Patrick

I left my number on the back of the napkin. I don't know why I did, but I did. Now I really don't know why I did, or why I'm sitting here by this phone like a complete idiot when I could be hanging out with friends. I want to be here if she calls because if she does call, I just want to talk to her and get to know her more. She's different. Ella is not like anyone else I've ever met before but in a good way. Maybe it was the way I felt so at ease around her the other day, you know? It was almost like I could tell her anything. Maybe it's the way she doesn't realize how pretty she honestly is that's got me interested. She's so shy in front of me when she has no reason to be.

There's a knock to the entryway of my bedroom, and when I turn my head I see my mom leaning against the frame, pushing a couple of strands of hair away from her face. "What are you doing home?" She asks. "Didn't you tell me a couple of days ago that you were going to play basketball with Drew?"

I don't want to tell her about Ella yet because as of now there's nothing to tell. For all I know she could have just ignored my number earlier and it will have been all for nothing. "Uh, nah." I shrug as if it's just a typical night. "I decided to stay in tonight. I'm not really feeling that good."

She can tell that something is up because she gives me a small smile and just rolls her eyes at me. "Alright..." She trails off. "If you say so. Sweet dreams."

"Night mom."

As soon as the door to my room closes, the cell phone on top of my chest starts to buzz. Since it's nine at night on a Monday, I can almost guarantee that it's her. "You saw," I noted, not even bothering to say hello when I answer. "I was hoping you would."

"Hey. Um, why did you give me your number?" She asks. I can't see her, but I think I can hear her smile through the phone, which makes me smile too.

"Because I wanted to talk to you." I reply. "Is that okay?"

"I know you did." She sighs. "I'm asking why though?"

She's repeated that word I think five times since I've been around her and I don't understand it. It's almost as if she thinks she's the ugliest girl in the world, but to me, she's so beautiful. I don't even know her that well, but what I do know is that I'm attracted to her. After that night on the beach when I saw her walk away like that, seeming so strong and confident, I immediately knew that I wanted to get to know her more.

"Why what?" I finally reply, grabbing a rubber band ball off my nightstand. I begin to toss it up into the air, continuing to stare at the ceiling.

"Why did you leave your number?" She replies shakily.

"Why do you think I did?"

Her breathing is what I hear through the phone, nothing but that breaking the awkward silence between us. I wish I could think of something else to change the topic of conversation, but unfortunately, all I can think about is this stupid rubber band ball in my hand.

"Do you want me to be honest?" She whispers.

"No," I joke. "I want you to lie. Yes, Ella. Be honest."

"Okay..." She trails off. "Well, I think you feel sorry for me."

Not even close. She is not even close as to why I left my number down on that napkin. I flipped it over on its front just so that she could see the number sticking out on top. Does she seriously think I would leave my number like that if I felt sorry for her? How can she not tell that I'm flirting with her?

"Wrong." I laugh, the rubber band ball falling onto the floor with a loud thud. "So wrong."

"Then why did you leave your number?"

I feel like now would be a good time to tell her that I think she's really pretty, but I don't want to creep her out. I want to reassure her that her hips look so good in dresses and that her hair looks so good with those brown curls going in all different directions. Ella has this natural presence around her, almost like it comes effortlessly to her. I know that she doesn't view herself this way at all, but I certainly do.

"Because I wanted to." I end up saying, avoiding sounding like a stalker. "I'm glad you called."

She wants to hang up the phone after I say that, and when she tries to make an excuse I call her out on it and make her continue talking to me. I ask her why she seems so nervous, and eventually, the pre-talking jitters fade and we begin to open up about ourselves. Sharing our interests, our beliefs, and things that bothered us. She tells me about how she's obsessed with celebrities and everything to do with them, and I tell her how I'm obsessed with superman. I don't know if she finds that geeky or not, but when she laughs for the first time through the speaker I find myself wanting to go and see her. I want to see the way her eyes light up and the way she kind of tilts her head to the side when she laughs, biting on her lip from getting nervous. Maybe she's nervous around me like I am around her. I don't know.

The conversation goes deeper, and by one in the morning she's telling me about some asshole that ditched her at a school dance and how she waited up hours only for him to never show. She explains how she only had one boy that actually kissed her named Christian, but he never wanted to make her his girlfriend. That completely blew my mind that nobody has ever wanted her. In a way, it felt like a prize to me, like when you're a little kid and you go to an arcade and you realize you can get the best-stuffed animal on the top shelf. Nobody has ever had her before and I have the opportunity to be the first. That's something special.

"So this Christian kid." I scoff. "Why didn't he want to make you his girlfriend?"

