~Sophomore Year~

Olivia

"Okay, I think that's it," Nate says, glancing over the script one more time before he's reaching for his glasses, sliding them up his nose and looking over at me.

This is my second year of taking theater. As magical as the whole production is, the spotlight and center stage thing is definitely not me. That's how I met Nate. He's the tech guy, the man behind the scenes.

There's a lot more to the whole lights thing than I thought. I kind of pictured lights being turned on and off, but I'm learning that there's an art to it. It's why we're here, sitting at the Snack Shack, sorting through the script for this year's spring play and fine tuning the timing of everything.

"We're done?" I ask, looking back down at all of our notes.

"Yeah. Now we just have to put this into practice. I think Mrs. Hayes will give us some time on Monday to work out the kinks."

I nod, fighting off a smile at the subtle remnants of accomplishment. "How do you feel about milkshakes?" I ask. "To celebrate?"

He laughs, sliding his glasses back into place. "Sure. I like ice cream."

"Not ice cream. Milkshakes. There's a difference. But the more important question is...what is your flavor of choice?"

"Don't get this one wrong, kid," Charlie says, stepping up to the counter and sliding me a strawberry shake. "And happy birthday, Olivia."

I cringe at the statement, pinching my eyes together and attempting to disappear from the entire moment.

"Wait," Nate speaks up. "It's your birthday?"

"No," I quickly answer.

"No," Charlie reiterates. "But this stubborn girl refuses to celebrate the actual day."

"Which is?" Nate questions.

"Not today," I answer.

He nods, glancing back and forth between me and Charlie. "Right. Not today."

His phone chimes, pulling his very confused daze away from me. He clicks, running a hand down his leg before typing something. "Can I get a raincheck on the milkshake? It's my mom. I need to get home."

"Of course. I'll see you Monday."

"Yeah," he nods, and a small nervous laugh rattles his throat. "I'll see you Monday. And Olivia? Happy birthday." With a small smile, he hops down from the stool and heads out.

"Thanks for that, Charlie," I say, turning my attention back to him.

"You deserve to be celebrated. Even if you don't want to be."

"That may be so, but I don't intend on making a spectacle, you know that," I state slowly and clearly just to make sure it's heard.

"I do," he nods before wiping down the counter. "I also know you can't run from it forever."

"Why not?"

"Because it's your sweet sixteen my beautiful friend!" Ryder's voice comes flying between us as she slams into the seat next to mine. "So, what are we doing?"

Eye roll activated, once again. "I already told you, Ry. I'm not celebrating. I don't do birthdays. You both know this."

Charlie raises his hands, backing away as he turns toward the ice cream.

"Yes. But you can't not do your sixteenth," she insists.

"I am doing my sixteenth. I'm having dinner with Sam followed by his homemade chocolate cake just like we do every year."

Ryder's usual chocolate shake is now placed in front of her as she reaches for it without even stopping to check it. "You can't spend your sixteenth the exact same way you do every other birthday."

"I'll second that," a deeper voice approaches now and I suddenly feel ambushed. Max slides into the seat next to me, causing a laugh from Charlie. One he quickly covers up with a cough before turning back to get Max his usual order.

"Out of all people, you both know I don't want to celebrate my birthday. I never have. It's just how it is."

"Right, but–"

"No buts!" I interrupt Ryder as she tries to come up with some excuse as to why it is necessary for me to acknowledge just another day on the calendar.

"Have you ever thought that maybe we care about you?" Max starts now, just as his vanilla shake is placed in front of him. I know, it's still his shake of choice. I'm working on it.

"I know you guys care," I exhale.

Max and I have formed a routine over the last year. Our small moments on the dock have expanded. We seem to spend most weekends together. He gets me. He always has. And as annoying as his constant need to challenge everything I say is, I actually seem to crave it.

"So, why won't you let us do something for you?" Max asks.

"You know why." My eyes roll over to meet Max's, holding them as he watches me.

Ever since my mom was taken from me, birthdays have been a blinding reminder of what I'm missing. No matter how messed up things got at home, my mom always remembered my birthday. It was the one day every year that I could count on the real version of my mom to show up.

