The space between us

Stacy’s pov The house smelled like summer and David’s old cologne. It was 2AM. I was sixteen, barefoot, stealing water from the kitchen like it was a crime. Then I saw him. Xavier smith. David ’s best friend. The guy who used to flick my forehead and call me “squirt” before he left for college. He was sprawled on our couch, one arm thrown over his eyes, t-shirt rucked up over his stomach. He wasn’t a boy anymore. He wasn’t supposed to be on the couch either. David swore he’d take the guest room. My glass hit the counter too hard. Ice clinked. Xavier jerked awake. “Stacy ?” His voice was rough, wrong. He sat up fast, eyes dragging over me, over my sleep shirt, my bare legs. “God. You’re not twelve.” Heat crawled up my neck. “You’re not supposed to be out here.”Isn’t it cold? He laughed, scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “David kicked me out. Said I snore like a chainsaw.” I should have left. Should have run back to my room and pretended this didn’t happen. Instead I stood there, clutching my water, while Xavier looked at me. Really looked. Like he’d never seen me before. Like maybe he wanted to. The guest room door stayed shut all summer. But that night, something else opened.Something unknown. I didn’t sleep after that. I lay in bed listening to the house settle, to the fridge hum, to the sound of Xavier shifting on the couch downstairs. Every creak felt like a question. David found us in the kitchen at 7AM. I was pouring cereal.Xavier was making tea,wearing the same shirt from last night, hair a mess. “Since when do you drink tea,thought you preferred coffee?”David asked me, squinting. “Since when do you snore?” I shot back, and Xavier choked on his laugh. David looked between us. His eyes narrowed for half a second. Then he shook his head. “Don’t corrupt my sister, Smith.She’s off limits.” He said it like a joke. Like he always did when he introduced me to his friends: _This is Stacy . She’s sixteen. Don’t be weird._ Xavier raised his hands, still smiling. “Wouldn’t dream of it, man.” But his eyes flicked to me. Just for a second. And my stomach dropped. Because he _had_ dreamed of it. I saw it last night. The next three days were worse. Xavier took over our kitchen table with his textbooks. He was home for the summer to retake an online class he flunked.David was at his internship from 8 to 6. Which meant it was me. And him. And two months of empty hours. He didn’t call me squirt anymore. He said my name like he was testing it. “Stacy pass the salt.” “Stacy,you’re blocking the fridge.” “Stacy.” Every time, I looked up too fast. On day four, I found him in the driveway, staring under the hood of David ’s beat-up Lexus. “You need a hand?” I asked. I didn’t know anything about cars. He wiped grease on his jeans, grinned. “You know how to drive stick?” “No.” “Want to learn?” David would kill us. That was the first thought. The second thought was: _4PM. David doesn’t get home till 6._ I looked at Xavier — at the oil on his hands, the sun on his shoulders, the way he wasn’t looking at me like I was twelve. “Okay,” I said. That was the moment. Not the couch. Not the kitchen. This. Agreeing to sit next to Xavier smith in a car, when my brother wasn’t around to make a joke about it. The driveway was empty. The guest room was empty. But the space between me and Xavier? That wasn’t empty anymore. It was full of everything we weren’t supposed to say.