alyssa

I can't catch my breath. Elliot gives me this big apologetic look when she leaves, but she doesn't get it. She can't. How could I expect her to? She doesn't know about Max.

Man, dammit.

When we broke apart, some of my posters scattered about the floor. It's only when I kneel down to pick them up do I even realize that I'm crying.

I desperately swipe at my eyes, trying to stop the flow before it starts. Just, fuck. I need to get over this. As my toes begin to twitch of their own accord, though, I suck in a sharp breath. Okay. Shit. Okay. Get dressed, go grab some water, then just stay in here and maybe die. Yes. That's a good idea.

My legs are sensitive as I slip into my sweatpants, gingerly manoeuvring the fabric around my skin. The scabs are practically gone already, but the legs themselves are still sore as anything. At least my shirt is easy.

I wobble as I head into the living room, doing my best to hide that I was using walls for support. Neema and Duncan are the first to look up from the couch, closely followed by Elliot, whose face is still burning with shame.

"Hey, guys," I mutter softly to these people I don't actually know. Why did we invite them over? I can't remember. My head is swimming. I might vomit. I take a deep breath, then try again. "Hey, guys. Um, I'm not feeling too well, so I'm gonna go to bed. But, thanks for coming over and hanging out. Have fun. Night!"

"Night," Neema says, her hand on Duncan's knee. He echoes her.

"Goodnight," Elliot says so quietly I might have imagined it if I weren't certain I saw her lips move.

Tanner steps out of the kitchen, two steaming mugs in his hands. He raises his brows. "You good?"

"Nah," I try to say with a laugh, but it comes out more like a pant, and I wince. Wall. I need my wall. Gingerly, I shuffle my way back to the hallway. "I'm gonna head to bed. Night."

His eyes are narrowed, but he doesn't say anything—just heads back into the kitchen.

I shut my bedroom door behind me right as a sob rips out from my chest. Bed. I need the bed. Cuddled under blankets that I could swear still smell like my ex, I take out my phone and scroll through photos upon photos of us together—me and Max at the skating rink, me and Max at the lake, me and Max in the cafeteria with matching Woodchuck spirit gear.

Max. Max. Max.

I couldn't escape them even if I wanted to, it seems. Why did they react like that? So scared. They were so scared. My whole body shakes as I cry, even though it doesn't feel like I'm crying. The shaking is painful, though, and my head is the wrong kind of fuzzy.

It's just, I want them. Not in the way they say they want me. No. I want them here with me, holding me and stroking my hair and whispering in my ear. I never even had to ask them for that kind of attention—they just knew. Knew how to touch me, in a romantic sense of the word. Hell, they would carry me sometimes, then deposit me gently into whoever's bed and just lay with me. Perfect. It was perfect. We were perfect.

They had to panic. I had to panic.

Ugh, why?

There's a gentle knock on my door. I try to get back to a place where I'm at least somewhat controlling my breathing, although it's hard.

Elliot steps in, one of the cheap mugs we found at a Goodwill when I was younger in hand. "Hey, Tanner said I should bring you this," she says meekly, holding up the mug like I hadn't noticed it. "Do you want me to set this on your table? Or...."

"Here," I say, sitting up and attempting to discreetly wipe away the wetness of my cheeks. She notices right away—her eyebrows dart up momentarily, but then her face relaxes, settling back into its former expression of concern. "Thanks."

The mug is warm against the palms of my hands. Maybe too hot to drink at the moment, but for now, the heat is soothing. Elliot lingers at my bedside, head craned down so far to watch my face that she's practically staring at her feet.

"I'm really sorry," she says, shifting her weight. "I definitely made things awkward there, and that super wasn't my intention, and I just figured I should apologise before heading off, because I let that go too far."

"You're leaving?" I ask.

Her fingers rub circles on her palms. "Yeah, I figured I'd give you some space."

"It was just a kiss," I say so blatantly I surprise myself. Why couldn't I have reacted like that? "It wasn't even a kiss. An almost-kiss."

"I know," she says. "I just ... I'm sorry. I upset you, which I did not want to do. Was my last intention, I swear." She continues to shift her weight and avoid my gaze.

I lean over and set the hot chocolate on my bedside table. "You don't need to feel bad. Like, I went in, too. And it's not that I don't want to kiss you. I do. I just—"

"You want to kiss me?" she says.

Fuck. "I what?"

"You-you just said—nevermind. Go on. Ignore me."

I said it, though. I know I did. Do I want to kiss Elliot? Fuck. Okay. I definitely don't want her to leave right now, at least. "It's just, I just broke up with my partner of over six months, and it's just weird right now."

"Oh," she says, and somehow, she doesn't even sound disappointed. "That's more than okay."

"Really?"

"Well, yeah. I don't want you to move on faster than you're willing to. I don't want that for anyone. That's just stupid and unfair. You should get to move at your own pace, man."

