alyssa

I didn't want to go to work yesterday. I figured that level of want was as bad as it could possibly get, but I have been proven wrong.

Today is just so much worse.

Tanner dropped me off after a very pancake-y breakfast, and it was all fine, until he told me that next time, I need to call him. I decided to not respond, instead electing to shut the truck door in his face and wave goodbye till he peeled Dusty Springfield the Van away from the curb of the pool.

A few girls gave me fairly weird looks as they walked in, which were easily ignorable but nerve wracking as hell. It's probably some West Coast girl thing. Probably. Definitely not that Elliot mentioned anything of what happened yesterday to them. Nope. Not. A. Possibility.

I walk straight to the stand, which is empty, because of course my heart can't maintain a normal rate ever. Of. Course.

I drop my bag behind the counter just like yesterday, then turn to nonchalantly lean against the counter. The pool looks pretty shoddy after the storm yesterday. There are leaves strewn about the pool, and a branch has fallen over one of the ten-foot fences that line the perimeter of the facility. A few toned lifeguard girls are already on it, three of them all together bending down and preparing to chuck it over.

I just watch them for a few moments, hating how I can't draw my eyes away from their flexed thighs, their flexed arms. It's so stupid. So fucking gay.

"Hey," comes a voice from my side. I avert my gaze from the hot branch girls—a girl with frizzy-ish blonde hair and dark, sculpted brows smirk-grins at me, flashing pearly gap teeth. "You're El's new coworker, aren't you?"

"Oh." El. Elliot. That girl. Person. Yes. "I am."

"Oh, hi! I'm Taf. It's so nice to meet you!" She sticks her hand out to me, with its lilac acrylic nails and its gold infinity ring.

I take it. Her grip is firm and warm. "Nice to meet you, too. I'm Alyssa."

A girl with dark hair sneaks up behind Taf and wraps her arms around her waist, chin plopped on her shoulder. Taf shrieks and laughs, hands flying to the girl's arms. I note a matching ring in silver. "Brookie, stop!"

"Never," grumbles Brookie against her neck, grinning. It's cute. They're cute. And they make my heart ache.

Brookie removes her arms from Taf, but she continues to lean against her, like she's some kind of chin prop. "This is Alyssa," says Taf, smiling at me with gorgeous blue eyes. "She's Elliot's coworker."

"Oh, you're with the dyke," Brookie jokes, and I manage a polite chuckle. They seem pleased by this—like, oh, she laughed at our queer joke! This is one of those moments I hope I'm giving off suitably queer vibes; I've always straight-passed really hard, so the chance I've just offended them instead of getting in on their joke is probably pretty high. Then again, these two seem to be super femme too—maybe their gaydars are sharpened, capable of spotting any femme queer from a mile away.

Or something.

"Be nice," tuts Taf. "So, Alyssa, are you a freshman?"

Oh gosh, not again. This happened all the time back in Minnesota, even in a small town where I had known everyone for years. "I'm actually a junior."

"Us too!" she says, hopping up and down excitedly. "Oh my gosh, that's so rad! You're new to town, then?"

"Yes."

The proceeding conversation ends up being a long interview of incredibly basic questions I don't think actually have anything to do with who I am as a human being, but I guess I'd rather them ask me the most mundane of crap than to ignore me.

After ten minutes or so, though, I still haven't seen Elliot. Which is beyond scary.

"Hey, I gotta get going to set up my set-up things," I tell the two of them, not knowing if there's anything I actually have to set up, "so I'll see you around. It was so nice talking to you both!"

"Same," says Brooklin. "So nice!"

I nod and grin a little, then awkwardly try to hop and slide over the counter. I look back halfway across helplessly. "I think I might be more of a Quentin than a Margo."

"I don't get it," says Taf, "but, ha?"

Discomfort and some kind of shame I don't quite get prickle the back of my neck. Why are they just standing there? Can't they just ... go somewhere else? "Ha, yep. Um. Bye."

Finally, they turn their backs, and I finish my awkward counter slide of shame.

When I get in behind the counter, I see it—Elliot's bag, this tote thing that says I Give Looks To Books, which is so dumb, but not in an entirely awful way. On the ground next to it is a little thermos-tumbler-thing with an all-too visible line of steam rising from the little mouth part of the lid.

So. She is here.

I creep a few feet towards the storage room door. I don't know why I'm creeping, but it feels kind of necessary. Almost.

I don't knock on the door before just unceremoniously flinging it open, which elicits a clatter and a very breathy "OOF FUCK."

Elliot topples to the ground before the door, clutching the side of her hip and groaning in pain. "My body," she hisses. "My beautiful body. I have been maimed. Ow. Owww."

"Oh my God!" Of fucking course I go and do this. "Are you okay?"

