Free Triggered by Vicki Grant

Mick
    Chapter One
    We’re alone. Jade’s mother is working the night shift. Her little brother’s in bed. If I’m going to say anything, now’s the time.
    I close the window on my desktop. I stare at the blank screen and run the words through my head again. I thought I had it all worked out, but I’m not so sure anymore.
    Jade stretches out on the couch and wedges her toes under my thigh. She says, “My feet are cold.”
    I think, So put some socks on then, and right away I feel bad. I think things like that all the time now. Little stuff bugs me. The way she peels the bread off her sandwich and only eats the insides. The way she won’t laugh until someone else does first. Those sticky notes she puts on everything.
    I can’t chicken out again. It’s not fair to either of us.
    I slide my tongue across my teeth, then turn and look at her. She’s leaning her head against the arm of the couch. Her textbook’s propped up in front of her face. All I can see is the top of her ponytail.
    It’s weird. I haven’t been this nervous since the first time I saw her. I sat behind her on the bus looking at that yellow hair for months before I even had the guts to say hi.
    When I finally did, it was like pushing a button. I opened my mouth—and Jade started talking as if she’d known me forever. I barely heard a word she said. I just kept thinking, Now what do I do? (I didn’t have to worry. She had that figured out too.)
    That was a long time ago. I’ve spent almost all of high school with one girl. A nice, pretty, smart girl—but still, just one girl.
    I’ve got to do this.
    â€œJade,” I say. She keeps reading.
    My mouth’s too dry to talk anyway. I swish some spit around and try again.
    â€œJade?” She flops the book down flat on her legs and looks at me. She’s smiling, but not really. I should know better than to interrupt her when she’s studying. It’s that kind of smile.
    I say, “There’s something I need to talk to you about.” My voice sounds normal enough. It doesn’t crack or anything, so I think for a second this is going to be all right. I’ll say what I have to say, and it’ll probably be kind of awkward and sad, but then I’ll go home and we can both get started on the rest of our lives.
    That’s not what happens. Jade bolts up straight. Her mouth is still smiling, but her eyes have changed. She’s staring at me like she’s an owl or something.
    She totally throws me. “You’re a really…great person,” I say. It sounds so lame, like I’m reading a note someone else wrote.
    She says, “Are you breaking up with me?”
    Two sentences. That’s as far as I get, and already she knows.
    What am I supposed to say? Yes? I’m not that harsh. I wanted to talk about all the good things first. Ease her into it. Explain how this isn’t about her, how we’ve both changed, stuff like that.
    â€œAre you breaking up with me?” She says it louder this time. She’s wearing an old plaid shirt of mine. She pulls it closed at the neck as if I’m some stranger who caught her in her bathrobe.
    I go to say something about how much fun we’ve had together, but I don’t get very far. “Are you breaking up with me.” It’s not a question anymore. It’s an accusation. She’s practically yelling.
    â€œJade,” I say. I want to calm things down, get them back on track. I stand up. I don’t know why. A reflex, I guess. After three years, I’m used to going to her when she’s upset.
    She freaks. “Don’t touch me!”
    She hurls her Biology book at me.
    I jump out of the way. It hits the coffee table, and there’s this huge clang.
    Stuff bounces off. A glass breaks.
    She’s screaming about what a prick I am and what a coward and how I’m so selfish and I’m only doing this because my