elliot

Dad is awake when I get home, and he quietly informs me that Mom is passed out with a migraine. How terrible is it that I'm sometimes grateful my mother gets migraines? I just, I can't handle her right now. I'm too happy. So yeah—I'm glad she's asleep. If she were awake with a migraine, she'd be all over the place, alternating between grumbling about her terrible predicament and finding an excuse to yell at me in a pitch higher than usual.

"How was Tony's?" Dad asks me as I untie my shoes. Back before they were officially The Plumber Kings, Tony was the boy next door, a total goofball and too hockey-obsessed for his own good, but a generally nice guy. Then came the money and middle school all at once, and our apparently temporary friendship expired.

I shrug, placing my sneakers neatly on the mat. "It was fine, I guess. Left early to go play video games with Neema and Duncan."

"Don't tell your mother," Dad warns. "She thinks you're going to be the socialite of the year."

"Why does she even care?" I mutter.

I feel like too many of my dad and my conversations start off with turning down the volume on the television. It provides the perfect backdrop to a loud Bader fart, which I force myself to ignore. "She cares because she's your mother."

"Yeah, but like, people aren't my thing. She knows that. They're not your thing."

Dad snorts. "Yes, but I'm set in my ways. You're still changeable."

"Ugh. Can't my lack of lust for anything remotely mistakable for a social life just be considered genetic?" I sit on the corner of the coffee table, perched like a giant awkward bird. I hate my long limbs. Those are similarly paternal.

"You're a new dog. I'm a Bader. She just thinks she's doing what's best for you."

"I hate people."

"As do I."

"Make her stop," I say, and it comes out a little more forcefully than I had meant it to.

Dad cocks his head. "Why?"

"I ... I don't like it?" I really should have just walked past him and got into bed. "Whatever. It's fine."

"I can talk to her if you'd like me to," Dad says softly. "We don't want to make you uncomfortable, Elliot. We just worry that you're not as sociable as someone your age should be."

I am literally more sociable than I want to be already. I shrug. "It's fine. I'm gonna go to bed. Night."

"Don't wake your—"

"I'll just shower in the morning."

He nods at this. "Night, then."

-

I don't go to sleep.

You would think that walking in on a girl crying after you almost kissed her would eradicate any feelings. For me, it was weirdly the opposite? Not the crying. Definitely not the crying—that shit hit different. And not good different. Just, talking to her, and seeing her, and being close to her, all served only to make those little inklings of feelings stronger.

I really like her.

I pull out my phone and text Duncan, because he's the one I feel like I should trust with this.

dude. i need advice.

I KNEW THIS DAY WOULD COME OMG HI

your caps lock scares me

Let me have my Sabrina Carpenter in Tall Girl moment.

no.

advice me.

what if i like a girl whos fresh off a reaaally bad breakup?

like, BAAAAD.

You have a lady boner for Alyssa?

... bruh.

YOU HAVE A LADY BONER FOR ALYSSA OMG YAY okay so like you def have a chance, I feel like. But I'm also a huge optimist so like don't listen to me.

WE SHOULD ASK NEEMA.

CAN I ASK NEEMA?

NO. dude just like what should i do??? i don't want to rush her

or make her feel obligated to like me or smth

just... how do i know if it's a good time???????

Idk, dude. This is why we ask Neema things.

She's the most vagina-y out of all of us.

you have the most cursed tongue in all the land.

I think you mean blessed. I'm a silver-tongue. I'm Lyra Belacqua.

duncannnnnnnnnnn

Wait for her to make the first move, I guess. If she shows interest, show interest back, but hold tight till she does.

this is why you're the prettiest vagina in our trio

Thank you, o' faithful lesbian.

Just, wait for her to make the first move. I can do that. Right?

-

Mom is asleep in the morning, so I treat my dad to an omelette while he's in the bathroom. After awarding Bader some good boy pats, I head off, because I don't feel like actually commiserating right now. I just need to breathe. And get coffee.

I was maybe up all night watching YouTube videos on how to get a girl to fall for you. I know it's a little manipulative, but I've vowed to only show interest in Alyssa if she shows it first, so suck it. With all the videos I watched on how to be appealing to the same sex, you would think that I would have learnt a little something in that time. You would be wrong. Literally, video upon video upon video, this rapidly down-ward spiral of a rabbit hole that started with a very innocent "How to get a girl to like you" and ended with learning various ... tongue exercises.

So like. My brain is kinda cursed.

It's so weird—I like her. A lot. And thinking about having sex with Alyssa sounds incredibly appealing. But it's also incredibly terrifying. I've never slept with anyone before. I mean, I've kissed people, but I've never even made out. Last night during our talk, Alyssa told me that, no, she isn't a virgin. Which is fine. Totally fine. But also, like, the thought of being inexperienced is too fucking terrifying. Too. Much.

I'm overthinking this, I know. Alyssa wouldn't want to sleep with me anyways, so what's the point at fussing?

Maybe it's just a general thing. Maybe I am the antithesis of a lesbian sex god.

The sun isn't far past newly risen as I stroll into the Cumm-n-Gitt. This early, I was able to secure a parking space actually close to the door. Norm is at his register, on which hangs a large "CUMM-N-GITT A JOB WITH US, KIDDOS" sign. I decide that I should definitely have a Norm chat before coffee.

