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elliot

The air is salty and smells of oncoming rain, and for the first time in months, I'm hanging out with the team. After months of meek hallway nods and brief lunchline convos, it's unfamiliar, but hey, I'll take what I can. My hope is, we can forget the past school year and start anew. I mean, it's not as if they're still the same people they were. I'm older, they're older—things will be better. They have to be better.

"Okay but like, his hair," Amber K. says, staring over at Kyle Simon. "It's just so poofy."

"He's definitely cute," Brooklin says, her hands resting atop Taffy's smooth legs. They've always had that Best Friend Thing where they set up shop on top of each other, like it's the most natural thing in the world. Everyone acts like it is, at least. Their matching infinity rings catch the glint of the fire all the way from their foldable chairs, showing off their official Best Friend status. Honestly, I'm just waiting for them to start dating at this point. Stranger things have happened.

Taffy takes a long swig of her light roast Cumm-n-Gitt coffee, not even grimacing like I know I would. Already a proven change from Sophomore Taffy; usually by now, she'd be hitting cheap beer. "So cute. I want to climb him like a tree and have his poofy-haired children."

"Oh my God, imagine how poofy it must be—" starts Amber S. before Brooklin interrupts with, "Omg, literally though. I feel that."

I can hear Neema in the back of my head making jokes about overcompensating, but I don't care. It's insipid, and it's harmless. Completely fine. Just because Neema hates the swim girls, I tell myself, doesn't mean I'm inclined to do the same. Just a year ago, these guys were like the sisters I never had.

"What do you think, El?" Brooklin rubs a thumb over one acrylic nail. "Cute?"

They're asking my opinion on things. Always a good sign. "Objectively cute, definitely poofy?" I try.

Amber K. snorts, pointedly rolling her eyes. "Okay."

I try to smile, but I'm panicking a little on the inside. Did I say something wrong? Oh God. Not again.

Brooklin laughs suddenly, and Chlo, short and stout since elementary school, joins in quietly. They all have by the time I finally realize what they're giggling at—Jace Westerfeld, holding hands with some unrecognizable boy close to the bonfire. I don't see anything wrong with them, with the way Jace leans in to whisper in the boy's ear, or with how the boy laughs and playfully shoves him away one-handed. I don't get it. What's so funny?

Then Amber S. says, "Do you think they think we want to see that?" It's like an ice pick to the chest.

The chuckling intensifies. Jace glances back at us, and though I can't see his expression with his back to the fire like that, I can't imagine he's feeling all too great. He gently tugs the boy, and they wander off closer to the shore, still holding hands, only visible by their silhouettes against the sliver of moon.

Poor Jace. Poor random guy. I exhale slowly, hoping no one notices. I don't think this is a homophobic thing—these girls are like that to everyone. They're not mean girls, per se, but snippy girls. I don't know if that excuses their laughter, but it at least comforts me a little. It's not Jace's gayness that's laughable, I'm sure. Which bodes well for me. See? Things have already improved.

Strong hands grab my arm. I jolt a little. "Ellioooot," coos Taffy, voice riddled with laughter, somehow separated from Brooklin's lap, "come with me to get some beeeer."

"Okay," I say, even though I know I won't get any beer. The beer (according to Duncan, who has actually tried it) is warm and tastes like armpit tears, and I just don't see the point. I'm not about to say anything, though. Not when I spent the last year pretty much alone. Not when it seems I might have finally been accepted back into the group, right when I need it the most.

Taffy and I wind through the throng of teens, each either shivering in shorts and tanks, or sweating by the bonfire in sweatpants and crewnecks. The sound of Lizzo feelings herself off in the distance is nearly drowned out by the sound of gently crashing waves and overexcited teenagers. A few people wave to Taffy, and when Brad Thompson gives her his typical fuckboi 'sup' nod, she coyly wraps her arm around mine and gives him a rather fuckboi-ish nod of her own. Brad turns and shouts something at someone I can't quite understand, and don't quite care to.

Taffy grips my arm harder. It takes me a second to realize we're not headed to the spot between two rocks where drinks are always kept. We're headed to the other section of the beach—toward Breakneck Cliff.

"Taffy?" I ask, glancing down at her.

Taffy just smirks.

"Taffy?" I try again, because I feel like I've somehow been in this situation before. One where Taffy or Brooklin or one of the girls manages to goad me into doing something, and then they all turn around and make fun of me for it. I'm really hoping they've grown out of that. That crap was just dumb. And I can't afford to lose these guys again.

"Shh," she says. "I just want to talk to you. In private."

Taffy is pulling me along so hard that I stumble, knocking sand into the face of some petite girl sitting on a towel, clad in an oversized sweatshirt. She cusses loudly, and I pull the two of us to a stop immediately.

