Made to Reach the End (Emilee)

[CASPAR CRANE]

He still wasn’t sure exactly what to expect here. So this girl…Emilee…was coming over, to spend some time in his humble abode, doing…something. What was that something?

Oh, it was music theory. Or something. That class they were apparently in together. Music theory sounded right. Yeah, that would probably explain why he had this guitar in front of him, and why he’d been fiddling with the capo for the past like, seven hours now.

God, he was getting so distracted. He’d heard someone use the word “dyke” outside his door, and he hadn't even gone out to reprimand them. He was just so...caught up in this whole thing.

Okay, not “whole thing”. That was a clear objectification, something Caspar absolutely did not espouse. This girl, rather. This girl named Emilee.

Yeah, about her.

Basically, he really liked her. A lot. He liked how everything she said was like, exactly what he was thinking, no matter when or where. He liked how she tended to agree with him on things too. That was always a plus. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy a good argument about something political or cultural, when it was with someone who wasn’t a blundering idiot/Republican. But Emilee was a nice break. He liked that.

And he liked that thing she did with her hair. The streak thingie she had going on there, and the weirdly cut bangs. That was cool. You didn’t see a lot of girls with that. That meant she wasn’t one of those mainstream sheep being mindlessly herded through life, like so many people in this world seemed to be, like everything that Caspar tried to be the opposite of.

God, what was he even doing, sitting here and thinking creepy thoughts about this girl who was just coming over to get some help with her homework? Why did he even have his guitar out, anyway? The keyboard would definitely be what she needed for whatever it was he needed to be explaining to her. But there was just something about that stupid plastic thing that felt…fake. Like he was playing toy music, as opposed to real music. What he really needed was a grand piano, but obviously society, in all its hopelessness and corruption, had created grand piano prices far too steep for the common proletariat.

Caspar returned his attention to the guitar. He needed to distract himself until she got here, so he could quit with all the stupid fussing. He strummed a few chords aimlessly, C, E, A minor, F, C, E, A minor, F, D minor, and then he felt the words spill from his lips like overflowing water.

Frozen, I’ve lost control
There’s so much I can still achieve
I’m waiting endlessly
I need someone to walk me through
So I’ll be safe to continue
Or this game’s ov—

Shit, that sounded flat. Wondering how he hadn’t noticed that the first seventeen times he’d strummed that string in this song, he lowered his ear to the body of the instrument and listened as his left hand tightened the knob on the top. It was then that he heard a knock at the door.

”C’mon in,” he mumbled, the music having temporarily distracted him from thoughts of the new visitor. Finally reaching a satisfactory pitch, he allowed the words to come again.

Don’t let the world turn past me
I’ll prove that I can shine
It’s all in my design
Don’t let my enemies kill me
I will not lose my life
I’ll craft a star all night
To free my mind.

SONG CREDZ

[EMILEE STRICKLAND]

Emilee had grown accustomed to living in the backseat.No one knew she was there and she didn't make an effort to leave an impression. That's the way she liked it, or so she told herself that. It would be nice to have a friend. Emilee didn't really have any of those friend things but every day she told herself that she didn't need one because they wouldn't understand her or wouldn't get why she refused to eat processed garbage big food corporations put out or why she had taken up sewing lessons so she wouldn't unknowingly put money in the hands of an exploiter of child labor. Nah, Emilee didn't need a friend. She could just ride along in high school, get out, and make something of herself. What she was going to do, Emilee had no idea. Her uncle thought it might be a good idea for her to become a psychiatrist like him since she could "identify" with patients, but that was silly in Emilee's opinion. Maybe she would be a dance teacher, but eh, that required leading a group of people and getting in front of crowds and basically everything that could give Emilee a panic attack. So that wouldn't work.

But even if Emilee did get over some of those fears, she would need to learn more about music. That's why she was in music theory, right? Sure, she knew a lot of obscure music and bands no one else could possibly have heard of, but that didn't mean she knew the ins and outs of music like she wanted to. After all, that beautiful grand piano where she practiced her dancing continued to sit in the corner and not be played by her slender fingers. What a crime. This unit in music theory was particularly difficult though, and it angered Emilee. Why was reading music so hard for her? It should be so simple, but Emilee kept confusing everything and mixing up notes and chords and ugh. It was impossible. There was a guy in her class though, Caspar, and she heard he knew a lot about music. And it was normal that since she needed help and they happened to be in a chat room together (omg why did Emilee get on there though?? She didn't know so many people would be on at once....eep.), Emilee would ask him for help...right? Yeah, that was normal. So she said something about being in the same class...

