elliot

Tanner is hardly speaking, which is both weird as well as kinda fine, because I'm more than certain Neema is compensating for our shared lack of talking.

She's asking all kinds of questions about Minnesota and why the Hargreaves moved and what kind of extracurricular activities do he and Alyssa like and do you think ketchup with hot dogs really make them grilled Nirvana or was that just a stupid question and did you take the PSAT anyways?, and I'm kinda glad for it.

It's giving me distraction from the whole "Alyssa being alone with Duncan and Taffy and Brooklin" debacle, which I'm sure isn't actually a debacle anyplace outside of my head, but is still just as terrifying. What if they say something mean? To her, or to Duncan, or about me? I'm glad it's Duncan going and not Neema, at least. Neema would literally rip someone's head off with words alone, and enjoy it. And with Taffy and Brookin, she wouldn't even need prompting.

It's not that I think the two of them will be mean. Not exactly. Just, they're prone to drinking irresponsibly at house parties. Drinking on the Front itself is one thing, because there's often the potential for a random police check-in where being absolutely hammered is not a good idea. But where they're protected, off the beach? They're the epitome of drunkards. And if the two of them are fairly toxic off alcohol, the two of them on it are ... so not good.

I don't want to admit it, but they can behave terribly at times. Alcohol does them no favors.

"Hey," comes Duncan's voice from behind us. After Alyssa and he had taken a basement stroll, we'd moved out onto the benches of the back patio, which was semi-crowded but nowhere near as bad as the inside of the house. It's also quiet enough to actually hear the person next to you, which is a definitive perk.

I can't help whirling around too quickly. "Hey, how'd it go?"

Alyssa looks noticeably pale, and at first, I wonder if they said anything awful or crazy to her. Then, I notice her legs are shaking slightly. I scooch over and put my arm on the back of the bench. "You want a seat?" I ask her. If she tails out here, I will die. And it's not even me growing the giant ouchy appendage.

"Thanks." She slides in next to me, clasping her hands together and staring at her knees.

"You okay?" I murmur.

She looks over at me, and the way the sun has set just enough to make her hair look pink and her eyes soft drives me crazy immediately. She's so pretty. How is she so pretty?

"I'm okay," she says, "but thanks."

"Were they nice?" Neema asks as Duncan wedges himself into the corner right next to her. Their bodies press together immediately. As he wraps one arm around her waist and brings her against his chest, I avert my gaze. I wish I had that with somebody. All the time, really, but especially in moments like this, moments that the PDA police would gasp over but hesitate to stop. It just feels so pure and intimate and, goddammit, I need a girlfriend or something.

"They were dicks," Alyssa says. I snap my gaze back to hers, legitimately surprised, and immediately ashamed. "I'm sorry, Elliot. I didn't know they were so awful. Or homophobic."

"Oh, they're homophobic," Tanner mutters. "They're swim girls, yeah? Jace said he's positive that's the group of girls who were tearing up shit on Instagram this morning."

Alyssa closes her eyes. "Fuck. I'm sorry, Tan."

"It's fine." His voice is tense and high, though, and I can tell that it's not fine.

"Wait," Neema says, "that was you? The ... oh, man, I'm sorry. That is literally so disgusting."

"It's fine," he repeats.

"It's so not." Duncan shifts his position so he's sitting more straight up. "That's really fucked up that they did that. To you, and to Jace. If there's anything we can do, let us know."

"Yeah," I find myself saying, "seriously."

Even though, I'm still not entirely convinced they're homophobic. I feel like they're just petty, misguided girls trying to make small town life more exciting. I guess that doesn't excuse their actions, though.

Tanner smiles slightly down at his hands, and although I could be imagining it, I swear he sounds on the verge of tears when he says, "Thanks, guys. That means a lot."

I am definitely not imagining Alyssa's hand squeezing mine, though. I look at her, and she mouths "Thank you" silently, and, fuck.

She's literally aglow in the setting sun, a mix of pink and gold and orange, fiery and beautiful and soft, and dammit, I want to kiss her. Which is terrifying. Maybe not a foreign feeling, but terrifying.

"Hey," Tanner says, "do you guys feel like getting out of here?"

Neema is the first to her feet. "Hell to the yes," she says as Duncan leaps to standing next to her, immediately grabbing her hand. "I didn't even want to come in the first place. Let's bounce, female dogs."

"Language," I warn.

"Shut up, Captain."

"You can't say that to her," Alyssa says. I didn't realize it till now, but her voice is a lot like Tanner's—soft, tinkling, smooth like honey. With Tanner, I feel compelled to listen. With Alyssa, though, I want to listen. "She's America's ass."

"If we were a movie, I feel like we would be sued," Tanner says, adjusting his polo collar.

"If we were a movie, you'd be the right guy," Duncan says.

Neema grins. "I'd be the best friend that you'd—"

"Let's go," I say, shaking my head, pressing on a fake smile.

