With Or Without You

Chapter Eight: Love Comes Tumbling

Clare was torn. Since her birthday, Clay had called her four times. It was now the second semester – the beginning of February. She and Michael had had a strictly friends-only relationship since her birthday, but she was relieved that things weren’t too weird between them. Michael was a great guy and she didn’t want to lose his friendship while she tried to figure things out.

She was not having any luck.

Ali was trying to help her, as was Aaron. Ian was as well, and as her favorite cousin, he felt he had extra pull with her. He was wrong, but he tried nonetheless.

“You need to figure it out,” he said on the phone as she sat at her computer at Michigan. She had spent her winter holiday at home in North Carolina. Clay had been home for Christmas as well, and she spent time with him. This was a problem for Clare, because she had a great time with Clay, but every time she was with him, she felt guilty about Michael. And when she was with Michael, she felt bad about Clay. It was a lose/lose situation.

“Thank you so much for your help,” Clare told Ian. “Because I didn’t know that I had to FIGURE IT OUT!”

“Jeez. You don’t have to yell at me.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just frustrated.”

“I know, Clare. You’re also crazy. Why would you pick a skinny wimp who’s probably gay over Michael? Michael’s hot.”

“Are you gay? I feel like I ask you that every day.”

“Nope. Not gay.”

“You wear your own underwear. And you still read slash fanfics starring yourself.”

“Whatever. Anyway. Think about it. And figure it out. I know you can. You just need to give it some serious thought.”

“You are the most helpful person ever, Ian. Thanks. I gotta go. I’ll see you later.”

She hung up the phone and lay on her back on the bed in her dorm. There was a knock at the door and then it was pushed open. Michael appeared in her line of vision. “Talk to Ian?” he asked.

“How’d you guess?” she mumbled.

“No one else puts that look of exasperation on your pretty face,” he said. He lay down on the bed next to her. “So I was wondering. You spell your name without an ‘I.’ I’ve never seen that before.”

She chuckled. “Yeah...my parents took their honeymoon in Ireland. And stayed most of the time in their hotel. Which was in Clare. Which is where I was conceived, apparently. So I’m named after it.”

“Isn’t it weird to be named after the place your parents–”

“Please don’t finish that sentence. I’m not in the mood to throw up on you.”

Michael laughed and turned onto his side, facing her. He brushed back a lock of hair that was in her eyes. She sighed. “Are you ok?” he asked.

“I’m fine.” She turned her head and smiled at him. “Absolutely fine.”

“That’s good. So how have things been going? Did you have a good vacation? I heard you and Clay kept in touch after the concert I took you to.”

Clare nodded. “Yeah, we did.” It was awkward, talking about Clay with Michael. “He’s very nice. Just like his mother, really. Only cuter,” she laughed. Michael laughed as well, but it was sufficiently less enthusiastic than he had been a moment before. “I think it might be my turn to ask if you’re ok.”

Michael’s smile grew wider, but superficially, as though he was forcing it. “I’m absolutely perfect,” he said.

She knew he was lying, but she didn’t want to bring it up. She sat up and leaned back on her hands. “I feel like getting out of here. I’ve been sitting on my fat arse for too long. She looked at him. “What’dya say?” she asked Michael.

He grinned. “What did you have in mind?”

Which was how, two hours later, Clare was sitting in a booth at McDonald’s across from Michael. They were laughing and stealing fries from each other. They’d gone bowling, something neither had done in a long time, and decided to just hang out and be a couple of geeks. They’d thought about going dancing, but Clare decided she wasn’t in the mood.

She stole another fry from Michael and managed to smear ketchup all down his forearm when her phone rang. She didn’t bother looking at it before she answered it, still laughing. “Hello?”

“Hi, Clare,” said the familiar southern drawl on the other end.

Clare stopped laughing. “Be right back,” she mouthed to Michael, sliding out of the booth and walking briskly to the door. She went outside. “Hi, Clay,” she said into the phone. “What’s up?”

“Nothing. I’m on my tour bus, heading to the next place, and thought I’d call you.”

“That’s nice of you. I appreciate that you thought of me.” She sat down on a bench. “I can’t talk long; I’m in the middle of something. I’m sorry.”

“That’s no problem. Call me back later? I’ll probably be up for a while – I’m wired after the concert.”

“Sure. I’ll talk to you later then,” she promised. She hung up the phone and went back into the restaurant. When she sat down and went to reach for one of her own fries, she found them all gone.

