alyssa

I think Elliot wants to kiss me.

There are some things you can just tell—and this? This is most definitely one of those things. The way she hovers close to me, the way her smile seems permanent, the way her gaze locks on mine whenever I look over, then flits away immediately after. After last night, I'm realising I wouldn't be opposed to it. Kissing her. Kissing Elliot.

Max was good at some things. Kissing wasn't their strong suit, though. I'm pretty sure I'm good at it? Before Max, I used to flit around between people pretty quickly—the general consensus was overwhelmingly positive.

I want to know what Elliot's lips feel like. And that terrifies me.

I hate that there are so many excuses for us to be close to each other. Last night definitely changed something—we're taking all these excuses. Like, I purposefully try to reach for a box of Lay's chips that are too high for me by just a smidgen, and Elliot comes up behind them and grabs them for me, and we both linger there, like we're waiting for something.

She always leaves first.

It's fine. Kinda. It's just weird, because I feel like Elliot wants to kiss me, and I definitely want to kiss her, but it's not happening, and I wish I could figure out why. I mean, I'm not exactly great at flirting or being obvious, but I am trying my best here.

And then, of course, I have to fall. On my face.

It was probably my fault. Well, Dad's fault. He thought two-dollar flip-flops sounded like a fantastic idea. Like, deal of the ages. I feel the instant where the strap snaps, and the instant where it flops out and folds on the ground beneath my foot, and the instant where I begin to keel forward.

My knees hit the ground first, then my hands. Pain stripes up my limbs, and I hear myself let out a sharp cry.

Elliot crouches in front of me. "Hey, hey, are you okay?"

She helps me up, awkwardly shifting her hands beneath my arms and guiding me to my chair. I'm not crying, I don't think, so that's good. Just, fuck, my wrists hurt. And my knees. I try and waggle my hands back and forth. They don't go as far as usual, but I don't think I sprained or pulled anything. Definite bonus, I guess.

"You good?" Elliot asks, and I nod. And, then, suddenly, I start giggling. Uncontrollably.

"I—" I can't catch my breath, can't stop laughing enough to speak. "I—oh my gosh, I—whyyy?"

Elliot laughs too, but not as embarrassingly hard as I am. "You're concerning me. Seriously, are you okay?"

"I'm-I'm good," I manage. "I can't believe I wiped out in front of you like that. Just, ugh, so embarrassing."

"I mean, so long as you're okay, Imma admit—it was weirdly sorta cute."

"Oh." I massage my knees, which are actually a little sore. "Um, thank you?"

She bites her lip, runs a hand through her hair. "That sounded kinda mean. Uh, you fall gracefully. Super nice. You fall—you fall good."

"Wow, thank you."

"Yeah, you don't see a girl fall like that every dynasty."

And just like that, it's easier. The tension between us seems to dissipate and suddenly, it's like last night, but better. With, admittedly, more touching. I can't stop myself from frequently shoving her shoulder as I laugh, and her foot keeps tapping mine, her knee repeatedly brushing my own.

Elliot takes a bathroom break at one point, and I find myself texting Dad if I could have a friend over. I'm surprised he answers so quickly, but the answer is yes. Okay. Cool. Cool. You can play this cool, Alyssa. Probably.

"Hey," Elliot says when she comes back, looking around before suavely sliding across the counter. "What's sizzlin'?"

"That hurt my brain."

"Ha, imagine having a brain."

I smile at her, wondering whether or not I want to ask her to come over. Would it be too forward? We're definitely friends. I know this, even just a couple of days in. But, hanging out just the two of us might be weird. Especially right now, with how touchy and flirty and talky we're being. What if she kisses me? Do I want her to kiss me right now?

I don't know.

"So like," I say before I can talk myself out of it, "I was wondering if you'd want to hang later?"

She blinks. "Oh? Sure. I have to go home and let my dog out, and Duncan wants to grab coffee, but otherwise, heck yeah. You can come with, if you want."

"Awesome."

"Awesome." And for the first time, I notice the tiniest of dimples, right on her left cheek.

-

"So this is my house," Elliot says, pulling into a short but thick driveway. Her house is small and cerulean and surprisingly bright—not at all the home I would have pegged for her.

She gets out, then pokes her head back inside the Camry. "You can come in, if you want. It's up to you."

"I'll come in, thanks." I manage to awkwardly scooch out of the car. My legs feel too hot even in their relatively thin leggings. When we get to my house, I am definitely going to need to put shorts on, scabs aside.

Elliot's house is neat and orderly, but eclectic at the same time. Everything is bright and mismatched and discombobulated, working in some kind of cute disorderly tandem. The couch is soft vanilla with teal pillows, and there's random art all over the walls that all have a similar vibe but different style.

"My mom did these," Elliot says, grinning. "And my dad did those ones."

"Your parents are artists?" They look really good. Odd, but good.

Elliot shoves her hands in her pockets, eyes skimming over all the paintings. "Nah. They met in an art class when they were in college. My mom did it for fun, and my dad just did it to be a weirdo, I guess. They ended up enjoying it. So, um, yeah."

"That's cool." We talk a little more about her parents while she hunts around for her dog. Apparently, he just passes out wherever. It's her daily scavenger hunt, she says.

"Favorite places are under my bed, by the back door, and in the cupboard under the stairs."

"You have a Harry Potter dog?"

She laughs. "I have a Harry Potter dog."

