Private School Kings

Timeout

Fletcher texted Madison with frantic fingers as we walked back towards town, our shoulders brushing close together. My feet felt frozen against the harsh concrete, but there was no way I was going back for those excruciating heels. Fletcher must have felt me shaking beside him because he looked up and frowned. "That's no good." He murmured with his eyes on my feet. "Here." He kicked off his sneakers and slid them my way.

"Don't do that!" I yelped, the words coming loud and quick with the help of the alcohol.

"My socks are wool." He smiled. "I came prepared."

"I am so not wearing your shoes, Fletcher." I started to walk away but his hand snapped out, wringing my wrist in a soft hold.

"I'm not going anywhere until you do." His eyes were their usual brand of utter seriousness, and I knew he meant what he said, but I stopped for a moment anyway. I liked looking at him. His hair was mussed and the lines on his face were drawn sharp by the shadows that poured from the night. He seemed to smile and frown at once, his face shifting from boyish to weathered as the light changed around us. He was so much at once, and somehow I loved all of it.

With a relenting sigh I slipped on his sneakers, which were several sizes too big, but still a welcome change from the unforgiving pavement. "This too." Fletcher said and when I looked up he was holding out his sweatshirt, underneath he had an olive green, long sleeve crew neck that pulled tight on his chest.

"You're trying to give me your whole wardrobe right now!"

He laughed at that, a low sound that reverberated through the silence and warmed my chest. "I'm fine." He said. "I'm a New Englander. This is my element. You're not built for this."

I rolled my eyes, but he ignored it, and I found myself wrapped in a soft, Fletcher scented, sweatshirt for the second time in my life.

We started walking again, Fletcher checking his phone intermittently, and I remembered the question that had popped into my head the first second I saw him on the side of the road.

"Wait, what are you even doing here?"

"You weren't answering your phone again." As he said it I remembered powering it off in the club at Heather's request. You should be having fun Murphy, she had said, and I had listened.

That was so stupid. I had been so stupid. "Shit. This is all my fault."

"It's not." Fletcher's hand brushed against mine when he said it. "Something would have happened anyway. It always does." There it was again, that deep sadness that sat inside him, the one that called to something similar inside me.

"But we'll figure it out." I told him, praying it was true.

"I always do." He agreed, but he sounded so resigned.

I leaned closer to him, gripping his hand in mine.

"You know," My words came out a little slower than I meant them to, but I kept going. "Everything sucks a lot right now-" He let out a single laugh, a bark really. "But," I was speaking louder now. I wanted him to hear what I was going to say. "This is the happiest I've been in a long time."

He frowned again.

"Things in Iowa were... not good. My mom has a lot of problems. She's not- She can't really be a mom right now." His hand tightened around mine. "So she left a couple years ago and my brother, Charlie, he took care of me." I pictured Charlie, his light brown hair that he'd let me cut and as a result always stuck up at odd ends, his round cheeks, and crinkly smile. The way I missed him was sharp and violent, a feeling I would never get used to. "The thing is, I ruined his life. He was smart. He worked hard. He- He could have done something, but instead he had to take care of me and pay the bills, and he made some mistakes. He definitely made some mistakes..." I trailed off and saw that Fletcher was looking at me, his face softer than I'd ever seen it, expectant. That (and maybe the vodka) is what gave me the courage to continue. "He's in jail right now, but the point is I've never been important before. I've only ever been a burden. I'm important here. I'm useful."