She would pull me out of school and start the day with chocolate chip pancakes. The rest of the day was always spent on some extravagant adventure. One year we went on a scavenger hunt around town. One clue followed by the next. We spent hours driving from spot to spot.

The first birthday I spent without her...there was a sense of hope I let get the best of me that day. I let myself anticipate her arrival. That maybe by some miracle that would be the day she would come back. I held my breath all day, waiting.

She never came.

I sat quietly at the table that night, my eyes fighting tears that she didn't deserve as I got lost in the flicker of flames on the candles in front of me. The candles taking residence atop the chocolate cake Sam spent all day perfecting. Technically, it was the third chocolate cake he attempted that day. The first failed to rise, the second burnt nearly to a crisp, and that one, well, it was slightly lopsided but it was mine. And he was trying, which was more than I could say for anyone else in my life.

The year that followed, I let that hope linger again. I let it stay afloat within the background, unable to completely let it go. Every car that drove by the house still caught my eye. Every time the phone rang my heart paused.

She didn't come.

It took three years for the hope to finally dissolve. Three years to let go of the faintest of possibilities that she might come back to celebrate with me. And now? Now I just prefer to treat it as any other day. If I do that, if I ignore what that day truly means, then it doesn't hurt as much.

The chocolate cake I agree to each year is more for Sam than it is for me. He saved me. He wanted me when no one else did. That chocolate cake he makes is me showing him I'm not completely broken.

"Okay," Max relents, his eyes holding mine. "No birthday shenanigans."

"What?" Ryder jumps in, the sudden smack of her hands on the table causing me to jump. "You're caving?"

"It's her birthday, Ryder. If she doesn't want to celebrate, then we don't celebrate." His eyes fall back to mine, the gentle warmth of their gaze settling that anxious piece of me. I don't know how he does that, how he's always held my worries so delicately in his hands.

"Lame," Ryder says on a heavy exhale. "One of these days, my dear friend, we will celebrate your birthday. Like it or not."

I slowly crack a smile, but I don't let my eyes leave Max's.

***

The sun is just barely peeking through the window, the quiet of the early morning calm filling the room around me. Today I turned sixteen. A milestone. The warmth of the single tear sliding from my eye feels like a trail of fire as it burns a path into my skin. This is why I don't like to think of today, why I ignore birthdays.

The glaringly obnoxious sound of a car horn comes flying through my window, ripping me from my plush cloud of escape. I don't know who the heck thinks a car horn is acceptable at this hour, let alone the continuous beat of the loud exchange.

I pull myself from the warmth of my blankets and make my way to the front door. When I swing it open, my eyes land on a gray truck, sparkling beside the curb. What the hell?

The next thing I know, the driver side door is opening and Max is standing on the edge, his bright eyes flashing over to meet mine as his hands fly into the air.

"What do you think?" he beams way too brightly for a Saturday morning.

"I think you just woke up the whole damn neighborhood," I reply, taking a step forward.

"Worth it," he grins.

"So," I begin as I make my way closer to the ridiculously expensive truck in front of me. "Your parents caved, huh?"

"More like I was out voted," Brynn's voice sails from behind me now.

As I turn to face her, I watch as her long dress flows behind her. She's currently hunched over, her hands wrapped up in the tiny fingers of her daughter as she wobbles over on unsteady feet. Her adorable dirty blonde hair just barely beginning to come in thick enough for there to be two tiny little pigtails behind her head.

"If only Lily was old enough to even out all of the testosterone I'm surrounded by then I might actually be able to win one of these battles one day, but as of now, I'm just outnumbered. The only time I stand a chance, when the numbers are actually even, is when you come over on game nights, Olivia." Brynn smiles as she comes closer.

I can't help but smile back. Game nights have most certainly been a highlight. Brynn and I don't make too bad of a team. Something that I'm sure will dwindle when their new house gets built and we're no longer neighbors. They finally found the perfect piece of land, now it's just a matter of building it.

"Although," she continues again. "There was that one girl you started bringing around last year," she glances toward her son. "But she was terrible at games. You can barely call that evening my odds."

That girl she's referring to is none other than Cassandra King herself. The very girl I thought would consume Max's every step. But instead, they lasted until summer hit when they both decided to enjoy their freedom.

