Deciding on You || a.i. (Book 2)

17 | Maddie

"I have a confession to make," I say to Reagan, setting my AP European History review book down on my bed. I've been trying to study, but none of these names or events seem even relatively familiar. I can't tell if it's because we didn't learn it or because I simply never pay attention.

Reagan is sitting cross-legged on my floor with her Calculus book open and a blank piece of notebook paper. While pretending to do her homework, she has been painting her nails with black nail polish she found at the bottom of her backpack.

For some reason, she is dead set on helping me find the person I am -- the one hiding underneath all of the trauma that I still haven't told her about.

Together, we've attempted and failed to choreograph a ballet number on our own, threw at least a hundred apples at the brick wall behind her school, and even went to an antique store. All in the last week and a half.

She thought that maybe if she did her homework with me, I'd be motivated to try and get my grades up. That's clearly not happening. I'm just too far behind.

"Is it that you like Nickelback?" she asks, shaking her hand to dry her nails. "Because Michael told me he does, and I've accepted it."

"No," I giggle, laying back so that I'm hanging off of my bed. I didn't think Nickelback was punk rock enough for Michael. "I called in sick on Saturday so that I wouldn't have to face Calum."

"Maddie!" her mouth hangs open, and it looks even more dramatic from upside down. "He is a puppy! He's fragile! You need to talk to him before he dies of loneliness."

She's also attempted to help me deal with the confrontation that I'm up against. With her pushing me to do so, I was able to make it clear to Ashton that I needed some space. But it's Ashton -- it's the person I've trusted more than anyone.

Calum is different. Confronting Calum is still scary.

"Have you gone into work since then?" Reagan asks, and I shake my head, much to her dismay.

My blood is rushing to my head and my stomach sinks in, but the position I'm in is almost comfortable. I only return right-side up once I feel my phone buzz beside me over and over again, signaling at least two missed calls.

"Just do a million more sit ups like that, and you'll be able to do more graceful jumps again," she says.

Giggling, I ignore her comment and grab my phone.

Scrolling through it, I say, "I work tomorrow. I don't get many hours since giving me this job was basically a favor to Michael."

I've missed several calls, two from my dad and triple that from an unknown, California number. I'm still under my dad's cell phone plan, though, so it could be any California-based telemarketer.

"Can we talk about Michael for a second, please?" Reagan says. I glance up from my phone to smile at her and she plops her chin into her hands. "I'm in too deep."

"What do you mean?" I chuckle, returning half of my attention to my notifications again. At the very bottom of all of it is a text from that same unknown, California number.

Frenchie haha this still you?

I take a deep breath, but it doesn't do much for me. I still can't breathe. Only one person on this entire planet has ever called me that. One. Locking my phone, I throw it to the end of my bed and try to place undivided attention on Reagan, but I just can't.

"I mean, he's the cutest, sweetest, smartest boy I've ever met," she says. I can see her blushing from all the way over here.

"Yeah, Michael's pretty great," I force a smile.