by Sarah Sutton
“A date?” The fog in my head felt a little more than mind-numbing, the throbbing at my temples more than distracting. That had to be by why my insides weren’t doing all sorts of happy dances. Because this was Jeremy. Jeremy was asking me out on a date—finally! After how long of this back-and-forth flirting? This was huge. Where were my stinking butterflies?
My eyes darted back to Elijah, but he’d already climbed inside his truck and started it up.
I smiled at Jeremy, convincing myself that the turning in my stomach was only from my headache. “I’d love to.”
Chapter Seven
During my weekend of forced bed rest, I tried to pretend that Thursday night had never happened. That the night itself had just been entirely deleted from my catalog of memory. Because thinking about Elijah and those things his mouth did elicited a cascade of heat to crash through me, one that threatened to swamp me and swallow me whole. I couldn’t think about his face without feeling his soft, warm lips pressing against mine. I couldn’t think about his hands without feeling each individual finger exploring my body. And thinking about all of those things made me feel…something. Everywhere.
Which was bad.
So I couldn’t think about it. I wasn’t allowed to.
But how did you just stop thinking about your best friend? How was I supposed to pretend nothing had changed when every single time I thought about him, all the other stuff came to mind, making my face hot, my mouth dry?
It had to be because of my concussion. Concussions could make people think differently, act differently. They affected emotions, caused mood swings—right? Maybe this was all a result of it. Some crazy side-effect that made my stomach jumbled and my heart confused. And maybe I was overthinking everything. It was just a kiss.
But it wasn’t just a kiss. No, we were making out.
Ugh, ugh, ugh, I needed to stop. Stop thinking about that kiss, his mouth, any of it. I needed to sear it from my brain. This was Elijah. My best friend with the crooked nose and a love for sculpting. This should’ve been funny. Accidentally kissing my best friend? That was hilarious. Except that it was singlehandedly the best kiss I’d ever had, and that killed my humor.
I wanted to bash my head against the wall, but Mom and Dr. Armada probably wouldn’t appreciate that.
I decided right then and there, hiding underneath my covers, that when I went back to school on Monday, this would be over. Never to be thought of again. Who kissed Elijah? Not me. Besides, I was supposed to like Jeremy Rivera. I did like Jeremy Rivera. Heck, I had enjoyed the kiss when I thought it was Jeremy, and when I saw Elijah, I distinctly remembered feeling horrified. Crushing on Elijah was a result of thinking that he was Jeremy mixed with my concussion.
By Monday, things would be back to the way they were before. Like the kiss had never even happened.
Sunday morning came without anything exciting. Mom still held my phone hostage, saying it would strain my eyes—if I never heard that freaking phrase again, it’d be too soon—so the temptation to text Elijah was well out of reach.
Okay, so I kind of hated myself for being a bad friend, but sometimes being selfish was better for everyone.
I was sitting on the couch, spending my allotted thirty minutes of TV time watching some bad sitcom, when the doorbell chimed. “I can get it,” I called out to the air, unsure if Mom was in the kitchen or in her office. Regardless, she didn’t answer or emerge.
I pushed to my feet and hurried down the hallway. It took me a minute to fight with the front door, but I finally got it open with a huff, a flash of cold air greeting me. “Eloise?”
She was all bundled up in a puffy pink jacket, black scarf wrapped up to her chin, almond eyes curving as she smiled. “You can ignore my texts all you want, but you can’t ignore me now.”
I stepped back into the foyer to allow her to enter, feeling ten times lighter. “Mom has my cell phone.”
“Are you grounded?” she asked as she unwound her scarf. “Even from school on Friday? Can your mom adopt me?”
“I think your parents wouldn’t appreciate that,” I told her, kicking the door shut. It shuddered as it tried to click into place. “And I’m not grounded, just concussed. Mom says no phones.”
“Concussed? Like brain trauma? Seriously?”
“Unless my doctor was joking, and if so, he needs to let my insurance company know.”