And he didn't recognize her.

Yeah, it stung a little. Emilee wouldn't pretend it didn't.

For someone who claimed that they didn't want people to notice them, Emilee was a teensy bit upset about that. Maybe it was because she thought he was a little cute. Caspar was definitely cute; cuter than his brother, in her opinion. And after talking to him, she was kind of floored that he seemed to almost...understand her. It was weird, and pretty hard to wrap her brain around. Oh well, Emilee needed to go on and head over to his dorm room so she could get a grip on this lesson. What was his dorm number again? Oh yeah, Emilee had scrawled it out on her palm so she wouldn't forget halfway there. That would be just her luck. Emilee wrote a lot on her hands, and it was pretty normal to see ink smudges on her fingers and even face (Emilee tended to rest her cheek in the palm of her hand a lot...ergo, ink smudges on her face). Popping in her earbuds and cranking up her mp3 player (iPods were all manufactured by little five year old Chinese kids), Emilee walked her way over to the boy's hall at Baum. Reaching Caspar's room, Emilee yanked the buds out and paused a moment, listening into the room to make sure he wasn't like...she didn't know, busy or something? It seemed polite to pause a moment before knocking, whatever. She heard soft strums on a guitar and perked up; if Caspar was playing something, she wanted to watch! Guitar playing was so cool and Emilee knew she was not talented enough to even try. But she could still watch!

She knocked and listened for the go ahead to come in, which came a moment later. Emilee softly opened the door and slipped inside, not wanting to interrupt Caspar. Hoping that she wasn't, like, breaking his focus or something, Emilee sat down on the floor in front of him, wrapping up her earbuds and placing her mp3 in her pocket. She tucked her feet in and rested her chin on her knees, watching Caspar play. "You're really good," like always, Emilee's voice was soft, but this time it was a bit softer than usual. It wasn't really shyness, was it? More of a nervous anticipation...Emilee knew it was the first words she'd ever spoken to him. Most people didn't even get that. Hopefully he heard her; a lot of people never did. It wouldn't surprise her if her voice went on unnoticed by Caspar, though; Emilee was used to it and, as always, that was just her luck.

outfit

[CASPAR CRANE]

He pretended not to look up from his guitar as she entered his room, but he couldn’t help sneaking glances anyway.

Her walk wasn’t as elegant as her dancing had been, he noted, as he pretended to fiddle with the capo. She had the same hesitant gate as he did, the kind that trailed clumsily behind people like fuckface Curtis, and those other ‘cool’ kids at Baum Academy, who fucking glided from place to place, like there was some smooth oil on their muscles that people like Caspar and Emilee, apparently, didn’t have. Curtis was always self-assured when he walked, like he knew where he was going, and he knew how to get there. Caspar saw that walk other places too: the principal, whenever he saw the President of the United States doing something on television, the businesspeople in New York with their briefcases and masks of corporate corruption on their faces, they all had it, that ‘knowing’ walk that carried them past the stragglers in life. But Caspar never knew where he was going. His wanderings tended to be aimless. And it seemed like Emilee was the same way.

Not that he was trying to put her into a box based on a first, well, second, or third, technically, impression. If there was one thing Caspar despised, it was people who felt the need to put judgmental labels on other people. His English teacher, for example, who had felt the need to label his most recent paper with a “D+”. That was it. A thematically complex, multifaceted work of art, condensed to a single letter. God, what a close-minded flake she was.

Anyways. Music. He had just about reached the end of the second verse when he heard her voice.

"You're really good.”


Really? That was new. Caspar didn’t get compliments often. Then again, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d played or sung in front of someone. Besides the earlier dance rehearsal, of course. And frankly, he was still surprised that he’d been able to get through that without throwing up.

”Thanks.” That was what you were supposed to say to compliments, right? Caspar wasn’t exactly sure what to do with his face. He forced it into what he hoped was a smile. Wow, that felt weird too. He didn’t smile often. He couldn’t really remember the last time he’d been happy enough to like, have that happen naturally.

”You like Alex Day?” he asked the silence, feeling his fingers continue to mindlessly strum the chords. ”He’s a cool independent artist. So the money he makes from his songs doesn’t just go to exploiting underpaid janitorial staff and buying himself solid gold Maseratis.” He hummed a random tune to match the progression. ”Great guy. You should check him out. Or I’ll play some more of his stuff for you later.”


