Unwritten scars

Chapter 4: Getting Too Comfortable

It became a thing without any of us actually deciding it was a thing.

Most evenings, it was the three of us somewhere on campus. The café. The grass outside the library when it wasn't too cold. Goody's room once, after her roommate somehow locked them both out and Goody refused to sit in the hallway "like a homeless person."

Tonight, we were at the café. Our usual corner table.

Goody had already stolen most of the fries, and Maverick was controlling the music because apparently the rest of us couldn't be trusted with the playlist.

"Our music taste is fine," I said.

Maverick looked at me like I'd said something personally offensive.

"Fine?"

"Yes."

"Miley, you had a song on repeat yesterday that was literally just a girl crying about a guy for three minutes."

"That's called emotional depth."

"That's called needing help."

I picked up a fry and threw it at him. He caught it without even looking away from me and tossed it straight into his mouth.

"See?" he said. "Violence. This is what your music has done to you."

I rolled my eyes. Goody was already laughing.

"You two are ridiculous."

"He's the ridiculous one."

"She started it," Maverick said.

"I did not."

"You threw food at me."

"Because you insulted my music."

"Exactly."

Goody looked between us, shaking her head. "I genuinely don't know how I ended up friends with both of you."

I laughed.

And then I realized something. I was actually laughing. Not the little polite laugh I gave people when I didn't know what else to say. A real one.

A few weeks ago, I would've sat at this same table quietly, probably listening while they talked. I'd answer when someone asked me something, then go back to keeping to myself.

Now I was arguing over music and throwing fries at people.

Somehow, I'd gotten comfortable. Maybe a little too comfortable. Because I hadn't planned on getting this close to anyone when I came here.

And now I couldn't imagine my evenings without them.

Later, Goody got up to get another plate of fries, leaving me and me at the table.

He was scrolling through his phone, one earbud still in. For once, he wasn't talking.

"You've been quiet."

He looked up. "Have I?"

"Yeah."

He shrugged. "Just tired."

"Long day?"

"Something like that."

He went back to his phone. I thought that was the end of it.

Then he said, "This time of year is always kind of a lot for me."

He said it casually, almost too casually. Then he shrugged again. "Whatever."

I looked at him. He was already scrolling again, like he hadn't said anything.

I didn't ask. Mostly because I knew what it felt like when someone asked a question you weren't ready to answer.

So I just nodded. "Okay."

He looked up at me for a second. Then he smiled.

"Anyway, your music still sucks."

I laughed. "You're obsessed with my music."

"Unfortunately."

By the time Goody came back, we were arguing about the playlist again.

She dropped the fries on the table. "Why do you two look guilty?"

"We don't," I said.

Maverick reached for a fry. "We were talking about how terrible her music is."

"See?" Goody said. "Back to normal."

And just like that, whatever had happened a minute ago was gone.

Or at least, that's what it looked like.

I didn't think much about it after that. People have bad days. People get tired. Sometimes something is wrong, and you don't feel like talking about it.

I understood that better than most.

Still, I noticed. And Maverick had definitely not said anything.

I just didn't know what.

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