"El," whines Taffy, trying to tug me along. I don't budge.

Like, bruh. Am I just supposed to walk away? What the actual hell. "Dude, just a sec." I manage to rip my arm out of her grasp before crouching down. Way to be smooth, Elliot. "I am so sorry. Are you okay?"

The girl is rubbing her eyes frantically, which I feel like every beach dweller should know is an immediate no-no. I definitely haven't seen her around before—I would remember someone this pretty. She has dainty, almost pixie-like features, and her wavy hair is in a loose ponytail, slung over one shoulder. In the light of the fire only slightly down the beach, she's practically glowing, which is weird, because some strange girl rubbing sand from her eyes on the ground shouldn't look this good.

"Peachy," she says dryly. "Jesus, is this sand made of evil glass?"

Cautiously, I tug her wrists away. "Don't rub. Blink, rapidly. Super fast."

She can't force her eyes open at first, but she finally manages to squint at me. It's not a happy squint. "First you get sand in my eyes, then you think I don't know what 'rapidly' means."

"Sorry," I say, fending off a slight smile.

"And in my mouth. You got it in my mouth."

"Mmhmm. And how does evil glass taste?" Maybe not a good thing to say. I can feel Taffy rolling her eyes, arms crossed tightly across her chest, behind my back. At least it's not the 'that's what she said' joke that popped into my head originally.

The girl quirks a slight smile, thank goodness. "Tastes awesome. Someone should put it in a cheesecake."

Was not expecting that. "Okay, but I would so eat that. Like, that cheesecake—"

"El," snaps Taffy, hands having found my arm once again. She tugs me to my feet. "Come on. I need to talk to you."

I want to glare at her, but don't. Instead, I just unsquat and give the girl an apologetic smile. "Sorry," I tell her again. She just rolls her still-squinted eyes in response, but it doesn't seem mean. Definitely more joking than anything. My heart flutters.

Moments like these serve to confirm my sexuality. Praise the gay gods.

Taffy's fingers are warm through the thin fabric of my flannel. She grips me too tightly, but I don't care. My heart thrums in my chest. Where are we going? Away from everyone else, yeah, but ... why?

We hike in silence up the side of Breakneck. After about a minute, Taffy lets my arm go and trudges ahead. Dutifully, I follow. It's not far to the top of the hill, but by the time we get there, I'm a little out of breath. I go on runs often enough, but my workout routine has been otherwise nonexistent since I left the swim team. At least I'm able to slow my breathing down to its normal pace without desperately heaving like some creature from a horror film.

"Taffy," I whisper, even though I'm pretty sure we're alone, and I might just be a little terrified of it, "what are we doing here?"

She turns, standing on tiptoe to reach me and tugs me down, closer to her. I can smell the coffee on her breath, the hazelnut still lingering. No alcohol, which is weird. This isn't a Sober Taffy move. "Before you left, you kinda hinted something. And I know that you quit because of Brooklin, but ... well. You know you can tell me anything, El."

My stomach flips, in a not-good way. It wasn't just Brooklin. It was all of them. In a way. In the end, though, it was my choice. Not theirs. Mine.

It's completely dark. From beneath the dense treeline not-too-far from the edge, I can't see Taffy, only feel her body close to mine. "I'm not sure what you're saying, Taffy."

"Are you gay?" she whispers, like it's a secret.

My fingers tingle. It's almost like I can see my blood sloshing through my veins. I can tell Taffy, right? If we're back to being friends, this is something I should be able to trust her with.

I pull my hair back from my face. I can hear Duncan and Neema telling me that this is something I only get to do in my own time, that the swim girls don't deserve it anyways. My parents don't even know. Has Taffy earned that much trust, with just a random invite text and an hour of mingling?

"No."

"Ah," she says, nodding. She sounds wistful, a little surprised, a little disappointed. "Well. I'm going to get beer now." And she flounces off into the night, leaving me alone to wonder what the hell just happened.

In the end, I guess it doesn't matter. Hopefully.

A/N:

Guess who's back???? It's a-me, a-Mario. 

Seriously though, GAH, IT'S A FIRST CHAPTER, OMG, I STILL DO THESE, GAAAAAAAH! Hope you guys enjoyed! There's another treat for you if you swipe, hehehehe.

Edit, August 8 2021: Soooo, this is completed now, but N*v*lHD stole it. (Grrrr!) So, I took everything down. They didn't take it down, but uhhh, whatever. I'm going to reupload it and dub it as mature, and hopefully that fixes things??? Idfk, man(s). But yeah, this chapter contains like the biggest change. So. Enjoy. ;)