The writhing stops. "Oh I'm peachy," Elliot says, staring up at me with wide honey eyes. They shine in the light, and it catches me off guard. She really is disgustingly gorgeous, but in little ways. Like, her features are all kind of mismatched and squished together in a not-quite proportionate way, but it manages to work, somehow. I love it.

Elliot sits up, drawing her legs up and resting her arms loosely on her knees. "Yeah, I'm good. Like, you totally bumped me with the door, but it didn't hurt. Much. Kinda."

"I—okay?"

She just stares up at me from the floor, like she's just realising something. After a few seconds, I break our little staring contest and look behind her, to the broom that had clattered to the floor mere milliseconds before she toppled.

"A broom?"

She flushes crimson in her ears. "Oh, yeah. Um, there were some scales on the floor. Understatement, actually. More like all over the floor. I figured I would sweep them up."

I don't know why this renders me speechless, but it does. More than speechless. Thoughtless. Swept up my scales? I hadn't even thought that that was something that would need to be done, honestly. When I think about it, I didn't even know that was something that needed doing. Dad and Tanner—do they always deal with the aftermath of my little outbursts?

Gosh, I suck.

"Thanks," I mumble.

"No problem." She stands up, rising slowly like some kind of giant Elvish monolith. It's almost funny, watching her rise from the floor to over a foot above my head. Now instead of staring up at me, she stares down. "How are you doing today?"

"Fine, thanks."

She raises a single brow, an oddly starlette-esque gesture that didn't strike me as being her thing, what with her whole not-overtly-masc hipster vibe. It's very cute, though. "You sure? You were super out of it yesterday."

Oh. She means that.

"Thanks, I'm fine." It's not a total lie. Hardly a lie, really. "The scabs should be gone by tomorrow morning. My skin is still sore, and like, if I apply pressure to my legs, it hurts, but otherwise, I'm good. " It feels weird to say that—it's certainly more than I told Tanner.

Elliot nods, nibbling her bottom lip slightly. "If you need anything, let me know, okay?"

Gosh. Okay. That? That was cute. The way her warm eyes met mine, her little lip-biting, telling me to let her know if I needed anything? Too. Cute. Fuck. I shouldn't be finding this girl cute.

Her phone chimes in her pocket. I've never understood people who have their ringers on all the time. Like, what is the point? It's just a distraction. I don't need to be in the middle of some conversation and hear my phone ping, then spend the next few minutes looking for an out of the conversation so I can go check what could just be a spam email. Then again, I have zero self control, so.

Then again, after I broke up with Max, I didn't turn on the ringer, but I never turned it off. Maybe putting the ringer on would have been useful.

"So," Elliot says, "I already set up for this morning, and after storms, we're usually not busy, so it'll probably be just ... mega chill, okay?"

"Sounds perfect." I hesitate. "You didn't do too much work setting up, did you?"

"It was no trouble. Seriously." Which means, yes, Alyssa, I did a ridiculous amount of work, thank you for not helping.

My throat constricts. "I could have helped. I would have helped."

"It's seriously not an issue."

"Elliot. I can help." I cross my arms. "I'm hardly useless."

"I know that," she mutters. "I just wanted to make things easier for you, okay?"

I frown. "Fine. Thank you."

"Thank you. Fuck—I mean, thank you. Thank you."

I laugh, then step out of her way. "You know what? The people here in Hulhazy are actually pretty nice."

We walk back out to the counter together. I hate how conscious I am of her at my side. And I hate how inclined I am to look over and up at her and her ridiculously long, ridiculously dark eyelashes. But most of all, I hate the little thrill up my spine when she looks over and down at me.

Her eyes crinkle in the corner. She has smile lines there, and by her nose and forehead. They all crinkle in this way that makes her look somewhat incredulous. "You finally meet some people who aren't me?" she jokes.

"Ha. Yes. Coworkers. Nice coworkers."

"Oh?" Her tone has shifted. "That's nice."

"Yeah."

She pulls out her chair from beneath the counter, then plops down. Her limbs fly before she makes contact, and for a minute, I can't help but wonder how she got to be that tall. Like, she's probably an inch or two taller than my dad, but she makes it seem even taller. She's practically just a well-sewn sack of bones. I wouldn't be surprised if they were hollow. Avian Bone Syndrome and all that.

"So, your brother seems nice," she says, retrieving her phone from her khakis and setting it on the counter. The case is one of those nice, thick black ones, that scream "I was paid much for but also I AM WATERPROOF so long as water doesn't touch me."

I take out my own chair. "Oh, thanks. He is. Generally."

She snorts.

"Was he nice to you?" I ask. "Because, I can definitely slap him. Slapping him is an option."

