The Boy Down The Street
Prologue
AVERY
Eleven Years Ago
There were three things I knew about Maddox Whitmore when I was ten years old.
One, he was ridiculously tall.
Two, he was always at our house.
And three, I was pretty sure he was the most annoying person alive.
“Maddox!”
I heard my brother yelling from downstairs approximately four seconds before the front door slammed hard enough to shake the picture frames in the hallway.
Mom shouted something from the kitchen.
Caleb shouted something back.
Then another voice—deeper, quieter—said something I couldn’t hear.
I rolled my eyes.
Maddox.
Of course.
I tossed my pencil onto my math homework and climbed off my bed.
There was absolutely no reason for me to go downstairs.
None.
I went anyway.
I reached the bottom just as Maddox Whitmore kicked off his snowy shoes beside the front door.
At thirteen, he was already taller than practically everybody. Black hair fell over his forehead, his cheeks were red from the cold, and a hockey bag that looked bigger than me hung over one shoulder.
Caleb came in behind him.
“You’re cleaning that up,” Mom called from the kitchen.
Caleb looked down.
Snow and dirty water covered the floor.
“Maddox did it.”
Maddox slowly turned his head.
“You walked in first.”
“Still blaming you.”
“Caleb!”
“I’m cleaning it!”
I laughed.
Caleb’s eyes snapped toward me.
“What are you laughing at?”
“You.”
“Go upstairs.”
“You don’t own the stairs.”
“I own you.”
“You’re one year older than me.”
“Still older.”
“By eleven months.”
“That’s almost a year.”
“That literally isn’t a year.”
Caleb opened his mouth.
“Would both of you shut up?” Chloe yelled from the living room.
Caleb and I immediately turned toward her.
She was sitting on the couch with a blanket over her legs, staring at us like we had personally ruined her afternoon.
“You’re loud,” she complained.
“You’re ugly,” Caleb said.
Chloe threw a pillow.
Caleb ducked.
The pillow hit Maddox directly in the face.
Silence.
I covered my mouth.
Caleb started laughing.
Chloe’s eyes went huge.
Maddox slowly pulled the pillow away.
He looked at Chloe.
Chloe stared back at him.
“Sorry.”
Something weird happened to her face.
Her cheeks got pink.
I frowned.
Why was she embarrassed?
She threw the pillow at Caleb.
Maddox just happened to be standing there.
It wasn’t that serious.
Maddox tossed the pillow back onto the couch.
“Your family’s weird.”
“You come here every day,” I pointed out.
His ice-blue eyes moved to me.
“Didn’t ask you, Avery.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“I didn’t ask you either.”
“For what?”
“To be here.”
One corner of his mouth lifted.
“Good thing it’s not your house.”
“It is my house.”
“Your parents’ house.”
“I live here.”
“So do squirrels. Doesn’t mean they own the tree.”
My mouth fell open.
Caleb burst out laughing.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
Maddox walked past me and messed up my hair.
I slapped his hand away.
“Stop!”
“Go finish your homework, little Collins.”
“Don’t call me that!”
He was already following Caleb toward the kitchen.
I stood there glaring at his back.
I hated when he called me little Collins.
Mostly because Maddox said it every single time he saw me.
Little Collins.
Little man.
Kid.
Short stuff.
I wasn’t even that short.
I was ten.
I was supposed to be short.
“Why are you staring at Maddox?”
I jumped.
Chloe had appeared beside me.
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“No.”
She smiled.
“You like him.”
I stared at her in horror.
“Ew!”
Her smile disappeared.
“What?”
“He’s Maddox.”
“So?”
“So he’s annoying.”
“He’s cute.”
I made a gagging noise.
Chloe shoved me.
“Stop.”
“You like Maddox!”
“Shut up!”
“You do!”
“Avery!”
I took off running.
“Avery Collins!”
I laughed as I raced around the couch.
Chloe chased me.
“You like Maddox!” I yelled again.
“I swear to God—”
“Mom! Chloe likes Maddox!”
“Avery!”
She caught the back of my shirt.
I screamed.
She dragged me backward while I laughed so hard my stomach hurt.
“What is happening?” Mom asked, appearing in the kitchen doorway.
“Nothing,” Chloe said quickly.
“Chloe likes Maddox.”
“I’M GOING TO KILL YOU.”
Mom’s eyebrows went up.
From behind her, Caleb appeared.
Then Maddox.
Oh.
Oh, no.
Chloe froze.
Caleb looked between her and Maddox.
A slow, evil smile spread across his face.
“You like Maddox?”
“Caleb, don’t.”
“You like him?”
“Shut up!”
Maddox leaned against the doorway.
He didn’t look embarrassed.
That was annoying too.
Nothing embarrassed Maddox.
At least, nothing I’d ever seen.
Chloe shoved me away and disappeared upstairs.
Caleb immediately followed her, yelling about how he was going to plan their wedding.
Mom sighed.
“I’m surrounded by lunatics.”
I grinned.
Then I noticed Maddox looking at me.
“What?”
“You’re dead when she comes back down.”
I shrugged.
“Worth it.”
He laughed.
Not the tiny almost-smile he usually did.
Actually laughed.
And for some reason, I remembered it.
By the time I was twelve, Maddox didn’t knock anymore.
By fourteen, Mom automatically made enough dinner for him.
