NOTE: You don't wanna miss out on this week's hilarious and romantic audiobook reading by kaelking12! 

https://youtu.be/Wmzbn09rqXQ

CHAPTER 24

Elias

I should've listened to Gibner.

I should've cut my losses and faked out the nurses until they sent me home "sick". Or maybe I should've swallowed a box of pencil shavings and projectile-puked my way into the hospital. 'Cause right now, the idea of spewing up wood chunks sounds a hell of a lot better than this.

I can't breathe.

My lungs are screaming for air while I choke down another mouthful of Seven's mint-flavored spit. I didn't think it was possible to die like this, but the longer we keep swapping saliva, the more I'm starting to believe it might happen for real.

I'm drowning.

If I were the Titanic, she'd be the human iceberg. I need a way out fast before my reputation sinks to the bottom of the social Atlantic.

Kissing isn't supposed to feel like being dragged out to sea, but Eve's got it down to a science. A forty-five minute science that I have to put an end to before she puts an end to me. You know it's bad when I start wishing I'd chosen forty-five minutes of actual science class over getting some lady love. Real talk.

"E-Eve?" I say, but she swallows my words in another vacuum of a kiss. She sticks her tongue deeper into the back of my throat, and it triggers something that's all kinds of wrong.

You know those sci-fi movies where the aliens are born by bursting out of people's chests or stomachs or whatever? 

The person just knows that there's something terribly wrong, then, suddenly, the alien tears its way out of their body both confirming their suspicions and leaving just a few seconds for them to realize that death is the inescapable next step of their reality. Yeah, well, kissing Eve feels just like that only coming in instead of going out. And, I need this to stop. Now.

I pull away from her hard and fast when I'm no longer physically able to fake that I'm enjoying any part of this. There's a weird, loud sucking noise when we separate that sounds a lot like forcefully removing an octopus from a glass window. You'd think that would clue her in to something being wrong, but she just smiles at me like she's living out her wildest dreams.

As soon she's off of me, I gasp in mouthful after mouthful of air until I'm dizzy from the feeling. Eve's eyes shift from coy, to confused, to concerned, and for the first time in the last forty-five minutes, I finally spot my chance to escape.

"Elias, are you okay?"

Step one: Create an illusion.

"I don't—I don't know. I was fine until you—"

I suck in a few sharp dramatic breaths through my nose and wheeze them back out which visibly frightens her.

"Until I what?"

Step two: Make her believe the illusion.

"Until you kissed me. I didn't wanna say anything earlier, but I think I'm--"

I grab my chest and twist my t-shirt between my fingers like my heart's about to explode.

"—I think I'm having some kind of r-reaction to something. You didn't chew gum or anything before you came here—d-did you?"

Eve's rosy cheeks turn about as a grey as the chipped paint peeling off the ceiling. She throws her hands over her mouth and gasps at a lie that's she's way too innocent to see through.

"I-I did. Is that bad?"

Not at all.

"Depends. It wasn't mint-flavored was it?"

"Wait, you're allergic?!"

"Please tell me it wasn't."

Step three: Pour on the melodrama.

Eve's eyes start quivering about as badly as her hands as she desperately tries her best to hold on to me.

"Oh my gosh, Elias, I'm so sorry. I didn't know anything would happen. I'm so--"

Before she's able to finish admitting her imaginary guilt, I burst out into the kind of coughing fit that could earn me an Oscar. She backs away from me while I stumble blindly toward the door like I'm taking my last steps. Once I ease up on the coughing, Eve flutters over to me and tries her best to help me stand up straight despite the fact that I'm perfectly capable of doing it on my own.

"Tell me what I can do to help, Elias. I'll walk you to the nurse's office or call for help if you need me to—just tell me what you need."

Step four: Escape without ever having to tell her the truth.

"I just—I just need to get back to my locker, so I can take my inhaler and some allergy meds."

The tension in her shoulders eases a little, and she relaxes enough for the full-blown panic in her eyes to flicker out.

"Do you want me to go with you?"

I place a hand on her shoulder and stare right at her, so she knows there's zero chance of that happening.

"No, I don't wanna make you miss another class, and honestly I'm super embarrassed right now—"

Cough.

"—and I don't wanna drag you into anymore of this than I already have—"

Wheeze.

"—but once I'm feeling better, I'll text you. I promise. Today was—"

A nightmare. I thought when she let me slide my hands up her skirt that things were going somewhere, but clearly I was wrong. She stopped me before any magic could happen which is fine—but the kissing wasn't. I backed off almost getting to third base only to end up nearly dying at first. Yeah, I'm never doing this again.

