The Present She was my best friend in high school. The kind of friend you’d bury a body with. One New Year's Eve, she came over to keep me company. We started drinking cheap whiskey at eight and didn’t stop until the ball dropped. She passed out cold, so I carried her to my bed. Just as I was tucking her in, her eyes snapped open. "You wanna try it?" Her eyes, usually sharp and guarded, were glassy and direct. "Us?" Everything changed after that night. ... This morning, a package landed on my porch. Inside was a letter and a collection of junk: my old varsity wristband, a guitar pick I thought I lost, and a strip of faded photo booth pictures. I thought one of my buddies was pranking me until I saw the handwriting. Spiky, rushed, unmistakable. Then I looked at the postmark. This letter was mailed ten years ago. My heart hammered against my ribs. Suddenly, I wasn't twenty-eight anymore. I was seeing a face I hadn't thought about—hadn't let myself think about—in a decade. A face that looked like a boy but smiled like an angel. "No way," I muttered. "You’re still messing with me?" Junior Year Ten years ago, I was a senior. I was a burnout, exiled to the back row of the classroom—the "stoner row"—next to the trash can. No one wanted to sit next to me. Three days into the semester, we got a transfer student. Alex. Alex walked in looking like a member of a grunge band: shaggy hair, flannel shirt, oversized denim jacket. The girls in class perked up, thinking we finally got a cute emo guy. Mr. Henderson, our math teacher and a man who looked like he ate nails for breakfast, glared at the new kid. "Alex Miller. I can see your house from here. How are you late on your first day?" Alex didn't flinch. "I can see the sun from here, too, but I can't touch it. You wanna try?" The whole class inhaled sharply. Henderson was a former marine. He once broke up a fight in the parking lot by lifting two linebackers by their collars. We thought Alex was dead meat. Instead, Henderson just sighed. "Find a seat. Open your books." Alex walked straight to the back and dropped a bag next to me. Headphones around the neck, eyes glued to the front. "Hey, man," I whispered. "You got a death wish? Henderson eats kids like you." Alex glanced at me, pure disdain. "I'm not your 'man'." My jaw hit the desk. Alex was a girl. And she was terrifying. The Bond We didn't speak for a week. She read comics, listened to her Walkman, and drew on the desk. Then came the Ramen Incident. During study hall, she made instant noodles with hot water from the teacher's lounge. She spilled some broth on the desk. "Hey, Slick," she snapped at me. "Pass me a napkin." "My name is Jake," I shot back. "Not Slick." "Napkin!" she barked. I threw a wad of paper towels at her. She wiped the desk, balled it up, and sank a three-pointer into the trash can next to me. "Whatever, Slick. Don't be so sensitive." The nickname stuck. That was Strike One. Strike Two happened in the Computer Lab. We were supposed to be learning Excel, but the guys were setting up a LAN party for Counter-Strike. Suddenly, my buddy Ben raised his hand. "Mr. G! My screen froze!" "Mine too!" "Same here!" The teacher, a clueless guy named Mr. G, started panicking. "Who isn't frozen?" I looked around. My screen was the only one working. Alex, sitting to my left, stood up. "Jake's computer is fine." Mr. G rushed over. "Why is yours working?" I grinned nervously. "Built different, I guess." That's when Alex reached over, grabbed my mouse, and minimized my window. Behind it was a pop-up ad I hadn't closed—a very graphic, very adult pop-up ad featuring a woman in compromising lingerie. "Sir," Alex said with a straight face. "I think Jake gave the network a virus. He's looking at porn." The class erupted. My reputation was nuked. From that day on, girls avoided me, and guys high-fived me in the hall. " didn't know you were into the weird stuff, Jake!" I looked at Alex. She was smirking. Game on, I thought. The Shift I finally got leverage a month later. Alex was acting weird—pale, quiet, refusing to stand up during lunch. I noticed a dark stain on her jeans. I knew exactly what it was. "Hey, Alex," I said loudly. "Let's go to the cafeteria. My