reference/s: david g. myer – psychology 8th edition.

this year's been so crazy (and it's only just begun)... so here's a big fat thank you to whoever's still reading this! hahaa.

-

.14

-

I turned the paper cup in my hands again.

It wasn't the latte — that was fine. It was actually more than fine. I'd taken a sip of it — it was a hot, creamy, luxurious combination generously topped with frothy cream. It wasn't that. I turned the cup in my hand again, anxious, and glanced around the café. But I was sure that she wasn't here yet.

I would've known if she were here.

I pressed my lips together and glanced down at my phone again. I let go of the warm cup and picked up my mobile, lit up the screen.

Seven past two.

I sighed and dropped my phone back down on the table and glanced around, bored. She was late. Late. I hated it when people showed up late.

And stopped.

Austine caught my glance from the other side of the room and nodded. She started making her way towards me, tugging her bright yellow scarf loose on the way.

And don't let your guard down.

I looked up; nodded. I played with my phone again. Open. Close. Open. "Hey," I acknowledged awkwardly.

Close.

Austine dragged the chair across the floor and sat down, looking just as wary as I felt. That made me even more curious. She, after all, was the one who wanted to "get together and hang out". "Hey," she echoed back.

I turned the coffee in my hands again. Were we supposed to engage in small talk or something? "I like your scarf," I said awkwardly, gesturing. I dropped my hands back in my lap. I had no idea what to do.

Austine wasn't someone I would have wanted to hang out with on my own free will.

She fingered the wool instinctively; glanced down at it, as if she hadn't even realized what she was wearing. "Thanks," she said, just as stiltedly. She hesitated, but then plowed on, smiling slightly. "Well, this is sort of awkward, huh?"

Talk about an understatement.

But I was my mother's daughter. I bared my teeth and cut my nails across the surface. "So you said you wanted to talk about something?"

I just wanted to know.

Austine hesitated again. It wasn't something I was used to seeing — she was always so sure about herself. About everything. And she had her reasons to dislike me. They were petty, but whatever. It wasn't my place to say or judge or try to remake them.

Things were already complicated as it was.

Austine twisted at the fringe of her scarf. "Yeah," she said. "Yeah."

I waited.

She dropped the fringe from her fingers, and the ends splayed across the tabletop. "I..." she faltered, and her tone picked up again, aware and glass. "I wanted to tell you something."

I wasn't sure what to say to that. That was, again, something I didn't expect from Austine.

Vulnerability.

But Austine didn't seem to expect a response — she kept talking, and I felt relief wave over. "Remember that day after school? Just last week, I mean. When I wanted to talk to you." Austine hesitated; glanced around the room again. "The thing about Jayden," she clarified.

I remembered. I leaned in slightly. "Yeah?" I prompted. "What about it?"

She didn't answer immediately, and I tried to construct that day into words. "You were warning me off," I said. I turned the cup in my hand again, anticipating.

I put the cup down and regarded her.

I was fidgeting too much.

She pulled at a lock of her hair. "Jayden." She hesitated again, but picked it up. "We used to go out. Last year, I mean." She caught my glance and her mouth tipped up slightly. "But you know that already."

"There's nothing going on between us," I said quickly.

Liarliarliar.

I didn't want to start any drama.

Austine looked surprised. "What?" She shook her head and played with the edges of her scarf again. "No, no — that's... that's not what I meant."

I brought the paper cup to my mouth. "Oh." I paused and drank.

That's not what I meant. And the tone she had used —

Austine bit at her lower lip, like she were weighting her words. "But I think there's something... off with him."

I suspended the cup. "Off? What do you mean? How?"

My questions were too fast, too excited, and I could see it in the glance off Austine's eyes. She raised her eyebrows slightly, but she let it go. I was intensely grateful for that. She dropped her gaze slightly. "Well," she started, wavering slightly, "he was always sort of distracted when we went out."

I interrupted. "What about before?"

"Before?"

"Before, I mean." I hesitated and pushed the words out, determined, "before you two got together." I paused. "Why did you two get together?"

Austine raised her eyebrows again, but — "Usually," she said archly, "when people get together, it's because they like each other. And later, things can change, and feelings, you know, change, too."

She was making fun of me.

I dropped my gaze and turned the cup over in my hand. "Whatever."

I was starting to remember why I hadn't liked Austine.

A silence, and I picked at it. "So what were you going to say?"

Her eyes shot up. "What?"

I felt tired. "What was the point you were trying to say?" I cut. "What," I continued, "exactly, is it that you want me to do?"

Austine's eyes widened and her mouth parted slightly. For a quick second, I felt my words hang in the air like suspended knives, but then they were gone. Austine recovered and threw me an unimpressed look. "I was trying to warn you," she said. Her palms were flat on the table; her posture, rigid. "You don't have to be such a bitch, you know."

