21

IT'S DARK OUTSIDE, and Elliot still isn't home from work. Snowflakes drift over the backyard, and the kitchen lights create a warm glow on the granite countertops. I sit at the island and shred a piece of paper towel until it creates a messy pile shaped like a snowflake.

I've been alone for over eight hours, and for the most part, I didn't know what to do with myself. I watched TV, attempted to play video games, showered. Mostly, I laid in his bed, submerged in the smell of his linen, interlaced with the fabric of his duvet like I was part of it. I thought about Elliot, if he really likes me, about his life at work and school and the people he knows. Other times, I allowed more personal thoughts to enter my head, because...

Where else?

Hormones are stupid. I'm pissed at him for the whole Katie thing, but thinking about him like that still makes me feel hot inside, like I'm sinking into an abyss where I lose all my sensibility.

Stupid.

The front door clicks. I spin on the stool and chew my lip until Elliot enters the kitchen wearing his FarmCo apron.

"You look like a dork," I say. He just laughs. "How was work?"

"It was fine. Katie called in sick, thank God..." He sets his keys on the counter. "Did you have a good day?"

"It was fine. I tried to play your Playstation, but I suck."

"We can play later, if you want."

"Okay."

Elliot opens the cupboard beneath the sink. "I'm not allowed to drink anymore, so my parents don't keep booze in the house. But when my dad cleared out his liquor cabinet, I stole this." He sets a massive bottle of Sailor Jerry's on the counter. "Been hiding it in plain sight for a while."

"Oh, wow. Okay."

He takes two glasses out, then some eggnog from the fridge.

"So, wait," I begin. "You were allowed to drink before?"

"Yep."

"What happened?"

Elliot adds the eggnog, then the rum. The yellow swallows the amber and creates a vortex as the two liquids combine. "It's just, you know. Underage. And stuff."

"You'd think they'd let you drink when you got older, not when you were younger..." Suspicious; he's hiding something. He tosses back the cup and chugs nearly half. I gag just thinking about drinking that much rumnog in one go. "Yikes, chill," I say.

When he puts the cup down, he has an eggnog mustache. It's hard to keep myself from smiling, even though I'm supposed to be mad at him. He looks like he was bopped on the head with a hammer. I know he's getting wasted to make this conversation easier. Maybe it's not such a bad thing. Something about drunk words being sober thoughts echoes in my mind, so I sip from my cup and cringe at the thick, nasty taste.

A tipsy feeling oozes through my body. Half an hour later, I'm slurring, too. I haven't been drunk in forever. I forgot how nice it feels. How carefree it feels. Carefree is good. It means Elliot and I can finally work this out.

"I think we should talk about yesterday," I say.

"Okay, yeah." He sits beside me, and we're like two old drunks at their favourite bar, unsure how to talk to each other. Little bubbles form in the center of my cup. Elliot clears his throat. "I dunno what to say, Luce."

"For what it's worth, you're better off without that girl. She seems like she doesn't value you at all."

"Yeah, it was a long time coming. Katie's a bitch." He glances at me. "Sorry."

Did he just apologize for calling another girl a bitch?

"Anyway..." Elliot's shoulders sway. "I know that sounded bad. Last night, I mean. When I was asleep. But I really do like you, Lucy. I don't like Katie anymore. We're just friends. Or, we were, I guess."

"You don't have to lie to me. Like, if you fucked her, I get it."

He gives a brusque laugh. "I didn't fuck her. I've never fucked anyone." Elliot holds his cup to his lips and stares off at the wall.

"You're a virgin?"

"Yep." He braces himself. I can't believe it. There's no way, Elliot is way too hot to be a virgin. He has to be lying.

But the thing is, he wouldn't lie.

"But," he says, "I wasn't sure if I should tell you, because I thought you'd think I'm lame. Like, I'm eighteen and I haven't even gotten laid yet." He chokes on a laugh. "How pathetic is that?"

"It's not pathetic. But if you never slept with her, then why'd Katie say the sloppy seconds thing?"

