“That’s a bit dramatic,” I say, rolling my eyes. Looking up at the stately brick building, a mixture of warm nostalgia and haunted what-ifs washes over me. So many things happened within these walls, good and bad. These days, it’s hard to untangle the two. Even the good memories are tainted now–they only serve as a reminder of everything I lost.
Chapter 3
Ellie
August, Age 14
Idid it. I survived my first day of high school.
Well, almost.
The only thing standing between me and survival is seventh period Spanish. I weave through the desks and take my seat in the middle of the row by the window.
There’s a view of the tennis courts, the practice fields, and the teachers’ parking lot–it isn’t much to look at, but something about gazing wistfully out the window like I’m in a 1999 Mandy Moore music video makes me feel like I’m standing at the precipice of something huge.
That’s exactly what it is, I guess–the beginning of the rest of my life. All of my big dreams about getting out of my small hometown and seeing the world begin with surviving high school.
You’re closer than you’ve ever been, Ellie,I think determinedly as I begin to meticulously lay out my pens, textbook, and journal when my attention is drawn to the dooras a group of three very loud (obnoxious) boys stumble into the room, laughing about something that I’m sure wasn’t nearly funny enough to warrant their current decibel level.
To my annoyance, they take the desks immediately surrounding me, still yammering away. Settling in, they haphazardly yank their textbooks and notepads out of backpacks that look like they’ve been run over by multiple buses, then–almost as if they rehearsed it–they turn to look at me at the same time.
The one on my right shoots me a mischievous smirk and rattles off, “My family’s from Mexico, so I don’t even know why I have to take this class, but if you ever need help, I got you girl. Oh, and I’m David."
He’s about my height, with dark hair and thick eyebrows, and a face that looks like he’s going to be trouble and he’snotgoing to be sorry about it. In front of him sits Jack, who introduces himself like this is a job interview and not a mandatory language course.
He looks more like a Kennedy than a high school freshman,I muse, taking in his impeccable posture, perfectly ironed khakis and heather gray golf polo as I grasp his outstretched hand.
The boy sitting directly in front of me turns sideways to look at me, stretching his long legs and cowboy boots outin front of him, and I’m met with bright brown eyes and a wide smile.
“Howdy there, I’m Griffin.”
The butterflies in my stomach are as instant as they are foreign. I’ve never seen someone’s entire face light up like that before, but I know I want to see it again. His voice is much deeper than I expect–like his voice got a head start over the rest of him in growing up. His Southern drawl is strong, even for Texas.
“Hi,” I say quietly in return, feeling much more shy than usual, “I’m Ellie.”
“Ellie,” he repeats back slowly, like he’s savoring the word. “Is that short for Elizabeth?”
“For Eleanor.”
“Alright then Eleanor, it’s nice to meet you.”
I double-take, looking back up from where my eyes had dropped to my journal, and say “Oh, no, everyone calls me Ellie.” He doesn’t correct himself, just grins even wider and turns to the front when Señor Flores calls the class to attention.
The class flies by, but I find myself involuntarily glancing at the shaggy brown hair in front of me (and the tall, lanky cowboy it’s attached to) more than feels acceptable.
With the final dismissal bell, I realize that I did it. Officially. I don’t know why I was even nervous to beginwith–I’ve gone to school with most of these kids since kindergarten. But still, high school is supposed to feel like a big deal right?
Everyone stands before the bell finishes ringing, gathering pens and papers and bags hurriedly to bolt as quickly as possible, but when I walk toward the door, head down while distractedly shoving my book in my bag, I stumble right into Griffin.
I quickly stammer out an apology, taking a step back and yanking my bag up my shoulder, but he just smiles that smile again, and the butterflies are back in full force.
“No worries. Have a good day, Eleanor.”
I stare at him as he walks out the door without looking back.Okay so apparently the ‘Eleanor’ thing is sticking,I think as I make my way out of the classroom and toward the entrance of Larkspur High.
I spot my mom waving excitedly at me from her silver Toyota Tacoma and push my way through the crowd of students waiting to be picked up. As I approach the door, my eye catches the three boys from Spanish class getting into the car behind me.
I look over and spot the hem of Jack’s khakis as he slides into the backseat of the enormous white SUV. Catching my eye, Griffin’s face lights up, waving before David shoveshim into the backseat and clambers in after him, slamming the door.
