Chapter 07 | Only Weirdos Like Mushroom Pizza

"Don’t worry. Everybody has problems. Everybody has bad times. You're not alone." – Enchanted 

“So, is it like, official yet?” Aspen asks me all of a sudden in a chipper tone of voice, bursting into my bedroom and plopping down on my king-sized bed. Like I said, she (along with Piper and Sienna too) has a bad habit of just randomly showing up at my house unannounced and whatnot.

“Well, hello to you too, best friend,” I sarcastically reply with a chuckle, setting my paintbrush down and looking up from my canvas over at her.

“This is no time for small talk, Sawyer Annabelle,” She informs me with a serious look on her face as she flips her ridiculously perfect long blonde hair over her shoulder like the true drama queen that she really is. Lucky for her though, she’s a lovable drama queen.

“Oooh, my middle name,” I observe, spinning around in slow circle in my swivel chair. “This must be very serious,” I mockingly say.

“Yes, it’s very serious, actually,” Aspen confirms with a nod.

“Okay,” I chirp, knowing that whatever it is Aspen came over to talk about actually isn’t serious. I mean, nothing is ever actually serious with Aspen. Ever since Elliot died, she’s a much more carefree person, which is pretty ironic, I think but I guess I’m the only one who can see the oh-so-clear irony in it. “Well, what is it?” I query, still spinning around in the chair.

“Grawyer, that is indeed a thing now, yes?” She wonders and I come to a slow stop in the chair.

“Excuse me?” I ask, raising my eyebrows at her with a questioning look on my face. “Should I know what that is?”

“You should but since you clearly don’t, I’ll go ahead and tell you. Graham. Sawyer. Grawyer,” She simply supplies.

“I’m still confused,” I tell her, turning my attention back to my big white canvas that’s resting on the easel in my room.

“Grawyer is the couple name for you and Graham,” Aspen explicitly explains as I pick my paintbrush up and start painting again.

“Okay, two things though,” I mumble, holding up my middle and index fingers. “There’s no couple and I thought you said it was Grayer?”

“Well, I know but Grayer sounds kind of generic,” She replies. “Like, it sounds like you’re saying something isn’t grey enough,” Aspen adds.

“That’s an odd way to put it,” I laugh. “You do know that we don’t need a couple name though? Me and Graham, I mean. It’s not happening.”

“You are being so pessimistic,” Aspen tells me in a faux accusatory tone. “You guys would be so adorable together though, don’t you agree?”

“You sound like Dr. Fontana,” I mutter with an inaudible sigh as I dip my brush in the blue paint and streak it across the large canvas before me.

“What do you mean?” My best friends asks curiously with a laugh, spreading out across my bed and grabbing the remote to turn the television on.

“Well, let’s just say that Dr. Fontana is a very…hardcore…Grawyer / Grayer shipper,” I truthfully and somewhat awkwardly mumble.

“So even your psychiatrist knows you two belong together? That should really mean something to you,” Aspen laughs.

“Aspen, he’s a psychiatrist, not a psychic and I don’t even want a boyfriend now or anytime soon for that matter,” I explain.

Speaking of Graham, it’s been about three weeks now since he transferred from Volcom Prep to Jamestown High. We kind of hang out and talk a lot more now, Graham and I do, I guess. Only during school hours though, of course—we have four classes together, so even if I wanted to just ignore him or something, I really don’t think that I could. Partly because we sit pretty close to each other in the aforementioned four classes and the four teachers that we share are all pretty chill, so they don’t really mind us (and the other students) talking in class. Well, except for Ms. Newman, that is, our ridiculously rude and uptight Theology teacher.

The other part of why I don’t really think that I could just randomly quit talking to Graham is because I actually kind of like him. You know, as a semi-friend and I’m pretty sure that the feeling is mutual. Not that Sienna, Aspen or Piper believe that though and I think that Piper even has Jason in on it now because he kinda teases me about it. I mean, he isn’t as bad as his girlfriend and my friends though. As if that’s not enough, Dr. Fontana seriously thinks that I’m falling for Graham, which definitely is not happening and definitely is not going to happen and it’s just a totally ridiculous suggestion. Graham, for some odd reason, is really amused by all of this ‘Grayer / Grawyer’ talk though and I just don’t see why because I’m just a tiny bit annoyed by it.

“Well, I know it’s hard right now but I’m sure that’ll eventually go away,” Aspen assures me, running her fingers through her hair.

“For you too, you know,” I respond. “You know, with the whole Elliot thing,” I clarify. “It’s not gonna hurt forever,” I reassure my friend.