Shoot, he was totally getting off topic, wasn’t he? This girl didn’t care about his musical taste. She was here to learn about music theory.

Huh. What about music theory, though? He had absolutely no idea what they were supposed to be studying in that class right now, but of course, he wasn’t planning on admitting that now. Well, he’d just start building up from the basics, and maybe she’d like, list what she needed at some point. Okay, cool. That would work.

”Alright, so, I guess we’ll just start with something easy. As a warm-up. Sound good? Okay, so I guess…I’ll play you a quick chord progression, you just tell me what key it’s in.” He picked C minor at random, strumming and feeling his fingers fold into the familiar patterns. The G string was going flat again, but hopefully she wouldn’t notice.

outfit

[EMILEE STRICKLAND]

It was so interesting to watch Caspar play. Emilee could tell he was so absorbed into the guitar and put himself behind the motions of changing chords. For a dancer, it was fascinating and enlightening, because Emilee realized that, to a musician, playing guitar was a dance as much as her contemporary routines were. While the motions were different, the principles were the same. Maybe now that Emilee was seeing it this way, she would be able to catch on and fix her grade a lot faster than she had anticipated? Probably not, though, considering that was Emilee's rotten luck. If anything, Emilee expected herself to get even more confused now. The small ghost of a smile that had crept onto her face vanished, leaving behind the slight frown that was almost always constant.

Caspar began talking to Emilee and for a moment, every muscle in her body locked up in panic. Oh god, he was actually talking to her, oh god social interaction. What was even socially, like, proper these days?? Emilee always made sure she was politically correct, so she was at least covered in that aspect. But everything else? Emilee was practically a bumbling idiot in social graces. Her older sister Amanda reminded her of that almost daily, too. Now that Amanda was planning her wedding, Emilee was being told that "unless something changed, I'll never have a chance to be in my baby sister's wedding!". Emilee was just surprised that she was invited to be a bridesmaid. The wedding planning had made Amanda a little friendlier towards the family, at least. The surprise over being a bridesmaid, though, was quickly replaced by annoyance. Emilee was convinced Amanda wanted her in the wedding because she gave specific instructions that all the people participating "must bring dates". It made Emilee want to slam her face into a pillow and groan. The date was fast approaching and Emilee didn't even know who to ask. That meant having friends, and LOL friends. Emilee briefly considered asking Caspar while he was preaching about the benefits of independent musicians (really though, she would never give her money to some greedy record label giant. Gross!), but she decided against it. Emilee felt like it would overstep boundaries and she felt like she had asked so much of him already.

"Yeah, I, uh, like Alex Day too. I really hope he doesn't get super successful with the general masses. I don't think I could, uh, listen to him if that happened." Emilee had more things to say, but her throat decided to close up. It was a warning to her brain, one she recognized too well. "WARNING, WARNING, YOU'RE TALKING YOURSELF INTO A PANIC, STOP WHILE YOU'RE AHEAD!". Instead of press on with a mini rant about how mass media attention poisoned the minds of musicians and turned their music to shit, Emilee decided to just pull at a strand of hair and watch Caspar with the big doe eyes genetics had graced her with.

"Okay, so I guess…I’ll play you a quick chord progression, you just tell me what key it’s in."

Emilee audibly gulped. Yep, he hit the jackpot with Emilee, that's for sure. Letting out a soft groan of frustrated resignation, Emilee tried so much to recognize the key. She squinted her eyes at the guitar, furrowed her eyebrows in concentration, strained her ears just to hear the magic letter. Nothing. Emilee felt the embarrassment rush into her cheeks, filling them with a ruddy red and giving her a Rudolph nose. Well, she would just take a random guess and hope she got lucky. Then again, the only luck Emilee possessed was the bad kind and she knew it. "Uhm...is it E?" She was wrong, she knew it, and now she couldn't take it back. Caspar was a musical genius, there was no way he wouldn't laugh at her. "That's wrong, isn't it?" Head hanging down, Emilee tugged again at her hair in frustration. What was her problem?

wow this post feels super rambly

[CASPAR CRANE]

Caspar was liking this girl more and more with every sentence she spoke to him. Which hadn’t been that many yet, admittedly, but…okay, come on. No other girl had ever said anything more than a few consecutive sentences to him for like, as much of his high school life as he could remember. This was like a new and exciting adventure, being around someone who didn’t actually want to punch him in the face.

