Across the country, a young woman was furiously muttering at her cellphone in increasing volume and anxiety. “Liza, pick up your phone, dammit!” She hissed, desperately resisting the urge to throw the offending object onto the ground and hear it shatter, when she ran into somebody, sending numerous sheets of paper flying into the air, fluttering off in all directions like birds.

“Uh,” said a bewildered young man, an intern who mainly made coffee runs for the higher-ups and wasn’t paid nearly enough to deal with distraught employees or loose paperwork. “Are you alright?”

“Ah, no, I’m— fine,” The lady said quickly. She hurriedly tucked her phone back into her jeans pocket, but her fingers kept twitching next to it in tempted annoyance.

Once she was looking right at him with her facial features not contorted in worry, the intern recognized her as the author of a rather popular opinion column that he enjoyed reading over breakfast in the mornings.

“Hey, are you Riella Simmons?”

Riella blinked, mildly baffled at the recognition. “Yes, that’s me, why?”

“Um, no reason,” he said. “Who’s Liza?”

Seeming to recall her outburst from earlier, Riella winced and glanced at the ground. “My girlfriend.” The intern made a small, involuntary sound of surprise, and Riella rounded on him, eyes becoming hard and guarded. “That’s not an issue for you, is it?”

“No, uh, of course not,” he amended, which seemed to satisfy her.

“Halloween… isn’t a great day for her, and two hours ago she sent me a text that said ‘help’, nothing else, and she hasn’t been answering anything since then, and I’m so damned worried about her,” Riella let out in a rush, kicking angrily at a fake potted fern.

“But, um,” She added, stepping away from the plant, “I’m also perfectly peachy. And really need to file away all these sent-in editorials—”  She waved several folders in his face. “Whose idea was it to have me pick them for publication? Anyway. Have a day. Hopefully one better than mine.”

She had just started down the hall before the intern shouted, “Hey!”

“What?” Riella sighed.

“You should go home.”

“What? Are you kidding me? I’ve got so much work to do—”

“Find your girlfriend, comfort her or whatever you need to do. I’ll take care of those editorials and tell Dupree you’re sick.”

Riella opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, and said, in a small voice, “You’re serious?”

“Sure,” he said, shrugging. “I’m happy to.”

She cautiously handed him the sheets, as if afraid he was about to toss them back at her and laugh in her face. “I can’t thank you enough,” Riella said quietly. “That— I— thanks.”

There was a brief pause, and she asked, “What’s your name?”

He smiled, and held out a hand. “I’m James. James Bonnell.”

“Well, I really appreciate it, James.”

“Your girlfriend— Liza —she’s obviously more important than paperwork.” He shoved her shoulder, playful. “Go get her.”

There was one thing Sarah knew for sure— This was weird.

Totally, utterly, and completely weird.

It would be easier to deal with if Alex was crying, or throwing a tantrum, or giving her the silent treatment, or hiding in his room, or even trying to drown his woes in tea. Instead, he was acting almost normal and Sarah was thoroughly nonplussed.

“I need a Halloween costume,” Alex announced, marching into the living room.

Sarah blinked. “... Do you?”

“Well, I don’t know if it’s a required thing,” Alex admitted, “But costumes are usually expected, and it can’t be that hard to make something short-notice, right?”

“I guess not,” Sarah said. “Let’s see if we have anything interesting in the attic.”

Alex liked the attic. It was small, dark and quiet, with only bits of sunlight creeping through dusty, iron-wrought windows. The room smelled like old books and rosemary, and was packed to the brim with boxes and bookshelves and wardrobes and cabinets.

It was a place he didn't get to go very often, since he wasn’t permitted to enter without the supervision of Sarah.

“Be careful, there’s a lot of fragile stuff around here,” Sarah warned, stepping over what looked to be a guitar case.

Alex’s excitement at looking through the attic was the closest thing to childish wonderment Sarah had ever seen from him, even if it was difficult to tell whether the fact his chosen costume was a literary persona made it more or less endearing.

“Which would be better— Oscar Wilde or James Joyce?”

This new, upbeat, pro-Halloween Alex was unnerving. For the life of her, Sarah couldn’t figure out just what had changed.

“Wilde or Joyce?” Alex asked again.

A more mainstream choice would be her personal preference, but then again, Alex was decidedly non-conventional. Dressing up as a famous author was very… characteristic of him.