“This is me not-so-subtly changing the subject,” She tells me, immediately straying from the topic like she always does when Elliot’s mentioned. “What’re you painting?” Aspen queries, standing up from the bed and walking over to me, glancing down at the canvas that I’m almost done with.

“Flynn,” I simply explain, stroking the bristles of the paintbrush in a circular motion as I paint the area around Flynn’s pupils a dirty, dark brown.

“O…kay and why exactly are you painting a picture of Flynn Decker?” Aspen asks, clearly confused and with good reason too.

“Because when I’m done with it, I’m going to go downstairs and throw it in the fire place—watch him burn,” I tell her, finishing the painting.

“So, you painted a picture of the guy that drastically changed your entire outlook on life and now you’re going to go burn it to ashes?” She asks.

“Basically, yeah,” I confirm, closing all of my paints and putting my brushes together while the paint begins to dry.

“Maybe that’s what you and Dr. F should talk about, instead of your relationship with Graham,” She chidingly suggests.

“The very non-existent relationship,” I reply in a singsong voice.

“Acceptance is the first step, my dear,” Aspen tells me then in her very best play therapist tone. “Anywho, there’s a really, really hot guy in your kitchen, who, for some odd reason, isn’t wearing a shirt and I think that he has doughnuts. Powdered doughnuts,” She says and I assume she’s referring to Brett. I’m not saying that he’s hot or anything—it’s not that I think that he’s, you know, ugly or anything, I just don’t necessarily think that he’s hot. Maybe it’s because he’s a blonde—I just think that dark haired boys are a lot more attractive. Granted, Alex Pettyfer looks wonder with blonde hair. But I digress. So, yeah, considering the fact that Brett is always over here now, it’s got to be him because besides him, Beckett is the only other guy that’s ever here and she knows him, so I’m sure she’d refer to him by name and not as ‘a really, really hot guy.’

“Okay, well, hurry up, because I think that we’re leaving pretty soon,” I reply, standing up and walking over to my closet, pulling it open.

“You know, you’re really lucky that my parents are vegetarians and are refusing to make a tradition dinner tonight,” She tells me with a sigh.

“Yeah, your parents are weird people,” I chuckle. I don’t say that because they’re vegetarians though (that’s pretty cool) but they really are weird.

“I know,” Aspen sigh dramatically. “I’ve been thinking about getting emancipated but then I’d have to get a job and working isn’t really for me.”

“Yep, I do recall those two weeks that you interned with me at the hospital,” I laugh at the memory of when I got her a job and she kinda sucked.

“Okay, you know what? It was three weeks and what kind of person doesn’t freak out when a man with a gunshot wound to the face comes in?”

“A person who can handle a crisis,” I reply with another laugh as I sift through my closet and pull out a dress to wear.

“Oh whatever,” Aspen replies. “I’m going to get my doughnut and maybe make out with the beautiful boy in your kitchen.”

“You do that,” I call after her as she leaves my bedroom, closing the door.

In case you’re wondering where exactly we’re going, it’s Worcester. Worcester is this really big city that’s almost exactly an hour away from my home here in Andover. That’s where my paternal grandparents live and today is Thanksgiving, so my mother feels the need to force Beckett and me to accompany her in having Thanksgiving dinner with them. Like you just learned, Aspen’s parents are vegetarians, which means that they’re not going to be making a traditional Thanksgiving dinner with turkey and stuffing and all that kind of stuff (according to Aspen, they make like, tofu) so that’s why she’s coming with us. Brett is riding down there with us too, which annoys me but apparently, he’s Beckett’s new best friend.

I really don’t even want to go down there to see them, mostly because of the fact that they’re my paternal grandparents, which means that they’re my father’s parents. I just already know that it’s going to be really extremely awkward since my parents are separated and whatnot. Not to mention the fact that my dad is incarcerated, so he obviously won’t be there. Then there’s the fact that neither Beckett nor I have seen our grandparents since we were eighteen and fourteen, respectively, which is only going to add to the awkwardness. My mother is really serious about it though and I don’t think that it’s that she wants to go and visit them, I think it’s just that she’s being lazy and doesn’t wanna cook dinner.

I get out of my pajamas then (it’s like, 5 o’clock in the afternoon but I didn’t get changed out of my pajamas earlier today because I wasn’t really planning on doing anything at all except for painting Flynn until my mother so rudely ambushed me with this dumb overnight trip to Worcester) and then step into the dress, pulling it on.

I was all for wearing just a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt to my grandparents’ house but my mom told that that wouldn’t be appropriate for a Thanksgiving dinner, which isn’t true at all. This dress is really pretty though, so I don’t mind too much, having to wear it. It’s sleeveless with a pleated neckline and the top of it is an off white color, while the skirt part of the dress is a vibrant, solid mint color with tiny white polka dots printed across and lastly, there’s a thick black band thing around my midsection.