Maybe the guitar made him hot. He’d never really thought of that. Were people just automatically more attractive when they were in situations where they actually knew what they were talking about? Maybe that would explain why every girl on Manhattan island was head-over-heels for his brother, Curtis, who pretty much knew everything about every school topic imaginable. Baum girls tended to quicken their step whenever Caspar appeared (either that or greet him warmly, thinking he was his brother, then hurry sheepishly away when told otherwise), and the only thing Caspar was good at was something he hadn’t done in front of anyone in…well, probably six or seven years now, right?

It didn’t matter. The other kids at his school were all fiscally conservative patriarchy babies banking on the imperial privilege of their rich corporate donor daddies who had sent them to fancy-schmancy private school specifically so their children’s pure little innocent brains wouldn’t have to be tainted by worthless scum like himself.

Except for this girl, apparently. She seemed to be an exception. In Caspar’s book, anyone who preferred Alex Day to Direction Brothers or whatever auto-tuned monsters were being fed to high school kids these days was at least a bit more deserving of his respect than the overall high school population. It showed that she had that depth of thought that most people in this godforsaken world lacked, the intellect that most people’s puny little brains couldn’t even fathom, and tended to reject. He liked her a lot.

Also, she was damn h—no. No, he would not allow himself to objectify this woman like a pretty paperdoll or article of clothing or something. He liked her for her personality. Of course he did. Women were not toys for men to keep in their pockets and pull out whenever their genitals needed some glory. And the sooner the stupid misogynists at Baum Academy learned that, the better.

"Uhm...is it E?"

Well, objectified or not, she was wrong. But…shoot, she seemed nervous about that. Caspar knew that feeling. He’d have to see if he could soften it somehow.

”Uh, no, it was C minor. Well, really flat C minor. Because the stupid thermostat in this room is set way too…” He cleared his throat as he saw her hang her head and begin to tug at her hair. Suddenly, he could feel the tightness that must be in this girl’s chest. He could feel the pressure like an enormous column of air on her head. He’d been there. He’d done that.

”But don’t worry!” he added quickly. ”I can, uh, totally see how you would get them confused. I mean, it’s only…” he counted quickly in his head ”one and a half steps. Practically the same thing.”

His gut literally ached from his having said such an incorrect thing, but he swallowed the pain down. ”Anyways, that was the melodic minor. And we probably haven’t covered that in music theory yet.” God, what was it about playing music that made him so damned nice? He didn’t feel like himself at all, reassuring her like this. But still, he could see the signs, the nibbling of the lip, the sucking in of the cheeks. He knew the anxiety, and he knew the pain. And he wouldn't wish that pain on anyone.

”Here, uh…” He strummed a quick line of E, C sharp minor, F sharp minor, A. ”So that’s an E progression would sound like. E’s nasty and has a ton of sharps though, so they probably won’t ask you about that in class.” This was like, intro music theory, right? It occurred to Caspar that he wasn’t actually sure what level their class was. He’d never paid enough attention in the class to hear anything about the class’s official designation. Were there multiple levels? Well, whatever. Any music class where E major was even mentioned was a class that deserved to be failed. Seriously, he hated that key so much.

”Aaaand a song in E Major would be like…” He thought for a moment, his fingers fluttering aimlessly over the strings. Well, Moonlight Sonata was. But that probably wouldn’t help. Then he had one. ”You like the band fun.? This one’s one of my favorites.” He felt his fingers bounce back and forth from C sharp minor to F sharp minor to G sharp minor to A.

I set all my regrets on fire
Cause I know I’ll never take the time
To unpack my missteps and call all of our friends
I figure they would take your side.

God, if she liked this song too, he was going to have to restrain himself from proposing to her right then and there.

[EMILEE STRICKLAND]

So like...Caspar was great. Really great, even. Emilee, like with most things on life, had totally abandoned all hope of finding someone that she really connected with. In her mind, it would never happen. Just like the fact that Emilee would never be recognized for her dancing, would never overcome her fear of people, would never beat the panic attacks and would never have more than five friends. With all of these things she hoped would happen, Emilee was resigned and accepted the fact that she would never get the luck of the draw on anything. It just wasn't in the cards for her. If it was a genetic thing, then her sister Amanda sucked up all the luck genes their parents could produce. Emilee knew though that no mix of sperm and egg could produce a genetically "lucky" kid. If she believed in a higher being, Emilee would have to say that she existed just as a joke.