"We hooked up once, but didn't go all the way."

"Oh." And there it is, steaming jealousy, all over again.

"Yeah," Elliot says. "And honestly, it was a huge mistake. It fucked everything up."

"Okay, what happened?"

He pours another drink. "We were really drunk, and she asked me if I ever wanted to hook up with her. So I said yes, and then we, you know... whatever. Then she went home. And in the morning, she came over and told me she was really grossed out. She said she hated it, that she felt like she'd hooked up with her brother. Apparently just thinking about it made her literally vomit. So, yeah. She really hated it. Which made me hate it. We didn't talk for a couple weeks, then she came to me and said we should just pretend it never happened and go back to being friends. Which hurt too, but because I didn't want to lose her, I just... went along with it."

As jealous as I am, that must have really hurt his feelings. Elliot's eyes are distant, like he's reliving those memories.

I swirl my cup in my hands so a little whirlpool twists in the glass. Mesmerized, I say, "I don't think I'd hate it."

He nudges me with his shoulder. "Well we could always find out."

I fire a death glare at him.

"I'm kidding." He laughs. "Sorry."

Looking away, I fight off a smile. "It's fine."

"Anyway, now you know about my stupid friend drama. Pretty dumb, right? Especially compared to the things you must have to go through..."

"I guess so."

"Do you think I'm a loser?"

"What? No. She's the loser, not you, El."

"Thanks. I'm just scared you're gonna stop liking me."

"You don't have to worry about that."

Elliot is totally wasted, and a lot less coherent than he is when he's stoned. He crams his palms into his eyes and rubs them. "I just wish I didn't care what people think."

"You shouldn't. Katie, that Luke guy—they sound like idiots, and you're..."

"I'm what?"

"You're sort of amazing."

"Am not. My family says I let my stupid anxiety rule me, but I can't help it. Every time I'm in public, I feel like everyone's looking at me, even though I know they're not, you know? And I try to remind myself that it's all in my head, that no one really cares, but it feels so real. And suddenly I'm walking around with a billboard on my head, and everyone can see every stupid thing I've ever said or done, you know what I mean?"

"Wow, El. That's heavy."

"Sorry."

I'm quiet for a moment, trying to think of what to say. "Well, everyone worries about that shit sometimes. Just say to hell with them and keep doing you."

"I wish I could do that."

"You can. You just have to do it."

"You make it sound easy." He throws his arm over my shoulder. "You're so cool, Lucy. I wish I was like you."

"You're drunk." I try to lift him up, but his weight nearly crushes me. "Come on, you big baby. I think it's bedtime."

"I'm sorry. You're the best. I don't deserve you."

"Yeah, right." He might be drunk and stupid, but I'm the one who doesn't deserve him.

Helping him up the stairs is like hauling a bag of rocks. When we make it to his room, he tumbles face-first into the bed. I steal some of his hockey pajamas and crawl in after him. Whether Elliot is a big, drunk, stoned baby or not, he's stupidly attractive.

"Why are you still a virgin, El? I doubt finding a girl was the problem..."

He yawns. "I was waiting for Katie."

Oh, that one stings. I shouldn't have asked. It's none of my business, anyway. It doesn't matter what happened before we met. He's given me no reason to doubt him, but this is moving way too fast. The thought of losing him already makes me dizzy.

"Are you in love with her?" I ask.

"No. I hate her."

"I don't think you do."

Elliot props himself up on his elbow and hovers over me. He drapes his arm over my torso and lowers his weight onto me, making me feel tiny and safe and hot all at once.

"Okay, well I don't hate hate her, but I don't love her. We were best friends for like, twelve years, and yeah, for a while, I liked her. But she never made me feel the way you do. Not once."

I swallow. Hard. "And how do I make you feel?"

His lips graze mine, and I shudder, my heart pounding so hard I'm going to enter cardiac arrest if he doesn't kiss me now or just stop.

"Like I matter," he says, before he falls to the side and passes out.