fourteen
ELLIOTT-EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD
I hated seeingher with him.
Jeff. Even the name sounded weak. He was an art-class cliché—antisocial, quiet, and entirely too safe. Every time I saw them together on campus, a slow-burning acid surged in my gut. I knew why she was doing it; I’d seen the way she looked at me after I started dating Cheryl. It was the same way she’d looked since they had started dating, with a heart that was clearly not in it. She was faking it. Faking it hard.
And Jeff? What kind of name was that, anyway? A single, blunt syllable. It sounded like an unfinished thought.Jeff. Ugh.
"Surprise!" the room erupted.
Vanessa, frozen in the doorway, was a sight I’d never get tired of. She hated surprises, but her family lived for them. She stood there, flanked by the human equivalent of a wet blanket, while the Miranda clan descended on her in a group hug. She was beautiful at fourteen, but at sixteen she had only gotten more stunning.
When she finally untangled herself, her eyes found mine. It was like a physical strike to the chest. The air in the room felt thinner. I saw her heart rate jump in the pulse point of her neck—a reaction she never had when Jeff touched her. With him, she looked bored. With me, she looked like she was standing in the middle of a lightning storm.
I’d spent the last year pretending that night on the roof hadn't happened. I was sixteen, she was fourteen, and I’d panicked. I thought I’d crossed a line I couldn't uncross, so I did the only thing I knew how to do: I built a wall. I started dating Cheryl to prove to myself—and to Ness—that what happened on the roof had been a fluke.
I was a liar. And I was miserable.
I watched the gift-opening ceremony with a growing sense of restlessness. My mom gave her a portfolio; her parents gave her a gold bracelet. Then Jeff handed her a comic book he’d drawn. A wedding-dress-designer superhero.
The room awed. Vanessa leaned over and kissed his cheek.
I nearly cracked the glass of water in my hand. He blushed like a schoolgirl, and for a second, I wanted to throw him through a window. He was a placeholder, and we both knew it.
Finally, Morgan found the small velvet box. My hands went cold.
I’d bought it months ago. I’d seen the cheap, knock-off locket she’d bought to try and replicate my mother’s, and I’d watched it turn her skin green. I’d teased her for it—God, I was an ass—and she’d ended up crying in the bathroom. Seeing the regret in my own reflection that day had been a wake-up call. I’d gone out and bought the real thing. Gold filigree. Identical to the one my mother wore.
The room went silent as she opened it. I didn't look at her. I couldn't. I felt the weight of her gaze on the side of my face, hot and demanding.
"Put it on,mija," Victoria said, clasping it around her neck.
I finally met her eyes. The accusation in them was loud enough to drown out the party music. She wanted to scream. She wanted to know why I was playing with her head. I couldn't handle the pressure of that look, so I got up and walked away, heading for the one place I knew she’d follow.
I was standing by the window in Morgan’s room, staring out at the dark shingles of the roof, when I heard the door click.
"I can’t take this, Elliott," she whispered.
"You can't give back a gift. It's rude." I ran a hand through my hair, my pulse thundering.
"I didn't think we were friends. I didn't think we were... anything."
That word—anything—snapped the last thread of my patience. I spun around, taking a step toward her until she was backed against the wall. "We're not anything?"
"You decided that the minute you acted like nothing happened," she fired back. Her anger was beautiful. It was honest.
"You didn't say anything, Ness! I thought..." I paced the small space, the words tasting like ash. "I thought I crossed a line. I thought I scared you."
She stepped into my space, her voice dropping to a low, lethal hum. "Elliott, I wanted it just as much as you did. You told me to stop you, and I didn’t."
The world stopped. I reached out, my thumb grazing her cheek, my breath hitching as I leaned in. Her eyes closed at my touch. I wanted to erase Jeff. I wanted to erase Cheryl. I wanted to go back to that summer night and never let her go.
But just as I was an inch away from her lips, she pulled back. The rejection felt like a physical blow.
"We can't," she said, her voice trembling. "Jeff is downstairs. And you have Cheryl."
Mentioning Cheryl was a blow I knew I deserved, but the guilt that flooded my face must have been obvious. I’d made my bed, and now I was freezing in it. I backed away, my heart feeling like it was being ripped out of my chest in real-time.