Once I have the dress on and zipped, I take a pair of suede, mint-colored platform shoes out of my closet and then plop down on my bed, slipping them on. They’re pretty classy shoes, I think and they’re platform, which means that I won’t want to cut my own feet off tonight with a machete from the pain that comes with wearing high heels for extended periods of time. I run my fingers through my hair a few times because I really don’t plan on actually brushing it or anything like that for two reasons. One, I’m about to sit in a car for an hour, so it’d be kind of stupid to get it all dolled up when I already know I’m probably gonna fall asleep like I always do on car rides longer than forty-five minutes. And two, it’s not like we’re going to see anyone I particularly care about impressing.

I figure that by now my mother must finally be finished getting ready to go and whatnot, so I grab my iPhone and car keys, along with my now dry painting of Flynn off of my easel and then exit my bedroom, turning the light out on the way and heading down the stairs. When I reach the living room, I notice that it’s empty and the house is quiet for the most part, which is a rare occasion because my brother is so unnecessarily loud. I toss my keys and phone over to the couch and walk over to the fireplace, which is being contained behind a little wire black mesh fence thing. Seeing as how it’s November in Massachusetts, it’s pretty much always on now.

Leaning down, I push the fence back a little bit and then toss the picture into it before standing back up and crossing my arms across my chest. There’s really not a practical or logical reason as to why I spent three hours of my day painting a portrait of the guy that I hate most in this entire world but I had a dream (nightmare is probably the better way to describe it) about the last time that I saw him. So, this morning, when I woke up, I decided to paint Flynn in the last setting that I saw him in, which was right after he’d been sentenced by Judge Myers to a month in the county jail. Even today, I can still vividly remember that day like it was yesterday, despite the fact that I’ve been desperately trying to erase that memory from my brain. Evidently though, that’s impossible.

It looks pretty amazing and spot-on though, if I do say so myself. I mean, it might seem kind of futile to do something so time-consuming just to wind up destroying it but that’s kind of what I wanted to do to Flynn the last time I saw him—just throw him into a blazing pit of hot fire and watch him burn. That definitely sounds a little bit satanic but it’s also very true. Since I obviously can’t put the actual Flynn Decker into a fire, I’m okay with settling for a painted portrait of Flynn Decker.

“That’s strike two, Dawson,” I suddenly hear Beckett announce from behind me somewhere.

Whirling around, I see Brett leaning against the door frame of the room and Beckett making his way down the stairs with a grimace on his face.

“Strike two?” Brett echoes, raising his eyebrows and averting his eyes from me to my brother, who’s walking towards him and he looks annoyed.

“Yes, strike two and if there’s a strike three, I’m going to kick your ass,” Beckett informs him then, slapping his so-called friend upside his head.

“What did I do?” Brett grumbles, sending my brother an irritated expression as he rubs the back of his head where Beckett just randomly hit him.

“You were checking my baby sister out just now, you degenerate pervert,” Beckett explains, gesturing over to me with his head. “I specifically told you to not talk to her and I specifically told you to not look at her like that and you did both and now you’ve got one more chance to screw up before you get beat up,” He threatens Brett then. I feel my face go bright red after that, so I spin back around and continue to watch the portrait burn to ash when I learn that Brett’s apparently just been standing there this entire time, looking at me.

I’m slightly positive that he’s not serious about beating his friend up though, because he’s really not the fighting type at all, Beckett isn’t. He’s kind of a frat boy, actually. The only difference between him and legit frat boys (like Flynn) is the fact that he’s nowhere near as douche-y. So, if he’s got a problem with someone, he usually just rudely blows them off or has one of the guys in his frat house haze the guy or something, which is really stupid to me, but I guess that’s just how college works. Granted, I already know that he won’t have anyone Brett up because they really are pretty good friends, I guess. Beckett’s just grossly overprotective of me and just really overdramatic about literally everything. Huh, come to think of it, he and Aspen might make a perfect couple once she gets past her whole sex-crazed-phase thing, seeing as how they’re both dramatic.

“Why am I friends with you again?” Brett asks him.

“I ask myself the same thing every time you invite yourself to my house and never leave,” Beckett responds. “Are you burning something Saw?”

“Nothing important,” I mumble, turning back around and facing my brother. “I’m just gonna…go,” I gawkily mumble before leaving the room.

I just don’t like being in the same room with Brett, ever. I mean, he’s pretty nice to me, I guess, but then again, so was Flynn. Brett just kind of freaks me out though, because he seems incredibly pervy. I swear, every time the two of us are in the same room together, I can actually feel him undressing me with his eyes, whether or not my brother or mother is in the room too.