The back of my neck warms. "Thanks," I mutter. "That ... that means a lot."

"Honestly, I swear, I'm usually not remotely wise. What's their name?" Elliot asks.

"Their name is Max," I say, like it's brand new. "They're a year older than us, but they graduated a year early. They're in DC right now."

"That's cool. They sound really smart."

"They were. Are." I shake my head slightly. "They are. Super smart. Stupidly smart. Would-would you wanna sit down?"

Elliot does so without blinking. "Thanks. How'd you guys meet?"

"Oh gosh. We were debate partners. I was terrible."

"That's hella cute, though." And suddenly, it's easy. Elliot and I tumble into conversation about me and Max, and her occasional deep laughter mixed with half-smiling nods of crinkle-eyed sympathy somehow make me feel better. Far better than I have for a while.

Really, far better than I was even back in Woodbury.

It's just so easy to talk to her. Like, scary easy. And not just talking—it's just as easy to lose track of where we are in a conversation. It's like my brain disconnects and my mouth moves of its own accord. It's nice.

Her phone aggressively buzzes a few times. "Duncan," she says. "Sorry, he thinks I snuck out a bathroom window." She texts something back quickly, then sets her phone down.

"What time is it?" I ask. I'm definitely less tired than I was when I got home. In fact, my legs feel better than fine. I point my toes and stretch them out as Elliot, who is now spread across the end of my bed like an incredibly lanky quilt, checks her lockscreen.

"Oof. Shit. Ten-eighteen," she says. "We've been talking for over two hours, dude."

"No way." I touch the side of my barely-touched hot chocolate. The porcelain has lost its warmth. I take a hesitant sip—lukewarm. "Damn. Oof."

"Damn," Elliot echoes, smiling at me.

I smile back at her from my end of the bed, and okay. It's official. I definitely want to kiss her.

It's terrifying and I have no idea how I should be feeling about it, considering the fact that I definitely am still in love with Max. Like, two hours of insanely fast-moving deep conversation doesn't change that. But, maybe it doesn't have to.

Elliot stretches, and I watch the way her back arches, how her oversized Hawaiian button-up pulls up to display a toned stomach. I hear something pop, and she groans. "Dude," she says, flopping back onto my bed dramatically, "fuckin' ow."

"You good?" I ask her, chuckling.

She rolls onto her side, smiling at me. She has a lot of closed-mouth smiles, I've noticed, but this one is big and wide and bright as she laughs this shoulder-shaking laugh. "I am absolutely peachy. Although, I might want to be getting home soon. My parents have a curfew of eleven."

"Oof, that's really soon," I say.

"Yeah, my dad is convinced I'll get pregnant if I stay out past eight, actually, but now that Duncan and Neema are dating, he's sure I'm too busy being a devoted third-wheel to bring home grandchildren, and my mom has the idea in her head that I actually heavily require a man. And more friends. So, now my curfew is longer. Happy days."

"But aren't you...."

"Completely and devastatingly homosexual? Oh, yes."

Something clicks. "You're not out to your parents?"

Elliot tries to smile. "I'm not really out-out anywhere? I kinda want to be, but ... I just worry people wouldn't get it. I dunno."

"No, no, I totally get that," I tell her. "Just, I don't know, for me, it was better to just rip off the Band-Aid. I'm lucky, though. Like, I'm pansexual, and I could be just as happy dating a guy as whomever. But I still want to be able to be honest with myself and those around me, y'know?"

Elliot exhales softly up at the ceiling. "No, I know. Just ... I don't know how to explain them. My parents. Like, kids will be mean, no matter where you are. I'm in the closet, but people have been assuming since we were in elementary school, and Hulhazy is so small that it's just always stuck around: Moreno the Dyke, Moreno the Girl Who Watches Girls Change, Moreno the Giant Lesbian. My parents would probably be okay with it?"

"Then why not tell them?"

She sits up, laces her fingers together. "My parents—I love them and everything, don't get me wrong—but, um, my parents have this weird tendency to blow things out of proportion and make jokes about things that shouldn't be jokes. And then, like, they choose little things and pick them apart till they just don't feel like they're mine anymore."

"Oh," I say, drawing my knees to my chest. "I'm sorry."

She shrugs. "It's fine. Just, like, okay—when I had long hair, it was always, 'Oh, Elliot, you need to take better care of your hair. This is too much for you. We should get it cut. You'll look just like Tita. You'll be so pretty.' So then, I cut my hair the way I wanted to, and suddenly, it's, 'Oh, Elliot, what happened to you? You were so beautiful, mija. I just don't get it.' Honestly, I don't get it either. My parents have zero logic."

"That sounds pretty sucky."

"It is very sucky. I just can't wait to get out of Hulhazy Front. It's literally the grossest place." She taps her fingers in a quick rhythm. "Okay, that was hyperbole, but still, not fantastic."