My fingers jumped around the cup.

And don't lose control.

"I wasn't trying to," I said evenly.

Silence. The laughter from the other tables rang in my ears.

Regret shot through me –I wouldn't want to trust myself either after that.

Austine's phone buzzed on the counter and she thumbed at the keys. She looked up again at me and rebound her scarf snug around her neck — the yellow wavered under the lights.

She dragged the chair across the floor and looked at me. "I need to go," she said abruptly. And paused. She glanced back at me, and I could practically feel her indecision. "Just..." she started. Faltered. "Just don't trust him."

And then she left.

I watched her stalk out of the café and into her car.

I recounted the brief conversation and frowned. I looked down at my phone and caught a slant of my reflection through the blackened screen.

It wasn't like her. It wasn't the Austine I knew. Today, she was so... vulnerable. Like prey. And that day after school by the lockers... she made it seem like it was more than just an ugly break up. She made it seem like it was something more.

A lot more, actually.

I picked up my cup and pocketed my phone. I searched for my keys, and the familiar clash of metals sounded in the air, jaunty.

I got up to throw my trash away.

Just don't trust him.

-

I spun my pencil between my fingers again and stared down blearily at the last thing I'd written in my notebook. Cognitive theory – dream content reflects dreamers' cognitive development –knowledge and development. That was over ten minutes ago, I belatedly realized. I couldn't bring myself to pay attention anymore — my concentration was completely shot.

"— okay. So let's be frank here, who actually did the reading?"

Silence.

Mrs. Hart sighed and perked up again, clasping her hands together. "Okay then. Chapter quiz tomorrow. I want better grades this time around. And no whining after you see the score you'll get."

I rolled my eyes and capped my pen. This was just so... whatever. But I could just imagine what my mother would have said if she ever saw that grade. And I didn't want to have to deal with her. I resolved to read the chapter over lunch.

Mrs. Hart returned to her desk and tapped away at her laptop. I glanced around the classroom — everyone was packing up and chattering about their weekend, smiling and laughing. I twisted at my scarf.

Boring.

The bell blared, signaling the end of class, and I slipped out of my desk, adjusted my backpack straps.

I headed for the library, cautious, and looked over my shoulder to make sure I didn't see anyone I didn't want to see. But I didn't want to be too obvious about it either.

The warmth shot through me.

I settled at a table near the nonfiction books — from my experience, no one ventured to those dusty corners; for the people who actually came to the library out of interest, it was all for the fiction and the high life. And there were computers for people who needed to do research, anyways. I pulled out my textbook, and my notebook.

REM dreams –"hallucinations of the sleeping mind" –are vivid, emotional, and bizarre. They are unlike daydreams, which tend to involve the familiar details of our lives.

Someone pulled the chair next to me. I kept my gaze down over the text, hoping the person would get the hint and leave the table.

Occasionally, we may be sufficiently aware during a dream to wonder whether we are, in fact, dreaming.

The person didn't leave. I tapped my pen against the surface of text, impatient.

An amused voice. "Is that supposed to be a hint or something?"

It was familiar. I looked up, startled.

My mouth lifted. "Kind of," I admitted, shifting in my seat slightly. "Yeah," I conceded.

Jack's mouth was wry. "Are you really spending a lunch period in the library? No wonder I never see you around here."

I played with the edge of the page. I didn't really want to get into that. "You're here too," I returned swiftly.

Jack looked slightly uncomfortable for a moment, but the lines eased from the folds of his face. "Yeah," he said, drumming fingers on the table. He didn't look away. "I was looking for you."

I looked down at the text again. "What for?"

"I heard," he started slow, "that you spent Sunday with Jayden."

I stilled. That was... unexpected. "Yeah?" I said casually, glancing up, arching an eyebrow. Our gazes met and I dropped my eyes back down to my notes. "What of it?"

For a while he didn't say anything. I penned down another line.

We are capable of distinguishing our dreams from reality

"Look," Jack said. I looked up and he continued, "I don't know you very well, yeah, but you're a nice girl."

I paused and considered. "Okay..."

"I don't think you should be spending time with him."

I spun my pen in my hand, amused. "Yeah? Why not?"

He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but he shut it. Considered.

"Look," he started again, glancing around. "Just be careful of who you trust."

Austine's warning hit me again.

I bit at my lower lip, unsure. "You're related to him."

Jack hoisted himself from the chair and slung his backpack over a shoulder. He picked up his books. "Yeah," he said amicably, and I spun my pencil in my hand again, ready to tackle another paragraph. "But I'm not him."

-

I never had a reason to go out and hide from things. Hell — I had too much pride for that. The day after I first got dumped... I remembered all those indiscreet behind-the-hand comments and that pinned look of pity. Fine, I remember saying. Everything was just fine, fine, fine. Back then, I held up my front.