That’s the entire reason as to why I no longer eat breakfast at home before school, not while Brett’s here; either he feels the need to wink at me every morning or he’s got some sort of nervous eye twitch. While I have nothing against him aside from that though, I’m not going to allow myself to get close to him, even as a friend because I got somewhat close to Flynn—since he was Beckett’s best friend, we were kind of friendly. Not friends but he would always kind of flirtily tease me whenever he’d come over. And we see how perfectly that turned out, what with me being diagnosed with clinical depression and post-traumatic stress disorder and Flynn spending a month in jail.

“Seriously though, does she just hate me or something?” I hear Brett ask as I enter the kitchen through the adjoin door—the wall is kinda thin.

“Yeah, probably—she hates everyone,” Beckett replies nonchalantly and I roll my eyes at that because it’s obviously not the truth at all.

“What’s wrong with you?” I ask Aspen with a laugh, noticing the glum look on her face as she bites into a doughnut.

“Can you believe that that blonde bozo actually said that I wasn’t his type?” She asks, clearly referring to Brett. “I’m everyone’s type!” She yelps.

✿✿✿✿✿✿

“I’m a little offended by the fact that you’ve got a car now and you still don’t come down here to see your old grandpa,” My granddad tells me with a sigh and a small, toothy smile a couple of hours later as the two us sit down together on the couch in his living room.

We got down here to Worcester about two hours ago and then the seven of us (my grandparents and mother, Beckett, Brett, Aspen and me) had dinner. It was somewhat awkward, just like I knew it would be, you know, since my dad isn’t here. He wasn’t at Thanksgiving last year, or the year before that but those two years, my mother didn’t force us to come down here. Anyway, we just finished dinner not too long ago and my granddad said that he wanted to talk to me about something and that’s what about to happen now, I’m guessing. I hope he has a present for me—I love presents.

“I’m sorry,” I say with a light laugh, pulling my legs up on the couch with me. “It’s not totally my fault though—my mom gets super spazzy whenever I go anything more than like, thirty minutes out of town,” I truthfully tell him. The last time I drove out of Andover, it was about a year and a half ago and it was with Aspen. We were going to some guy’s party and he lived about an hour away from Andover. Anyway, when my mom found out, she wasn’t even mad over the fact that we were going to a party, she was mad that we were going to a party an hour out of town.

“Well, that’s just ‘cause she’s weird,” He laughs his cute little old person laugh. “I wanted to ask you though—how are you?” My granddad asks.

“I’m great,” I chirp with a nod. “How’re you?” I casually wonder, picking up Joey (my grandparents’ super cute little golden retriever puppy) and setting him down on my lap, absentmindedly stroking his shiny coat. I’ve always wanted a puppy but I could never get one growing up because my dad is allergic. He doesn’t live with us anymore though, of course, since his home is a prison cell. I just never brought the idea back up but I’m sure my mom would be okay with my getting one, as long as I took care of it, which I definitely would, since it’s not like I ever go anywhere.

“I’m okay but I think you know that that’s not what I meant,” My granddad laughs again—he’s a pretty jolly guy, to be seventy-eight years old.

“I know nothing,” I pipe with a casual shrug, even though I’m well aware of what this conversation is supposed to be about. It’s just that today is Thanksgiving and I’d just rather not reflect on everything that’s wrong with me and how I’m going about fixing everything that’s wrong with me.

“You’ve been taking your medicine then?” He interrogates. “The correct dosage every time?”

“Yes, granddad, I’ve been taking my medicine every day and just the right amount,” I confirm with a sigh.

“Good because we don’t want a repeat of last time,” He replies, referring to how long I was in the hospital for after Dr. Fontana first prescribed me medicine to deal with my depression. It was some kind of really powerful stuff and with everything that was going on, it just got out of hand.

“That’s not going to happen,” I assure him with a firm nod. “I take pills now anyway,” I inform him.

“Good,” He repeats, ruffling my hair up with his hand and kissing my head. “I’m not sick of you just yet,” He jokes.

“Gee, thanks, granddad,” I sarcastically reply with a grin. “Anyway, was that all you wanted? Because if so, I have a Netflix marathon to finish.”

“That’s not all, actually,” He says then, shaking his head. “I wanted to ask you about your therapist—is he helping? Or is it just money wasted?

“I like Dr. Fontana,” I defend my therapist. “He’s good at his job,” I honestly respond. I do really like Dr. Fontana, even though he annoys the life out of me with his whole “you’re going to fall in love with Graham—trust me, I’m a doctor” thing he’s got going on. He also irritates the life out of me, when I’m not in the mood to talk to him for an hour and he makes me stay the entire session anyway—that’s just so terribly cruel of him.