"—it was—interesting to say the least," I say, and it's probably the first true thing I've spat out all morning. Eve breaks out into a full on blush-fest which completely confuses me.

"Today was—pretty special to me, at least until this happened."

"Yeah, well don't stress about it too much. Anyway, I should probably go before things get any worse, so—"

"Wait—"

She grabs the edge of my sleeve and holds me still when all I wanna do is bolt.

"—I wasn't sure if I should say this, but you were my first kiss, Elias—"

Oh no.

"—and even though I was stupid and accidentally made you break out in hives—I'll never forget what happened today. As lame as this sounds, I'm really glad my first kiss happened with you."

I don't know what it is about what she says, but it leaves me speechless. I take a long hard look at Eve and try to figure out what it is about her that bothers me. There's nothing wrong with who she is or how she thinks she's feeling right now. She's giddy, foolish, and tripping over her words like they're a pair of untied shoes. All of it's so familiar it's starting to make me sick.

Is this what I looked like in front of Stacey Brenner back in 8th grade?

Full of hope.

Full of innocence.

Heart bursting at the seams after the buzz of a first kiss.

I wonder if Stacey felt the way I do about Eve right now. She told everyone how much she regretted that kiss. She embarrassed me in front of the whole school just because she could. But that's where Stacey and I are different. 

I'm not gonna humiliate Eve like that. I'll bury my opinion of how she kissed me in that back room and leave it there. I don't have to be a dick. I'll let her down easy. I'll leave her with an illusion of a first kiss that won't break her heart. I'll leave her whole instead of in pieces because it's the human thing to do. And because I don't want her to end up like me.

"Eve, can you promise me something before I go?" I ask.

She perks up and slips into that slightly goofy smile that'll probably make some guy fall head over heels for her one day.

"Sure, anything?"

"Keep this for me. Will you?"

"Keep what?"

I lean across the couple inches of space between us and kiss her on the cheek.

"Your first kiss. You shouldn't waste it on somebody like me, so now that I've given it back, save it for somebody who's worth it, okay? See you round."

She nods and smiles, but she doesn't understand. I leave before she tries to.

I walk back through the library and make my way toward the exit silently telling myself that this is the last time I'll ever do something like this to someone like her. Someone as innocent and naive as I used to be.

I pick up my phone and start scrolling through my texts wondering just how many "Eve's" I've actually been involved with without knowing. Without noticing. Without caring.

I wanna believe that the other girls were different.

That they were just as messed up and broken as I am. None of the ones before Eve ever looked at me with expectation or trust or hope.

They saw a hurricane, and they wanted to ride out the storm.

But Eve saw a ghost of the person I used to be.

And I don't want anyone to look at me the way she did ever again.

'Cause all it does is remind me of everything I was, everything I could've been, and everything I'm not.

###

I don't even make it two steps out of the library when I slam straight into Derek Gibner. Again. He screeches like a barn owl and drops a box full of plastic beakers which scatter everywhere the second they hit the floor.

"Are you freaking kidding me, King?! Once I put these precious instruments back where they belong, you are so dead!"

Great. A school of 1,500 people and I had to run into this one.

"Calm down, Derek, it was an accident."

I drop down to the floor, grab a couple of beakers, and try handing them to him, but he refuses to take any from me.

"You know, you're awfully helpful for an influenza patient. According to school protocol, the nurse should've sent you home approximately forty-six and a half minutes ago, but here you are."

I'm too tired to even try arguing with him, so I focus on cleaning up instead of starting a war with the Debate Club king.

"Look, if you wanna write me up for detention, just do it and get it over with. You caught me."

Derek laughs to himself, and it's just as deranged and obnoxious as I expect it to be.

"Oh no, you're not getting out of this with just a write up, King. As hall monitor, it's my responsibility to report and escort repeat offenders directly to the class teacher. Therefore, I--"

"Lead the way, Gibs. If I wanted a lecture, I would've stuck around for science class."

I pick up the final beaker on the floor and shove it in the box so hard that all of Derek's neat little rows implode on themselves. A vein about the size of Texas pops up above his left eye, but he stops himself from blowing a gasket at the last minute.

"You know something, Elias? You might think you're all that 'cause you skip class and mess around with girls like the misogynistic mascot that you are, but one day it's gonna catch up to you. And when it does, I'll be there just to say I told you so."