She hung up her stuff on one of the hooks near the door and toed off her shoes. The path to my bedroom was familiar to her, and she showed herself inside, plopping down in the butterfly chair by the window. My bedroom was a hodgepodge of styles—bohemian, pastels, minimalistic. Mom hated coming in here because she said it overloaded her brain. But personally, I loved it.
“How did you get a concussion?” Eloise asked.
I bit my bottom lip as I sat down on my bed, the duvet cover wrinkling. “Well, I—”
“Was it at the party?”
I wanted to tell her the truth so badly, but panic clamped down on my chest as soon as the words settled on my tongue. Telling her was totally not the way to pretend like it had never happened. In fact, telling her would be the opposite. I’d be acknowledging that it happened, and that was a definite no-no. “Yeah, I—I fell on the stairs,” I said slowly, immediately cursing myself. Jeremy didn’t have any stairs in his house; it was a single level.
“You mean on his steps? The porch steps?”
It was like a light bulb went off over my head. “Yes! His porch steps.” My voice probably sounded too relieved, and I probably nodded too much, but I couldn’t stop. “I slipped on them. With all the snow and stuff, they were just super slippery. I went outside to get some fresh air, and I just went down. Cracked my head on them. It was…crazy.”
“After Lip Locker?”
Breathe. Don’t think about it, don’t think about it. “Yeah, a-after.”
Eloise shifted in her seat, pulling her legs up to her chest. “Can we talk about that? Lip Locker, I mean.”
I pressed my face into my hands, pushing hard enough that stars popped up behind my eyelids. “I don’t want to. Not right now. Next time someone has a party, make sure I don’t go, okay?” I should’ve just stayed home, worked on my papier-mâché project, been a good girl—oh, freak.
My papier-mâché project.
Freak, freak, freak.
“Elijah.”
I moved my hands from my face, looking up. “What?”
Eloise was peering out the window by her side, the one that faced the street. “Elijah’s walking across the street. He’s coming over.”
Without another thought, I flung myself off my bed, falling to crouch on the floor. The window wasn’t even angled so he could see me, but I couldn’t take any chances.
“Uh, what are you doing?”
My heart beat fast, and I hated myself for it. “I’m not here,” I whispered.
“You’re…not?”
The doorbell rang, which was somewhat of a relief. Usually Elijah just walked into the house.
“Are you going to go answer it?” Eloise asked, ducking down out of view from the window.
I wanted to. Man, so badly did I want to. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d purposefully ignored Elijah like this, but the idea of facing him nearly had me breaking into hives. “No, I’m going to just wait until he walks away. He’ll assume I’m not home.”
Eloise looked at me like I’d lost my mind. Maybe I had. “Remi, my car is parked out front. He knows we’re here.”
Freak, freak, freak.
She stood from the butterfly chair, moving to the doorway of my bedroom. “What are you doing?” I hissed after her, but she’d already turned into the hallway, and a minute later, I heard her struggle to open the front door.
And then I heard Elijah’s voice, low and soft. I had to close my eyes, trying to tip the thoughts from my mind like a bowl of water, dumping them out. “Jeez, is their door broken?”
“Must be,” came Eloise’s quiet response. As
silently as I could, I crawled close to the doorway and leaned against the wall, straining my ears. “Remi’s not feeling good.”
“No? I wondered. I thought she was mad at me. She hasn’t been answering my texts all weekend, so I thought I’d swing by.”
He was so thoughtful. So thoughtful.
Wait. Stop. I pinched my thigh, trying to clear my head.
“Do you know what’s wrong with her?”
“She has a concussion,” Eloise said, and I couldn’t stop myself from cringing. No, no, Eloise, no. He hadn’t known. He hadn’t known I had a concussion; he hadn’t known it was me in the closet. But now it had to be obvious. I squeezed my eyes shut, almost afraid to hear his response.
It felt like it took him a long time to reply. “A concussion?”
“She fell at Jer’s party, out on his porch steps.” I heard Eloise cough. “Anyway, I can tell her you stopped by, but she’s not feeling up for company.”
“You’re here,” he pointed out.