“Well, that’s good then, I guess. And what about Flynn? Have you heard anything about him lately?”

“I heard his girlfriend got an abortion,” I shrug. “If you mean have I heard anything about the case, then no. It’s a closed case.” I explain.

“Closed case? How did that happen?” My granddad demands, obviously surprised by the fact. “He only spent a month in jail for crying out loud!”

“Yeah, well, you know.” I reply, not knowing exactly what to respond with. “Flynn could literally intentionally kill someone tonight and be out of jail tomorrow night,” I expound. “His dad is a really powerful person in the courts—he can spin basically everything in his son’s favor.” I add.

“That just isn’t right,” He sighs, shaking his head. “He assailed you, Sawyer,” My grandfather reminds me, as if it’s a chance that I’ve forgotten.

“I know, granddad,” I nod with a sigh. “I learned a really long time ago though that life isn’t fair and that’s just the way the cookie crumbles.”

His frown softens and he looks over at me with that same toothy grin. “How are you already so wise when you’re only seventeen?” He wonders.

All of a sudden, I hear Beckett’s voice. “Because the most damaged people are the wisest,” He says. “Speaking of which, I need to talk to you.”

“That sounds like a quote from a chick flick from the 80’s,” I tell my brother, standing up and handing Joey to my granddad. “What’s up?” I ask.

“When exactly did you plan on telling me about Graham Cambridge?” He asks, pulling me out of the room, his hand around my wrist loosely.

“When I thought it was necessary,” I reply with a shrug. “Why? You don’t tell me about all of your friends,” I remind him matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, but that’s different and you know it,” Beckett scoffs.

“Not really,” I deny, shaking my head and casually crossing my arms.

“Yes, really,” Beckett argues. “What, do you like him or something?”

“Not that it’s really any of your business at all, but no—I don’t like him.”

“So, you’re just friends then?” Beckett asks for clarification. I don’t know why he’s being so weird about it because he already knows Graham. They went to Volcom together for that one year when Beckett went there and I think that they played on the soccer team together or something.

“We’re semi­-friends,” I correct, shaking my head, pushing a lock of my hair behind my ear. “I know you’re worried but you don’t need to be.”

“You’re my baby sister, Sawyer,” He grumbles. “I’m always gonna be worried about you—no matter what you say, no matter how old you are.”

“And I love you for that but seriously, you don’t need to worry about Graham Cambridge,” I reply. “How did you even hear about him?”

“Well, Aspen’s not really the greatest secret-keeper,” Beckett sheepishly replies.

“Speaking of Aspen, where is she?” I query, realizing I haven’t seen her in a while.

“Oh, she went to go talk to Elliot,” He nonchalantly supplies.

“What?” I immediately reply, my eyes widening at his statement.

“Yeah, she said she was gonna visit him since you were with granddad.”

“Are you kidding right now?” I ask him, hoping that he actually is.

“No—why would I kid about something like that?” He queries.

“Give me your keys,” I demand, holding my hand out then.

“Why?” Beckett queries, pulling the keys to his Hummer out.

“Because I have to go make sure my best friend isn’t having mental breakdown, obviously,” I reply, taking the keys. “I’ll be back,” I add.

After Elliot passed away, his parents chose to have him buried here in Worcester at this one super fancy cemetery. Aspen didn’t even go to his burial after his funeral, because it was just too hard for her. I mean, really, she could barely even keep it together while the service was going on. As far as I know, she’s never gone to visit his grave (I’m sure she’d have told me if she had) and the fact that she would just randomly go to it all alone at nearly 9 o’clock at night kind of worries me.

I walk out of the front door of my grandparents’ house and the make my way to the driver’s side of Beckett’s car. He never, never lets me (or anyone else, for that matter) drive his car because he’s just such a weird control freak, so this is actually really exciting for me. I climb up into the Hummer and then close the door behind me, pulling my seatbelt on before starting the engine. I don’t really know exactly where the fancy cemetery where Elliot was laid to rest is because I didn’t attend the burial either.

I mean, I would have but Piper and I had to make sure that Aspen didn’t throw herself off of a building or anything. I mean, she was really torn up after Elliot’s death and she was a sobbing mess at the funeral, understandably so. Sienna wasn’t here then though, in case you’re wondering, she was still in Switzerland. I figure there can’t be too many fancy cemeteries in this town though. And with that, I put the car in gear and pull out onto the main road, going in what I hope is the right direction.

