alyssa

My heart is a dull thump in my chest, and I can't decide if I'm shivering from the slight frigity riding the night air or from Elliot's touch. I think we've both decided we're going to Breakneck Cliff. That's what I'm assuming, at least.

Sure enough, as soon as we've passed over the grassy knoll that separates the path from the pale silver-lit beach, she's tugging me across the sand and towards the hill, and I'm trying my best to outrun her, but she's surprisingly fast—especially with those long, long legs.

Elliot beats me up the hill, cackling like she's just pulled off some maniacal heist. "I am the athlete," she says from up ahead. "I am the Hercules. I am the Olympic gold winner. And the breadwinner."

"Shut up," I laugh, jogging to join her. "It's hard to run when you actually have tits."

"I am not going to sympathise, because I love your boobies."

"Double shut up." I slap her arm lightly, and she grabs my wrist, causing my breath to hitch. My heart hammers at a million miles per hour as she presses her lips against the suddenly-sensitive skin there. "You're such a doofus."

"Shut up," she whispers, releasing my wrist and bringing her hands to my hips. "No you."

"Man, I remember that meme. What is this, 2017? Your mom definitely gay."

"Your dad more lesbian." Elliot kisses that stupidly soft spot on my neck, and I giggle, threading my fingers through her hair like I find myself doing every time she brings mouth to meet skin.

"Does that tickle?" she asks, and I can feel her smile as she continues to apply light pressure to that same spot.

Hell yes. "Maybe."

Before I know it, we're both stumbling backwards and onto the grass, fumbling our way to a more horizontal position. Elliot is between my legs, and when she scooches slightly to bring her mouth from my neck to my lips, I feel the friction like electricity. I'm in a skirt, I remember, and it's a good kind of terrifying.

"Fuck, Alyssa," she whispers, and I make some noise I've never heard before in agreement.

One hand continues to prop her up slightly while the other comes to rest under my shirt, settled on my stomach. I'm on sensory overload, suddenly, and everything is equal amounts of nervous anticipation and excitedness. I want to ask her to touch me, but I can't even form the words.

"Is this okay?" Elliot asks gently, her hand slowly tracing downward from my stomach to the high waist of my skirt and beyond.

I know I need to say yes. She won't continue if I don't. I want to say yes—I'm just completely out of breath. She waits for me to find the words to urge her on, and when I do, I bite my lip and do my best to stay quiet. We're outside, but we remain undisturbed, and everything feels fantastic. More than fantastic.

"You should sleep over," I whisper to her, and her eyes catch the faint moonlight just right, making them shine through the darkness.

She runs gentle fingers through my hair. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." My voice cracks, and I'm glad it's just dark enough to where she can't see my slight grimace. "Yes. I'm not about to do anything more outside. So. Yes. If you want to."

Her fingers in my hair feel perfect. Her fingers anywhere feel perfect, actually. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"I'll call my parents. Right now."

"Please do."

I can hardly believe her. She just feels too good to be true. Elliot pulls away and scrambles to find her phone, which she'd tossed lightly from her pocket. She paces as she waits for them to pick up, and her voice takes on a slightly different quality. I've noticed it from other times she's called her parents—this must be her mom picking up. You can always tell.

"No, I'm still at the party. Neema and Duncan are off somewhere, but I'm here with Alyssa." She pauses. "Yes, Mom, the pool girl. She was wondering if I'd want to come sleep over."

I don't hear much from the other line, but I can only assume her mother is responding with a hopeful yes. "I mean, yeah, I'd have to come back to the house and grab stuff. I can bring her with. Yeah. No. Mom, oh my God. Yes, okay? Sorry. Sorry. Okay. Hasta pronto."

She slips her phone back in her pocket and looks over at me. I can't see her expression, but that conversation kinda sounded like a yes? Maybe?

"So," she says, "my mom wants to meet you."