“Michael!” she scolded, unable to stop laughing. Grinning, he replaced the fries he’d stolen. “If I wasn’t sitting across the table from you I’d hit you,” she informed him.

“Strategic seating. I’m very clever.”

“I don’t know if clever is the word I’d use,” she said thoughtfully, then giggled when he threw a fry at her. “Ok, I’m bored with this. And full. Let’s go find something else to do,” she suggested, standing up and bouncing on the balls of her feet. Michael stood and placed his hands on her shoulders.

“Calm down.”

“Nope. What can we do in Michigan in February?” she asked.

Michael grinned. “Ever been ice skating?”

Twenty minutes later, Clare was sitting on a pond of solid ice. Or at least a layer of solid ice. “I told you I’m a klutz. And that I’ve never been ice skating before. Or roller skating or skate boarding or anything else that involves the word or verb ‘skate.’”

“How have you never been ice skating?”

“I’m from Australia. Not a whole lot of ice there.” Michael laughed, hoisting her up and keeping an arm around her waist to hold her there. He led her around the pond, laughing as she slipped and slid with every step she took. “I’m glad you find my misfortune funny, Phelpsy.”

“Who says that?”

“I do. And Ian does. He calls you Phelpsy all the time. I thought it might be fitting.”

“Phelpsy? Is that like when they named my homecoming the ‘Phelpstival’?”

Clare burst out laughing, which caused her to tumble to the ice again, this time taking Michael with her. “The Phelpstival?” she asked. He nodded, trying to untangle himself from her. It was not working.

“Yes. That was what they called it.” Clare couldn’t stop laughing. “I think I like Phelpsy better. Will you hold still so I can get up?” he asked, frustrated. She tried to hold still, but she was still laughing at him. Eventually he was able to stand up and grabbed her hands to pull her with him. After another half hour of trying, and failing, to teach Clare to ice skate, Michael threw up his hands and gave up. “That’s it. You’re impossible. You’re too giggly.”

“Can I help it if I keep thinking about the Phelpstival? Wow, can I call you that? That’s a great word. Has a ring to it,” she said as he towed her to the side of the pond where they removed their skates. “Like van den Hoogenband.”

“Clare, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were drunk.”

She threw back her head and laughed. “You would not like to see me drunk. Thankfully, I will not be drunk anytime soon and will spare you the gory details.”

“It’s freezing out here. And getting dark. You wanna get some hot chocolate and then go back to the dorm and watch a movie?”

“That sounds fabulous,” she said. Unconsciously, she took his hand as they walked to a small drink stand that served warm beverages. She never noticed, but he certainly did. He paid for their drinks and handed her one. “Mmmm,” she said, sipping the hot liquid. She leaned against Michael, who was leaning against a post. “This was really fun. Thanks for coming with me,” she said.

“I had a great time as well. Even when I couldn’t keep you upright.”

Clare laughed. “I warned you about that.”

“That’s true. Come on. Let’s go. I’ve got a sudden urge to see Harry Potter.”

“Ooh! I love Harry Potter! Come on!” she grabbed his hand and dragged him back to the car they’d driven.

“Don’t mind me if I drool all over Malfoy,” Clare said as they popped the DVD into her computer and settled back on her bed. Michael sat up against the wall, and she rested her head against his stomach. “And this is not a good pillow. It’s times like these I wish you were a little more like your friend Ian Crocker.”

He laughed. “He does have a bit of pudge to him, doesn’t he?” She nodded. “Will you scoot down a little please?” He obliged and she rested her head on his chest instead of his stomach.

“Better?” he asked. “Much. I apologize much in advance for any wet spots that appear on your shirt,” she told him. “I am a sucker for Draco Malfoy.”

“You have the weirdest taste in guys. Either too young or too gay.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind the next time you come around.”

“I was kidding.”

“Of course you were,” she said patronizingly, patting his stomach. Michael laughed. “Now can we just shut up and watch this movie? Please?”

This was easier said than done. Clare was worrying throughout the whole movie. Although she’d had a great time with Michael, Clay’s phone call had been plaguing the back of her mind ever since he’d called. She spent two out of the two and a half hours of the movie trying to figure out how she would deal with this, and the only solution she could come up with was to ask Clay flat out how he felt and then try to work from there. If Clay said he only liked her as a friend, her life was so much easier. If he said differently, Clare might have a problem. She’d call him as soon as the movie was over and she felt like letting Michael leave.