After about five minutes or so of driving down the main road, my iPhone rings loudly all of a sudden, scaring me a little bit because no one ever calls me. I mean, sometimes my friends do but mostly we just text. I move one hand from the steering wheel to turn down the song that’s playing on the radio (Dark Horse by Katy Perry) and then grab my phone from where it’s resting in a cup holder and then answer it. It’s a number that I don’t recognize but I figure it might be Aspen. That’s kinda a dumb theory because that girl never goes anywhere without her iPhone but still.

“Hello?” I greet, putting the phone on speaker so that I can drive with both hands again. Driving with one hand gives me so much anxiety.

“Is everything alright?” Graham wonders because I guess he catches the worried tone that’s laced within my voice.

“Um, no, not really,” I deny with a sigh. “Aspen is kinda sorta M.I.A., but not really and I’m looking for her,” I explain.

“Oh, well, where are you? I can help you look for her if you want,” He offers like the incredibly nice person I’m starting to see that he is.

“Thanks for the offer,” I reply. “We’re in Worcester though,” I explain with a groan, turning the lights on their brightest so that I can see.

“Worcester?” Graham echoes. “What the heck are you guys doing in Worcester?” He wonders.

“Forced Thanksgiving Day Dinner,” I mutter. “Speaking of which, Happy Thanksgiving,” I add.

“Not so much but you too,” He replies. “So, you have no idea where Aspen is then?” Graham asks.

“Well, I know she’s at a fancy cemetery but it’s dark and I don’t even know where I am.” I admit.

“Remind me to never go on a road trip with you,” Graham jokes and even though this is a serious moment, I crack a smile.

“Wow, you’re so funny,” I tell him sarcastically, the small smile still on my face.

“So I’ve been told,” He says in responds. “Heavenly Oaks, that one is pretty fancy though,” Graham informs me.

“Do you know someone there?” I curiously query, putting the name into the GPS and letting it route.

Graham’s quiet for a minute and I worry that I might’ve offended him and made him hang up or something. Just when I’m about to glance over at my phone to see if the call is even still connected, he clears his throat. “Um, yeah, I do,” He informs me. “Anyway, I called to ask you something about pizza but I should probably let you go so you can go and find your friend, huh?” Graham says, asking a rhetorical question.

“That might be a good idea,” I confirm with a sigh. “I’ll call you when we get back to my grandparents though,” I reply.

“Yeah, you better, Jameson,” Graham teasingly says.

“You are such a dork, Cambridge,” I reply, referring to him by his last name like he just did me—it sounded cooler coming from him though.

“This coming from the eleventh grader who is taking more senior electives than I, the actual senior, am,” Graham replies with a light chuckle.

“I’ll talk to you later, you weirdo,” I reply with a laugh as I hang my phone up and then glance down at the GPS screen. According to it, I’m not very far away from this so-called Heavenly Oaks place anyways. I follow the directions as the automated voice speaks them to me and after about ten minutes of driving, I see my car (which Aspen and I rode down here in) parked outside of a very scary, yet very fancy iron wrought fence.

That means that she’s obviously here then, which is good. Well, not necessarily good but it’s a good thing that I found her because if I know Aspen Thames at all (and I think I do) she’s probably extremely emotionally unstable right now. I mean, she’s visiting her ex-boyfriend’s grave for the first time ever. And I know just how incredibly stubborn Aspen is, so I know that even if she was bawling, she’d have still tried to drive herself back to my grandparents and that could have been and most likely would have been a huge disaster.

I park my brother’s Hummer right behind my car and then get out, locking the doors behind me. I’m really not a fan of cemeteries in the daytime and especially not at nighttime. This is basically the premise to every zombie horror movie ever. With an inaudible sigh, I walk up to the iron wrought fence, which is parted open a tiny bit and I slip into it. Unlocking my phone, I go to the flashlight thing and turn it on, illuminating the ground before me. I think about calling her name out but decide against it because that just seems kind of weird, to be yelling in a cemetery.

I shine the light around as I walk and then finally, I hear the sound of quiet sniffles. Following them, I find my poor best friend, sitting on the ground before the headstone that I’m guessing belongs to Elliot. “Hi,” I greet my best friend before turning my flashlight off and sitting down.

“Hi,” Aspen replies in a hoarse voice as she stares at the tombstone. “What’re you doing here?” She sniffles.

“Making sure my best friend is okay, obviously,” I reply, bumping my shoulder against hers playfully but she doesn’t do anything back.

“I’m not,” She admits in a shaky voice, shaking her head, sniffling again. “I miss Elliot,” Aspen cries, a stream of tears pouring down her face.

“I know you do,” I reply, scooting over to her and pulling her in for a hug. “But I promise it’s gonna be okay,” I tell her as positively as I can.

“But what if it’s not?” She mumbles, dropping her head down on my shoulder and starting to all out bawl, which makes my heart break for her.