Her dog, Bader, isn't pulling a Number Four Privet Drive today, though. I watch as Elliot claps her hands at the closet door. "Bader. Baaaaderrrrrrrrrrrr," she coos. "Let's go peeeeeeeeee."

"Do you ever feel weird quoting Harry Potter?" I ask her as she stands up. "Because, like, I hate JK Rowling, but it's also kinda hard, y'know? Because I love me some references, and Harry Potter is pretty referenceable."

Elliot rolls her head around, cracking her neck, then shrugs. "I mean, maybe? I know she's a transphobe—Neema is still a mess about it. I just like to pretend she didn't write the books. Like, Hatsune Miku did or whatever."

"Hatsune Miku wrote Harry Potter."

"You're welcome."

Elliot's house is actually fairly similar to mine in layout. The only real difference is that she has a loft where her parents work from when at home, hence the stairs and the cupboard beneath them. Her room is the same size as mine, with the closet and it's similar doors on the same side of the room and everything. The walls are covered in various school certificates and event posters, and the area of ceiling over her bed is a thick, chaotic collage of photos.

I recognise Elliot with Neema and Duncan, but there are also a lot of photos with a couple who must be Elliot's parents. She has the same strangely elegant face as the man with his strong nose and sharp chin, and she has the same golden complexion and dark, soft hair as the woman who I'm certain is her mother. Other photos have kids who look enough like Elliot that I'm sure are cousins or something.

The rest of the room is an absolute mess.

"Sorry," Elliot says, heading straight for her bed, "I'm kind of a slob."

It's definitely a change from the rest of the house. There are clothes all over the floor, literally spilling out like some kind of tidal wave from the closet. Loose worksheets from what must have been this past school year are scattered all about a small, white-painted desk, and her bed is tucked away in the farthest corner, unmade and messy.

Elliot gets down on all fours to peer beneath the bed. "Bader. You there, buddy?" She stands and flips back her covers to reveal a very-much-asleep basset hound, his features drooping, face spilling onto his paws. "Ope. And he's asleep."

"He is too cute," I say, and really, he is. "Sleepy Bader is adorable."

"Yeahhh. But, if I don't wake him up now, he'll probably wet the bed, and I am so not down to that." It takes a couple claps and a few moments of her blowing gently on his face for Bader to wake up. When he does, his tongue lolls outward and curves as he yawns big and wide and squeaky.

I cross my arms. "Okay but seriously, I will dognap him."

"Ha. He would probably let you. Do you have any pets I didn't meet last night?" Elliot asks as she lifts Bader down from the bed. His paws scrabble to find purchase on her rug for a second before finding solid purchase. He hobbles out of the room before us, and Elliot brushes fur off her shirt. Which I totally do not stare at, because I am totally not a creep like that. Totally.

We follow behind him so slowly that it's awkward. "No. We used to have an emotional support dog, but she died. Her name was Nelly."

"Oh. I'm really sorry."

I shrug it off. "It was a long time ago. Like, pretty much right after my mom left, so it definitely sucked, but Tanner and I got closer."

"Oh yeah? That's cool." Bader almost slips on the wood floor, but saves himself somehow. "I wish I had siblings sometimes. I have cousins an hour or so away, so it's not like I didn't grow up with any kid family members, but it must be nice to have, like, a built-in best friend."

"If only all siblings were natural, built-in best friends," I say, casting a grin her way.

"Yeah." We watch Bader attempt the first step, then retract his paw and stare up at Elliot with big, sad brown eyes. She sighs, then bends down to pick him up and deposit him down the miniscule staircase leading to the back door.

"Every day," she mutters. "Every single day. This is why Mom can't let you out, Bader. You're, like, a furry sumo wrestler."

She opens the door and Bader trots out, immediately barking at something in the fenced-in backyard. "But yeah. Siblings are rad. Neema has two older sisters, and they bicker all the time, but they're all amazing and sweet. Duncan has a younger brother he's terrified of, but I love him."

"Duncan being terrified of a child doesn't surprise me somehow."

"It's Peyton's height. He's almost taller than I am."

It dawns on me for the first time just how far I have to tilt my head back to look at Elliot. Really, I'm practically looking straight up. If I were to kiss her, I'd probably have to climb her like a tree or something.

"You're pretty tall," I tell her, like she doesn't already know.

Elliot smiles and rubs the back of her neck. What if her posture is usually better? Her posture isn't terrible by any means, but she must have to look down super far to meet my gaze. Is that even healthy? Am I being a douchey doucherson?

"I wish I was shorter," she tells me, and my immediate response in my head is, No your height is hot don't, which is most definitely something I cannot say, and holy crap what the heck, Alyssa? "Like, I dunno, I just feel awkward about it. I'm just glad I'm queer—I feel like I could find some fairly, um, well. Girls with types. Versus guys with tall types? I-I am probably not making any sense."

"No, no, I get it." I definitely get the appeal of a tall girl. A tall anyone, really. Max was only four inches or so taller than me, which felt like a lot at the time, but now, with Elliot, it's hardly a massive difference.

Elliot bobs her head and opens the backdoor again, calling for Bader. I watch in silence as she picks him up again, setting him on the kitchen floor, and stands up like it was no biggie. And I ignore the urge to push her hair out of her eyes and see just how high on my tiptoes I would need to stand for our lips to meet.

A/N (August 21 2021): Dilemma of the day--I can't tell if my friend is gearing up to ask me out or not. Secondary dilemma--I might say yes, who knows.

Either I'm being asked out by everyone when it's a bad time, or no one when it's a good one. How darest thee, universe.