I sneak a grin at my dad.
“Okay, the easiest way I can explain it is that whenever I am in the presence of Elliott I become acutely aware of myself as well as him, that I am especially attuned to him. I feel things around him that I know are abnormal and I know he feels them as well.”
I'm deliberately vague. They wouldn't believe the details anyway. My dad laughs.
“Oh Julia, that’s just hormones. You’re attracted to one another! Have you never been attracted to someone before?”
I don’t blush at this as normal girls would probably do. My family is strangely open about such subjects.
“Never like this dad. Never like this.”
At school, I arrive at the last possible minute to avoid him. I somehow know he’ll be looking for me and want to avoid him even at the risk of being late. I stride down the main hall and catch him lingering near the main lobby. I took a back entrance hoping he would do just that. I run to my locker for the pencil case I left on accident the day before only to come upon the strangest thing.
The entire front of my locker is a giant painting of intricate flowers but flowers you’ve never seen before, flowers that don’t exist in nature. Striped flowers, black flowers, oddly shaped flowers. Only flowers you would find, in say, a Tim Burton film. I’m a bit taken back by it and cannot understand for the life of me who would have done this. It was as if they knew everything I would have liked and filled it all in, every nook and cranny was covered. No way. No way. I wish I could stay there and admire the workmanship but I don’t have time and am forced to slip into my French class with only three minutes to spare. I arrive unnoticed, except by Sawyer Tuttle.
“Hey Julia,” he says.
I grab the seat next to him and throw my satchel on the ground at my feet.
“Hey Sawyer.”
He frowns, but not in sadness, in contemplation.
“How come you never call me Tut? Like everybody else?”
“That's a strange question to ask all of a sudden. I don’t know, maybe because you never looked like much of a ‘Tut’. To me, you’ve always been Sawyer. Plus, when do I do anything that everybody else around here does?”
“Hmm,” he says, but I don’t know how to interpret this. I don’t take the trouble to ask either. My mind is occupied elsewhere. I’m anxious for the bell to ring, to make sure he isn’t in this class.
“Waiting on someone?” Sawyer asks.
“Huh? Me? No. Why?”
“Just asking. You keep staring at the door.”
“I do? I mean, I am. I wasn’t waiting on someone. No, more like hoping someone doesn’t walk through the door. Get my drift?”
“Yeah,” he laughs. “So, did you have a fun summer?”
“Uh yeah. I guess we didn't talk all that much did we?” I answer, slightly distracted by the fact that Elliott hasn’t entered the door yet. Why am I expecting him to enter the door? “I did. I mean, I didn’t really do all that much. Honestly? The boat trip our families made together at the beginning of the summer was the most exhilarating part of the entire thing.”
“Really? It must have been a lame summer then.”
We both laugh. I don’t mention the other thing that happened over the summer. It’s understood that we don’t talk about that thing.
“Kind of. You could have come over you know? Maybe we should have gone wakeboarding on the lake again. I might have improved with time.”
“I don’t know,” he teasingly sings. “Actually, you weren’t half bad. At least you got up on your board.”
“Yeah, only took me what? Like fifty times?”
We both laugh again but it’s drowned out by the tardy bell. Huh. I ignore the sinking feeling in the bottom of my stomach. You don’t want him Julia. You can’t want him.
Elliott isn’t in second period U.S. History either and I try to swallow down the insaneness that is my wanting to know where he is all the time. I’ve discovered this insatiable appetite for the knowledge of his whereabouts. I bury these feelings. I delude myself into thinking it’s only a temporary effect of the electricity, the fluke. Only temporary.
At lunch, I lazily stroll through the cafeteria doors darting my eyes at the football table. He wasn’t there. I scold myself for not feeling relief. I sit at my table alone, again, not that I’m not used to that or anything. My best friend is my cousin Caroline but she’s traveling across the country with her dance troupe and I haven’t talked to her in over a week which is sort of rare. She must be busy. She visits often but only in between gigs. I miss her so much. It’s hard not having her near. I find myself alone at home a lot, reading. The only other person who will even talk to me in this town, besides the adults, is Sawyer Tuttle and even that’s on rare occasions.
Elliott doesn’t know this, but the reason I’m as alone in this town as I am is indirectly because of him. My mom blames him and everything but there are a few details that I’ve purposely left out. If I told her the whole story, she would just flip out on this town and that wouldn’t be good for anyone, especially me. No sense in making the black sheep any blacker.
The truth is, Elliott started ignoring me in junior high. For whatever reason that was, he ignored me. One day, we were riding our bikes to the creek, laughing, listening to music. The next day, I didn’t exist. It broke my heart. He was my best friend, then nothing. I admit, I became sort of an introvert at first as a result of the slight and it’s also why my mom thinks I stayed that way but in reality I stayed that way because I needed somewhere to sit at lunch and was forced to associate with the cheerleaders I was sort of friends with at the time. Wait, it becomes clear, read on.