"I'm not really sure." She says. The tone of her voice has changed, so I'm assuming I'm touching on a sensitive subject. "I don't like to talk about it. He's the first guy that ever really broke my heart."

"Did you love him?" I ask. I realize this is becoming way too personal, so I'm surprised when she answers.

"I thought I did at the time, but how can you love someone who is ashamed of you? He told me he loved me and made me feel special, and then all of a sudden there were pictures of him and another girl all over the internet. I should have figured it out when he never wanted to bring me around his family or friends, but he was the first guy to ever say he loved me. I wanted love so badly that I was willing to believe whatever he told me."

"He's an asshole." I reply, attempting to hide my anger. I don't even know Christian, but I already want to punch his face for destroying any faith in love she has. Because of him trying to get with Ella will be much harder than I expected.

By the time she gets done telling me about the things that bother her about guys, which to me seems like everything, she wants to know about me and the stories I have. So I tell her about the time I went camping with my family in Wyoming, and no matter how hard I tried to pitch a tent I couldn't do it. To this day I get upset about it. I tell her how in the middle of the night the tent fell down and my mom and dad had to use flashlights to help me set it back up. I was only eight at the time, so I cried. She seems to find that pretty funny, and I guess it is kind of funny now that I'm talking about it. Maybe I've just never said this story out loud to anyone before.

When two-thirty hits we're playing twenty questions, asking each other every single thing we can possibly think of to stay on the phone. She's tired, her voice hushed and whisper-like as her breathing begins to slow down. I wonder at this moment what she looks like when she sleeps as I ask her what her favorite color is, only to find out that it's pink. I tell her mine is blue even though she doesn't ask, and then she asks me something.

"How many people have you slept with?"

I'm alert now, not tired.

"Don't you think that's kind of personal?" I ask.

"Well, don't you think we're telling each other personal things?"

I realize she's right, so I then go into a whirlwind of details she probably doesn't need, telling her about the three girls I've been with and how they were all during the summers. I tell her about Rachelle, and then Brianna, and then Alyssa. Then I describe to her my embarrassing story of losing my virginity in Rachelle's car, not having a clue of what I was doing. Her voice never came through the speaker during my stories, but that doesn't surprise me because when she was telling me about what the assholes did to her back in high school I didn't say anything either. How do you tell someone that you want to go and beat those people up that hurt them when you just met?

"Wow." She says after I finish. I can't tell if she's mad at me or not.

"Wow?" I ask. "Is that a good or a bad thing?"

"Just wow."

Then she laughs, that sound practically being music to my ears. I probably should have withheld all of the details, but I feel like I can tell her anything. I think she feels the same too because she changes the subject and asks me about my aspirations in life. I don't know how to answer because I never exactly have thought about it. She's a year older than me, already out of high school, and I'm going to be a senior this year. Maybe I'll figure it out this year, or maybe I won't. When I tell her that I possibly want to go for teaching she doesn't treat me like a child. Instead, she tells me she could picture me doing that, and then I tell her I really love kids. That makes her ask me if I ever want kids, so I tell her yes, but not right now.

The last thing I ask Ella is what her aspirations in life are. She goes into detail with me about her writing. I cling to every word as she explains how she likes to express her feelings on a page, letting out everything into something that nobody will ever see. She says it's better than telling a person because they can't judge you, and I find that extremely smart. I learn that her journal is one of the most important things to her, and when she says that I picture her looking at the journal as we speak as she lies on her back and stares up into the darkness of her room. I don't know what she's wearing, but my mind wanders to things I probably shouldn't be thinking of. I close my eyes, inhale deeply, and focus on talking to her more about her writing.

"I think that's incredible." I tell her when she's done.

"Really?" She asks, almost in disbelief. "You don't think it's weird?"

"No, I don't. I think it's actually really cool."

I didn't just think it was cool, I thought she was cool and all of the words she was saying were cool. I should tell her this right now but I don't want to take it that far. I don't hear her say anything for about a minute or so, but then she just laughs – a delayed one – and makes the speaker all fuzzy for a second.

"I'm tired." She whispers. "We've been on the phone for six hours."

"Have we?" I ask in disbelief, pulling the phone away from my ear to check it. It's really been that long?"

Time passed by too quickly with her. I feel like we've been on the phone for only fifteen minutes rather than six hours because with her it's like anything she says is so interesting. It's like everything she wants to tell you about is the best thing in the world, and every single vocabulary word spoken by her comes so profoundly off of her lips you just want to listen to her keep talking-- never wanting her to stop. I don't want her to ever stop.

She seems to think the same too, because after I say that we both don't say anything more. Instead, we fall asleep with each other on the phone tonight listening to each other's breathing, nodding off into a deep and much-needed sleep.

A/N:

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