"Can't deny I needed a car, Mom." Max smiles, completely ignoring his mom's mention of his ex before slapping his hand against the top of the truck. "And Dad agreed a truck is very useful."

She swoops Lily up off the ground as she takes another few steps toward us. "I never denied that fact. I just don't think a sixteen-year-old needs a brand new truck. Nothing wrong with a used car, maybe something already worn in with a few dents."

"Oh, she won't be getting any dents. Isn't that right?" Max leans forward, petting his car as he whispers to it.

I think my eyes just rolled right off my face with that little show. "She? Don't tell me you're giving her a name."

"Shh, you're going to hurt Bessy's feelings."

My eyes fall to Brynn, trying to get any type of support with this one but all she does is laugh, taking another few steps backwards. "I don't care what you call her," she says. "Just stick to the speed limit. It's not a suggestion as much as your father likes to pretend that it is. And be safe, you two," her eyes fall to me before landing back on Max. We both give her a stern nod before she retreats back to the house.

I finally approach the car, pulling the door open. "You know Bessy sounds like you're eighty years old, right?"

He ducks back into the car, sliding into the driver's seat. "Oh come on, Bessy is a perfect name for a car."

"I don't know. I would have gone a little more badass."

"Yeah, well, you can do whatever you want when you get a car."

I laugh. "I think you know that won't be happening. You and Bessy just became my free ride around town."

"See, I knew you'd like Bessy. Now hurry up and go change, the day is ours and freedom is calling!"

He doesn't have to say much else before I'm dressed and in the passenger's seat. Max drives us along the lake, and it carries a certain feeling of freedom. Things are changing.

Driving alone with Max seems to solidify this unspoken step in our friendship. We've spent nearly every evening and weekend together. Being neighbors has made it easy to cling to one another, to escape. But sitting in this small space with him, I'm beginning to wonder if my walls are dropping. And if they are, is it actually safe to let them?

The edge of the lake comes into view, but he doesn't stop. We continue to accelerate. "Wait, where are we going?" I ask as my back lifts from the seat.

"We're driving, Liv," he answers with that damn smile. "Roll the window down, stick your hand in the wind, and relax."

"I'm not a dog, Maxwell."

His smile quickly turns mischievous as he shoots it my way. "Oh, full names. Olivia, you've got me all flustered."

There's a smile fighting to escape me now. One I won't give him the satisfaction of. "Oh, shut it. Now, tell me where we're going before I get Ry on the phone."

"You're relentless, you know that?" His eyes catch mine briefly again. "Haven't you heard of the saying seize the day? You only live once?"

"Of course I have. I don't see what any of that has to do with this very moment. You know, kidnapping is illegal."

"Pretty sure you willingly jumped into my car. I even have witnesses."

"Your mom and your one-year-old sister do not count as credible witnesses, Mr. Hayes."

"Oh, Mister," his hand falls dramatically to his chest. "From full names to titles. I feel so respected. Any other names you want to throw my way? How about Your Majesty? Your Highness?"

"How about royal pain in my ass?"

He laughs, again. He doesn't respond though, instead, he changes the subject as we continue past the lake. "So, you and theater guy...are you two..."

"Theater guy?" I question.

"Yeah. Nick. The guy behind the curtain. You guys seem to be spending more time together."

"Okay," I sit back with a smile, "first of all, his name is Nate. And second of all, he's showing me the behind the scenes stuff. He's just being nice."

"Uh huh," he smiles. "Let me let you in on a little secret, Liv. Guys aren't usually just nice without a motive."

"Speaking from experience?"

"Speaking from your friend who is trying to inform you on how flirting works."

"Well, I don't need your kindness, Max. I don't know if you know this, but being nice to girls means you have other motives."

He laughs. "Fair. Okay, so he can be nice just because he's a good dude."

"Exactly," I acknowledge with a sense of victory.

"But if he was being friendly for other reasons, would you...be interested?"

I think about his question, picturing all the small moments Nate and I have had as friends. I've never really considered more. I like learning the behind the scenes stuff. I like Nate's company. But I think that's all it is.

