Free High and Dry by Sarah Skilton

don’t trust me anymore,” she said, which broke whatever was left of my heart.
    I dragged myself upright again and propped my back against the bed. “Did you really apply to Lambert, or was that just something you told me?”
    â€œSee? That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You don’t trust me. Your first instinct when you saw me with Fred was to accuse me of, like, cheating on you.”
    I took a deep breath, painfully aware that she hadn’t answered my real question. “I miss you,” I murmured. “You said you still care about me, too.” She hadn’t, I knew; she’d said she still “worried” about me, but it sounded better to use the word “care.” “If I change all those things, do we have a shot?”
    â€œBut you
can’t
change those things,” she said. “You didn’t think they were a problem. So if you change them, you’d only be doing it because I asked you to, not because you agree with me.”
    There was a clicking noise, and we both quieted.
    â€œCharlie?”
    It was Jonathan.
    I exhaled. “What up, J-Dawg.” Maybe it was kind of mean that I called him that. He was a scrawny sci-fi nerd in glasses, hardly gangsta. But he seemed to like it.
    â€œJonathan, hang up. We’re having a private conversation,” said Ellie.
    â€œI haven’t been listening. I just got on because I need to ask Charlie something.”
    â€œGo for it,” I said. Any distraction would be better than the conversation Ellie and I had been having.
    â€œDo you remember saying you were going to take me to
Blood of Mars
this Wednesday for the sneak preview? We saw the trailer over Thanksgiving? Do you remember saying that?”
    â€œSure,” I said. “The only problem is, I don’t have a car right now.”
    â€œOh, maaaan,” he said.
    â€œI know,” I said. “My thoughts exactly.” I waited a beat, as if the idea had just occurred to me. “Maybe Ellie could take us. If she’s feeling generous.”
    Ellie laughed, a nice laugh, not a sarcastic one, and it felt like sparkling water being poured down my throat, bubbly and cleansing. “Subtle.”
    â€œUgh, I don’t want to go with Ellie. She hates sci-fi,” said Jonathan.
    â€œI know, but I don’t think we have any other options. If you want to see it before everyone else, I mean.”
    This was torture for him. If he didn’t see it the first possible night, he may as well not see it at all. It’d be ruined; the other kids or the Internet would spoil it for him. He must’ve read my mind because he nearly burst my eardrum. “Pleeeeease, Ellie?”
    â€œPleeeeease?” I echoed.
    â€œOh my God, fine, but only if you stop whining. Both of you.”
    â€œPick me up at seven?” I said quickly, before she could change her mind. “I’ll buy the tickets. See you Wednesday night.”
    Maybe I’d only succeeded in prolonging the inevitable. But for now, that was enough.
    We hung up and I pulled my shoe box of Ellie memorabilia out from under the bed and turned it upside down, shaking the contents onto the floor. There were a bunch of folded, handwritten notes on her signature stationery, which was dark blue, like her Homecoming dress. She used to write in white pen—occasionally backwards, if she had snoops breathing over her shoulder, so I’d had to use a mirror to read those.
    A few loose photographs and seven thick Post-it pads were mixed in with the notes. I picked up one of the Post-it pads and flipped through it. Ellie liked to draw these elaborate animated flip-book cartoons for me when she was bored in class. Sometimes she’d re-create me on the soccer field, or draw us kissing, or draw herself at Wahoo’s Fish Taco, gobbling up tacos like Pac-Man. She loved California cuisine; couldn’t get enough of Asian fusion and Cobb salads and tacos