Cody Vance

She called me at 1 in the morning. Not texted. Called. Which was weird, because she usually sent me seven consecutive messages and then got mad when I answered the first one before she finished typing the other six. I answered on the second ring. “Don’t laugh.” “Hello to you too.” “I’m serious.” “So am I. Hello, my favorite person to inconvenience me at unreasonable hours.” “Shut up. I need you.” And just like that, I was sitting upright in bed, heart doing something deeply embarrassing inside my chest. “What happened?” “Nothing.” “Okay, well, I’m hanging up.” “WAIT.” I smiled. “Thought so.” There was a pause. A long one “Can you come get me?” I was already reaching for my jeans. “Where are you?” “The park.” I stopped. “The park?” “Don't make it sound like I'm a criminal.” “It’s one in the morning.” “Okay, and?” “And you're sitting in a park at one in the morning like a Victorian orphan. What do you want me to do with that information?” She laughed. Barely. It was the smallest sound in the world, and somehow it was enough to make me forget I was standing in my bedroom with one sock on. “Are you coming or not?” “I'm putting shoes on, aren't I?” “You could say yes like a normal person.” “You could make normal decisions like a normal person.” “Wow. Never mind. I'll walk.” “Absolutely not.” The words came out so quickly that even I was a little surprised. Silence. Then, softer, “Okay.” And there it was. That stupid little voice she used when she finally let somebody take care of her. I hated how much it got to me. Hated it in the same way I hated rainy days and bad coffee and the fact that she could make me do practically anything just by asking. I grabbed my keys, shoved my feet into my sneakers, and nearly tripped over the laundry basket I'd been ignoring for three weeks. “Smooth,” I muttered to myself. The drive took twelve minutes. I know because I watched the clock the entire time-