home."
Nat pulls back before Misty can take her hand again, but when she does her sleeve falls for a brief moment. She covers it quick, but not before Misty sees the ring of purple fingerprint-shaped bruises along her wrist. Nat's entire body tenses, muscles taut like a rabbit preparing to bolt.
Oh.
Misty stares at the fabric now covering the marks, hypnotized. She'd heard the rumors of Nat's home life, of course, but always wrote them off as complete fabrications, just like the ones about her. Clearly, though, there was more truth to them than she had expected.
It must feel nice. To have someone hold onto you that tight. To care enough to keep you where they want you.
"You can stay at my house," Misty says, unthinking. "We don't have to go to the hospital. My parents are out of town; I'll take care of you." The words are automatic, born of some desire to bring her closer — like if Misty spends enough time with her, something will rub off on her and she'll become magnetic too.
Natalie stares at her, one hand holding the fabric down over her wrist, hiding herself. "I don't…" Complicated emotions flash across her face. From fear to suspicion, to something hesitant but desperate and hopeful all the same.
Finally, she swallows and shakes her head. Her shoulders slump. "…Yeah. Sure. Fine."
Misty's hands are sweaty on the wheel. She's never driven anyone other than her parents before, and she needs to make a good impression now more than ever, because she so badly wants to do this again. She only even got her license so she could offer people rides. It feels so right, Nat in her passenger seat, looking out the window while they listen to Hotel California (not exactly Misty's style, but her parents keep the tape in the car and she thinks Nat would like it, so why not?).
This could be paradise. Driving Natalie around wherever she wants, cleaning her up whenever she gets hurt. Bandaging her wounds and kissing her bruised skin. Wiping the tears from her face and saying don't worry, I'm here.
Maybe one day they could get into a car accident. Nothing fatal, of course. Light concussion, maybe a broken limb or two. They'd hold each other in the wreckage and wait for the paramedics to come rescue them, and then maybe Nat would sneak into her room at the hospital, already conditioned to associate her with safety even though Misty would have been the one behind the wheel to begin with. She'd cuddle up against her in the too-small hospital bed and Misty could stroke her hair with her uninjured arm and Nat would fall asleep against her shoulder —
"You weren't kidding about being a bad driver. You totally ran that light."
Misty jolts back into the present. Her face heats uncomfortably and her arms suddenly feel awkward and jerky, disconnected from her body. "Um. It was too late for me to slow down," she tries to reason. As soon as the words come out she realizes how hollow and fake they sound, and rushes to come up with a better explanation. "I only got my license, like, two weeks ago, anyways."
Nat shrugs and turns back to the window. "Still better than me, probably. Not like I have a car."
"Well, while your leg is healing, I could totally drive you to school in the mornings!"
"No," Nat responds quickly. Too quick — rejection? Is she hiding something? "That's okay. You live in the opposite direction. And it isn't that far, I can walk."
Misty glares at her.
"Or I'll ask Kevyn. Eyes on the road."
Well. Fine. Maybe she'll warm up to the idea later, once Misty proves herself tonight.
They pull into Misty's driveway. Misty unbuckles her seatbelt and hops out. Nat doesn't follow. She just looks at the house, brow furrowed with a slight frown. Her hand flexes around the center console.
Something about the moment feels… heavy. Which makes sense. This is a big step in their relationship. Driving is one thing, but a house is a reflection of the self. Even if they just stay in the living room (since Misty's room is on the second floor) Nat will know more about the day-to-day of Misty's life than anyone else at Wiskayok High.
The thought makes her heart pound with excitement. Nat's probably just nervous too. That's all.
"Do you need help getting out of the car?" Misty chirps.
Natalie blinks at her, then shakes her head. Still, when she opens the door, Misty makes sure to stand right next to her in case she needs support. And also to make sure she doesn't put too much weight on that leg.
Upon unlocking the front door, she winces at the state of the living room — had she know she'd be having guests over, she would have tidied up a little bit — but Natalie doesn't seem to mind much, just shuffles from foot to foot and avoids looking at anything for too long.