I never hid... I never had a reason to.

I looked up at the whiteboard and jotted another line. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Cody glancing my way, but I pretended not to notice — I had spent a lot of effort of looking harassed and busy, and I didn't want to break it. I didn't want anyone to ask any questions.

I paused. I didn't even know if I wanted my questions answered anymore.

The bell rang — last bell, I belatedly realized. I grabbed my belongings together and slowly packed them away. Lingered.

Cody was waiting at my desk and I reluctantly got up.

"Hey," I said.

His tone was cheerful but distant. "I don't think I've seen you, like, all week."

My mouth upturned. "Yeah..." I readjusted my backpack straps. "I've been kind of... busy. Like, the holidays are coming up, you know? My mom's been..." Dating. "Trying to adjust here."

Cody snapped his fingers. "Right! Christmas — everyone's favorite holiday. You guys are staying in town then?"

"I guess."

"So I don't know if you know, but Ardenwood has this... well it's our winter formal." He waited until I nodded in acknowledgment and continued, "Well, I've been told by Kathy to pass this on to you: date or no date, you're getting ready at her house."

I felt amused. "I wasn't planning on going."

Cody arched an eyebrow. "Wait, seriously? That's probably the first time I've heard that today."

Chelsea bounded up. "Heard what?"

Cody turned to Chelsea. "Audrey just said that she wasn't planning on going to the winter formal."

I shrugged defensively. "What? I've never really liked dances, anyways."

Chelsea shook her head eagerly — "No way. You're going. You have to go!"

I stopped at my locker and fiddled at the combination. I glanced back at the two of them, smiling slightly. "Seriously. I don't even have a dress, and well honestly, I'm not really high on the idea of going stag—"

I stopped short.

Chelsea peered into my locker. "Is that...?"

I picked up the rose tentatively.

Cody glanced over. "I guess you don't have to go stag anymore," he supplied helpfully, smirking.

I frowned and rummaged through my locker. "There's no note or anything..."

And I never told anyone my locker combination.

"Like it?"

I tensed and turned around.

"So..." Chelsea interjected awkwardly, "we're going to go now." She gave me a significant look. "I'll see you later, Audrey?"

I nodded dumbly.

Don't trust him don't trust him don't trust him.

The words spun in my head like a movie screen on repeat, but I shook it off and offered a smile. I lifted the flower and arched an eyebrow. "This is from you?"

Jayden shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Should it be from someone else?"

I paused and pretended to consider. "Well..." I said lightly.

He rolled his eyes. "Cute."

I plucked out the rose and a few notebooks and locked my locker again. I paused. "How did you get my combo anyways?"

"Your locker combo?" He watched for my nod and continued, "Don't worry about it — I didn't tell anyone what it was. And I'm just very resourceful."

That wasn't the answer I wanted, but... "Well." I turned the flower over in my hand. "Thanks?" I hesitated. "Was there an occasion?"

Jayden raised an eyebrow. "Well, you make it sound like I need a reason to give a flower out to a pretty girl."

I let that drop too. "It's not something I expected, that's all."

"What did you expect?" Jayden tossed up his keyring and I watched the glint of silver catch under the sun. "And you've been avoiding me."

I pulled my notebooks closer to me. "I wasn't avoiding you," I said blithely.

We were outside the school building now and I felt uncomfortable, exposed, holding the rose and standing next to Jayden. It didn't feel right.

Jayden glanced over at me. "You need a ride?"

I hesitated. "Yeah." And then I added more breezily, "Seeing as I don't have a car or anything."

"I think you're just about the only senior who doesn't have her own car."

I shrugged. "My mom didn't think it was necessary to get me another car if I was going to be out for uni in just a year."

"Well, still. Wouldn't you feel... confined?"

We started to walk towards the student parking lot. I turned the flower over in my hand and carefully avoided the sharp thorns curling around the stem.

"Well, I guess I try not to think about it," I said.

A side-along glance. "So, what, you just shove away things you don't want to think about?"

I shrugged, uncomfortable. "Topic change?" I suggested lamely.

Jayden's mouth upturned. "You just answered my question," he returned.

I shifted my gaze and pushed a lock of hair behind my ear. "Whatever."

Jayden twisted at the ignition and I buckled up, waiting for the heat to melt through the ventilation.

It didn't.

I rubbed at my arms, shivering slightly. "Aren't you cold?"

A side-along glance –the dead trees blurred on the other side of the glass. "Why?" He paused at a stop sign. "Are you cold?"

I paused. I didn't like to ask for things... it made me seem needy. I pushed my hair back. "No. I'm fine. I was just wondering, that's all," I added.

Amusement. "Really."

My mouth upturned. "Really."

"Because," he continued, one hand on the steering wheel, "if I didn't know better, I'd say that you were cold."