"Oh?" I don't know how I should respond to this. I haven't told Elliot, but I've been really curious to meet her parents. Half the time, she speaks as if they're her best friends on the planet while other times, it seems almost like she thinks they hate her. Both ways, it's obvious that she cares a lot about them and their opinions. I want the Moreno stamp of approval very, very badly.

"Yeah." Elliot runs a hand through her hair, a silhouette against the expanse of night sky. "Is that okay?"

"Of course."

"Okay, um, so," she says, then launches off into a very lengthy explanation of her parents' habits and requirements. Apparently I should refer to her mother as "Mrs. Moreno" before I directly address her dad, because his last name is Hooker, and while he was too proud to change it, it's just easier for them to say Paola and Rich.

"Your dad's name is Rich Hooker?"

"Yes. This is why we address Paola first."

Elliot leaves Neema a voicemail letting them know that we're leaving. Duncan's house is apparently only about a block away from Jace's, so as we walk over along the street of surprisingly nice-sized houses, their colors shifted by the lamps lining the street, I call Tanner.

He picks up immediately, surprising me. "What?" he snaps.

"Bro, are you okay?" This is his go-to upset voice.

"I'm fine. Just, your coworkers are a load of bitches."

I stop walking and glance back to Jace's house, barely a couple hundred feet away. "Dude, what happened? Are you okay?"

"One of them got drunk and started shitting on my name in the living room. Something about how Jace is going through some sick phase and I'm just, like, a slutty freak enabler or some shit?"

"What the fuck."

"I. Know. She only got louder when Jace's brother tried to kick them out. One of the others tried to get her to stop. They just left a couple minutes ago. I was just about to call you." He takes a deep breath and exhales. There's no background noise, so I'm assuming he's somewhere alone. I'd want to be alone, too. I don't really think talking to your twin counts. "You should have heard them."

"I'm so sorry. Do you want us to come back?"

"No, it's fine. I'm ... I'm fine. Jace is bringing me apology snacks, and then we're going to start making people leave so we can watch Buffy on the big game room TV."

I snort. "You hate Buffy."

"The point isn't necessarily to watch Buffy. The point is more to have the privilege of ignoring Buffy."

"Your logic concerns me."

"Whatever. Where are you and Elliot going, hmm?"

She can totally hear this entire conversation, I know. I toss my hair away from my face and try to speak with as much confidence as I can. "Our house. After a few pit stops."

"Oh my gosh, are you guys watching the Buffy too?"

"Quit weirding me out," I say, laughing. "Go eat your apology snacks and thank that poor boy for being so sweet to you."

"Everyone should be this sweet to me. But yes, okay, byeeee!" He hangs up.

I nearly drop my phone before remembering that I was keeping it tucked in my skirt's waistband. No pockets. Elliot laughs at my fumble, shaking her head. I never stayed out this late with Max, and seeing her beneath the streetlights' glow is strangely ethereal. This feels like a music video of a dream, somehow.

"We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with," I tell her. "At my house, I mean. Like, I just don't want you to feel pressured to do anything, okay? Back there was pretty new for you, I'm guessing, and I want you to move at your own pace, y'know?"

"Alyssa." She reaches for my hand, and I give it to her. Her palm is weirdly rough against my own. I can't get over the feeling of my fingers entwined with hers. Her hand dwarfs mine completely, and I love it.

"If you're okay with everything, then ... I think I really would love for you to be my first time. If you'll have me. Like, I've never, y'know, before, and I think I'm definitely really nervous, but I really, really want you, Alyssa."

I tug her towards me, trying to find a smile that expresses exactly what I'm thinking, what I'm feeling. "I would love that. So much." The fact that she even spoke to me about it is enough to make me tear up. Just a little. Just, Max never asked. Not really. They should have.

She smiles, and it's adorable. I tug her down and kiss that tiny dimple, the one it took me so long to notice. Her hands are on my waist, on my back, and she's tugging me into her, and my hands are strong on the side of her face, and I think I want her to kiss me until the world ends.

