She’s so extra. I love her so much.
“Ooooh!” I forget about any and all tension and awkwardness lingering between Nate and me when I set my eyes on the cheese plate my mom threw together. “I didn’t know we had all of these cheeses. And cashews!”
I scoot over to make room as my mom sets the tray between Nate and me. I’m giddy. If I could have charcuterie for dinner every single night, I would.
“Glad to see at least this hasn’t changed, huh, Mouse?” Nate says.
It’s a throwaway comment. One I’m not sure he even realizes he’s said until my gaze shifts from the tasty tray to his face. For as much as I’ve enjoyed harping on Nate’s worst qualities and the demise of our friendship, it only takes a moment—a single syllable—for my defenses to crumble to the ground. My chest aches with a yearning so deep, I didn’t know it was possible.
All because of that stupid nickname I didn’t realize I missed.
It’s been twelve years since our friendship fell to pieces and I’m still not sure how it happened. It started like all other summers. I went over to his house and talked his ear off while he packed up for a month at his grandparents’ farm. He’d be back in the middle of July and I had big plans for making my mom drive us to Cincinnati for the weekend to go to Kings Island and a Reds baseball game. I hated baseball, but he loved it, and even as a teenager I knew anything could be made bearable with giant hot dogs and cinnamon-sugar-covered soft pretzels. He seemed really excited too. He loved getting away from his dad and spending time with my family. A trip to Cinci and a couple of nights in a hotel? I didn’t have to twist his arm to get him to agree.
Not surprisingly, his grandparents’ farm wasn’t the most technologically advanced place to be and it was in the middle of nowhere. So when he wasn’t responding to texts or answering my calls, I assumed it was an issue of service. I never thought he was avoiding me. But then the day he was supposed to come home came and went and I never heard from him. When I went to his dad’s to look for him, Mr. Adams always had an excuse. Ruby ended up going with me to Cincinnati. We had a blast, but there was a cloud looming over the entire trip. I was worried about him, and at the same time, I was frantically trying to recall what I could’ve said to make him so mad at me.
When the first day of school came, we still hadn’t talked. And when I saw him huddled up with all the popular kids he claimed to hate so much, holding hands with the girl who’d made my life hell, everything became crystal clear. I’d been ditched. He found a new group of friends who were more popular and had more money.
He didn’t need me anymore, and I didn’t need him.
“Oh, Mouse. I forgot all about that.” Mom looks at me with a wistful smile, her eyes shiny beneath the bright afternoon sun. “What did you call Nathanial?”
This feels like a trap.
Part of me wants to lie, pretend I don’t remember. But the other part of me can’t deny that, even if it had a bad ending, once upon a time, Nate and I meant a lot to each other.
I look to my mom and drop my voice to a whisper. “Bear.”
I avoid looking at Nate, but I can feel the heat of his gaze burning a hole through the side of my face.
“Oh, that’s right! Mouse and Bear, together again. How wonderful.” She clasps her hands together and looks at Nate and me like we’re the most precious beings on planet Earth. “You two catch up and enjoy. And don’t be a stranger, Nathanial. I expect to see you much more often now.”
“Of course, Mrs. Carter. It was nice to see you.” Nate stands up and hugs my mom once more.
It’s cute.
I hate it.
My mom finally turns to leave, but my appetite has already been ruined. Stupid Nate and his stupid nickname. How dare he taint this perfect spread?
I grab a cashew anyway, popping it into my mouth and chewing it, just not with the joy it usually brings.
“So . . .” The word lingers. I try to think of anything to say that won’t make me remember how much I hate him. Or worse . . . how much I don’t. “Do you like cheese yet?”
He started calling me Mouse because I liked cheese plates way before they were all the craze on social media. He would nibble on it when my mom was around, but he hated cheese with a passion—that should’ve been my first red flag. I mean, who doesn’t like cheese? He wouldn’t even eat cheesecake!
“I don’t pull it off my pizza anymore, but I’m still not a fan.”
So not a complete monster, but the potential still stands.
“Well, that’s good, I guess . . .”
Although the air between us is never particularly pleasant, it hasn’t been awkward either. The promise of an impending insult always fills the void. But now, with old memories resurfaced, Nate whistles a tune I’ve never heard before while I manically munch on nuts. It’s wildly uncomfortable, but neither of us wants to be the first to tap out.
Me?
A quitter?
I don’t think so!
After what feels like a millennium, Nate finally gives in.
“Oh, you know what?” He checks his watch knowing that I damn well do not. “I forgot I have to show a house soon. Tell your mom I said thanks for the drink.”
He doesn’t wait for a response before running down our walkway without sparing a backward glance. Unlike my previous victories against Nate, this one feels more than a little lackluster. The usual satisfaction is missing and a deep sense of longing is there instead.
And tragically, it’s at this moment, with my attention focused directly on my mortal enemy, that inspiration strikes for the first time in months.
I leap off the swing, leaving an offensive amount of untouched cheese in my wake, and sprint into the house, taking the stairs two at a time until I reach my room and throw open my computer.
HOA**holes
Written by
Collins Carter
Chapter 10
I know my script is fiction, but nothing could have invigorated my drive to pulverize Nate more than re-creating him in fictional form. Art imitating life and all that jazz.
After I finished writing the first scene—faster than I’ve ever written a scene before, may I add—I hopped into the swagger wagon and sped over to the local craft store. I wasn’t going to let this inspiration fade for even a millisecond.
I take my time wandering through the aisles and filling my cart with obscene amounts of glitter, paint, poster board, and the crowning jewel of it all: a massive bag of wiggle eyes.
I throw the bags overflowing with art supplies in the trunk but tuck the bag of eyes into my purse so they’re easily accessible. And instead of driving straight home, I take the minivan on a little detour.
I drive down each street of the Reserve, blasting my Little Mix playlist and stopping beside every for sale sign with Nate’s obnoxious smile. I look out the windows and check my mirrors before I get out. I’m not ashamed of my behavior, but the fewer witnesses, the better. When I’m sure the coast is clear, I exit my car with my wiggle eyes in hand and cover Nate’s stupid hazel eyes with a pair of much more fitting googly ones.
Will some people say I’m being childish? Possibly.
But those people don’t have a sense of humor and I don’t care what they have to say anyway.