But then there was Caspar, and he seemed to understand. Er, maybe Emilee was just jumping the gun considering she wasn't up to par on her social graces....at all. But he had done most of the talking, and nothing he had said put a bad or even neutral thought in her mind. It was overwhelmingly positive, and full of bewilderment that "wow, that guy might be a bit like me." And even though labels were so hierarchical and awful, horrible things, Caspar was really cute. A lot more attractive than his brother; and now that she had met both, Emilee didn't understand how people got them confused a lot. Maybe since Caspar was a kindred spirit of sorts, she "sensed" that?

These happy thoughts weren't at the front of Emilee's mind, though, and that was a problem. Despite Caspar being so graciously kind about it, Emilee was inwardly beating herself to pieces about messing up so badly. She could feel an attack coming, and Emilee just focused on listening to Caspar ramble about music terms she didn't understand and strum chords on the guitar to calm herself down and, most importantly, distract her mind. Emilee's muscles were clenching randomly and she felt her heart pick up and go like a Lamborghini. Not that she would want to associate with a car that catered to fat cats who exploited people everywhere and guzzled precious fossil fuels like nobody's business and emitted horrible gasses into the atmosphere to destroy the already flaky ozone.

"I'm, uh, sorry...I can't believe I messed up so much. Don't, uh, make excuses for me." Emilee took a deep shuddering breath, trying to keep her throat from stubbornly closing off again. She would not let this panic attack happen; no, Emilee was going to control it. And Caspar would unknowingly help her by talking about music so she could distract herself. Perfect plan. "I just don't understand this for some, uh, reason..." Emilee's voice trailed off like it typically did and her eyes fell to the ground.

”You like the band fun.? This one’s one of my favorites.”

Emilee looked up at Caspar, her eyes lighting up ever so slightly. fun. was such a great band, Emilee loved them. She spoke up just before he started strumming: "I love fun.!", even putting a little excitement in her voice. As he started strumming, Emilee closed her eyes and began to softly hum along to "Out on the Town", one of her favorites. It helped slow down her breathing, and Emilee could feel her body shuddering back down to normal activity. The Lamborghini in her chest turned to a trust old Toyota Corolla. As Caspar finished up with the words of the opening part (verse? stanza? Emilee wasn't quite sure how she could define it other than "part"), Emilee couldn't help but begin to sing along, eyes still dreamily closed.

"I make the bed, just not that well
Your name comes up a lot
When I talk to my mom
Oh, I think she can tell"

Opening her eyes, Emilee's constant frown turned into a smile as she turned her fingers into drumsticks and played out the beat of the chorus, her favorite part of the song. A slight giggle escaped her lips, but it shut off immediately because what the hell Emilee Strickland didn't giggle? That was weird. So so weird. Emilee scratched her head with one of those "wut just happened" faces, and said, "So, that's E, huh?"

She still had no idea what made it an E.

[CASPAR CRANE]

Shoot, she totally wasn’t buying it.

Well, he’d tried.

"I'm, uh, sorry...I can't believe I messed up so much. Don't, uh, make excuses for me."

”No, no, you didn’t mess up. You’re fine. I’m not making excuses.” Oh no, the quivering in her voice. He knew that quivering. He knew that quivering way too well. God, that quivering had been his life for such a long time. That quivering had been everything. Oh God, oh no, he couldn’t let himself do something like that to her. Should he have like, lied and told her she was correct with the E thing? Wait, no, that would have been a way worse idea. That would have been like the Don’t Ask Don’t Tell policy: benefitting nobody.

He felt the corners of his lips twitch upwards as she sang the next stanza to the song, but his mind was too busy trying to figure out how the hell he was going to do this that he barely registered it.

”Look, okay.” He could feel his patience reaching the end of a rope but, no, no, he couldn’t let that happen. She doesn’t have your gift, Caspar. Just like you don’t have her gift for dancing. Or Curtis’ gift for talking to people. But somehow, he could still feel his throat tightening, longing to spit out something irritable. Shit, why had he ever agreed to this? He couldn’t teach music. He could hardly explain music to himself. It was like explaining sight to a blind person. He didn’t know how he knew that the song “Out on the Town” was in E. It was just…in E. He recognized notes like he recognized the faces of his parents and brother. He just had that weird intimate familiarity that had been as much a part of him as his arms and legs his entire life.

