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od outside the door to Mrs. Kitt’s class and took a deep breath before swinging it open. I choked and coughed on the deep breath I took when I saw her face and the whole class lifted their head noticing me briefly, except for Jules. Smooth, very smooth. She glanced from the corner of her eye and the nerves that tingled in her stomach tingled in mine.
Thanks to the supernatural phenomenon that was our electricity, I was privy to everything Jules felt. If the feeling was powerful enough, I could feel it without even touching her which explained the butterflies we shared in that moment. It was an understood knowledge that welled inside my chest and I was never so grateful for anything before in my life. It told me what I wanted to know.
I sat next to her and began to lean in but before I could say anything, Mrs. Kitt had started passing out our seriously delayed textbooks, something about the printers making a mistake, and the donated paper covers from Justin Weber’s Auto Body Shop and asked us to wrap them.
They were so stupid looking. On the front was obviously an older picture of Justin Weber because he was easily twenty pounds lighter in the picture than he was in real life. He was standing in front of his auto body shop and there was a rented sports car between himself and his garage. On the hood laid Kitty, in a fitted jumpsuit with Justin’s logo on the front. Kitty was Justin’s ex-girlfriend from Charleston who left him for a ‘big city’ man but he just wouldn’t let her go. “She’ll be back,” he’d always say. Poor guy, total denial. On the top in big letters it read, ‘Come to Justin’s. We’ll treat you right.’
Jules had already begun to wrap her book. Her thin fingers carefully measured the folds and creased them attentively. She pressed the side of her thumb’s knuckle across the crease to make sure it took. She did this for all four sides of the cover but on the fourth crease accidentally gave herself a paper cut. The shared pain was sharp and intense and made me jump when she did. The throb subsided when she brought her knuckle to her tongue to soothe the ache. She looked over at me briefly, knowing full well I felt the slice.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Yes, thank you,” she said, breathing heavily from the realization rather than the laceration.
She turned back to her task. Jules was the only one who wrapped her book inside out so the paper would be blank and she could draw on it later. When she was done, I threw a dorky smile her way, and copied her, but for a very different reason. I took out my pen and wrote on the top of the cover in very small letters, bracing myself for the long fight it was going to take to erase whatever idea she had of who I was and what I wanted her to be to me.
Hi.
What do you want Elliott?
Can we talk?
About what?
You know what.
About your following me to Koan’s?
I DID NOT follow you to Koan’s.
Right.
Exactly. I am right. It was a coincidence. Boy, you must think the world revolves around you.
I do not! Don’t try to make me appear as if I’m imagining things. I’ve noticed you watching me.
How would you even know that Jules? If you weren’t watching me as well?
It’s Julia, Elliott. Class is about to start. I don’t have time for your games.
She turned to her own notebook. I wrote and shoved the cover into her face.
Are we ever going to talk about what happened the first day of school?
She hesitated, but at last answered me.
I have no idea what you’re talking about.
Jules.
My name is Julia, not Jules, Elliott. How many times do I have to tell you?
I know that but I like Jules. I’ve noticed I’m the only one who calls you that. It makes me a part of you that only we share.
She wasn’t expecting that answer and I could see when her eyes widened then quickly narrowed that she wasn’t exactly adverse to the idea. Whew.
What’s your motivation?
I have to have a motivation to talk to you?