“Yeah, well, I’m pushy.”
I knocked my head softly against the wall, hating this stupid situation. I should’ve just been a bigger, better person and confronted him. He’d been concerned—he cared. And yet I was letting some stupid kiss come between our friendship? We’d both mistaken each other for other people, and I’d been a little bit tipsy. Sure, my stomach fluttered weirdly whenever I thought about it, and the memory would play itself over in my mind without my permission, but that was just my body reacting. It didn’t mean anything.
Just as I was about to push myself into a standing position, Elijah spoke again. “You don’t have to tell her I stopped by. I’ll see her tomorrow.”
“Say hi to Savannah for me,” Eloise said, and after a moment, I heard the door slam shut. “Remi, you’ve got to get that door fixed. It felt like it was going to break apart.”
I sat still, trying to keep my breathing normal. There was a certain pain in my chest that came with knowing I’d just willfully blown off Elijah for the first time in my life. It was a funny thing, kissing him. I’d kissed Elijah. My best friend. And all I wanted to do was tell him and laugh it off, but I couldn’t. Maybe I would have the courage tomorrow.
“Remi?” Eloise came into the doorway, looking at me. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t want to talk about the party anymore,” I said quietly, rubbing my forehead. “Can we talk about something else?”
Eloise hesitated above me, but I couldn’t bring myself to look her in the eye, afraid she’d be able to see everything on my face. She ended up letting the conversation go, but that didn’t mean my thoughts were so quick to follow suit. In fact, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to push the events from the party totally from my mind.
Chapter Eight
The next morning, about ten minutes before I headed to the bus stop, a text dinged on my phone. Mom had given it back to me the night before so I could set my alarms for school, and indeed my phone had been blown up with texts and calls from both Elijah and Eloise, both asking if I was okay and why I wasn’t answering the phone. Safe to say, I didn’t answer the former.
The text this morning, though, wasn’t one I’d been expecting.
Elijah: Want a ride 2 school?
Me: Aren’t you picking up Sav?
Elijah: Yeah, but I figured it beats the bus. Up 2 you. I miss you.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want the ride—because, c’mon, a senior riding the bus was kind of lame—but I hesitated to say yes. I miss you. It was a completely normal thing for him to say after we hadn’t seen each other all weekend, and yet it didn’t feel normal.
Me: Do I get shotgun?
Elijah: I pick you up 1st, so I’d say yes.
Me: …deal. :)
I stared at the unsent text for a moment before deleting the smiley face, overthinking everything. He replied that I could come out in five minutes, and I hurried to twist my hair up. With the short notice, I had no time to throw a small wave in it with the curling iron, but I did take a minute to fluff my bangs out so they didn’t hang low in my eyes.
After grabbing the strap of my backpack, I headed out of my room. “Mom?” I called, finding her sitting on the couch, sipping her morning coffee. “I’m going to go.”
“So soon?” She glanced down at her watch. “Don’t you have a few minutes for breakfast?”
“I’ll get a banana when I get to school,” I promised. “Elijah’s giving me a ride, and he leaves a little early to pick up his girlfriend.”
“Today’s a long day onsite for me over in Addison. They’re putting in cabinets today, and I want to make sure everything looks right in the space. I probably won’t be home until six-ish.”
“Well, see, that works, because I was going to go out tonight.”
A worried expression crossed Mom’s features, and I could’ve guessed what she said next word for word. “Honey, don’t overdo it, okay? It’s your first day out since your head trauma. Take it easy.”
I tried to hide my annoyance. “It’s a mild concussion, Mom. Doctor said I was given a clean bill of health as of today.” I had woken up with a slight headache, but I definitely wasn’t going to tell her that. She probably would’ve made me stay home. “I’ll be fine.”
“Text me if you need anything,” she said as I turned away. “Or just text me throughout the day anyway. Give me some peace of mind.”
Calling out an affirmative, I hurried down the hall and slipped on my snow boots, tucking my sneakers into the big compartment of my bag before tugging the door open. My puffy jacket hung on one of the hooks by the door, and I grabbed it, pulling it on as I tried to coax the door shut.