"Well," I started, "yeah, actually I am kind of cold." I gave him a pointed look. "Could you turn on the heat?"

"All you had to do was ask."

And the hot air sank through my skin.

I settled in the seat again, comfortable. Green lights.

I turned away from the front and tilted my head to the side, watching the landscape blur on the other side of the glass. There were so many things I could've said, but I didn't. I had already rewound every minute, every inch, from our Sunday together, and it felt like just that: surreal. And that, coupled with Austine's adamant warnings, made everything feel... amiss.

Wrong.

Wrong.

My house was coming into sight. I bit my lip, but I made up my mind –it wasn't worth giving up on, I decided. I thought of Sunday and all the decisions I had made. And I think I knew what I wanted.

We dream to satisfy our own wishes

Jayden slowed to a halt in front of my house. He looked at me expectantly.

I didn't want to get out.

"So," I started awkwardly, playing with my hands.

"So," he repeated.

I ignored the amusement that tinted the edges of his words and the feeling that knotted in my stomach. And pushed through. "Do you have plans today?"

A pause. "Kind of. Why?"

"Oh." I ran my tongue over my teeth. "No reason," I said breezily.

Silence.

Blood rushed to my cheeks but I reached for my backpack and had one hand ready on the door. I just wanted to get out now.

"See you later then," I said.

"Wait," he interjected.

I paused, smiling slightly. "What?"

He tilted his head down. "You forgot something."

The knotted feeling fell completely. I dropped my gaze down to the cup holder in his car—where I had put the flower. "Oh," I picked up the rose –lifted it. "Thanks," I said. "For this."

He just gave me a look, and I wasn't expecting a response, but— "be careful," he said, mouth turning up. "Of the thorns."

I rolled my eyes. "Of course." I propped open the door and glanced back. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

And he swerved out, without even a second glance.

I shook my head and headed for the door. I was expecting too much, I reasoned. I was such a girl.

My mother was already by the door when I turned the key. I blinked, startled.

I ran my tongue over my teeth. "Hey mom," I said blithely.

She was watching me, and that made me feel uneasy. I was ready to pretend nothing had ever happened between us, but every fold and line on her face broke everything I wanted to establish all over again.

"Audrey," she said and looked past me through the glass of our front door. "Was that a boy giving you a ride home?"

Of all things... I didn't expect that. "Um," I cleared my throat. "Yeah. A friend." I paused. "A friend from school," I added.

It wasn't even a lie.

She pressed her lips together, as if she were going to say something else, so I wanted. But she didn't. I felt a wave of relief — I guess she wanted disguise the gaps between us. And that just made things for me a lot easier to deal with. It was one less complication, anyway.

I readjusted my backpack straps. "Um," I started, "I'm going to go upstairs. To do homework," I added, feeling satisfied. She couldn't argue to me doing homework.

And she didn't, so I bounded up the stairs, smiling slightly.

I locked my door and dropped my backpack at the foot of my bed. I hesitated and glanced back at it. I tugged at the zipper and lifted up the rose carelessly – a thorn caught at my finger and red touched. I frowned and pulled out a tissue to dab away the blood.

(Be careful of the thorns

I started my computer and waited. The glow of the screen seared at my eyes and I looked down at the keyboard. I tapped lightly at all the white lettering on the keys and studied every curve and arch and edge of the letters.

I opened up a window –hesitated. But, really, I reasoned, what was this going to do? After all, I could've just been making a big deal out of nothing. I moved the cursor and typed in a search.

Centerville old news

I clicked for the main website and watched the bar load at the bottom-right corner of the computer screen.

Archive

I waited for the page to load again and when it did, I clicked for the year. I already knew everything I was looking for –I even knew what I was expecting, but... Max Palmer. This house. I bit my lip and moved for January. February. March. April. May. June. July. August.

Loading...

Blocks of text digitized across the screen. Graphics. I dragged the scrollbar down the screen, tired, until I hit one article.

The Reynolds' moved houses from...

My house. I absentmindedly perused the pictures that accompanied the story until I caught one of the family standing together at a funeral. My eyes stopped over the caption. I reread the line again, processing it.

Mr. and Mrs. George Reynolds with their youngest daughter, Austine at the funeral of relative Kathleen Reynolds.

Austine Reynolds... Austine. And Kathleen... Kathleen Reynolds. Kathleen. I'm Kathleen.

Ice arced through my chest. I pressed my laptop screen down and searched around for my keyring. I fumbled for key to the desk drawer and I pulled out the notebook, hastily flipped to the date I was looking for — I think I knew what I was looking for now. I paused, distracted, and picked up the Polaroid that fell out.

A blurry snapshot of a couple –faces I couldn't make out. I flipped the picture over, and there were two words set in sloppy black and a large, absurd smiley face underneath.

I win.

:)

-