-

We end up hitting the Cumm-n-Gitt quickly (no Norm on-shift) before heading back to Tanner and Alyssa's house. Tanner drives with Neema and Duncan, jetting off before us out of the parking lot whilst Alyssa slurps her cherry slushie and watches me unashamedly from the passenger seat.

"Are they always so terrible?" she asks. It's not as if she has to tell me who she's talking about (after a brief second of thinking she meant cherry slushies).

"Not always," I say, and I mean it. "They can be really nice sometimes."

She doesn't seem entirely convinced. "Duncan said something about you getting booted from the swim team? What was that about? Did they—"

"Oh, no, that was me." It feels like a lie, somehow. "I was too busy with school." Lie.

"Okay," she says. She is most definitely not convinced, but it's fine. Completely fine.

We pull onto the street, and I can feel all this tension in my shoulders. I tell myself to breathe in and out, in and out, and that, if I do, the tension will disappear. It doesn't, so I try to roll my shoulders back a few times. Breathe. I can breathe.

"You okay?" Alyssa asks, holding her red straw daintily. "You seem tense."

I mean, she's not wrong. I am tense. And I'm also suddenly very, very stressed—my old best friends are quite possibly homophobes and I've been in stupid fucking denial about it; my actual best friends are in love and I might be a third wheel now; there's a pretty girl in the seat next to me and I can't decide if I want to kiss her because she's a pretty girl but simultaneously more, or if it's simply the fact that I want something to escape to.

I wish I knew. Because, I. Want. To. Kiss. Her.

"I'm fine," I say. "Just thinking."

"I've noticed that that is indeed your thinking face," she says awkwardly, and I can tell it's supposed to be funny, a cutesy distraction, but really, it is not helping.

"Ha, yep. My thinking face. The face when I make when thinking." I turn—too quick, too sharp—onto one of the roads perpendicular Main Street that will lead to Alyssa's house, almost fearful of the way the car turns lightly in my hands. It's so mobile, I realize. I'm so in control of it. I could make it do anything. I'm in charge here, and I like it.

"I have one of those," Alyssa says, her voice a little tighter. "You should see my postulating face."

I need to calm down.

"Sorry," I tell her, flipping my lights on as the shadows of Hulhazy's small homes stretch farther onto the street and the sun sets off in the distance. "It was just a weird night."

"I'm really sorry I had you come with me. If I'd have known, I wouldn't have made you. I wouldn't have gone."

"You didn't make me. I wanted to hang out with you."

I don't let myself look at her. I don't trust myself not to be a fucking idiot. "You wanted to hang out with me?" she echoes, as if it should even be surprising. "Why?"

Because I like everything about you and would super like to get to know you better? "You're really cool, Alyssa. Seriously."

It takes her a few seconds to manage a stammery "Thank you." Suddenly, I kinda just wish I could sleep. Like, that would be so freaking lovely.

We drive the rest of the way in an awkward silence, the public radio quietly going on about private eyes watching every moves, a stark difference compared to our previous Tessa Violet. I hate that I can imagine kissing the underside of Alyssa's jaw softly, nibbling her neck, all to Tessa Violet. And suddenly, it's like everything is closing in on me. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. I need to get out of this car.

Duncan's mom's car is empty when we get to Alyssa and Tanner's, and I wish that Alyssa wouldn't wait for me to get out. A moment alone would be high-key amazing right now. I tell myself to just breathe, that it's fine regardless.

"You okay?" she asks.

"I'm fine." I hesitate, removing my keys from the ignition and awkwardly manoeuvring to slip them in my pocket. "Are you? You seemed a little ... shaken. Earlier."

"Oh, I'm fine," she insists too quickly. "It'll be okay. But, I am gonna take some Advil or something later."

"Happy pills," I muse.

She snorts. "Actually, I hate medicine. Like, not taking it or anything—the taking it is fine. But I get so afraid I'll end up addicted to it or something, because my body just refuses to be normal one-hundred-percent of the time, so what would make other people need drugs would be me taking a lot of shit. Which I don't want. So, yeah, I just try to get through it."

I nod, even though I don't have anything to add.

She continues: "It's not even too bad. Most of the time. Sometimes it's really bad, but usually, it's like, a weird tingling in my legs that sometimes reaches up my hips and my spine and to my head and gives me headaches, and it's just, eh. I take a lot of warm baths. A lot of warm baths. I've been falling back on meds too much recently. I need a good bath."

We step out and into the now-grey light, and I hate that I have such a strong urge to give her a hug. Because, fuck, I would hate living like that.

But also, Alyssa in the bath. Nope. This is a bad time. Fuck my brain.

"If there's anything I can ever do...." I offer but incompletely.

"Thanks," she says. "I appreciate it."

