“No, mama. It’s not school. It’s a student at school.”
“Hmm. I’m having trouble imagining my six foot four mammoth of a son would have a problem with anyone,” she laughed.
When I didn’t say anything, she kept on.
“Well does your mama need to call his mama?” She teased, poking me in the ribs.
We both laughed.
“No, that’s okay. Seriously. It’s okay. I’m gonna’ fix it. Come Monday, come hell or high water. I’m going to fix it.”
“Well good son.” She tapped me on the leg before lifting herself off the bed. “Come on, it’s time for dinner. Oh, and Elliott? Remember, you never throw the first punch boy. That’s the rule. Just a reminder.”
“It won’t come to that mom. Trust me.”
I was beginning to scare myself. It was time to do something about my obsession.
Chapter Two
With Everything I Have
These were the days that changed my heart.
I remember it all so vividly.
Elliott Gray was hovering above me. He’s speaking to me but I’m too mortified by the fact that I’ve run into my mom’s best friend and my math teacher, then slipped on the worksheets she was carrying, to listen.
Not to mention the fact that there is some freaky things happening between the two of us that I just can’t seem to put my finger on. He is affecting me and I never asked him to do this. I’m losing control. I never lose control.
“Huh?” I intelligently ask.
“I said, you should do shampoo commercials, Jules,” he teases, holding out his hand.
“Yeah. Right,” I say, refusing his hand. That was rude. Dang it, I hate being impolite. I’m better than that, even if it is Elliott Gray. “Thanks for the compliment, though.” There, remedied that little issue.
Suddenly, I remember that Mrs. Kitt was cleaning up a mess that I helped make, by herself.
“I’m so sorry Mrs. Kitt! I wasn’t paying attention and........”
I knelt down and began gathering the loose worksheets. Elliott Gray helps me but I don’t think he’s paying attention to his task because he’s just pooling them into a disheveled pile at his knees. I avoid eye contact, hoping not to catch his unbelievably blue eyes because I’ll betray myself if I do that. I just know I’d end up smiling like the dope I am if those eyes met mine.
You don’t like him Julia Jacobs. You haven’t suddenly developed a crush on your childhood friend. This is Elliott Gray. He used to shove tadpoles down your shirt when you were little. He denied your existence in junior high, breaking your heart. He’s well-liked and you’re, well, hated by almost everyone here. Ha!
I try not to remember how badly he broke my heart all those years ago. Later, stupidly much later, I realized that the blinding pain that resided in my chest at the time was caused by his absence. I even went so far as to ask mom to make a doctor’s appointment for me, that’s how painful it was. She didn't. I shudder to think. That would have been embarrassing. I never fully recovered by the way. It’s a pathetic thing to admit but I can’t lie to myself no matter how badly I want to.
I reach for a worksheet but Elliott’s hands sweep toward mine so quickly I don’t have time to pull away. When our fingers brush, a sparkling flash of warmth instantly relaxes me. My eyes begin to droop in sleep. The blazing electricity dances around our bodies and climbs the walls around us. I yank my hand from his and the anxiety I was feeling fills my chest again but with it brought a new sensation, fear.
We sit and stare at one another. Explain. Tell me it’s nothing, I silently plea. I begin to open my mouth to ask him what happened but instead Mrs. Kitt asks us to return to our seats. I peer over my shoulder and notice the entire class is trying to read our silent expressions. When we stand, the class shouts in laughs and taunts. I’m scared out of my mind. I know he’s going to want to talk to me after class but I cannot let this happen. I cannot let him near me.
When the bell rings, I gather my books and haul towards the door. He chases me.
“Jules!” He yells.
“My name isn’t Jules. It’s Julia,” I yell back.
“Julia, stop running will ya’?”
“Why?” I ask, curious to hear his response. Curiosity killed the cat Julia.
“Because it’s hard to run and talk?”
Not the answer I’m looking for. I want him to say something like, ‘because I’m scared and not sure what do to’ or ‘I need you to forgive me our past and move forward with me into what seems like an obvious future together’. What? Too much?
“Well, you see, I don’t want to talk,” I say, “I guess that means I can run all I want.” I know this is rude, but I push down the guilt. I’m denying my instincts with everything I have because if I didn’t, I’d have grabbed Elliott’s hands the second I saw him standing with Jesse Thomas and wrapped my own inside them, refusing to let go ever, and that to me, is a dangerous, dangerous idea.
“Wait a minute!” He says.
He pulls my body short by grabbing my arm. The lightning from earlier is definitely not a coincidence. He yanks back his hand and I flee for the lunchroom. I hope and pray that he will not approach me while at lunch. I need some time to decide what to do, to decipher what our heated physical reaction is. I go to the table in the corner that I camped out alone at all of the year prior, sit down and use my feet to pull a nearby chair closer to my body before reclining them on top of the seat. I whip out my old friend George Orwell and desperately try to escape into Big Brother’s world.