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“Uh, rude?” Maddison stuck his tongue out at him, but Sam already turned his back and started walking out of the fence.
“Hey! Wait up.” Turning to Sam's mother, he waved, “Bye, Erica.”
“Take care, you two.”
“Sammy! Wait up.”
Sam slowed his pace until Maddison caught up with him, and they walked side by side. The morning was still cool, the flowers still blossoming, and the scent lingered in the air, fresh and soothing. They chatted idly on the way, random things like‘hey do you think our homeroom teacher is nice’or ‘are we even in the same class’and ‘of course we are because if we aren't then Sammy will be super sad’added by ‘Doll Face, who would even miss you’.
When they reached the school, students were piling in too, and there were marshals ushering the students to line up by their classes. Maddison hurriedly pulled Sam to the bulletin board, searching for their names.
“Yay! Sammy, we're classmates,” Maddison exclaimed, relief and more excitement flooding his chest. A year with Sam together, he silently thanked his lucky stars.
“Yay,” Sam mumbled.
“Hey, now! What's with the lukewarm response?” Maddison pouted, but instead of answering, Sam pulled his hand and led them to where Class 5 was queued. They were joined by other students and they all waited for the principal to welcome them with a speech.
“Say, Sammy, are you still joining the volleyball club?”
“Of course, why do you even ask?”
“Nothing, just making sure.”
“What about you?” Sam asked in return. “Are you still joining the art club?”
“Of course, why do you even ask?” Maddison mimicked, sticking his tongue out playfully. Sam rolled his eyes at him, and then his expression turned serious.
“Are you sure you made the right decision though? Wellspring Academy offered you a scholarship —”
With a sigh, Maddison waved him off. “Sammy, we've been over this. Hillwood has an amazing art program and is one of the best in the city. I'm going to be fine. In fact,” he grinned, “I'm going to be the best. Just watch, Sammy, you'll see.”
“I know, I'm always watching,” Sam replied, and it did things to Maddison's heart. “It's just that, I know this school is one of the best, but Wellspring is the best, and I just think you're wasting the chance to be —”
“Shush, Sammy, it's starting!” Maddison put his finger to his lip, effectively shutting up his all- knowing best friend when he saw the principal climbing up the podium to start the ceremony.
He knew why he was here, why he chose this second-best school over the most prestigious one in the city. It was not because of the art program, nor the system. No. It was because of Sam himself. If Maddison were to attend Wellspring, he had to move out and be at the boujee boarding school. He'd be away from his family, from Sammy, and he couldn't bear even just the thought of being separated from his best friend. He didn't care if he was sacrificing his talent and potential for this. As obsessive as it sounded, he needed to be with Sam, in any way he could.
Maddison was aware that his feelings might remain forever hidden, afraid that if he were to let it out and tell his best friend, he'd be rejected and the other would sever their ties. He might not want to be with Maddison, might be disgusted with him. Sam never gave any indication that he could be gay.
Maddison, over the summer vacation after realizing he felt more for Sam than just friendship, tried his best to forget about the feeling, to dismiss it, but he just couldn't. Every day it grew, stronger, potent. His sketchbooks were filled with drawings of Sam, paintings inspired by him. It scared Maddison how much he felt for his best friend, and that this feeling might cost him the friendship he very carefully treasured. He reached the decision to never tell Sam then, and just stay by his side, loyal and kind to him, until they were forced to go their own ways. Until then, Maddison would hold on to his feelings while maintaining the relationship they built and cultivated ever since they were young.
The transition from middle school to high school was a lot easier than Maddison had expected. The classes, albeit more advanced, were not as grueling as their seniors had warned them. The teachers were kind, their classmates familiar as most of the kids at Cherish Grove Middle school ended up attending Hillwood High School. The art club was excited to have the prodigy Maddison Flynn under their wings, welcoming him with heart-warming smiles and praises — they've all seen his art pieces from before. The attention they gave him was that of someone important, like a celebrity, and instead of being overwhelmed, he loved it. Maddison basked in their attention. It was a nice feeling, being acknowledged for something you do, something you're good at.
He was given his own desk in the art club, positioned beside the wall just right beside the door. He wanted the desk beside the window, as there's better lighting there than anywhere in the room, but his seniors were there. He needed to be in sophomore or junior year before he could sit by the window then. Maddison set up his art materials in his desk, an old easel standing to the left of the wooden table. Grabbing one of his many paint brushes and tubes of paint, he began mixing colors in a palette and stared at his blank canvas. He had two hours to spare in this room; he promised Sam they would go home together. Dipping his brush onto the paint, Maddison worked on the one image his fingers itched to draw. Moss green for the eyes, raven black for the hair. He smiled. Another piece of Sam was coming to life through his canvas.
Later, Maddison stood by the brick gate, his foot and back leaning against the wall. The sun was about to set, a beautiful purplish-pinkish sky. It would be nice to paint this. Maybe when he got home, after dinner, he would. He went back to scrolling his Instagram feed, sucking on a lollipop. Sam was taking too long. Or were they extending their practice because of the upcoming preliminaries? He should ask him so he wouldn't wait here outside, when he could have finished a painting or two in the club room while waiting instead of standing here looking like an idiot.
After a while, when the sky was darkened and blue, Sam arrived. His shirt was ruffled and his necktie untied. His hair was still wet from the shower and he was yawning. Practice must have been awful.
“You look like hell incarnate, Sammy,” Maddison greeted cheerfully when he reached him.
“Shut up,” Sam all but grumbled, walking ahead of Maddison. The other immediately caught up.
“Come on, I'll get you some hotdogs.”
“Thanks. I'm starving.” The smile Sam threw in his direction made Maddison's heart do a flip and he looked away, almost a hundred percent sure he was blushing. Damn cute smile dammit.
“Sammy, are you practicing for prelims now?”
