By Viktoria Pavlova

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Best friends for 16 years, enemies for one. Now they’re stuck in a supply closet. What could go wrong? Oh, and one of them is claustrophobic.

“What are you doing?” He breathed shakily in my ear. “No way! You’re still scared of the dark?” I laughed.

“Move,” I shoved him. I slid my palm across the cold wall. No light switch, damn. 

“Carter, are there lights?” Miles whispered.

“No, I just have a wall fetish, please excuse me,” I said.

“Okay asshole, knock yourself out, rub all the walls.”

“I can’t, we’re in a supply closet. Know what that means? There’s supplies everywhere.”

“We wouldn’t be stuck if you didn’t shut the door. Did you want to get stuck?” Miles said.

“Sure, we haven’t spoken for a year, but today I decided I wanted to talk to you in a dark supply closet.” 

I could hear Miles’ cleats against the concrete floor, then supplies crashed to the ground and the suffocating smell of Windex filled the room. Miles let out a high-pitched scream, and dug his nails into my shoulders. 

I winced. “What are you doing?” He breathed shakily in my ear. “No way! You’re still scared of the dark?” I laughed. 

“N-no,” Miles whispered, “but the closet is small, isn’t it? Like, too small.”

I peeled his fingers off of me.

“It’s a closet, what’d you expect? Dancing space?” I couldn’t help being mean—he was right. It was my fault we were stuck. Soccer practice already started. By the time we got out, Coach was gonna be pissed.

Reading my mind, Miles said, “Coach is gonna have us running suicide drills until tomorrow.” He began to slam on the door, screaming for help. I remembered the last time this happened. We were ten. We’d been locked in the shed of our families’ Vermont house for half an hour. Let’s just say I don’t want a repeat of a snot covered, hoarse voiced Miles. 

I slammed on the door until my hands were numb. Nobody came. Miles leaned against the door and slid to the floor. I joined him, defeated. Tension filled the air. Miles’ breathing was uneasy. He sniffled. 

It’s starting again. “Are you okay?” I gritted my teeth. 

“I’m fine,” Miles retorted bluntly. 

“Remember when you saw that therapist?” Who was clearly a waste of money. “What techniques did she give you?” 

“Breathe slowly and count to three.” Miles cracked his knuckles. “Focus on a safe feeling or whatever.”

Aha. “Remember when we’d sit outside the ski lodge in Vermont and watch the pro team practice?” 

“We laughed when they wiped out and dared each other to try their tricks, but we sucked.” Miles chuckled. 

“Correction, you sucked, I was pro-team worthy,” I lied. I smiled, glad it was dark. Miles continued making fun of my skiing, oblivious to his earlier panic. It felt like we were fifteen again, until Miles ruined the moment. 

“I wish we could go back to how things were.” 

I froze, closing my eyes and praying the darkness would swallow me. No luck. “When we were little I taught you to play soccer. It became our thing. You forgot that.” 

It sounded like Miles was biting his nails, another nervous tic. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“You’re sorry?” I sputtered. Silence. “I tore my ACL and after my surgery you ghosted me.” I dug my nails into my palms. “Instead, you were trying out for the international team that I signed us up for.” Miles started to talk, but I kept going. “You said you wouldn’t try out because I couldn’t.” Silence. “You promised me that we’d try out together when I got better.” He cracked his knuckles. “You ignored me during my rehab.”

Miles interrupted quickly, “I always asked my mom about you. I knew you were getting better.”

“What if I could never play soccer again?” I didn’t care about my harsh tone. 

More silence. 

“At least you didn’t make the team,” I muttered. Karma.

“Actually…”

“What?” I asked loudly. “You said you didn’t.”

“I wasn’t gonna join, so it was easier to lie.”
“Feel free to elaborate,” I replied.

“I was embarrassed. I didn’t plan on trying out. But I wanted to prove I was good, y’know? I’d always watched you be great. I wanted to be like you. Tryouts sucked because you weren’t there.”
This time I stayed silent. 

“When I found out that your surgery was over, I was ashamed, so I just didn’t visit you,” Miles continued. “But then I couldn’t join the team, because what’s soccer without you and me?”
I didn’t know what to say. I felt partially guilty. 

“I thought you knew you were great,” I said after a minute. “Apparently not with communicating, but soccer you’ve always had in the bag. I would’ve been happy you made the team.”
“I realized that, which made me feel worse.”

“So you thought, ‘Hey let’s end the friendship instead of talking about it?’”

Miles chuckled. “Yeah I didn’t think that through.”

“Tryouts are next month.” I grinned. 

“Okay?”

“We need to start practicing,” I responded.

“We?”

“We said we’d try out together when I’m better, right? My goals this season prove it.”

Being stuck in the closet wasn’t so bad anymore. Except for the suicide drills we’d be running later. Those were gonna be bad. But hey, I got my best friend back.

Process

My mentor, Nevin, always starts our pair sessions off with a prompt. This year, we decided to tackle the genre of drama since I’ve always felt a bit out of place writing intensely dramatic pieces. Needless to say, a lot of pieces that came from the prompt Nevin shared were dramatic- this being one of them. But it took me out of my comfort zone, so we stuck with it. Writing Carter and Miles’ story taught me the importance of details, especially since they were in a situation where they couldn’t see. Nevin, of course, was always there to guide me, step by step. She helped me pick through which details were most vital, create backstories for my characters, and bring them to life. And, although it was tough, the word count also taught me the importance of getting to the nitty gritty and writing something that wasn’t too fast paced, but got straight to the point. These characters portray friendship, betrayal, mental health, bad attitudes, and the hardships that come with being teenagers. They represent something real. I’ve grown to love them, what they stand for, and how they deal with their issues! I hope you all love them and this piece as much as I do. And I want to give immense credit to Nevin, who is nothing short of amazing and insanely talented.