There's a loud honk, and Elliot snaps away, brow scrunched in surprise.

I recognise Brooklin's SUV. When it pulls over on the side of the road, one of the front tires hops up onto the curb. Its lights aren't on, but their small gaggle of familiar lifeguard girls are clear beneath the streetlamps as Taffy in the passenger seat rolls down the window.

"Elliot, you're a bitch," she shouts, dragging hair from the corner of her mouth with those stupidly long nails. There's a woop from inside the car. "Fucking disgusting."

A light in the house across the street turns on. Oh my gosh, what the hell is going on?

"You're disgusting. I can't believe you did that," she continues, then hiccups.

"Do not throw up in my car," I hear Brooklin mutter.

Another belchy hiccup. "I-I won't."

"You're a whore," she then snaps, and I realize she's talking to me.

"What the fuck? Back off, Taffy" Elliot says, taking a step forward. "You can insult me however you want, but leave her out of this."

I feel paralysed. Like with my tail, but somehow worse. "Elliot, it's fine—"

"It's not fine," she says. Her fists are furled. "You guys can't just treat people like shit and expect them to take it forever."

"I-I, we're not...." Taffy says. "No, you're just a creep. She used to stare at us in the locker room, Al. She's always been a creep."

"Go home," I tell them.

"You're drunk," Elliot adds.

"Shut the fudge," Taffy says, "you're just some stupid dyke lesbo with dumby hair and you're a liar."

"Taffy, why do you even care? Who I like doesn't affect you."

Taffy's eyes widen. She hiccups again, and it sounds absolutely disgusting. I don't think the interior of Brooklin's car will be having a good night. "It's-it's not that. You're just, just, no."

"Go. Home," I repeat, and the car's lights magically turn on.

Brooklin glares out the window as she peels back onto the road, a little too in the middle of the street to be completely sober. Elliot mutters something underneath her breath I don't quite catch. "Fuck. Fuck, I am so sorry, Alyssa."

"It's okay," I tell her, even though I feel a little sick to my stomach. Not because of this specifically, but because it feels so familiar. "I have the feeling that happens to all of us at least once."

She's shaking her head, and I can tell she's fighting back tears. "It shouldn't, though. Why do I have to-to.... Fuck, ugh."

"Hey, hey, c'mere." I pull her down to the curb, where Brooklin's front tire sat just a few seconds ago, and rub her back. "I'm so sorry, Elliot."

"It's okay," she says quietly.

"But it's not. It's really not." I just keep rubbing her back, and we sit there for a moment, while Elliot gets a hold of her breathing and I try to act as passive as possible. No, not passive. Docile. She doesn't need me getting her worked up right now.

When I came out, I got a bunch of homophobic emails from this guy I had a crush on at the time. I was disgusting, according to him, and God hated people like me, and no one at school would like me anymore. I can't imagine drunk ex-friends of mine pulling over and shouting at me at night, though. That just feels like a whole other level of worse.

"I'm sorry," Elliot mutters, leaning against me like some giant teddy bear. "I probably just killed the vibe."

"Don't ever worry about killing the vibe."

"So I did kill it then?" She's only half joking.

I rub her shoulder. "Shut up. You could never kill my vibes."

"Don't administer a challenge. You know I like challenges. Especially dumb ones."

I stand up and give her a pointed eye roll. "C'mon, let's go grab your car." Elliot takes me outstretched hands, eyes all crinkled up in a smile. A real smile. Perfect.

I just want to make her smile.

-

We're in the middle of belting Dodie's new song when we reach Elliot's house. "Remember," she says, her voice its regular self again, "do not directly address Hooker first. Talk to Moreno."

"Moreno, then Hooker."

"Wow, so those are your plans for tonight?"

I unbuckle and open the door. "Oh my gosh, shut up."

"You know my sense of humor is sexy. I'm like Jack Black or Seth Rogan or some other comedian with benign chin struggles."