Misty leads Natalie to the sofa and pulls the coffee table closer. "You can rest your leg on here. Try not to move it. I can try to splint it, if you want, but I've never really done it before, so…"
"Uh, that's fine, Misty. You don't have to."
"Okay. Oh gosh, I bet you're hurting something awful, I'm being a horrible host. Let me go get you something for the pain." Before Nat can respond, she scurries away to the little closet where they keep her dad's supplies.
Once she's in the tiny enclosed space with the door closed behind her, she's finally able to breathe clearly. Okay. She can do this. She won't blunder the way she always does. She ignores the blood thinners and moves to the painkillers. Her mom seems to prefer the opioids to keep her father sedated and dependent, but Misty thinks that might be a bit much for her first time, and she doesn't really see the appeal of hanging out with someone as unresponsive as her father tends to be. So she settles on ibuprofen, and grabs the crutches propped up in the corner for good measure. Then she steels her nerves and returns to the battlefield.
"Natalie! How're you feeling?" she asks, like she wasn't with her just a few minutes ago. "I got you Advil but you need to eat before taking it, is there anything you want me to make? I'm not a great cook but I can manage pasta. Ooh, or soup! And you can take these crutches home with you, my dad doesn't need them anymore." The recovery had been too long for her mother to try that again — not to mention the hospital bill.
Nat shifts away slightly, pressing herself into the corner of the couch. "Thanks. You don't have to cook. Do you have, like, crackers? Or bread?"
Misty nods enthusiastically. "Yeah, of course! Whatever you want." She skips into the kitchen and grabs the crackers from the cupboard, along with a collection of other snacks. She's noticed that Nat has a bit of a sweet tooth, so she makes sure to grab the chocolate candies specifically.
She made the right call — as soon as they're on the table, Natalie makes a beeline for the Snickers bars. Next time she's at the store, she'll buy more.
Misty hops up onto the couch and sits cross-legged, watching Natalie chew and reach out for more food, silently hoping for another glimpse of her wrist.
Misty's mom never leaves marks like that on her. Never even touches her, really, not even for anything as simple as a hug or a reassuring touch on the shoulder. All of her attention goes to Misty's father. It always makes her a little jealous, seeing how deeply she loves him while giving hardly anything to her own daughter. It's like she's nothing more than an accessory: a symbol of their love but not something alive, just a souvenir left on a shelf and only remembered when it's time for dusting.
She wonders what it must feel like to be loved like Natalie. To have the ability to glance at your own skin and see a reminder that someone cares.
Nat must notice her staring, because she says, "Don't worry about it. I just… Hit my arm against my locker earlier, that's all."
It's charming, really, how bad she is at lying. Misty tries to smile with as few teeth as possible. "Well, if it happens again, don't hesitate to call Doctor Quigley. I'll patch you right up."
"…Alright," she says and turns away, visibly uncomfortable. Hand tracing nervous patterns into the fabric of the couch.
Misty's heart sinks. No. She pushed too hard, like always, inserted herself into an already established dynamic. She's so jealous of that tight-knit bond they must have, has been holding her breath for something like it her entire life.
"Do you want to watch a movie?" she tries instead. Something normal that doesn't require talking so she can't keep shoving her foot in her mouth.
Natalie seems relieved. "Yeah, that sounds nice."
"Are you into musical theater? My mom got this super rare bootleg tape of Into the Woods as a gift from a patient of hers. It's my favorite." The quality isn't the greatest, but that adds to the experience. It makes you feel like you're really in the theater, surrounded by hundreds of people watching the same thing, gasping and clapping in sync at all the right times.
"Sure. I'm down for whatever."
Great! Awesome! Misty rifles through the little storage space in their TV stand and puts the tape into the VCR, then returns to sit primly next to Natalie on the couch while the opening number starts playing ("I wish…").
She's seen this play probably at least a hundred times before, and can recite most of the dialogue from memory. So instead of watching the screen, she focuses on observing Nat's reactions.
At first, she seems a bit bored. Distracted, shifting in her seat, fidgeting with her necklace and stretching and unstretching her uninjured leg. But by the time the wolf dies, she's gotten pretty invested, leaning closer to the screen with wide eyes. Wincing when Bernadette Peters sings "Stay With Me" and tearing up at the sad bits like the baker's wife getting stepped on and killed.