"Hey!" he says, too chipper for this time of day. His eyes are bright behind his thick lenses, and his hand is waving so quickly that it's a blur. "I hardly ever see you here this early."

"Coffee," I say, sounding too much like a grunt. "Um, had a late night."

"Same," he chirps with his well-rested face and well-rested smile and well-rested face. "I caught onto the Roblox trend late, but I don't care. I can build my own McDonalds, Elliot. My own McDonalds."

"Bruh. That hurt my soul. Roblox?"

It's weird how easy Norm is to talk to. He tells me he found a couple more members for our definitely-happening Chess Club Cult, two girls I vaguely recognise from bio classes, Ellysia Crawford and Katie McSomething. And he might have convinced his homeschooled sister to come back to school—the next step, he insists, is chess club. Once more people start to trickle in, I get out of his way, pour my coffee, and leave.

I linger in my car a moment, thinking about what to do. I don't want to go home, but there's not really anywhere else to go, is there?

Guess the only logical thing to do is go Instastalk Alyssa and Tanner, then. Maybe find this Max human.

In the pool parking lot, I scoot my seat back a tiny smidgen (it's pretty much maxed out by my stupid beanstalk legs) and lean back, scrolling through photos on Alyssa's Insta. I had requested to follow her when we were talking last night, and when she saw the notification on her phone, she snorted so loud that I jumped.

It's a really standard feed, just lots of pictures of her and people I don't recognise, with the obvious exception of Tanner. A lot of Tanner pics, actually. Tanner in front of a very nice suburban-looking home. Tanner in a Perry the Platypus onesie. Tanner clinging to a giant green dinosaur statue like his life depends on it.

Past these, though, there's a new person. Usually with their arm slung around Alyssa's shoulders, staring at the camera with this stupid brazen expression that says "Hey camera, I'm not afraid of you. I read 1984 and computer manuals. Cameras don't scare me." They're tagged in the photos, revealing the handle @malmanax. The account is private. (Why wouldn't they have a private Instagram? It's like they don't want me to Internet stalk them or something.)

They're cute, I guess. Floppy blue hair, a squat nose, way more freckles than Alyssa has but almost in a weird overcrowding way. Nice eyes. Could do without the top shirt button. Average, really. Perfectly average. Cute enough, but not hot. I hate that it makes me happy to know that my competition is similarly average. Which is also a massively presumptuous dick move—I'm not competing against anyone. Alyssa's not interested. So.

I'll admit, it does maybe sting to see the way she stares at them in these photos. Adoring. Attentive.

I switch to catching up on Webtoons instead. Feels less creepy. And, doesn't make me feel like a simping weirdo. (Although Malori and Queen Vel are adorable. And definitely simp-worthy.)

I catch up on my long-time followings and head back to my super cat comic. I'm completely focused on Jiwoo and Mr. Kaden when there's a rap on my window. I can't help it—I jump. Taffy waves outside my window, smiling at me in this way that maybe should be nice but definitely makes me feel more like I should be in a horror movie. Her apologising to me the other night is called to mind, and I realise just how insincere it was.

I restart the car so I can roll down the window a crack. Just a crack. Last night, what she said was the opposite of cool. Not just to me, but also to Alyssa and Duncan. And yeah, okay, she has no filter or control when she's drunk like that—like how I know she gets, like how I've always absolutely despised—but that doesn't mean I necessarily need to treat her poorly all the time. If I should be treating her at all.

So yeah. Just a crack on the window. I'm starting to think she doesn't deserve even this.

"Elliot," Taffy says, smiling with those cat eyes, "hiiii!"

It's so weird to me how she doesn't seem remotely hungover. Maybe she has a quicker recovery time or something? Is that a hangover thing? Maybe she has a hangover cure, minus the drain cleaner. I literally would not know.

"Hey." I give her those fuckboi nods she seems to enjoy.

"You and Alyssa didn't come to the party last night," she says, throwing in a little pout for my sake. "We missed you!"

I roll my eyes before I can stop myself. "We were there, Taffy."

She blinks, like she didn't just hear me. "No way! I would remember that."

"We were there."

"Oh. Well. Um, I don't really remember much of anything, so.... Did you guys have fun?" She rubs the side of her jaw, something that I only just now realize is a nervous tic. She's lying.

I shrug and roll the window back up, then avoid looking at her till she yells something I ignore and storms off.

My heart is hammering inside my chest. I just did that. For real.

More lifeguards and swim girls wander in through the entrance, but I wait to get out till I see a large rusty van pull up to the curb, and Alyssa walks out. I don't even realize I'm walking towards her till she turns to me and waves, smiling all cute and coy and bright.

"Hey," I say, "how's it going?"

"Fantastic. Tired, though. I didn't sleep."

"Me neither. We're terrible influences on each other, aren't we?" I hold out my arm. "Here, I've got your bag."

She raises her brows, but hands it to me without argument. "Thanks, Elliot." I love the way she says it, like a melody with a clipped, precise 't.'

"No problem." We walk into the pool, and I can't not think about how close we are. I still want to kiss her. Really badly. Why? Why can't my brain just chill?

Why on earth did I think YouTubing my problems was a good idea? For fuck's sakes, Elliot.

A/N - Imma be so nice this week and give the three updates I've missed these past three Fridays. Heh. Enjoy!!!!!