By sixteen, Dad had stopped asking whether Maddox was staying over and started asking which couch he wanted.
He was everywhere.
At breakfast.
At dinner.
In our backyard.
On our couch.
In Caleb’s room.
At family cookouts.
At birthday parties.
At Christmas.
At Thanksgiving.
At hockey games.
In pictures.
So many pictures.
There were pictures of Caleb and Maddox holding hockey trophies.
Pictures of Chloe sitting on Maddox’s shoulders in our pool.
Pictures of Emery and me throwing water balloons at them.
Pictures of all four of us covered in mud after Caleb convinced us that playing football in the rain was a good idea.
Pictures where Maddox was smiling.
Pictures where he wasn’t.
Pictures where I was standing beside him.
Pictures where I was barely visible behind his giant ass.
Maddox Whitmore became part of the background of my life.
Something permanent.
Something I never had to think about.
He was simply…
There.
When I was fifteen, I came downstairs one Saturday morning and found Maddox sitting at our kitchen counter.
Again.
His black hair was wet from a shower, and there was a small cut above his eyebrow from the hockey game the night before.
He was eating my cereal.
I stopped.
“Is that mine?”
Maddox looked at the bowl.
Then at me.
“No.”
“That’s Cinnamon Toast Crunch.”
“Congratulations.”
“Mine.”
“Pretty sure General Mills owns it.”
“You ate the last of it!”
“There wasn’t much left.”
“Because I was saving it!”
“For what?”
“Me!”
He took another bite.
I wanted to strangle him.
“Maddox.”
“Avery.”
“Give it back.”
He looked into the bowl.
“You want the milk?”
“I hate you.”
“Morning, sweetheart.”
I flipped him off.
Mom walked into the kitchen at that exact moment.
“Avery!”
“He ate my cereal!”
“That doesn’t mean you get to give him the finger.”
“It should.”
Maddox was trying not to laugh.
“You’re buying me another box.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Maddox.”
“Avery.”
I reached for his bowl.
He lifted it over his head.
I couldn’t reach it.
“You’re such an asshole!”
“Avery!”
“Sorry, Mom!”
“Language!”
“Sorry!”
Maddox grinned down at me.
God, I hated him.
Then Chloe walked into the kitchen.
Maddox immediately lowered the bowl.
“Morning.”
Chloe smiled.
“Morning.”
And then she kissed him.
Right there.
In front of me.
I made a face.
“Can you not do that near food?”
Chloe pulled away.
“Grow up.”
“Can you two go be disgusting somewhere else?”
Maddox looked at me.
“You jealous, little Collins?”
I snorted.
“Of Chloe?”
She smacked my arm.
“Ow!”
“You’re lucky I love you.”
“Debatable.”
She grabbed Maddox’s hand.
“Come on.”
Maddox let her pull him toward the hallway.
Before disappearing, he looked over his shoulder.
“Buy your own cereal.”
“YOU ATE MINE!”
His laugh followed him out of the room.
I stood there staring after him.
Then looked at Mom.
“I really do hate him.”
Mom smiled.
“No, you don’t.”
Why did everybody keep saying that?
“Yes, I do.”
She kissed the top of my head.
“Okay, sweetheart.”
I rolled my eyes.
The truth was…
I didn’t hate Maddox.
Of course I didn’t.
He was Caleb’s best friend.
Chloe’s boyfriend.
Emery’s annoying older brother.
The boy who lived down the street.
The guy who taught me how to throw a punch after some asshole at school called me a slur.
The guy who picked me up when my first car broke down.
The guy who once drove twenty minutes back to our house because I’d left my camera in Caleb’s hockey bag.
The guy who never acted weird after I came out.
When I told everyone I was gay, Caleb hugged me so hard I couldn’t breathe.
Chloe cried.
Mom cried harder.
Dad told me he loved me.
And Maddox?
Maddox looked up from the pizza he was eating and said,
“Okay.”
I stared at him.
“Okay?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s it?”
He frowned.
“Were you expecting balloons?”
“No.”
“Cake?”
“No.”
“A parade?”
“Shut up.”
He shrugged.
“You’re still Avery.”
That was it.
No weird questions.
No awkwardness.
Nothing changed.
The next morning, he stole my cereal again.
Maddox was just Maddox.
And I was just Avery.
That’s how it had always been.
That’s how I thought it always would be.
Because some people become so deeply woven into your life that you stop noticing all the little pieces of them you’ve collected.
Their laugh.
Their voice.
The way they say your name.
The sound of their footsteps coming through your front door.
The seat they always take at the dinner table.
Their stupid favorite hoodie.
Their hockey number.
Their coffee order.
The way their eyes look when they’re worried.
You don’t try to memorize those things.
You don’t think you have to.
You assume they’ll always be there.
And if someone had told fifteen-year-old me that one day I would know Maddox Whitmore better than I knew myself, I would’ve laughed.
If they’d told me I’d kiss him?
I would’ve called them insane.
If they’d told me I’d fall in love with him?
Absolutely fucking not.
And if they’d told me there would come a morning when I’d open my eyes, look directly into those ice-blue eyes I’d known almost my entire life…
and have absolutely no idea who they belonged to?
I wouldn’t have believed that either.
But maybe that’s the cruelest thing about memories.
You never realize how precious they are—
until they’re gone.