After curtain call, Misty clicks the TV off and turns to Nat, almost vibrating with anticipation. "Well? Did you like it?"
"Yeah, actually." She sounds almost surprised by her own words. "It was catchy."
Misty perches on the couch and grins as wide as possible. She's never shown a movie to anyone before, let alone one they enjoyed. "Who was your favorite?"
"Cinderella, I guess. It's nice to see her get a happy ending away from her stepsisters and that jackass prince."
"Ooh, good pick, I love her!" Misty lies. Personally, she's always found her a little unrelatable and whiny. Why would anyone put up with being treated like that for so long? But if Nat likes her, then Misty can surely find something worth appreciating. "Her songs are pretty catchy, too. But me, I've always loved Rapunzel the most."
Nat wrinkles her nose. "That's depressing. She's, like, barely a character. Does she even do anything other than be miserable and die?"
Suddenly self-conscious, Misty looks away. "I guess not. Maybe I just like the version of her from the original fairy tale." More than anything, she's allured by the idea of someone wanting her badly enough to keep her locked up forever. Enchanted by the thought of someone sitting and waiting for her to rescue them. And she thinks she would really love it if someone were so distraught at the thought of losing her that they would throw themself to their death.
Maybe that's what love is. Someone tugging at your hair and tearing at your scalp just to get closer to you. She wouldn't know. She's never experienced anything close to it.
"Oh." Nat shrugs. "That's fair. I'm not really familiar with those."
For a few minutes, they sit in awkward silence. Misty squirms, unsure of the next step she's expected to take as a host. But she can see the sun starting to set through the windows, so, reluctantly, she says, "It's getting late. Your parents are probably worried about you."
Natalie stiffens and surprisingly (enchantingly), she scoffs. "I doubt it."
Really?
That doesn't make sense, though. They must care about her. She can picture it so vividly — the three of them in that tiny trailer, content with the knowledge that they have each other if nothing else, the suffocating weight of love filling the space better than any sort of material possessions could. And even when they hurt each other (inevitable if you love someone is what Misty's mom always says), they must laugh about it after the way Misty's dad never does. Kiss it better, call it proof.
So Nat must be lying, right? Why? For Misty's benefit?
Does it even matter?
"Well… We could have a sleepover if you want," Misty asks, doing her best to sound casual. "Y'know. So I could keep an eye on your leg and everything."
"I mean, if you want to, and your parents don't mind…" She's trying to appear nonchalant, but Misty catches the way Nat's shoulders relax at the offer, how it seems like a literal weight has been lifted off her back. At peace, she sinks into the couch; her brow uncreases and she appears almost happy, if a little guarded still.
The sight leaves Misty breathless. Maybe she died in her sleep last night and went to heaven, because this is beyond even her wildest fantasies. The nicest girl on the team, and she wants to spend time with Misty?
"Yeah! Of course! It wouldn't be any trouble at all, really. I can order us pizza. And we have spare toothbrushes, and you really shouldn't be climbing stairs on that foot but I can totally help you up and it'll be fine."
"Don't worry about it, I can sleep on the couch—"
"Absolutely not. That's horrible for your ankle, Natalie, and your health is most important. We can share my bed. Unless you'd rather me sleep on the floor instead. I can do that if it'd make you more comfortable." She really does care about Nat's recovery. Getting to see her fall asleep in her bed would just be an additional bonus.
Natalie tilts her head, contemplative. Misty holds her breath and pretends she can see the gears turning inside her skull. Maybe it's just wishful thinking, but she thinks her face seems a little flushed.
"…We can share," she finally says. Misty squeals with delight (her first sleepover!), and Nat quickly adds, "but I'll pay for the pizza. I'm already imposing."
"Oh, no, it's no trouble at all. Really, if anything, you're doing me a favor. I'd be so lonely if you weren't here with me." She blinks at her sweetly until Nat runs a hand through her hair and looks away.
"If you insist, I guess. But at least choose the toppings yourself. I'm not picky."