"Get in line, Derek, you're not the first one to tell me that."

"And I won't be the last. Now, follow me. Mr. Kissinger, and your detention sentence are waiting."

###

Derek's practically skipping when we show up outside of Kissinger's class. 

The guy's got an unhealthy relationship with crime and punishment which is why I'm doing my best to act like this detention write up doesn't bother me. Normally, nothing Derek does would phase me, but unlike the rest of my teachers, I actually like Kissinger.

He's the only person at this school I've ever talked to about my home situation 'cause he knows what it's like first hand. Apparently, sucky Dads aren't exclusive to the King family. 

Homework and test grades kind of fall out of the equation when fights take up all your study time. They've been getting worse lately. So have my grades. Honestly, I owe Mr. K a lot for doing his best to not fail me. But, if Derek gets his way, everything good I have going with Kissinger might be off the table.

"After you, Elias."

Derek's lisp kicks in extra hard on that final "s", but I make a point to dodge his spray fest and head straight for the door. Maybe if I bust inside and beg Mr. K to let me make up the class I just missed, he'll let me sit in on the same lesson next period. 

He's allowed me to do it before. If I catch him before the bell and beg him enough, he might go for it. I crack open the classroom door only to get steamrolled by an avalanche of students streaming out into the hallway.

Nobody stops to avoid me. Nobody notices how I'm a couple unsteady steps away from falling backwards onto the floor. They push until I'm tripping over my feet just trying to stay standing. 

Two guys who I recognize as pretty heavy boozers from the weekend party scene come barreling straight into me as they walk out of class. I speak up to try to stop them from bowling me over, but they're too caught up in their conversation to notice.

"Dude, did you see the new transfer? I'm absolutely gonna hit that. She's super cute."

"Get in line, buddy. A chick like that's gonna end up on everybody's "to-deflower" list. Bet you twenty bucks she won't even give you the time of day."

"You're on."

New transfer? Always overrated. Last semester, we had some new chick come into our grade from out of state and everybody went nuts. Everybody thought that because she was coming in from New York that she'd be some high society hot girl who'd reinvent Mission Bay's social scene. 

Turns out she ended up being shy, homey, and super antisocial. She didn't show up to parties, she pretty much kept to herself, and after all the buzz of her being an out-of-stater died down, I decided that transfers weren't worth all the hype. 

Mission Bay's got enough gorgeous girls walking around who actually deserve 100% of the attention they get, anyway. But even though most of the guys here understand that fact, nearly every dude I push past on my way into Mr. K's classroom is going off about the transfer. Whatever. They'll forget her name by next week.

Mr. K's sitting on the edge of his desk flipping through a stack of essays I may or may not recall him mentioning being due this week. Either way, I didn't write one, so that's another thing added on the "Elias is screwed" list. 

Derek breezes past me and marches up to Mr. Kissinger, head held high like the little brown-noser he is. Mr. K looks up at him from behind his glasses and rolls his eyes right at Derek which I silently appreciate.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Gibner? Please tell me you have something other than detention slips to discuss with me 'cause I'm fresh out of copies, and I have a teacher's meeting in five minutes."

Derek reaches into his back pocket and whips out a folded stack of detention slips that he probably carries around for situations like these. Loser.

"Don't worry, Mr. K, I'll make this brief. Earlier this morning, I caught this delinquent--"

"Please refrain from using disrespectful language when talking about your peers, Derek. Given your position, I assume you're well aware of the school rules."

Mr. K winks at me from across the room and motions for me to come over to his desk like Derek's not even there. The guy's always moving at a million miles per hour but somehow manages to make time for the little people. Even Derek. He flops down in his rickety office chair, cracks open a drawer, and stuffs today's essays on top of another pile of assignments I probably haven't done either.

"I sincerely apologize. I didn't even think to stop myself from violating the Mission Bay Bill of Student Rights. I'll happily fill out a detention slip for myself at your request Mr. K," Derek says.

Mr. Kissinger runs a hand through his grey brown crew cut hair and sighs the way all of us do whenever Derek speaks.

"That won't be necessary. Anyway, I'd like discuss the terms of Mr. King's detention with him privately, so if there isn't anything else, you may go."

He motions Derek in the direction of the door which blows a billion little holes into his morning. Derek pockets his detention slips and stomps out the door without saying another word.

"One down, one delinquent to go. I'm disappointed in you, Eli, I thought we had an agreement about your attendance this semester."

