Malory and Kyle must participate in the annual April Fest production as the leading co-stars. If they can cooperate by the end of the production, their long records of uncivilized behaviour towards each other will be forgotten. 
Malory and Kyle attempt to cooperate, grabbing the opportunity to make a positive impact on their own future. In the process, they become entangled in the chaos of the other’s personal life. Malory learns of Kyle’s disturbing reality, and Kyle learns of Malory’s scarring past. Can these two brilliant but messy teens learn to rely on each other in the face of their silent battles?

Between The Lines

 It’s been hours. We’ve completely given up on keeping track of the time. Kyle and I are in the kitchen. We’ve just stuffed two pepperoni and cheese pizzas into the oven. I’m standing at the sink washing my hands when suddenly I’m pushed aside by the waist of a boy attempting to wash his own flour-covered hands under the warm water. I stumble into the corner. I glare at him. He plasters on a pseudo innocent smile, ignoring me. 


 I get this brilliant idea to grab an egg from the crate beside me and fling it at his head so I just do it. He gasps and pauses, turning to me as I belt out a heavy laugh. The egg yolk bursts and runs down his face. 


 I dip my hand into the container of flour and reach towards him, tiptoeing and sprinkling the ingredient over his hair. He just lets me do it. I continue laughing. 


 “There! Now I can stuff you in the oven, too.” I laugh so hard that my stomach begins to ache. 


 He glares at me. “You’re lucky you had me worried sick earlier about you not breathing otherwise you’d be looking like clown with a face full of flour too, Lloyd!” 


 He takes a step towards me. I step backwards. Eventually, there’s no more space for me to go backwards so I bump into the counter behind. He leans in. He grins and takes a deep breath in. Then, when I think he’s going to speak, I feel an egg crack right over my head. 


 “Oh, you are so dead!” I tell him. 


 Before we both realise what we’re doing, there are eggs flying about the room, and flour filling the air and the floor, the cupboards and the counters. Everything is a mess by the time Kyle and I lean against the counters to breathe –to laugh –to breathe. 


 “You look ridiculous,” I tell him, inspecting his egg-covered cream T shirt and flour-covered, no-longer-black jeans. His hair –sticky with raw eggs- is plastered over his face, and there is flour covering every single spot of skin where the egg could manage to capture a grain. 


 “You’re one to talk!” he defends. 


 I realise he’s right. I don’t look very different from him. 


 I run a hand through my sticky hair. “I hate that you’re right.” 


 We take a few moments to ease up our laughter and to calm ourselves before Kyle speaks. 


 I turn to him with a small smile. “Yea?” 


 He sighs through his nostrils and releases the tension from his shoulders. He extends a hand towards me. “Friends?” 


 I stare at his extended hand before looking up at his face directly. He’s genuinely smiling at me, but I can see the war between hope and doubt in his eyes. 


Because They Care [2]