"Okay!" She runs to the landline, furiously cycling through topping options in her head as she dials. She can't go with her usual favorites, obviously, because most people think anchovies and spinach are a gross combination. The team usually orders plain pepperoni when they go out, but that seems generic. It would make her look boring.
The pizza place picks up too quickly. Misty starts to panic. She needs to make a decision, so she orders olives and mushrooms because that seems normal, even though she doesn't really like mushrooms.
The rest of the evening goes well otherwise. Nat listens while she prattles on about whatever is on her mind, and even offers comments from time to time. Usually just one or two words, but she doesn't seem annoyed. If anything, she seems more relaxed than she had been all day, finally letting herself get comfortable against the couch cushions.
They move to the dining room once the food comes. Misty makes Nat keep her leg propped up on another chair as they eat. No complaints about the topping choice, which is good, even if Misty grimaces every time she makes contact with a gross spongy mushroom. She could pick them off, but Nat might notice and think she's weird. So she does her best to just ignore the texture.
Natalie spends the entire meal studying her, and Misty can't quite figure out what's going on inside her head. But now that Nat's relaxed enough to focus on something else she doesn't seem to notice her sleeve slipping down whenever she brings a slice to her mouth. Misty keeps getting glimpses of skin that make her heart and mind alike race. She tries not to stare too much, but it's hard to avoid the temptation.
She's always loved a mystery, and Nat is no exception. She's a fortress, heavily guarded and impossible to besiege. But today alone Misty's already managed to get past some of her walls. More than she has with anyone, really, over the course of her sixteen-and-a-half years of life. And she wants nothing more than to push closer, knock down everything in her path until nothing stands between her and Nat's bared soul.
After dinner, they limp upstairs together. Misty gets Nat situated in the bathroom with a brand-new toothbrush and some spare pajamas.
"Why do you have clothes in my size?" Nat asks, looking at her strangely when she hands them to her.
"Oh," Misty giggles, "My grandparents gave them to me as a birthday gift. But they haven't seen me in a while so I guess they assumed I've grown more than I really have. And I didn't want to get rid of them, because they were a gift, and that's rude."
It's only partially true. They were a gift, but she kept them because it seemed like it could be useful to have spare clothes to offer people in case they needed to stay over. Like now!
"…Alright." Natalie seems a bit confused, but not totally weirded out, which is the best Misty can hope for.
While Nat showers, Misty retreats to her room and tries to make it presentable. Suddenly her meticulously decorated space feels childish — too many stuffed animals and cheesy figures and bright colors. No band posters or albums or whatever Nat would have in her room to make it feel just as cool as her. Misty shoves her oldest plushie (Socrates the vulture) in the back of her closet alongside some corny teen magazines.
The bathroom door creaks open. Misty's head swivels to spot Natalie standing in the doorway, standing awkwardly in a long-sleeved purple pajama shirt with her hands in the pockets of the matching pants Misty lent her. "Hey. I'm done with the bathroom."
"Don't put weight on your leg," Misty reminds her automatically while her brain starts to spiral in that familiar way, trapped in a loop of blindingly bright emotions and sounds instead of words. Overwhelmed in the purest sense.
"Oh. Sorry." Natalie shifts so that her injured foot is hovering off the ground. It can't be a comfortable position. "Your room is… cute," she says, and it doesn't sound mean but nevertheless it makes Misty's face heat with embarrassment.
With uncharacteristic speed, she swoops up her own pajamas in one clean motion, says "Thanks-I'll-be-right-back," and bolts to the bathroom and locks the door behind her.
Maybe this was too much, she thinks while she takes the quickest shower of her life. Today has marked a lot of firsts for her, and maybe adding on a sleepover on top of everything was just too much. Maybe she'll never feel this much joy ever again in her life. She should have spread it out, savored it, a slow burn instead of a tumble down the stairs.
But, at the same time, this is it. Everything she's ever dreamed of. It's been the best day of her life and she needs to savor what's left of it. Needs to get Nat to trust her (or, if she dares to hope, to like her) so that she comes back every time she's hurt and scared like she was today.