”Well, so, you know what Out on the Town sounds like, right? So like, if you sing that, you know what E sounds like.” He resumed playing the chords, which were coming out a bit more forcefully than he wanted them to. ”Whereas the chords sound more like the chords of…Just the Way You Are, by Bruno Mars, for example, then you know that’s in F.” He fingered the chords quickly, mumbling the first few words, and shutting that operation down pretty quickly when he realized how shallow, mainstream, and grammatically incorrect they were.

Nope, she still didn’t seem to be getting it. Before Caspar could do anything, he could feel himself talking again. ”Look, what is so hard about this?” He felt his left hand smack the body of his guitar vehemently. ”Your sweater is gray. My wall is green. This chord is a G.” He felt himself strum a G major chord, and felt like his eyes were probably glaring in her direction, even though he definitely, 100% did not want them to be. Oh no, oh no, what was he doing? But now his mouth seemed to have a mind of its own. Jesus, how did she not get it? How did nobody else he knew get any of this? ”There’s no rulebook, or anything, alright, there’s no like, criterion, or anything. It’s just a G. It’s always been a G. It’ll always be a G. There’s nothing complicated.”

He wasn’t even talking to her anymore. He’d forgotten she was there. “You play a G. You get a G. There’s nothing that’s going to turn around and tell you you’re worthless or don’t belong in your house anymore, alright? There’s nothing that’s going to seem like a good idea, that ends up being a shitty idea, that ends up getting you shipped off to private school, there’s nothing mysterious that everybody else has that you don’t have that you have to sit and watch and figure out.”

He was pretty sure his voice was way louder than he wanted it to be, but he was finally beyond caring. ”You hear a G, you know it’s a G, that’s easy, alright? You don’t have to wonder whether that G is actually like, a misogynistic G, or whether that G contains poultry products, or whether someone who happens to share your parentage played that fucking G first, because it’s just a G, alright, it’s just a fucking G!”

He wiped something angrily from a bright red cheek.

[EMILEE STRICKLAND]

When people got angry, it scared Emilee. Angry people were unpredictable, and Emilee knew that with her rotten luck, those people would be unpredictable in her general direction. She knew frustration, though. It was like a twin sister to her; Emilee knew that emotion way too well. Emilee could understand why Caspar was getting frustrated with her; for something that obviously came naturally to him, it must have been infuriating to see Emilee floundering in the dark about it.

"I'm just gonna fail, I'm used to it." Emilee muttered under her breath while Caspar was talking about his walls being green, hoping he couldn't hear her. She made the motions to just get up and walk out; what was Emilee doing here anyways? It was cut and dry simple that she wasn't going to just magically understand this subject...ever. She would just stick to dancing to music, it would be good enough for Emilee. As Emilee was putting weight on her hand to push herself up, though, she heard the sharp smack of a hand on a guitar and jumped a little. It was startling, and when Emilee looked up and saw Caspar's eyes, she didn't see mere "frustration" anymore. It was anger, he was angry at her. Emilee was suddenly feeling overwhelmed and frustrated with herself. She had made Caspar angry because she couldn't understand this, and Emilee felt like it was something she couldn't fix and Caspar would be angry at her forever and probably never want to talk to her again or help with her dance competition and she had just started to make a fri--

Deep breaths.

Emilee felt the panic attack coming on, and she knew the proper methods to fight them. She even had anxiety pills sitting in the bottom of her purse because her uncle insisted she went everywhere with them. Emilee never used the medicine, though, because it made her foggy and numb.
The urge to run away and never come back was strong, but that was the easiest to cope with. Emilee knew from experience that running and panic attacks didn't mix well, and she had earned many bruises from falling to prove it.

"There’s nothing complicated."

Emilee's ears snatched that bit up quickly, and Emilee's sad frown turned into a frown that was much more pissed off than anything. "There's nothing complicated about dancing." Her eyes adopted the same pointed glare and her eyebrows scrunched up together to enforce the annoyed look on her face. Emilee instantly regretted it, though. Dancing was complicated, and making digs at Caspar wouldn't help her current situation at all. In fact, it was only making it worse. To put the cherry on top of her mounting anxiety, Emilee's "anger" turned to panic because in her mind, she had just nailed the coffin on any friendship they might have had, any positive thoughts Caspar could've thought about her. All she saw in her mind was Caspar's angry glare.

