I sat there, not saying a word for a while as I tried to process his words. And once I realised I hadn’t misheard him, my mind started to spiral with all the reasons he could be asking this of me. 

A lump formed in my throat, and my eyes started to sting. Knowing I wouldn’t be able to handle any excuse he had for asking this of me, I simply replied, “Sure.” Then I opened the door and tried to flee before he’d see me cry.

But his hand flung out, gripping my wrist before I could make my break. “It’s just while the competition is on,” he said.

“You don’t need to ex—”

“It’s just… I wrote a new song that we’re going to perform. But I’m not quite ready for you to hear it yet.”

I paused, glancing at him with my glum eyes. I was prepared for him to push me to the side as he started to show off his talent, but I hadn’t anticipated it would be so soon. And I hadn’t expected I’d already be on the outside of his music this quickly.

But not wanting to seem too pathetic—because what right did I have to be jealous or upset when I was just a friend, and a new one at that—I forced out, “I understand.” Then I yanked my arm out of his grips. “See you in English,” I muttered before climbing out of his car and hurrying away from him as fast as my legs would take me.

◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷

It was like whiplash. No, like a tsunami. Like the stone of solitude had been tied to my arms, dragging me deep into the depths of woe, and the thought of how alienated I felt without him consumed every thought, inhibiting me from returning to my normal self.

I was unable to accept that just yesterday we were hanging out and laughing and now, here I was, eating lunch alone.

And when school ended, I forwarded onto the bus alone.

A part of me didn't want to even get in his car the next day, already feeling too rejected by the distance he had forced.

Though I knew if I furthered that distance beyond what he had created, Frazer would follow me, force me to talk, and then I’d be admitting all over again how much I pined for his attention. Which, inevitably, would lead to him rejecting me all over again. 

And there was only so many times I could watch his face screw up in disgust as a result of my adoration.

So to avoid any mishaps from taking place, I decided to not speak on the ride to school. However, Frazer didn’t seem to take that well.

“Please don’t be mad at me,” he said.

“I’m not mad.”

“Then why are you silent?”

“I have nothing to say.”

“But you always have something to say.”

“Then I guess for once I do not.”

“Or you do but you’re withholding it because you’re mad at me.”

“Do I seem like someone who is angry?”

“You seem like the type of person who is quietly angry.”

I heaved a sigh and finally glanced at him once we had pulled up at the school. “I’m really not mad at you.”

“Then why—”

“I don’t have much going on right now. So there’s nothing to talk about,” I tried my lie, hoping he’d buy it. Hoping we could avoid the actual reason I was quiet: that I was heartbroken. 

He stared at me for a few beats of my heart, his expression telling me that he knew I was still withholding. Nonetheless, he caved, “I’ll see you in English then?”

“Mhmm,” I replied, before grabbing my bag and making my way far away from him.

All the while I wondered, At what point will he stop sitting with me in class too?

◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷

The two weeks went on like that: awkward car rides in the morning, sitting together in class, and then the endless silence. Though a few times over the weekend, Frazer pinged through some texts.

For the sake of my heart, I was brief with him. I couldn’t let myself get reattached now that we were in the process of detaching. 

However, when we pulled up at school on Thursday morning, the day before Battle of the Bands, Frazer said, “Don’t catch the bus this afternoon. We’re going to hang out.”

“Don’t you have practice?” I asked as I unbuckled my seatbelt, refusing to even look at him.

“I think we’ve practised as much as we can now. And you and I are overdue to hang out.”

“You should use the opportunity to relax in that case.”

“And that’s what I’m planning to do.”

I pressed my lips together, finally glancing at him. Does he really find me relaxing?

Then he hit me with, “I miss you.”

And I was gone. Melted back into my puddle of pious pining, the words stumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them, “Then I guess I’ll meet you here this afternoon.”

He grinned at me like I was his favourite person, and my heart let out a pained throb, especially when he said, “Great. I’m looking forward to it.”

◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷

Rather than driving us home, we ended up heading to the beach. Kicking our shoes off, we found a secluded spot for just the two of us as we dug our toes into the sand and sat staring at the tumultuous ocean. 

Neither of us said a word for a while, but for the first time in a while, that knot caused by the unsaid didn’t appear. Instead, I felt at peace. Maybe I was lulled by the roar of the waves. Or perhaps the fact it was just the two of us once more lulled me into a false sense of security.

Yet he was the first to break the serenity. Not that I was going to complain about why he did.

“I made you something in art, by the way,” he started with.

My eyes widened, a rouge heating my cheeks as I glanced at him, certain I had misheard.

Though lo and behold, he dug around in the pocket of his school pants before pulling out something small attached to a leather string.

Once he placed it in my hands, he started to explain. “We’re making woodblock prints right now.”

“And you decided to make a pick?” I queried.

“Well, no. My actual artwork is much larger. I just made that from some scraps.”

“As a test piece?”

“No, you goose. I made it for you.” He looked away at the ocean, yet this time I couldn’t hear the water. 

Nothing could drown out how loudly my heart was drumming in my chest or my mind screaming and pleading that this was going where I hoped.

Too scared to read into it though, I glanced back down at the pick, searching for signs I was wrong. “Is that a swing set?” I asked after studying the carving for a while.

“It is.”

A shy laugh escaped me, so I flipped it over. This can’t mean anything. “Apollo?” I asked, reading the word engraved on the back.

“It’s my stage name I decided on… well, for Battle of the Bands.”

“What does it—”

“He’s, like, a Greek God. For music and other things. It felt too weird using my name.”

“It’s nice,” I whispered, my finger running over the lettering of his familiar font.

“I haven’t told the guys yet about the band name. Not that they care. They see this as a one and done performance. That I’m ‘on my own’ after this. But… I wanted you to be the first to know.”

I glanced back at him, confusion stirring in me. I can know this, but not the song? “Why is it tied to—” I started to ask.

But then he said, “You said you always wanted my merch. Well, this is my first. You can wear it as a necklace.”

The shoe had dropped. I can’t believe you hoped it was a romantic gesture. How many times do you need to be remember he rejected you before you stop wishing he’s coming around?

“Thanks, Fraze,” I said, though even I could hear the lack of sincerity in my tone.

His smile faltered. “Is it weird?”

“No. It’s lovely. I love it. Really.” And to reassure him, I slipped the cord over my head. 

“That looks… good on you,” he muttered before glancing back at the ocean.

“That’s an improvement from suitable.”

“Will you ever let that go?”

“Dream on.”

And so he laid down on the sand and closed his eyes.

“What are you—” I started to ask.

“Dreaming,” he replied.