So after showering and changing and brushing her teeth, she steels her resolve and marches back to her room. She won't be weird or panic again. She'll be normal and confident and a good caretaker the way her mother is.
She walks in to find Nat sitting on the edge of her bed, gazing wistfully at the walls. She seems lost in thought. Slightly sad.
"How are you feeling?" Misty asks, taking a seat next to her.
"My leg's fine," Natalie replies, hand twisting in the soft fabric of Misty's blanket. "I don't need more Advil."
Misty cocks her head. Avoiding the question? "Okay. Let me know if you change your mind."
"Sure." She keeps looking around the room, lingering on the vanity with its bright Christmas light decorations, on the telescope Misty keeps tucked in the corner, on the corkboard with exclusively pictures of the soccer team because those are the only group photos Misty has.
With each passing minute, Misty feels more and more horrible. Sick to her stomach with shame crawling down her spine. Her skin itches. Nat's being too quiet and she just keeps staring at all the tiny little things that point to pathetic little lonely Misty, good at nothing and meaningless to everyone. Not for the first time, she wishes she could read minds.
"Sorry," Misty mumbles after the silence gets too heavy. "If you don't like the decor. I can put everything away if you want."
Nat turns to her, confused. "What? No, why would I ask you to do that?"
"I don't know. You were staring."
"Sorry. I didn't… I dunno. Your room is nice," she adds, probably sincerely. "It's very… neat."
"I would've tidied up more if I knew you were coming," Misty forces a high-pitched and apologetic giggle. "And put away the pictures."
"You shouldn't," Nat says. Misty can hear the pity in her voice. "I didn't realize the team meant so much to you."
Misty pushes her glasses up. "Of course it does. You guys are incredible. I'd bet real money on us making it to Nationals." She pauses, takes in Nat's awkward posture. "Well, maybe not this year, with your leg like that. Taissa's good and all, but I'm not sure how far we'll go without our star striker. But next year for sure."
Again, Nat stares at her. She's been doing that a lot today. Misty doesn't hate it, but it does make her uncomfortably aware of her body. Her throat goes a little dry and she squirms a little under her gaze.
She doesn't know what Natalie's searching for, but apparently she finds it, because she ducks her head shyly and mutters a quiet "Thanks."
"You're welcome," Misty replies, without a clue what she's being thanked for. "Um, do you want to go to bed? You seem tired. It's getting late anyways." Not that Misty will be sleeping at all tonight. She's too wired, and no way will she give up the opportunity to listen to Nat snore next to her all night.
"Sure."
Misty turns off the light and they slide under the covers, facing each other on their sides, Nat's foot elevated on some extra pillows. The darkness makes everything seem a little bit more intimate, even though Misty can just barely make out the slope of Nat's nose. She feels a little braver knowing that Nat probably can't see her either.
It doesn't seem like Nat wants to sleep just yet. Maybe she likes the comfort of the darkness too. "Seriously, Misty," she says. "You didn't have to do all this. It… was really nice of you."
"My pleasure!" She grins wide before realizing Nat probably can't see. "Everyone needs someone to look after them, and that's what I'm good at. It's how I can be useful. Helpful."
"The team doesn't give you enough credit. You're a good friend."
A good friend! A good friend! Misty can't stop her feet from kicking slightly, too much excitement to contain in facial expressions alone. "No one's ever said that to me before."
No one's even called her a regular friend before.
"Well. It's true." Nat shuffles a little, and for a moment, Misty irrationally worries that she's going to get up. But then she settles, doesn't even turn around, and thanks to the slight sliver of light shining through the window, Misty can make out the hint of a smile on her face.
"Can I hold your hand?" Misty blurts.
"What? Why?" Nat sounds confused, but she's already reaching out to let Misty grab greedily at her wrist.
The skin under her fingers is tender. Briefly, she considers pressing harder, but this is the time and place for comfort instead of pain, so she just rubs gentle soothing patterns with her thumb.
"Did it hurt?" Misty asks softly. Reverently.
"…Yeah, a sprained ankle hurts like hell."
Her hand is warm, Misty notices again. She wishes she could see the reds and purples of her swollen leg, proof that Nat trusts her and proof that Nat won't leave.