There was a panic attack coming, and Emilee knew it was past the point of no return. Nothing she could do now could stop it, she would just have to ride it through, and just recognizing that made her even more anxious. Emilee's normal pace of breathing turned short and rapid, quickly on its way to hyperventilation. Frantically, Emilee made a "STOP" hand at Caspar, but he just kept talking with a venom spitting from his words. For the second time, Emilee tried to get up but her vision turned blurry and she fell back on her bottom. The dizziness didn't stop, though; it never did. Her throat constricted, making it near impossible to swallow; Emilee's stomach squeezed and churned in nausea and cramps; her sight became tunnel vision, which made Emilee feel like a terrified horse with blinders on; she was also shaking and trembling all over. Caspar kept talking though, like he didn't notice the mess Emilee was becoming. Her eyes felt hot and wet, but she knew that the tears just wouldn't come. It was another frustrating part of her panic attacks.

Emilee wished she could choke words out to make Caspar stop. He was scaring her, but all Emilee could do was listen and try to keep her body under control. Emilee laid on her side and pulled her knees into her chest. It felt like she was being forced onto a roller coaster and the bars had just come down on her lap. She was trapped and there was no way of getting out.

If her throat wasn't constricted and her jaw not firmly shut, Emilee would've shouted at Caspar to stop, just please stop saying those things. But she couldn't. Emilee was stuck.

[CASPAR CRANE]

Caspar was panting like he’d just run a marathon. That little outburst had been entirely unprecedented, and he knew that by all rights he should have been feeling incredibly ashamed of himself. Crap, he did that way too often. No wonder Curtis was embarrassed to be seen in public with him: Caspar’s tongue was literally beyond his mind’s control like, at least 75% of the time. If someone ever tried to duct tape his mouth shut for any length of time, he’d probably give himself an ulcer.

But the dumb thing was that he wasn’t ashamed. In fact, he felt better and more himself than he had all day. He was more damned satisfied than anything else. And that was mildly scary to him: the fact that he was capable of sitting here, watching this girl he liked so much quiver before him, muttering about how she was messing up and failing and the fact that he could see his own face in that face, six years ago, standing on a stage and feeling his stomach rising in his throat and the curtains closing in like a coffin around him, and the fact that he had absolutely no idea how to fix the mess he’d just created.

You and your stupid little mouth fucked this up, Caspar. You and your stupid little mouth fix it.

But sitting here, gazing at her as she stuttered, clearly with no idea how the hell to respond to what he’d just said, his mind was as blank as his music theory notebook.

Shit.

He felt his fingers strumming a G minor progression absentmindedly. Clenching his teeth, he managed to paralyze them.

Oh God, she looked like she was going to start crying. He knew what that look felt like, and he knew it too well. Placing the guitar on his pillow, he slid down from the bed to sit beside her on the floor. God, what would he have wanted if the roles were reversed? All he could remember wanting on that awful day in fifth grade was to disappear into like, the back wall, and just never be seen or heard from again. But that clearly wasn’t an option here.

”Hey, look, I’m…sorry. I’m…I didn't mean...I’m just…sorry.”

He really just needed to leave civilization and go live as a hermit in the Himalayas or something.

[EMILEE STRICKLAND]

Emilee had never been in a healthy, caring relationship. She didn't know how to properly act in one, or even normal relationship-esque things, like cuddling. If there was one thing she definitely did not know, it was the fact that she herself was a cuddler. As Emilee's breaths came in racking, quivering, gasps, she felt Caspar slip next to her on the floor. Emilee did the only thing that felt natural; she wrapped her arms around his stomach and bunched up into his side. Her shoulders still shook tremendously and tears were now coming freely, but the panic attack was surprisingly going away. It felt nice, really; Emilee discovered that she could tuck herself into Caspar's side quite nicely and she felt safe.

Safe.

That was such a big, foreign word to her. No amount of medicine her uncle gave her could produce that emotion.

”Hey, look, I’m…sorry. I’m…I didn't mean...I’m just…sorry.”

Emilee shook her head against Caspar's chest. "No it's not your fault." Her voice quivered, but Emilee quickly gained control of her breathing again. "I have panic attacks...a lot." There, she said it. No one else knew, besides her teachers and family. Teachers only knew so they wouldn't force her up in front of the class. It was a fact Emilee felt she should be ashamed of; no one needed to know that she was a scared emotional wreck.