We did. I promised him that I wouldn't miss his class unless it was a family emergency or I was out sick. I was doing a pretty decent job of holding up my end until today. Now that I'm sitting here, skipping class just to go mess around with Eve seems a lot more stupid than it did an hour ago. I place my hands on the edge of his desk, drop my head between my shoulders, and breathe out my frustration.

"I know. I'm sorry. I was with--"

"A girl? I've heard. The whole class was whispering about it before the new transfer walked in and changed the conversation. You should thank her, Elias. If she hadn't arrived today, I would've written you up for disrupting my class without even being present."

Incredible. Even Mr. K's going off about this girl, and she's barely been at the school six hours.

"I'll be sure to thank her next class," I say, even though I'm planning on doing the exact opposite. People would've talked about me regardless. She's not anything gossip-worthy just 'cause she's new. End of discussion.

Mr. Kissinger takes a long swig of his probably cold coffee and eyes me from the rim of his mug.

"Well, if her performance in class today is indicative of her academic ability, you'll have to thank her for the rest of the semester."

"What do you mean?"

"I've assigned her as your lab partner until the school year ends, so no more ditching for you, kiddo."

Yeah, no.

"Mr. K, I know you're trying to help me and everything, but I suck at science and all I ever do is bring other people's grades down."

He scratches what's left of what used to be the most epic stache in the school and breaks into a half-hearted laugh.

"Exactly. You're the most requested and most dropped lab partner in my class which is why I'm sticking you with the transfer. She's new, she doesn't know about your grades, she doesn't know she can switch partners, and she looks like she'll be an academic superstar. Win-win for you, right?"

I'm shaking my head before I even open my mouth to turn down the offer.

"Not really. I'm just gonna blow things for her. You know how I am."

"I do, which is why you don't have a choice but to try harder, Elias. I've been cutting you slack since last semester, but if you keep going in this direction, I'm going to have to involve your parents. You already know I don't want to have to do that."

I came dangerously close to failing midterms last semester which landed me in weeks of hot water with my dad. If Mr. K hadn't gone out on a limb and pushed up my science grade, Dad would've pulled me out of Mission Bay. He took every "C" or below on my report card out on Mom, and I still haven't forgiven myself for that. Kissinger's right. I've gotta do better this time—not just for me, but for Mom.

I tear my eyes away from the floor and finally look up at Mr. K, so he knows I'm taking him seriously.

"Okay, I'll do it. Just don't expect any miracles," I say.

"I'm expecting your best, Eli. I know you've got it in you to succeed, you just have to put in the work. Besides, if you don't, I'll have no other choice but to—"

"Fail me. I know. Thank you—for everything. And for letting this morning slide."

Mr. K reaches into his desk, pulls out a slip of paper, scribbles something on it, and then hands it to me.

"Who says I let anything slide? New year, new expectations, Mr. King. Here's to turning over a new leaf."

I stare down at the faded yellow detention slip in my hands and watch any afternoon hook-up plans I might've had go up in smoke.

"C'mon, Mr. K, I thought we were friends."

He gets up out of his chair, throws his arm around my shoulder, and walks me over to the door.

"Friends don't let friends skip class. I'll see you after school."

###

By the time detention lets out, I've got a string of angry texts from Tanner barking at me to high tail it across campus, so he can drive me home. It's not like I wanted to trap him here, but I guess he has the right to be pissed. 

This isn't the first time this has happened. At this point, Tanner's probably lost count of how many times he's waited up for me. I owe him more than a few apologies for that—it's just—lately, they're getting harder to say. It's getting harder to talk to him in general. But he's not the one who's changed—I have. I just don't have the balls to tell him.

These days, I just want somewhere to run to, a place to disappear out of my life for a little while without anybody trying to pull me back. That's where Tanner's got me beat. 

He has a car. He can come and go from home as he pleases while I'm stuck having to deal with Mom and Dad. He can always run to Caleigh, but I'm trapped which is why I'm counting the days until I get my license. Then, I can stay out as late as I want without getting lectured for it—at least not until I get back to the house—if I go back at all.

Another "where are you" text from Tanner pops up on my screen, and I pick up my pace before he gets pissed enough to call.

I sprint out of the main building and cut across the sports fields to try to get to the parking lot a couple minutes faster. 

Spring's dancing on the wind out here. The smell of newly cut grass mixing with the musty scent of the girls kicking up dirt on the softball field slows me down for a couple seconds. I don't know what it is about this place, but something about the wide open green stretching out towards the ocean always gets my attention.