"Do you feel safe?"
"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"I just…" How can she possibly communicate the swirling emotions she feels, the complicated desire and confusion? The awe, the pride, the urge to know everything about her so she can finally understand? "I want you to feel safe with me." It feels inadequate, but she needs to say it. Because she always thought Natalie was one of the bravest people in the whole world, but at times today, she seemed genuinely small and afraid in a way Misty never thought she could be. The vulnerability made her feel special and chosen and trusted, but some part of her thinks it's unnatural to see Nat like that.
Nat sighs and moves a little closer. "This really did make me feel better, Misty. Seriously. It means a lot."
"Okay. I only asked because I know people think I'm weird and I make them uncomfortable."
"I don't think you're weird," Nat says, so genuinely it makes Misty's heart stutter.
"Oh. Good." She interlaces their fingers together. Pulls slightly, like maybe she can drag Nat closer to her without her noticing. It doesn't work, but Nat squeezes her hand, and that's even better. She wonders if she can feel her pulse hammering jackrabbit quick under her fingertips.
"Seriously," Nat says, squeezing again (too softly, too lightly, but she'd be stupid to expect anything else from Natalie of all people). "Don't let them get to you. Wiskayok fucking sucks. But we'll graduate and get the hell out of here and find someplace better, alright?"
For some reason, Misty feels like she might start crying. "Yeah," she whispers, and tries not to let it show.
They sit in silence for a few minutes, still turned towards each other. There's plenty of space between them but the bed still feels pleasantly cramped. Finally (reluctantly?) Nat takes her hand back and yawns. "It's getting late. We should get some sleep."
"Yeah. Good night, Natalie."
"Good night." Nat rolls over so that her back faces Misty, who doesn't move. She spends the entire night watching over Nat's slumbering form, enjoying the opportunity to be her guard dog. It's peaceful. She's never felt less alone.
They never actually touch, but a few times in the night, Nat shifts backwards just a little bit closer to Misty. Maybe if they do this again, she'll actually get the opportunity to hold her.
After she wakes up, they go downstairs and Misty makes pancakes. They have pleasant conversation over breakfast and Nat is kind as ever and it's wonderful, incredible, the sort of morning Misty hopes she'll have at least once more in her life if she's lucky.
But all good things must come to an end. Eventually, Nat has to go home. And the next day at school, she's moody and sullen. She barely even looks at Misty; it breaks her heart.
Things stabilize a little later. Nat starts acting closer to normal at least. But while she goes back to being cordial and polite, she runs from nearly every one-on-one conversation Misty tries to start, and barely even mentions their sleepover.
Misty's hopes of finding friendship are dashed. But that's okay. She keeps showing up to every game, and next season when Nat is actually allowed to play, she cheers louder for her than anyone else.
She was right, by the way. They do make it to Nationals. Or, at least they do on paper. Physically? Not so much.
That first night after the plane crash, Misty finds herself unable to sleep, still riding the high of helping so many people at once. She can still smell Coach Ben's blood. Maybe some got stuck in her nostrils.
A strange sense of deja vu overtakes her as she observes the others passed out around the fire. Her second sleepover.
She leaves to pee and overhears Van talking about how useful she was. How important. They needed her.
When she stumbles across the flight transponder, she watches the little light blink, and thinks back to that night with Nat. How miserable she looked at school after and how lonely Misty had been before.
She picks up the box. It weighs less than she thought it would.
Princesses in towers, she thinks. Running away from their princes.
We'll get the hell out of here.
She hits it hard against the ground.
Her mom's stash of drugs, never for her.
Allie's broken bones, Nat's swollen ankle, Ben's blood splattering all over her face as his leg comes clean off.
Grabs a rock. Hits it again, watches the panels dent. It keeps blinking red and bright.
The feeling of warm bodies sleeping near her as she stands guard over them while they're vulnerable.
Shared pizza and conversation and team photos on the walls.
She pries off a panel to expose the box's innards.
Nat smiling as actors dance on the television.
I wish…
And then she reaches in and rips, tears, until the light goes out for good.