“It will be,” I respond. “I know I’m not exactly the poster child for hope for the future or anything like that but I’ve been told I’m kinda wise. Obviously not today and most likely not tomorrow and probably not even the day after that but one day, you’re gonna be okay, Aspen. Right now, you’re obviously not okay but it is okay not to be okay,” I assure my best friend.

“I miss him so bad it hurts,” Aspen cries hysterically, her tears seeping through the fabric of my dress and onto my shoulder. “I know that everyone just thinks that I’m the biggest slut in Massachusetts and maybe I am but I honestly don’t try to be. It’s just that it’s the one thing that makes me feel even remotely better. I know that it’s just a temporary fix but it takes my mind off of Elliot for at least a little while,” She explains, starting to heavily hyperventilate. “A-and ever since he died, I’ve just been trying so, so incredibly hard to fill this huge void he left in my heart and in my life.

"Last night, I hooked up with this one guy—I didn’t even know his last name but his first name was Dean, at least, that’s what he told me. When it was over, I was, you know, in his bathroom, getting ready to leave and when I looked in the mirror, I didn’t like the girl who was looking back at me. So, when I was about to leave, Dean told me that I could stay the night.

"Do you know that literally no other guy has told me that I could stay the night? That was the first time, ever. And I know that Dean didn’t give a rat's ass about me but that was the most loved I’ve felt since Elliot died. Maybe that’s why I do it—because for a couple of hours, I feel a small tinge of that massive love that I always felt when I had Elliot. Elliot’s gone now though and I have no one. Even my own parents hate me because they think I’m such a disgustingly gross fuck up.”

“Aspen, that is absolutely ridiculous,” I scoff, patting my friends back. “Don’t say you ‘have no one’, because that’s not true at all. Maybe those guys you hook up with don’t give a rat's ass about you but guess what? I give a rat's ass about you, Sienna gives a rat's ass about you, Piper gives a rat's ass about you, believe it or not and Jason gives a rat's ass about you. Even my brother gives a rat's ass about you.” I reply, patting her back gently.

“You can stop saying rat's ass now,” Aspen laughs a quiet laugh. “And you’re wrong there—Jason doesn’t care about me and your brother never even remembers my name,” She reminds me.

“Maybe he doesn’t want to jump back into bed with you but Jason does care about you. You know why? Because his girlfriend is our best friend and he kind of has no choice but to care about you. As for my brother—don’t take it personally, he can never remember anything. He literally needs to be checked by a doctor because seriously, this guy can plan his own surprise party.” I tell her truthfully, attempting to lighten the mood.

“You’re kind of an amazing best friend, you know?” Aspen replies, lifting her head up after a second with a small smile.

“Yeah, I know, I’m amazing,” I jokingly say before standing up and pulling my friend with me. “Seriously though, it’s freezing out here and I think I’m losing feeling in my toes,” I inform her, wiggling my basically frozen toes. “Are you ready to go?” I ask her.

“Yeah, I think so,” Aspen nods, wiping a few tears away from her face as she looks down at Elliot’s gravestone marker. “I love your forever and always, Elliot Adams,” She says in quiet voice, leaning down and kissing the marble stone lightly. “Okay,” She sniffles. “We can go now.”

Like I said, Aspen doesn’t like talking about Elliot at all, so it was kind of a big deal for her to do a full blown monologue just then. If you’re just really wondering how exactly he died though, I’ll just go ahead and tell you. He was in a car accident and a pretty brutal one at that. He and Aspen were on their way to some secret location to celebrate the fact that they’d just gotten back together. So, obviously, the two of them were in the same car together. It was pretty late, so it was dark out. Long story short, they were hit head on by a person driving drunk.

The worst part about that though is that the drunk driver didn’t even stop. He hit them head on and just kept going—he didn’t make it all that far though, because he hit a tree, his car flipped a bunch of times, and I think he was ejected from it. He didn’t die though, he just had some really serious injuries, which required an intensive stay at the hospital, and then he was ordered to a very long sentence in prison. Aspen obviously survived the crash and she made it out with a broken leg and a dislocated shoulder. Elliot’s injuries, however, were a lot more life-threatening.

And with that, Aspen and I walk together with our arms interlaced back to my brother’s Hummer. If she was in an okay state to drive, she’d drive my car back to my grandparents’ house but she’s obviously not, so we’re just gonna come and pick my car up tomorrow. Hopefully, it doesn’t get towed or anything because then I’d be the one crying hysterically.

✿✿✿✿✿✿

“So, she’s okay?” Graham asks me about an hour and a half later over the phone.

“Yeah, she’ll be fine,” I assure him, glancing over at my best friend, who’s now sleeping.

“Well, that’s good, right?” He replies and I pull my phone away from my ear, checking the time—11:30.