Because it was right next to her, Emilee reached out to grab her bag. "I have, uh, medicine. I don't like to take it." With shaking hands, Emilee reached in and grabbed her anxiety pills. The little white monstrosities glared at her; they seemed to be shouting "we could have made you numb!!". Her uncle tried to assure Emilee that even though not feeling yourself was a side effect, the medicine was a for a good cause. Emilee frowned at the bottle. "It makes me feel trapped in my own body, like someone else is controlling it." Even though Emilee hated her panic attacks, she'd almost rather have them because she would be feeling and experiencing. With a deep sigh, Emilee threw the bottle back in her bag.

Caspar was probably going to try to push her off sooner or later, and Emilee accepted that as her rotten fate, but for now, she still clung to him. With her panic attack seriously subsiding, it was as if Caspar was her own special drug, without any nasty consequences. Plus, she was super comfortable. Why was she just now experiencing this? Oh yeah, that's right, because she used to be a pretty sucky person. While Emilee didn't think she was a particularly better person now, she realized that her situation was the suckiest thing now. For some reason, Emilee felt like Caspar should know; it was pretty humorous, considering she almost never talked. "My uncle diagnosed me with severe depression and anxiety problems. He's my legal guardian now."

Emilee nestled her head into Caspar's chest and sat there, waiting for him to push her away like everyone else in her life had. At least she had had a little catharsis before being abandoned.

[CASPAR CRANE]

Caspar was close to tears. You fucking idiot. You fucking piece of shit. You deserve to work in a sweatshop for six cents an hour and eat out of the one percent’s trash can. This is why you don’t have any friends. No, no, no, how the fuck could he have done this?

He had to fix this. Somehow, he had to fix this. Otherwise this stupid, heavy sense of responsibility would loom over him until the day he died. And he supposed the only way to do that would probably be to kiss his dignity goodbye and just…tell her his whole deal, tell her why he’d flipped out the way he had, why her tears and her shaking and her gasping were so crippling to him.

But like…could he?

Would he be able to tell her the shit he knew he wanted to without like, breaking down and crying, or even worse, losing his head to another fucking screaming fit? For fuck’s sake, his mother didn’t even know about his whole anxiety deal. He’d never told anyone, because he’d never had anyone to tell. He only had one friend, and…well, she had enough on her plate without having to worry about his stupid bullshit. At least, that the excuse he always gave himself.

Oh, fuck it. She was already clinging to him. He gritted his teeth and spoke. ”The reason I’m not in band, or chorus, or the talent shows or anything, is that I get major, like, debilitating social anxiety when I’m in front of a crowd.” He was speaking more quietly than he could remember having spoken for like, a very long time. Every part of his mind and body was screaming at him to stop talking before he looked too pathetic and hopeless, but something made him press forward anyways. ”Like, I cry, I vomit, I piss myself, it’s super attractive.” He shrugged. ”They had to put me on oxygen once.” Well, there. He'd said it. She could take him or leave him, now.

"I have, uh, medicine. I don't like to take it."

”Xanax?” Caspar asked, watching the bottle emerge from her purse. ”Oh, Klonopin. Well, I take Xanax. You know they make that stuff out of discarded fish eyes?” He laughed sourly. Comparing pain medications with the girl he was head-over-heels totally nuts for. Flirting at its finest. God, his life was so fucking pathetic. ”I know what you mean. I only take it if I need to. For like, class presentations or something. I’m just not super down for sticking all that artificial chemical stuff in me, you know? I’d rather like, live naturally.” He made a face. The smell of his pills was like, the most plastic and sterile thing ever. He hated it.

He felt her head rise up and down on his chest as he breathed. He wasn’t really sure why he did it, but he felt his hand reaching back up to his bed, and finding his iPhone. He did the double-center click thing and heard the recording of the song he'd been listening to on Pandora earlier, while trying and failing (as usual) to get homework done. He normally despised such mainstream garbage as Taylor Swift, but since this song was one that nobody else seemed to know about, he felt it was probably acceptable to listen to.


Anyways, the title had a nice ring to it. And he needed some music right now, any music. Then he'd be back in his element. Then he could think clearly again.


You lift my feet off the ground
And spin me around
You make me crazier, crazier.

It was a song that was made to be danced to. There was just something in the beat, and the chords, and the steady rhythm: just the right speed, just the right tune, and for him, lost in this moment of her eyes and her body against his, just the right words. Before he knew it, he was standing up and holding out his hand. ”You wanna dance?” The question was less hesitant than he felt. Some part of him knew that everything that had been said and done this afternoon was boiling down to this moment.

HERE IS THE SONG