I snort and beat her to the front door, then realize it would probably look weird for me to come in first. Do her parents know I hang out here? Surely they must. I tell myself I'm just not going to bring it up, and that if anyone mentions it, I'll follow Elliot's lead.

Elliot opens the door and waves to the couch. I sneak in behind her—okay, it feels like sneaking—and awkwardly mimic the wave.

I recognise the couple on the couch from the photos above Elliot's bed. They look just as put together as they do framed, but more relaxed. Her mom's hair falls in waves over her shoulders, and it makes me wonder just what Elliot's hair looks like long. In all the photos of Elliot pre-pixie cut, her hair is tied back in a low ponytail. I'm simply curious.

"Heyo," her dad says with a wave. "I'm Rich. You must be Alyssa." He stands and holds out his hand, straightening his slightly rumpled button up shirt as he does so.

"I am," I say quieter than I would have liked, crossing over to him and shaking his hand. "And you must be Mrs. Moreno."

She stands and offers out her hand, too. It's so weird—Elliot looks more like her dad in most ways, but the sharp, humorous dark eyes of her mother are definitely Elliot's. "Paola, please."

"So," her dad says, "was that party too ratchet for your swag tastes?"

"Richard, quit it with the slang," warns Paola half-playfully. If Elliot hadn't told me she spent her early childhood in Puerto Rico, I wouldn't have been able to spot her slight accent. Even now, I wonder if I'm imagining it.

Elliot grabs a sweatshirt I've noticed before off the coat hanger by the door. I didn't even realize it was hers. It looks very comfy though. I totally want to steal this from her. "We just got a bit bored, that's all."

"That's no fun," says Rich.

"Oh, Father, it was not ratchet enough for our swag tastes."

"Glad to know we raised a party animal."

Paola rolls her eyes. "Ellie, why don't you go show Alyssa your room and pack your things?"

"Thanks, Mom. C'mon, Alyssa."

I follow Elliot to where I already know her room is, waiting to talk till the door is almost shut behind us. "They seem really nice," I tell her quietly.

She nods. "They're good parents."

"Mmm." I glance around. Her room is actually clean for once, a very rare occurrence. Books are neatly shelved, and there are no clothes on the floor. All the papers from last year have disappeared. Back in Woodbury, I used to go burn my old worksheets with friends on the last day of school. I wonder if they do anything like that here, or if Minnesotans are pyromaniacs by nature.

"I know, it's clean," Elliot says. "So crazy."

She packs pyjamas while I check my phone. Dad had texted back that it was cool ("peachy") for me to have her over, adding in an innocently cheesy emoji that made me laugh. I don't think he realized what I associate peaches with.

"You ready to go?" Elliot asks.

I stand up and tug down the back of my skirt with one hand, giving her a thumbs up with the other.

Her parents ask if we're in the mood for vegan chili, but Elliot declines. Which is good, because, if we don't get to my house, I am going to combust and die. We're almost out the door when Rich says, "Wait."

"Yes, Father?" asks Elliot with a breezy nonchalantness.

"Did you forget your toothbrush, mung tongue?"

She groans. "Yeeesss. I'll meet you out in the car, Alyssa?"

"Yeah, sure!" I say, waving goodbye to her parents.

"It was so nice to meet you," says Paola.

"Yeah," Rich says. "Have fun. And ignore her bad breath."

I chuckle politely and thank them, then slip out the door as quickly as possible.

Fun. Sure thing.

A/N - ALMOST FORGOT TO DO THIS it's 9:06 pm and i need to shower so i can wake up at 3:50 am, look like a presentable bad ass jazz bitch, and leave from school at 5:15 am to sit on a bus for 2 hours and 17 minutes, then pretend to be an actual bad ass jazz bitch like literally please end me okay BYE HOPE YOU ENJOYED!

I'LL SEE YOU NEXT WEEK heheheheheh any predictions?