I snort. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, you're definitely the highlight of Hulhazy Front in my eyes"

"Why thank you," she says, bowing with intricate hand-flapping. "Want me to take your cup to the kitchen?"

She's already standing when I manoeuvre my legs out of bed. "I can get it. I'm feeling better."

"Oh my gosh, my voice is medicine."

"Maybe." I grin up at her as I strut—strut, oh my gosh; legs, I love you—past her and to the door. I glance behind me quickly, and holy shit. Is she staring at my ass?

Her gaze has flicked away before I can be sure, which I guess I kind of appreciate, but also, why do I kinda like the fact that she was staring at me? Max got a little creepy with it sometimes. They would talk about me as if I was nothing more than the way I looked. Sometimes, it made me feel awful, but I figured they meant it as a compliment, so in the end, I said nothing.

With Elliot, I like it. Her staring makes me flush just thinking about it.

Duncan and Neema and Tanner all have controllers in their hands. Someone's Nintendo Switch is on the coffee table, and Tanner is glaring at his screen so hard, he might combust.

"He chose Jigglypuff again, didn't he?" I ask as Elliot follows close behind me and into the kitchen. "He's not even good with Jigglypuff."

"I am a Jigglypuff main!" he shouts, which actually makes me blink. He's hardly ever loud around people, especially new people. Not even Jace, not right away. That was something that made me trust Max—Tanner was himself almost immediately around them.

I poke my head back out into the dining-living room. "Bruh. You don't even know what it means to main."

"Shut up," he says. "I'm winn—FUCK, NEEMA."

"She's the worst," Duncan agrees.

"It's not my fault I make an excellent yellow Terry," she sniffs. "Y'all just suck ass."

Elliot is laughing quietly to herself in the kitchen. "We're surrounded by nerds," she mutters, shaking her head.

It's not outlandishly hilarious, but still, I laugh. "We're doomed."

"We are Doctor Doomed."

"Noooo!" My whole body is shaking as I laugh, and I hold onto the counter for support. Right next to me, Elliot beams down with that brilliant smile. "Not you too!"

I manage to slow the laughter down to little more than a hiccup, then glance up at her. Her gaze is suddenly intense and sharp and soft all at once, like it was back with the posters. My heart flutters. Literally, flutters. Or flips. Or something that is an irregular movement.

"I should get going," she mutters suddenly, breaking what has definitely been the staring match of my life.

It doesn't even sound like me when I ask it, but of course it is: "Do you mind if I walk you out to your car?"

Elliot runs a quick hand through her hair. Her nose crinkles when she's surprised. Did she know it did that? Because, I think it is terribly cute. "Sure," she says.

"Perfect." I don't know why I'm doing this, even as Elliot reties her shoes and we make small banter talk with Neema and Tanner and Duncan. And I don't know why I'm doing this, even as I make my way over the still-damp front lawn and to the Camry.

Elliot stops on the curbs, keys in her hand and jangling anxiously. "Do ... would you mind if I gave you a quick hug before I go?" she asks.

"Yes," I say too quickly. "I'd like that."

So she does. She hugs me, wraps her arms around me in a truly massive, sweet, bone-crushing hug, sets her chin on my shoulder and exhales so softly I could die. "You're really awesome, okay?" she murmurs.

"You too, Elliot," I whisper.

The world feels lighter and heavier all at once. When I come back inside, I'm invited to join in on Smash Bros., but I politely decline and instead head straight into my room. Still, despite my sudden exhaustion, I can't sleep. No matter how hard I try.

A/N - LMAO NOT ME FORGETTING IT'S UPDATE DAY WAOOOOT?

It's so weird, because in the midst of reality kinda being like "ha suck it" and everything being a bit intense rn (although might I say ya girl CRUSHED her vocal jazz choir performance today, even if she had to baby the underclassmen and look gay in a suit while doing it), I'm like, "Wow, I should definitely start editing OB."

aye am ur

But YES! Tell me what you think!!! It's so weird, making so many changes offline that you guys don't get to see. Already, Taffy and Brooklin are kinda different people??? Just:

His hair? WACK. His gear? WACK. His jewelry? WACK. His footstance? WACK. The way that he talks? WACK. The way that he doesn't even like to smile? WACK. This new draft? WACK. ME? I'M JUST PRETENDING I KNOW HOW TO WRITE.

anyways welcome to my tedtalk this was definitely longer than usual i apologise for the chaos but have a very tight internet hug weeeeeeeeeeeee peace out my doods

p.s. has anyone else seen dodie's new video for "i hate myself" literally THE UNIFORM i cannot i love her i want to marry her okay bye bye bye bye

UPDATE (August 12 2021): sometimes, I look back at myself and wonder what the hell I was on.