When we walk through the front door, Duncan and Neema jump apart on the couch, as if they were actually getting handsy with people around. (Never.) "Hello," Duncan says as I bend down out of habit to untie my shoes. "Your brother thought that hot chocolate is a good summer drink, so—"

"It is a good summer drink!" shouts Tanner from the kitchen, and when he says it, I believe it. It feels off, but factual.

Alyssa rolls her eyes. "Ignore him. I'm gonna go put pyjamas on."

I look at her playful blouse, at her tiny jean shorts, and try to imagine what Alyssa's pyjamas would look like. The thought of her in a loose tank top with giant flannel pants, or an oversized T-shirt and old gym shorts, is too cute to handle.

"Oh, Elliot!" she says, snapping her fingers. "I need to show you my Tessa art!"

No one says anything, but I realize very quickly that I am being invited to Alyssa's room.

I finish my shoe removal and stand with far too much urgency. "Okay. Yes. Perfect." Which leads to a gorgeous internal cringe on my half. And probably everyone else's.

Alyssa's room is a little messier today than it was yesterday. There are clothes strewn all about her bed that she immediately piles up and tosses into her desk chair. She turns to me, brushing loose strands of silky hair from her face. "Sorry. I was having a wardrobe moment earlier."

"You're good," I tell her. "Believe me, my room is an absolute pigsty. A few clothes are literally not even an issue."

She smiles slightly, but says nothing. Then, she bustles to one of those poster-tube things, which rests against the wall behind a pile of inconspicuous boxes. "So, um," she says, a deep crimson creeping up her cheeks from her jawline, "these are my Tessa ones. I drew them digitally, then printed them out. They're kinda old—my other, newer stuff isn't printed out—but I like them. They're fun."

The Tessa drawings are of different music videos I recognise, but looser and sketchy and far more vibrant. Her nose and eyes and mouth are always in the same sharp detail, but her smile lines and the bags beneath her eyes have been given the same attention to a point that feels somewhat less than stylistic and more unavoidable. It's obviously Tessa, but the way the color from her hair and her cheeks blur out to the abstract pops of color behind her makes it something more.

"These are stunning," I mutter, taking a seat at the end of her bed as I rifle through the few other illustrations. I don't even realize where I've sat until Alyssa is suddenly right next to me, staring over my shoulder. I glance over and see her brow is scrunched up in confusion and concern.

She's so close, I can feel her warmth against my skin. It makes me suck in a breath and just stop breathing from there on. "You think so?"

"I literally couldn't think otherwise. Are all of your drawings like this?"

"Thanks," she mutters, brushing more hair away from her face. I try not to look at her, because thinking about how much I think I like her is a little awkward when you're in—sorry, on—someone's bed. "Um, they kinda are? I have some Dodie ones. Cavetown, too. Lemme find them...."

She rifles through a few other poster tubes—tubes I wish I could see the contents of—and then, triumphant, brings back the posters. "I go a little different stylistically for each artist. I get a little experimental," she explains, laying out a couple posters for each artist between our laps. The printings are probably a little longer than my forearm, and not as wide. The finish is glossy, each illustration shining beneath Alyssa's soft desk lamp.

"I usually draw while I watch TV," she continues. It feels like she doesn't know what to say, so she's saying more than she thought she would. I haven't seen this from her yet. I love it. "I do a bunch of loose sketches, then layer them over each other and figure out what it is I want it to be. It's quite soothing."

"I can't get over how amazing these look," I whisper. "You are really good, Alyssa."

I look over and down at her, and the tips of our noses brush. I suck in a breath, and she does too, but neither of us move. We just sit there, noses touching, eyes locked. "Really good," I repeat in a whisper.

I feel myself shifting in even closer.

Then her gaze slashes away from mine and she pulls away. "Sorry, um—I'm gonna get changed. I'll see you out there?"

Right. Shit. Fuck. Of course. "Yeah, no, for sure. Um, I shall see you out there. In the out. Doing the out." I try to walk nonchalantly, but my hip bumps one of her higher-stacked boxes, and the whole tower nearly comes crashing down before I grab it. With a crab-legged stance, I gingerly try to set it back up.

Frozen, Alyssa just watches in silence.

The boxes seem stable enough, so I toss her an abrupt salute, then exit.

Fuckfuckfuck. Why did I do that?

I'm too presumptuous. Jesus. Why? Why can I have no chill? Way to fucking go, Elliot, you fucking nerd.

A/N - so. We almost had a kiss. Hur hur. Thoughts?

In other news, my birthday is coming up. I'm almost 17! Wooooooot! If you guys have any ideas for something I could do - a one shot for one of my stories or something - just let me know!!!!!!!!!! (Also, I promise to catch up on comments soon. ;D)

Peace out!

UPDATE (August 12 2021): lmao I'm 17 wooooooooot. also, I've decided I can have another hot chocolate once I upload the second third of chapters. big brainnnnn.