“Wilde,” Sarah decided. “I’d rather you not wear a fake mustache.”

Abi! I am always so excited to see that you've newly posted on this thread. Your story reads like the kind of novel that I could consume in one sitting, and I always wish there were more additions whenever I finish the latest section. Keep writing! We bed you!

TOPTOPTOPTOP!

Aaaah! Love it! Keep. On. Writing. Now! *hugs Abi*

“I still say this is a bad idea,” Benson voiced glumly, hanging upside-down off the side of his friend Jared’s alcove bed.

“I don’t see why you think that,” Jared said from where he was sitting cross-legged next to Benson. He prodded the other boy with his foot. “C’mon, move over, you’re taking up half of this thing.”

Ben scooted approximately half an inch left.

“So generous,” Jared sighed.

“We can just hang out here, can’t we?” Ben pleaded, ignoring Jared’s previous statement. “I’d even tolerate Angelina and your weird cousin— What’s her name?”

“First off, I doubt you and Angie— don’t call her Angelina where she can hear you unless you want your head lopped off— can go a whole evening without driving me insane,” Jared said. “And Theo isn’t weird. Just because you don’t like her...”

“I never said that,” Ben protested.

His companion gave him a patented Jared Winstone Patronising Look.

“Okay, okay,” Ben admitted. “I think Theo is a little bit annoying. No more so than Angelina or anything.”

Jared groaned, flopping backwards onto the mattress. “Are there any of my friends that you do like?”

“Um,” Ben said. “Me.”

Jared hit him with a pillow. “Why’re you so against going? I thought I was supposed to be the bookish, boring one.”

“You are the bookish, boring one,” Ben said, causing Jared to slap him with another cushion. “I have nothing against parties. Just at this particular one, it’ll be…  some amount of hours in the same building as Angie; my ex-best friend; and Alex Quinn.”

At Jared’s puzzled look, Benson continued. “He’s that guy from debate I told you about— he talks all the time, never shuts up. Completely insufferable.”

“Oh, Alex is Mr Motormouth?” Jared said.

Ben frowned. “How d’you know him?”

“I have Science with him,” Jared explained. “He’s actually pretty nice, funny too, but I do get what you mean about the,” — he made a hand puppet and repeatedly opened and closed the mouth — “Talking thing.”

When Ben didn’t say anything, Jared reassuringly patted his knee. “You’ll be fine, man. I’ll shove a cupcake into his mouth if you want me to.”

Ben offered him a small smile. “Thanks.”

It was really interaction with Jack that worried him, but Jared had tried and Ben didn’t feel much like explaining.

In the larger things, it was difficult to see why they got along. Their dispositions were so predominantly different, though perhaps that was in fact why it worked.

Shy, smart, gentle-to-a-fault Jared; Ben, loud and hot-tempered. They balanced each other— Jared gave Ben softer edges, Ben helped Jared stand tall.

In little things, however, they were the same. They both liked vanilla more than chocolate, books more than movies, and hot chocolate without whipped cream. They each agreed upon the grossness of oatmeal and the underappreciated glory of Vietnamese pho.

Ben sometimes imagined a world in which they hadn’t ever became friends, if they had stayed a distance away and only ever seen the other as “quiet” and “loud”, respectively.

It would’ve been surprisingly easy for that to happen, and it scared Ben to think about, so he tried his best not to.

“Oh, right,” Jared said suddenly, interrupting Ben’s train of thought . “Did I tell you Angie’s coming here at three?”

“What?” Ben said. “Why?”

“Her parents can’t drive her later, so she’s coming with us,” Jared hopped off the bed. “I’m bored, let’s do something interesting.”

For all Jared’s characteristic patience, he lost interest easily. He went through a lot of phases (biology, cooking, and Japanese culture, to name a few), and learned everything he could about that subject for a period of a few weeks, often dragging Ben down with him.

And then he’d discover something else he found interesting interesting and move on to that. It was simultaneously exhausting and endearing.

Ben followed Jared out of his room and into the hallway. Ben tended to like his friends’ houses more than his own. They always seemed just a little more cozy. Homelike. Perhaps it was just a “the grass is always greener” thing.