I’m pretty sure that everyone else is asleep by now, though I don’t know why because 11:30 is still relatively early in my book.

“That’s wonderful,” I confirm. “Anyway, when we talked earlier, you said that you wanted to ask me about pizza,” I remind him.

“Oh, right,” Graham laughs. “Yeah, I was having a little problem but it is all good now,” He vaguely supplies me with.

“A pizza problem?” I ask with a small giggle.

“Yeah, I was at Pizza Hut and my brother wanted one of those stupid mushroom pizzas and I wanted pepperoni. So, I needed you to be the tie breaker and clearly you were going to say pepperoni pizza because only weirdos like mushroom pizza,” Graham tells me very matter-of-factly.

“Why were you eating pizza on Thanksgiving anyway?” I wonder curiously, running my fingers through my hair.

“Because my brother is an idiot and he burned the turkey,” Graham explains. “So we just decided to go for pizza,” He adds.

“Well, why didn’t your mom or dad just make the turkey then?” I ask him, realizing how much more sense that would make.

“Oh, I don’t live with my parents,” He nonchalantly responds.

“What do you mean?” I query, raising my eyebrows though he can’t see me.

“Because we’re, as you call it, semi-friends, I’ll just tell you. I live with my older brother, Tucker, and my younger brother, Jackson. I haven’t seen my mom in about three years and I haven’t seen my dad in about six months,” Graham nonchalantly tells me like that’s just a normal thing.

“Well, that’s peculiar,” I note. I mean, I haven’t seen my dad in two years but he’s in jail and I’m not going to visit him, so that makes sense. “How come you don’t live with them?” I wonder, curiously.

“Okay, that much information definitely requires us being actual friends instead of just semi-friends,” Graham teasingly replies.

“Have I told you lately that I think you’re a dork?” I playfully respond.

“Yeah, about an hour ago, actually,” He reminds me with a chuckle.

“Oh, right,” I quietly laugh. “Well, it’s still very true.”  

Author's Note: Bonjour, lovelies!

So, this is late, obviously. 

But like, Sunday was my father's birthday, so I was like, forced to be out of the house with my family to celebrate and such. Then when I came back home, the GRAMMYs was about to come on and I obviously couldn't miss that and I was basically too into the show to remember to update. Then I remember when the GRAMMYs went off but it was like, 11:30, so I decided to just wait until today.

Speaking of the GRAMMYs, can we just take a moment to talk about how amazing they were? I'm just kidding, please don't just comment about how wonderful they were but seriously, Taylor Swift's performance? Literally thought I'd died and gone to Heaven. Then Imagine Dragons with Kendrick Lamar? Oh my gosh, I'm still in shock over how they put so much amazingness into like, five minutes. And Pink? She just keeps getting better. Then Macklemore & Ryan Lewis and Mary singing Same Love while 33 couples got married? Man. Not to mention the wonderfulness that was Katy Perry and Juicy J. As you can tell, I was very excited about the GRAMMYs. I mean, aside from the fact that Taylor Swift didn't get any GRAMMYs, when she so deserved all the ones she was nominated for.

But I digress. 

Then there was yesterday, which was Monday. I was sick (and I still am) so basically I didn't do anything at all aside from watch Netflix. I'm feeling a tad bit better now though, so I thought that I'd go ahead and post this today, so yeah. Then Tuesday, I had school (blegh) and I'm still sick, so there's that. 

Anyways, sorry about all of that, I just needed to express my love for the 2014 GRAMMYs and then explain why I missed the day. And now that that's over, thoughts on this chapter? Thoughts on Sawyer? Aspen? Beckett? Brett? Graham? He wasn't psychically in the chapter but fear not, he'll return next chapter <3

Also, this note is getting really long but I just need to mention that writerbug44 and I are just now starting to work on our fourth story together, called Rolling Thunder. We've posted the teaser for the story and it's on our joint account- RelentlessDreamer. If you wanna check it out, that'd be super cool and if you wanted to comment and vote on it too, that'd be cooler. I'll put the link in the external link but if you're on mobile or whatever, you can just search for it and you should find it. :3

Lastly, please, please, please don't forget to comment and vote! This chapter is dedicated to Enchantment3 because she left a really lovely comment on the previous chapter- mostly all of you did. There's a few people who leave really wonderful comments that I love and I'd dedicate a chapter to them but they're not fans of me, so I don't think I can dedicate to them.

Yeah, that's all I've got to say- aside from, notice the song and picture (Brett Dawson).

Sorry about the abnormally long author's note, the GRAMMYs just excited me so much.

Don't forget to comment and vote, please and I'll see your lovely faces next Sunday! <3