Elijah’s truck was already running across the street, the taillights dim in the dark. I pulled my scarf from my coat pocket, winding it around my throat as I carefully crossed the street. It hadn’t snowed since Saturday night, but Greenville tended to under-salt the side streets, leaving it slick.
Though it was cold outside, my hands felt slick with sweat. No reason for nerves, I told myself, drawing in a sharp breath of winter air. It’s going to be a good day. A normal day. Last Thursday never happened.
Elijah had exited his house by the time I got to the tailgate of his truck, tumbler of coffee in hand, giving me a tired look. “Hey, kid. You’ve risen from the dead, huh?”
Okay, he sounded normal. From what I could tell, his facial expression was normal. Now it was my turn to act normal. I held my breath, sternly telling my body not to react. It didn’t listen; it sent a rush of warmth over my cooled fingertips instead, spreading to the center of my body. “Thanks for driving me. I promise this can be a one-time thing.”
His eyes lingered on me. “I don’t mind at all, Beanie. This can be an everyday thing.”
Beanie. For some reason, hearing the nickname fall from his lips created a strange pressure behind my ribs. I drew in a breath to squash the feeling. “But Sav—”
“If Savannah has a problem with it, she can ride the bus.” He gestured to the cab. “Hop in.”
Once we were safely in the truck, all buckled in, Elijah put it in reverse. A mix of smells tickled my nose, hitting me all at once. It smelled a little like Elijah, clay and pottery glaze, but I could also still smell Terry, body wash and the faintest trace of cologne.
I hadn’t ridden in the truck with Elijah since he’d taken temporary ownership, afraid that it’d feel too strange. But really, it was strange for a whole other reason.
“You should let me drive sometime,” I told him, trying to channel the normal nonchalance between us. “I doubt Terry would mind.”
Elijah just smiled a little in response, the corners of his soft lips tipping up. I’d never paid much attention to his smile before, not really. I’d never noticed it wasn’t totally perfect, one corner a bit tighter than the other, a tiny dimple in one cheek and not the other. I could still imagine the pressure of his mouth curving around mine, recollected with perfect clarity, especially when that mouth was only a few inches from m
e. Perfectly in reach.
I was knee-deep in crap.
“Why did you ignore me all weekend?” he asked, glancing sideways at me. “Eloise said you hit your head. Did you have some memory loss and forget that I was your best friend?”
I forced myself to laugh, because normal me would’ve laughed at that, but it came out shaky. “No cell phones for concussed people. At least not under Mom’s watch.”
“Terry got a concussion once. Fell off a friend’s motorcycle. He had a headache for weeks.”
The mere mention of his brother’s name made me hesitate. After his reaction last Thursday, hearing him bring up his brother again came as a shock. I noticed, though, that it wasn’t an invitation to start talking about it. It was merely a statement of a fact.
“Yeah, my head feels like it’s going to fall off.” I refused to look at him as he turned off our street, struggling to keep my voice normal. “So how was your night? Thursday night, I mean. After I left. Your, uh, house.” Gosh, can you be any more awkward, Remi?
“Oh, right.” He shook his head a little. “I didn’t tell you. Savannah and I ended up going to the party. Just a little while after you left the house. I called you to tell you, but you didn’t answer.”
That’s why he called me that night.
“I tried to find you at Jeremy’s, but I guess you left before I got there,” he continued. “Which is okay, because we didn’t end up staying long. Savannah hit her head too, actually. Playing that stupid closet game. Crazy coincidence, huh?”
My mind slowed as everything he said registered. Playing that stupid closet game. I felt frozen, trying to think but each thought getting stuck. So he did think it was Savannah he’d been kissing? He hadn’t connected the dots between me and the closet. That was good. But he had to have seen Savannah afterward, had to have asked about her head. Did she lie? Wouldn’t Savannah had told him that it wasn’t her?
She knew. It was the only explanation. Unless she actually did hit her head on something.