When all you really want to say comes out as nothing you mean at all, that’s when it all goes wrong.

And when you can say what you mean and mean what you say...

That’s when things are looking up.

---

I couldn’t stand this anymore.

I couldn’t take it.

I didn’t want to come into class every morning, meet him in the quad, see him in the hallways, hold hushed two-man conferences in the front of the classroom when we were supposed to be in trouble.

Because I hated Kayne Evans, and I wanted the world to know it.

He’s my best friend. My best friend of since we were in diapers and now I hate him because I can’t stand to be around him.

It’s not me–although it kind of is in a way–it’s him. All him.

I hate his smile, the way it appears slowly like he’s deciding whether or not anything is worth it, and then how it’s so blinding when it finally appears.

I hate the way his beach boy dirty blond hair falls into his face and brushes his cheekbones–which I hate–perfectly, like an impeccably framed portrait.

I hate his green green sea-glass eyes and how they’re so expressive and captive and how whenever we make eye contact my stomach feels like it’s going to explode.

I hate his artistic slender hands and how he always likes to touch, fraternally, platonically, brotherly, and drag his fingertips over my skin and make me react with the slightest pressure.

I hate his stupidly flat stomach and how when we play fight and I punch him there he has such well-defined muscles and I know what he looks like with his shirt off.

I hate his legs and how they’re so toned and long, and how his ankles are so girlishly delicate and small.

I hate his skin in general, its smooth, perfect tan and even his scars are cute and overlookable.

And it’s not just physical things either that I hate. Like now; I think as I sprint steadily beside him on the jogging path that winds through the forests behind the school.

I hate how he looks so bookish and adorable when he ties his hair back in ponytails at the base of his neck, stubby and curled at the ends and he tucks his bangs behind his ears and you can see his face.

I hate how he looks up at the sky when he runs.

I hate how he always loves to talk to me and how he’s so devoted to me and how he’s so loyal and no matter what anyone says he’s still my best friend of always. How he lets his friends and anyone else rag on him but when the subject turns to me he won’t hear a bad thing.

I hate how he always knows what’s on my mind and how he knows me so well.

I hate how he always smiles and laughs at my stupid jokes. I hate how he helps me with my homework and doesn’t make fun of me and how he’s so tolerant.

I hate how his smile lights up my world.

I hate how he’s always cheery and happy and bubbly and when he’s anything less my world shatters into a million pieces.

And I hate how he always needs to solve my problems.

“Liv?” He says, looking my way and his green green sea-glass eyes are killing me and did I mention how I hate that his nicknames are always so affectionate? I do. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing,” I mumble, turning my eyes back to the path. Beside me I can hear him determine that there is something on my mind and he wants to know what. I can practically feel the resolve in his tone when he says:

“You know you can tell me anything.”

And before I can stop myself I know this is the wrong thing to say he won’t let it go it’ll start a fight–“No, I can’t.”

“Oliver?” He stops abruptly and I slow to a walk, not wanting to look back. I think I hurt his feelings and I don’t want to look into his eyes (those green green sea-glass eyes) and see that. “Please, tell me.”

“It’s nothing, Kayne,” I say, more harshly than I’d intended and I feel him hurting now and I don’t want that. So I turn but I don’t look at him, don’t make visual contact, just stare at the space behind his head. “Nothing,” I repeat, softer maybe gentler I hope he forgives me I hate him.

Hate him for making me feel this way.

“Oliver, really, I can help if you’ll let me,” he pleads, stepping closer and I can smell him, that unique scent of sunshine and daisies and Kayne. “Just, please–”

“No!” And I know I sounded horribly harsh and cruel and cold and he’s shutting down, closing off, that hand that went out to touch me falling limply–

–and I do the only thing I can and I offer an explanation because he’s Kayne and I have to. I have to hate to have to.

“Do you want to know why?” I say, calmer than I feel, and I can feel all these emotions bubbling up inside me and I hope he says no. Or I’ll explode and I don’t know what I’ll say.

“Yes,” he says, begging with those big wide (green green sea-glass) eyes and I burst.

“I hate you!” I shriek, and he’s taken aback and broken and I can’t stop. “I hate you so much!”

He blinks hard and frowns at me, opens his mouth and I cut him off, unable to think about what I’m saying.

“I hate your stupid smile and your stupid hands and how you always touch me! I hate your ankles and your hair and your cheekbones and–” now he just looks confused, his (green green sea-glass) eyes still glossy and wet-looking “–and your stomach and your legs and–”

I need to breathe but I can’t. My mouth is working double-time and I can’t shut up shut up shut up! “I hate your happiness and how when you’re sad it seems like my world is collapsing!” My voice is staring to break but I have to keep going, going, going.

“I hate your nicknames and how you’re so affectionate and how you’re always there for me no matter what, and how I know you’d lose everyone else for me, how you’d throw your life down the drain for me. I hate how you always laugh at my stupid jokes and you sit with me when I want to read and you listen when I talk even if I’m just blithering on. I hate how–” my voice cracks and disappears and now I feel like I’m the one breaking honest to God this hurts does he feel like this?

“–I hate how your eyes make me want to stare and never stop and how your smile makes my world go round, and how when you laugh it makes me feel like everything’s alright–”

I swallow thickly and inhale choppily and push, push. “I hate how you know me so well, better than I know myself, and how I think sometimes you’re the center of my universe...”

Inhale, steal a look. He’s still dumbfounded, trying to figure out what I mean and what I’m saying and what will I say next?

“And I hate that I hate you for these things...And..” I don’t know what I’m going to say next. “God I hate you.”

“Oliver,” he smiles faintly and steps closer and his (green green sea-glass) eyes aren’t wet and glassy but he’s smiling and his eyebrows are crinkled.

“I think you love me,” he says, that wry smile appearing there as he does, and I shake my head because I don’t even know what I mean, what I think what I’ve just said.

“No, I–I—” I back up a step but he just puts his hands on my arms ever so gently.

“I think...you love me,” he says again, almost teasing, and then I know he is teasing because he laughs and leans forward just as I do on impulse.

Do I? Do I love him?

I take a moment to think. Think of Kayne, who’s been with me since we were both babies, whose face I’ve woken up to so often that it’s when I don’t see him that I’m worried. Who knows how to calm me down or cheer me up, how to take my mind off of things and how to have a good time. Who helped me through breakups and breakdowns, who helped me get with my girlfriends and get away from them, who offered me a retreat from reality every time I needed one. And who I’ve done the same for, countless times over, and I know I’d do anything for him.

And I know that with all my heart and soul and all that I am, that I love this pretty boy with the beach boy dirty blond hair and the girly ankles and the slender fingers and the green green sea-glass eyes.

“I think I do,” I breathe softly, and I know he heard me because he smiles.

“I think I do too,” he replies, and he leans forward a fraction and I go the rest of the way and my lips connect with his.

And it feels like an eternity before we separate and another eternity to breathe and smile and laugh and lean forward and kiss again, and this time it’s another eternity that I don’t want to see the end of.