"You'd be willing to engage in fraternal abuse for me? Thank you. Seriously though, he was super duper nice. Don't worry." She smiles slightly at her phone, not meeting my gaze.

"Okay," I say, scooching my chair over the concrete closer to the counter so I can set my elbows on it. "But I seriously mean it. If he was rude, you can tell me."

"Well...." Elliot hesitates, tracing a circle with the pad of her index finger on her knee. I note the short nails and think of too many queer girl jokes. "I guess he kicked me and Jace out into the rain pretty quickly and was maybe a little blunt about it—"

"Oh gosh, I'm so sorry." Dammit, Tanner.

Her eyes widen. "No, no, don't worry, it's fine! I completely get it. I mean, you were having a legit moment there, so, yeah, it's fine. No worries."

"Well, thank you." I don't know why I'm thanking her. Should I even be thanking her? Whatever. Now it's time to ignore the inherent awkwardness of making smalltalk with a stranger. A stranger who knows your deepest, darkest, stupidest secret. "So, um, how was the rest of your night?"

"Oh, y'know, chill. Took a zombie to prom. Played in an air hockey tournament against a vampire. Took my bride to lamaze class. She's going to be a—eh, wait for it—a mummy."

"Ha." It's not that funny, but I guess I maybe appreciate it. A little.

As if sensing my thoughts, she cringes. "Yeahhhh, no, that was lame. Oof. Sorry. Let's see. Uh, I drove around for a bit. Went to the Cumm-n-Gitt, might have been drafted into a chess club cult, then went home and watched some movies with my parents."

I blink. "The Cumm-n-Gitt?"

Elliot blinks back. "You haven't been to the Cumm-n-Gitt?"

"No? What ... do I even want to know?"

"Oh, you want to know." Her grin is insatiable, her eyes, sparkling. "Okay, are you doing anything after work?"

Wind whistles off in the distance, carrying with it the smell of the sea. Why does this whole town smell like salt and the color grey? Seriously, it's a bit much. "No. I don't have a life."

She seems particularly enthused now. And Elliot generally seems pretty enthused. (Although, still always in a very low-energy kind of way.) "Okay, well, we are going after work. I will drive. And do car things."

"Okay."

"And you will witness the majesty that is the Cumm-n-Gitt."

"Okay."

"And Norm will draft you into the chess club cult, and then there shall be three of us."

"Is there Kool-Aid?"

Elliot pauses. "Um, we can probably get Kool-Aid. I feel like Norm would actually be all for that. He said 'get Rick-rolled', like, three times last night, so ... yes to the Kool-Aid."

-

We're a few hours into work when Elliot yawns, loud and wide and obnoxious. "Ugh, I'm too tired for this," she mutters. "Then again, I am always tired, so."

"So," I echo. For whatever reason, it is surprisingly easy to slip into conversation with her. I'm not an expert on aquatic leisure activities, but it's like swimming—at first, there's a slight chill, a tiny shock, but after you've been in long enough, it's fine.

Actually, talking to Elliot is maybe more than fine.

It's just so easy. I don't know if I've ever found it this easy to talk to someone, honestly. It's like the words just keep coming and coming, and even if I could stop them, I seriously would not.

"Yeah, I just—no matter how many times I tell my parents I'm tired, it's like 'Nooo, Elliot, be awaaake, hang out with us.' And like, I adore them. A lot." She massages her forehead. "You would think they would have had enough of watching old Eurovision reruns by now. My dad is obsessed. Which is funny, because Eurovision is basically the queer Olympics."

"Why is that so beautifully random though?"

"No!" Elliot laughs, leaning forward and clutching her own waist as she barks out several hearty, deep laughs. "Like, Dustin the Turkey! Every night, without fail, my parents decided that we need to listen to Dustin the Turkey. And it's just like, no! No more! I can't!"

I snort. "Okay but that is still beautifully random."

"Oirelahnd," she mutters. "Oiiirelahhhnd. It's just so catchy. I can't stand it."

"I am disgusted on your behalf."

"Thank you. It is very appreciated." She drops her arms and grins. Her phone chimes again from the counter, a different chirp now. "Ope! Clean-up time!"

"Oh?" I check my own phone. Elliot was right—we are slow-moving today. Still, there's about an hour till the concession's stand closes. She had explained it earlier—our concession's shift happens throughout the day, and the shack closes at five for the adult swim. The lifeguards switch over from the high school swim team to Hulhazy High alumnae.

Elliot stands up and claps her hands together. "A'ight. Clean now, and then, I introduce you to the magical land that is the Cumm-n-Gitt. It's like a Wawa, but better."

"A Wawhat?"

She cringes. "Ugh okay, I guess they don't have those in Minnesota. Just: magical."

"So magical."

"All the magical!" I can't help but return her grin. "Ma-gi-cal."

"Woot."