Before I can answer, Max flicks on the blinker and takes a turn off the road. His tires dip into the uneven dirt path now set in front of us.

"No," I shake my head frantically as he continues forward. "I'm pretty sure this is the exact thing your mom said not to do, Max."

"My mom said to obey the law. This is a fully law abiding act."

"It very well may be, but that doesn't mean it isn't absolutely ridiculous. The snow hasn't even completely melted yet. You know this is probably the stupidest thing you've ever done, right?"

"Technically, I haven't done anything yet. And, the only snow still clinging on is in the mountain tops."

"Exactly," I confirm, sitting up in my seat. "Which means the water is all freshly melted ice. You're going to get hypothermia."

His eyebrows raise as he pulls his truck into a clearing by the fresh opening of crystal clear water. "Makes it that much more exhilarating, doesn't it?"

His door flies open as he jumps out, not waiting for my response. I leap out after him, quickly making my way to the front of the car. His eyes are now staring at the large cliff in front of us, and I can't help but do the same.

Cliff jumping.

It's an absolutely ridiculous and completely immature ritual in this town. The clear water below seems inviting, but as it contains the freshest runoff from the snow melt higher up in the mountains, it is usually edging on freezing. It's like a right of passage around here, one that I don't choose to be a part of.

His hand falls in front of me, pulling my eyes from the large cliff in front of us. "You coming?" When I don't answer, he continues. "Come on, Liv. I know you're fighting it. Telling yourself you don't need this little dive to solidify your place in this town, but it's more than just falling victim to the pressures of our peers."

"I'm pretty sure that's exactly what this is."

He turns now, stepping directly in front of me. His hand raises to my face, his fingers reaching for the strand of hair attempting to keep me hidden. As he tucks it behind my ear, letting my face be seen, he leans in a bit closer. "If I was doing this for show, I wouldn't be here alone with you."

There's that stupid skip in my heart. The very skip that shows up when he gets close. The one that makes that line blow in the sand. I don't like when things get blurry, I like them to stay clear. I like that line to make a deep undeniable groove in the cement. One that can't be weathered away.

"Fine," I say, taking a small step back, placing the well needed space between us. "But you're still on your own. I'm staying right here."

His hand falls to his side as he laughs, the small shake of his head causing a small smile of my own to appear.

"Fine," he agrees, taking a few large steps back. "You can stay right there, but we only regret the steps we don't take."

"Unless that step we take drops us into a crater."

"You really are a cynic, you do know that, right?"

I raise my shoulders before dropping them in pride. "No one ever said that was a bad trait."

"You're truly something else, Liv. Now, enjoy your little seat down here in Lamesville and watch me fly."

"I might be a cynic, but I'm pretty sure you're a dork!" I yell, as he runs up the trail.

***

Today was absolutely insane and so completely perfect. I laughed. I truly laughed far more than should even be possible. And more than that, I didn't think about my mom. For the first time since she's been gone, I spent a birthday enjoying the moment.

As my house comes into sight, Max slowly pulls up in front, and that very thought claws at my chest. I twist in my seat, turning to face the boy beside me. "You tricked me."

He doesn't say anything as he cuts the engine. There's a passing moment of silence before he turns toward me. "Liv–"

"No." I shake my head. "You didn't just want to take your new car out, did you?"

"I mean, I did want to take it out," he insists. I lower my gaze, waiting for him to cut the crap. "But no, that wasn't my only reason."

"Maxwell Tyler Hayes I swear to–"

"We didn't celebrate your birthday," he cuts me off. "We just spent the day together. Right? It was like any other day."

Ugh. I hate that he's finding a loophole right now. And it's a damn good loophole. "You're conniving," I snicker, crossing my arms over my chest and offering him a side glance.

"I'd like to think of it as creative." He smiles, and it's that gentle warmth of his that has me cracking.

I relent, letting a smile break free. But when I shift my gaze back at my house, that smile drops. Behind that door there's a cake with my name on it. A cake with one person standing behind it. My eyes fly back to Max who is still quietly sitting in the driver's seat. He's watching my complete internal meltdown. Seeing me just as he always does.

"Come in with me?" The question flies out on its own free will, wrapping us up tightly in the front seat of his car as I wait for his answer.

