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His eyes flash to the window and toward the treehouse briefly, but the shrill sound of his phone causes his parted lips to seal, whatever he was about to say swallowed up with it.
He dries his hand on the nearby embroidered turkey towel and slips out his cell. “Hey, Dad.”
After listening for a moment, he nods. “Got it. It hasn’t started here, so maybe you’ll hit clear roads in a few miles.”
He’s quiet again. “Don’t worry about it either way. We can always save it for later.”
Elliot turns slightly, and I instinctively lean forward. It isn’t until a sharp prick radiates across my hand that I realize I’ve cut the edge of my index finger. “Shit.”
I drop the knife and scoot over to the sink as Elliot whirls back around. He’s confused for a moment until he looks down and shakes his head. “Be safe, Dad. Text me and let me know.”
He quickly disconnects the call and grabs my wrist, wrapping his fingers around the flesh. The jolt of contact sends a slew of goosebumps prickling up my arm, and I try to pull away.
“I’m okay, I got it.” I half-heartedly resist his hold, but he doesn’t lessen his grip.
His lips pull down. “Says the person who almost cut her finger off right before a snowstorm.”
A snow— “Oh no, are they okay?”
Elliot glides my hand under the lukewarm water and begins to wash the small wound. I jerk slightly at both the water and him. It’s weird having someone take care of me in this way, washing a tiny cut I’m more than capable of dealing with myself.
“Yeah, just driving slowly through it. If it gets too bad, they may have to pull over and get a lodge.”
My lips form a small o. Somewhere inside me, I know I should be disappointed we may not have been able to have the last dinner my mother really wanted, but instead, my entire nervous system is going haywire.
In no world would a night alone with Elliot be a good idea.
Shit.
If I didn’t think I had a grip earlier, my hands are covered in slick oil now.
“You know what this reminds me of?” Elliot’s voice snaps my attention to him. He’s staring intently down at the cut, careful as he dries it. “That time in the treehouse when you got that splinter, and it took forever before you finally let me help. It was like it was the first time you ever let anyone help you with anything.”
My face heats, and I turn my head toward the window. My eyes flit to the treehouse again, and this time, I can’t stop the truth. Just this once, I’ll make a different choice.
The choice to be a little vulnerable.
“It was.”
EIGHT YEARS AGO
Irock on my heels, focusing on the burn in my calves instead of the myriad of nervous emotions bubbling in my chest.
Elliot Rivera has just pulled up to my house, and in some universe, I’m supposed to act like this is a normal Thursday night. Like it’s every day that a hot, detached, suspected delinquent makes the active choice to have anything to do with me. Me. The head-down, straight-A girl, who would literally rather swallow a tablespoon of wasabi than congregate with anyone.
It’s funny in the way one of those high school rom-coms would be, but depressing because it’s real life. Elliot isn’t Danny, and I’m surely not Sandy. There will be no riding off in the clouds in his greased Ford. Instead, I’m pretty sure I’m going to overthink this entire next couple hours till I’m old and gray, always wincing when recalling whatever completely idiotic thing I’m bound to say.
Elliot and I are part of a five-person group in our junior biology class, and today was the only option that fit into all of our schedules to meet and work together. Ten minutes ago, though, Linda texted that she had an emergency cheer session. Timothy called because his mom needed him to do a shift at her restaurant because of a no-show. And Jim, well, he’s Jim, so I don’t believe anyone really expected him to come, but still. Without them, I won’t have any buffers between Elliot and me.
I’ve always and inexplicably been a wreck around him, and without anyone to help distract me from all that is him, I’m not sure how I’ll make it without fumbling over my words at some point, or just making a fool of myself in general.
“So…everyonebailed,” I announce to Elliot as he exits his car, his gaze doing a quick sweep of my frame, then the house behind me.
Tensing slightly as if he’s doing a three-second evaluation of my entire life and value, I hold my breath. I’ll admit it’s a tad ridiculous to let another person choke me up this much, but it does make me feel better that eighty-nine percent of the school’s populace does the same thing when he’s around.
Elliot grunts, though whether it’s at me, my house, or that no one else is coming is unknown. He locks his car, his features unchanging from his cemented, bored expression. He’s always so indifferent, never visibly bothered by anything going on around him—even when it actively affects him.
I both hate and admire that quality. It must be nice not to have people so easily read you, but also, it’s terrible for the rest of us who aren’t able to gauge anything about him.