treat." "No," she hissed. "I bet I can beat you there. Unless you're scared?" She glared at me, trapped. She wanted to kill me, but she couldn't stand up. I waited a beat, then took off my oversized flannel shirt and tossed it to her. "Tie it around your waist," I whispered. "You leaked." Her face went crimson. It was the first time I'd seen her look embarrassed. "Do you have... supplies?" I asked. "What?" "Tampons, pads. You know." She looked like she wanted to die. "No." "Stay here." I ran to the nurse's office, grabbed a handful of supplies, and sprinted back. I slid them to her. "Go. I'll watch the door." The next day, she returned my shirt. It smelled like laundry detergent—lavender. "Your shirt was filthy," she grumbled. "The water turned black." She was still mean, but the wall had cracked. We weren't just desk-mates anymore. We were bros. The Letter: Part 1 Hey Slick, It's me. Your favorite nightmare, Alex. If my math is right, you're twenty-eight now. How's life? Did you become a rock star, or did you sell out and become a suit? Getting this letter must be weird. We sat next to each other for a year, but we never really talked about the real stuff. I spent most of that time pranking you. You probably hated me. I acted like a dude, dressed like a slob, and kept everyone at arm's length. It was armor, Jake. If I didn't care, I couldn't get hurt. If I didn't let anyone in, they wouldn't have to watch me leave. But you... you were different. You were warm. Being around you was like standing next to a campfire in the middle of winter. That’s why I was so mean to you. Every time you were nice to me, I panicked. I wanted to be close to you, but I made myself run faster. I was a coward. The Fight Senior year. Winter. Alex was moody. I asked if it was "that time of the month" and she told me to go to hell. Finally, she cracked. "Can you beat someone up for me?" I blinked. I was on academic probation, hanging by a thread. "Who?" "Tyler Vance." Tyler was a varsity linebacker and a total prick. "Why?" Alex bit her lip. "He... he's bullying me." That was all I needed. That night, I kicked open Tyler’s dorm room door (we were at a semi-boarding school). He was playing poker. I dragged him off the top bunk and broke his nose before his roommates pulled me off. "Touch her again, and you're dead," I spat. The next morning, I was suspended. Sent home until May to "reflect" before finals. As I packed my locker, Alex stood there, eyes red. She gave me her prized vintage Walkman. "Jake... I didn't think you'd actually get expelled." "Worth it," I grinned, sporting a black eye. "Now I can play video games all day." She tried to smile, but a tear rolled down her cheek. The Letter: Part 2 I regret asking you to fight him. Tyler wasn't bullying me. He was blackmailing a girl in our class, Linda. He had photos of her. I wanted to stop him, but I was scared. So I used you. I watched you pack your bag. You were smiling, trying to make me feel better, even though your dad was going to kill you. If I had just three more months... maybe things would have been different. The saddest thing isn't losing. It’s almost winning. It’s the "what if." New Year's Eve Two days into my suspension, Alex showed up at my house. She was wearing a white puffer jacket and a red scarf. For a second, she actually looked... pretty. "How'd you find me?" I asked. "Stole your address from the office," she said. "Get dressed. We're going out." We spent that winter causing trouble. My parents were away on business, so we owned the town. Arcades, pool halls, skating rinks. She was terrible at skating—she’d grab onto me and drag us both down onto the ice, laughing hysterically. Then came New Year's Eve. She showed up with a bag of snacks and a bottle of Jack Daniels. She mixed the whiskey with hot water and lemon—said it was an old family remedy for the cold. We drank. A lot. We watched the countdown on TV. By midnight, we were wasted. She fell asleep on the couch. I carried her to my room because it was freezing downstairs. I put the blanket over her. That's when she opened her eyes. "You wanna try it?" she whispered. "Try what?" "Sex."
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