I love it! I agree with Mei-xue! This is beautiful! I cannot wait to read more! Keep writing please! <3 

-Nianad  

They played chess in the living room, Jared sitting with his knees tucked under the coffee table. Ben lay spread over their psychiatrist couch, across the width so that his legs were residing on the floor anyway. He had to stretch a little to reach the other end of the board, but that was okay.

Jared was a lot better at the game than Ben, who kept falling into piteously obvious traps. “You’re too good at this,” Ben grumbled, staring at the board as if a brilliant move would suddenly appear if he gazed at it hard enough.

His friend just grinned at him. “Alas, I admit it.” This was a side of Jared few people saw, Ben thought, competitive and earnest and full of clever quips. Besides his immediate family, it was probably just himself, Angie, and Theo, who knew it was there.

It made him feel a little bit special.

A few minutes later, Jared proudly announced, “Checkmate,” and knocked Ben’s black king off of the board.

“I demand a rematch,” Ben said, knowing full well Jared would win again.

Halfway through their next game (in which, yes, Jared was on the track to victory), the doorbell rang. “That must be Angie,” Jared said, not looking up from the contemplation of his next move.

“Should you get the door?” Ben asked as the bell dinged again.

“And interrupt my concentration?” Jared said, incredulous. “You go let her in.”

A very insistent knock. “All right, all right! Hold your horses!” Ben yelled at the door as he started towards it. Upon swinging it open, he found a smirking Angie Chaudhary, neon green backpack hanging off of one shoulder. “Took you long enough,” she said, inviting herself in. “Where’s J?”

“Living room,” Ben sighed.

He didn’t think he and Angie would be friends if not for Jared, in any universe. They got along well enough most of the time, but they argued constantly over petty things and loved teasing one another.

It was almost ironic. Angie and Ben were so much alike, and yet both got along better with Jared, their opposite, than with one another.

Angie had partially dyed her hair bright blue last summer. The coloration went from the ends up until about the height of her chin, where it faded back up into its usual dark brown. Ben was still in Europe at this time, and Jared video-called him with the news, saying, “You’d better not do yours pink to try and one up her.”

“No promises,” Ben had said cheekily, and Jared groaned into his hands.

Of course, he didn’t actually end up dying his hair. That would be extreme.

“Ay, Jared!” Angie shouted cheerfully, discarding her bag onto the piano bench and plopped down onto an armchair. Ben resumed his pose on the couch, and surveyed the chessboard. “Did you not move all that time?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jared rolled his eyes, pointing to where a rook of his had traveled forward a space. “Hey, Angie.”

Ben and Jared continued their game, Angie occasionally offering comments or advice, most of it unhelpful, some of it amusing.

Ben lost spectacularly, of course, and Angie cackled, patting him on the head. “Better luck next time, bro,” she said, voice dripping with false sympathy.

“I can’t believe you fell for that queen-sacrifice ploy again,” Jared commented, shaking his head. “That’s a classic move, Ben.”

“Bug off,” Ben grumbled.

“Want to play again?” Jared offered.

“As much fun as it is to see Ben knocked down a few much-needed notches,” Angie said, “I’m starting to take pity on him.”

“What’s this— Insult Ben day?” Benson said, mock-hurt. He took a playful swing at her, which she dodged with no difficulty.

“No, it’s Halloween,” Jared said smartly. Ben groaned, falling face-forward into the chessboard, and Angie smothered a burst of laughter into a flower-printed couch cushion.

“I hate you both,” Ben said, more to the chess pieces than anything.

“How can that be?” Jared cried, clapping a hand to her chest.

“It’s gotta be jealousy,” Angie put in. “We’re too awesome for him to handle.”

They high-fived, and Ben found himself laughing. It was strange how much a person could be annoyed by someone, and yet not be able to imagine life without them.

That’s the way it always, until suddenly they were gone and you began wanting— no, needing — them back, replaying inconsequential moments you wished you had appreciated, over and over, in a kind of wistful limerence.

But life usually went on, somehow, even with its little, aching, hole.

The only solution was to pretend it wasn’t there.

“Too awesome, huh?” Ben said. “I guess that must be it.”

This story is amazing, and so descriptive, and I really think it could be published! Your story was what convinced me to stop hiding in the shadows and actually post something (even though I don't very often), because it showed me how creative the Chatterbox was and I had to be a part of it! I just about died when I found that the last new installment had ended. :)