Sometimes, when I walk by, I stop and stare at the lights spilling down on top of the bleachers and pretend I belong to some part of it. This is the only part of campus where I don't feel alone. 

It's not like the softball and baseball fields get up every time I show up, sit next to me in the stands, and keep me company. But I feel a little less lonely here—standing outside of the school walls on the green, letting myself get lost in the San Diego skyline.

I stop for a couple seconds and stare up at nothing—and then everything goes black. 

Pain explodes across the side of my face and knocks me straight off my feet. I hit the ground hard, my back thuds against the grass and hard-packed dirt, but the hurt barely breaks through the surface. The jackhammer headache rattling it's way through my left eye is too busy stealing the spotlight.

I grab the side of my face with one hand and stifle a scream with the other while I scramble to make sense of what the hell just happened. I glance around with my good eye and catch sight of a neon, grapefruit-sized ball lying in the grass next to me.

I let out a string of curse words that probably nobody hears, but I'm about to change that. No ball-chasing softball chick is going to nearly kill me and get away with it.

I pick myself up off the ground and try not to focus on the fact that my eye's swollen to the size of a golfball. I B-line towards the sad excuse of a girl's field which looks like the kiddy version of the baseball team's digs. 

If they're training the girls to murder people with softballs for a living, maybe confining them to a smaller space is a good thing. I jog up to the gate and stare through the crosshatched metal to track down whoever's responsible for everything that just happened.

I stare down every single girl wandering around the field, hoping to spot someone to blame, but I don't find what I'm looking for.

I find who I've been looking for.

A ghost I've been chasing in highs. In late nights with strangers. In the lowest parts of my loneliness.

I've imagined seeing her on mornings when I wake up alone. At moments where I'm desperate to find the part of me that's been missing since that day on the beach.

I've been looking for those eyes, those lips, and that mess of wild auburn hair all across San Diego.

And now she's here—crouched down in the dirt, dust caked on her scratched up knees, baggy Mission Bay softball tee tied just above her waist.

This can't be real.

Maybe that softball hit me hard enough to send me half a year back.

I blink a hundred times over waiting for her to disappear or for her face to transform into someone else's the way it has in the past. But then the sound of the coach calling her name steals her attention and all the air right out of my lungs.

Lacey brushes herself off and goes jogging over to the dug out like her feet are barely touching the ground. Her running's a little lopsided and awkward, but it's totally adorable. And totally her. And I'm totally losing control of myself all over again.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and suddenly, I realize that I don't even know how long I've been standing here. I don't know how long I've been staring through the gate like a one-eyed creep instead of getting back to my brother. I force myself to turn around and leave even though it's the last thing I wanna do—it's exactly what I should do.

I've been here before.

Lost in her. Lost in an illusion that got me hoping for an unrealistic situation with an unreachable girl.

Nothing's probably changed from six months ago—and,even if her status has, I'm not the same guy I was back then.

I'm Elias King now. I don't linger around softball fields for anyone. I don't wait for anyone. I don't want anyone.

People want me.

I unlock my phone, speed-scroll through my contacts, and stop on the name of the last girl I hooked up with. Number Six. I don't even think twice before deciding to call her. She'll pick up if it's me. She always picks up when it's me. I forgot about my problems the last time I snuck out of my house and into her bedroom. And, I need to forget them again tonight.

The phone rings.

And rings.

Until I'm stuck with the choice to either leave her a voicemail or find somebody else.

I scroll through another six names.

Waiting for an answer.

Praying for a distraction.

Hoping a stranger will help me forget the sight of that girl wearing her brand new Mission Bay softball t-shirt better than anyone else on the team.

But no one picks up my calls.

Not a single one.

So I leave the field almost empty handed.

With nothing but the sound of Lacey's name riding on the edge of the wind, ringing in my ears, and racing through my veins—where she's always been.

###

Thank you guys so much for reading and listening! I also really appreciate you guys being so patient! The last couple weekends have been a bit crazy so the updates have been moved to the weekend instead of Friday. I'm going to change the update schedule to WEEKENDS instead of FRIDAYs because it's a bit easier on Kristen and I schedule wise. I hope this isn't a problem for anyone! Either way, we really hope you enjoyed the chapter! 

#Realtalkquestionoftheweek

1. If you could give Elias relationship advice right now, what would it be? 

2. Have you ever had a crush on someone from a distance? Did you ever end up approaching them/telling them how you feel? 

3. Have you ever been kissed by a terrible kisser? How did you get out of the situation?