"Of course, Liv. I'll stay as long as you want. But first," he pauses to reach for something in the back seat. "Don't hate me, but I got you something."

"Max–"

"Just open the dang present, Liv."

There's a fight behind his words, a gentle firmness that has me relenting. Letting out a defeated breath, I let my eyes scan the package in front of me. Loose flaps attempt to be held in place with randomly placed pieces of tape. The choice of wrapping paper appears to be the backside of a paper bag, though the colorful scribbles strewn across the background does add to the overall flair.

I look up at him with a smile as I ask, "Did you wrap this or did you let Lily do the honors?"

"I wrapped, Lily designed," he states, not at all bothered by my judgemental eyes. "Just open it."

I nod slowly before pulling back the edges and trying not to rip any ounce of Lily's artwork. As I pull back the paper, a notebook is revealed. My eyes stay focused on what it is I'm looking at. My body still as I take it in.

It's not just any notebook. Slowly, I run my fingers along the cover. There's a picture of the lake printed on it, taking up the entire front and back. It's our lake. And I know that very view. It's the vantage point from the dock.

My eyes quickly jump up, finding his as a small smile falls across his face. "Open it," he whispers.

I pull my eyes away, allowing my fingers to slide down the cover, taking in the beauty of the photo. As I reach the bottom, I tuck a finger beneath the cover, sliding it open. Staring back at me are not the usual lines of the notebooks I spend hours filling. Instead, blank sheet music rests inside.

I let my fingers feel the empty pages before raising my eyes to his. "But I don't know how to write music," I declare, confused.

His smile seems to widen at my admission. "That's the easy part," he begins. "You already have the flow and melody in your head while you write. I see it in the way you so easily hum along when I play. And even though you're not actually saying the words, I feel them. I know they're racing through your head. So, I thought, you write the words and hum the right melody, and I'll write the notes."

"Max, this is...I don't even know what to say." My fingers slide along the clean and delicate lines I'm not used to seeing inked across the pages of any notebook I've ever owned. The way they stretch across seems so vast. A blank slate calling out to be filled.

Max's hand reaches out, his fingers falling on top of mine. His touch is soft, slow and hesitant, but the fire beneath it penetrates my skin. The instant heat sending a pulsating shock across my chest.

I meet his eyes. He's close. Closer than I usually allow.

"Some words aren't meant to be trapped within the pages, Liv," he whispers, his breath tangling with mine, working its way across the vulnerable threads laced around my heart.

Pull back, Olivia. You're too close.

"Max," I whisper, my voice hesitant. "What I write, what I keep bound tight, aren't the things people want to hear."

His free hand raises to my face, his fingers just barely grazing my skin as he slides a loose strand of hair behind my ear and his lips part, "But the ones who truly matter, are already listening."

Those delicate strings I've used to tie myself up, to keep myself guarded, are unraveling. His hand vibrating against my cheek, his gaze falling closer.

There's something in the way he sees me. It's different than others. It always has been. He doesn't see the damaged walls that still crumble from time to time. He doesn't see the scared girl hidden in the shadows, or the confident shell that protects it all. He sees the person I truly want to be. The person I'm capable of being, despite the fact that I can't see it myself.

This is the very moment where I should be pulling back. His hand along my cheek feels too warm, the one still clinging to my fingers feels too...good. His eyes haven't left mine. He's searching, asking, pleading for permission.

Instead of pushing back, instead of placing that space between us, I lean forward. I edge just enough to let him know I'm right here with him. His lips just graze mine, barely making contact as his hand slides further behind my head, slowly pulling me closer in order to feel every groove of his mouth. But before I do, before I even have the chance to completely meld my lips to his, to actually kiss him, the sudden knock at the window has us both flying back.

His eyes flit behind me, mine following suit as I turn to face my window. Sam is there, his eyes glossed over in a series of concern and pain I've only seen once. It's the same aching look he gave me when he picked me up at school all those years ago. The day my mom was taken from me.

I unlock the door, slowly pushing it open as he steps forward. "Sam, what's wrong?"

He keeps his broken gaze with mine, a small and steady breath lifts his chest. "Olive," he breathes, "it's your mom."