I can feel my cheeks flushing as the energy shifts beside me. Does this person not see all the other empty spots? Why would he choose the one directly next to me? I tilt my head slightly, to see who it is—and a pair of wide, light brown eyes are staring back at me. His lips are tilted upward slightly in a sly smile, and he’s let his hood down so now his wavy brown hair is falling in all different directions.
“You didn’t tell me you were going to North Avenburgh High,” he says, his smile widening.
“You didn’t ask,” I say back, shrugging my shoulders.
“I didn’t know how old you were, I assumed you were a college girl,” he says, still with a smirk on his face.
“So, you were flirting with someone you thought was in college?” I ask, and he goes silent, but his facial expression doesn’t change.
“Flirting?”
“Yes. Flirting.”
“I thought we were just sharing music,” he says, with a lift of his brow. He leans forward slightly, closing the distance between us. I can’t help but stare at his eye—the one with the dark, purplish bruise. I know it’s not my place to ask him where it came from. Or who it came from, but the question is in my mind, regardless. Even despite the bruise, he appears to be in good spirits, which only makes me question it more. I decide to keep my mouth shut about it, though.
“We were. It’s just…nevermind,” I say, feeling flustered.
The gymnasium continues to fill up with students. When it’s full, and the bell rings, Coach Carson closes the door and introduces the first activity of the day—a trust exercise. Great. He walks around the gymnasium, pairing students up who are sitting next to each other.
When he approaches Elliot and I, he gazes at me and mutters.
“Welcome to North Avenburgh High,” and then gazes down at his clipboard. “Raine, is it?” But he pronounces it Ray-nee. I politely correct him. After that, he instructs us all to head to the locker rooms to change into our gym clothes. All I’ve packed is a simple T-shirt and some shorts, nothing too sporty. I head to the women’s locker room, along with the rest of the girls, and Elliot heads in the direction of the boy’s.
Once I’m in the locker room, I pick a locker far away from the door, away from all the commotion, and begin to undress. I take off my blouse and my skirt quickly and immediately change into my gym clothes. This side of the locker room is noticeably quiet, besides the sound of soft whispers coming from behind me. I try not to pay it any mind. I just focus on pulling my hair up into a high ponytail and getting my head under control. It’s just a trust exercise, I tell myself. But at the same time, it’s not just a trust exercise. It’s a trust exercise I have to do with Elliot Dawton, which makes the whole thing feel like an even bigger feat than it is.
The whispers suddenly come to a stop from behind me as I turn around, heading for the door that leads back to the gymnasium, but I try to ignore it. Whatever the girls are talking about—whether it’s about me or something entirely different—it shouldn’t matter. It’s none of my business. But deep down, I know they are talking about me. It makes my already red cheeks feel even redder as I step back out into the gym.
Elliot is already back in his spot next to our shared cone. When he sees me, he pats the spot next to him.
“Welcome home,” he says. Meanwhile, my mind is screaming: This place is nothing like home. There’s too many people. It’s not like in Harler, where the gym classes had ten students total. No—North Avenburgh High is a giant, a monster. There’s so many students in this one gym class that I feel like I’m suffocating. I don’t know what to say back to Elliot—so I don’t say anything at all. He leans in closer.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just ready to get this class over with,” I say.
“Not a big fan of physical activity, I take it?”
I shake my head. “No, not that. I like being active…just under certain circumstances. Different circumstances.”
“Circumstances that don’t involve me?” he says, gazing at me. “You know, I’m not so bad. I don’t know what you’ve already heard—”
“—I’ve heard enough,” I say.
“Tell me.”
“I heard you play basketball.”
His eyes lighten a bit. From this close, I can see all the hues of gold and brown within them. It’s striking. I never understood the true meaning of the word breathtaking until I first laid eyes on Elliot. He continues to stare at me.
“What else?”
“I heard you’re not a big fan of South Avenburgh’s team.”
He points to his eye. “This…it was an accident, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Really?”
“Really.”
“I’m not accusing you of anything,” I say. “I just…I hope your eye heals quickly. It looks painful.”
“It’s nothing. I’ve been through worse,” he leans back, pushing his weight onto the palms of his hands as the rest of the students return from the locker rooms. As the girls come back, several of them look in our direction for a moment, and then quickly glance away.
“Don’t let them get to you,” Elliot says. “Whatever they said to you, it’s probably just a symptom of the jealousy contagion that runs rampant through the halls around here. Spend too much time with the wrong people, and it just might rub off. Not that I think you’re the jealous type…I just figured I’d warn you.”
“They haven’t said a word to me…and why would they be jealous?”
Elliot’s brows raise, as if he’s genuinely surprised that I don’t know the answer to my own question. He opens his mouth to say more, but before he can get another word out, Coach Carson’s whistle is blowing so loudly that I have to cover my ears.
“Listen up, everyone! This next activity is your punishment for giving me absolutely nothing during our Floor Hockey lesson last week. I figured, maybe you just don’t like each other. You don’t trust each other. So, that’s why we’re doing a trust exercise to start off our next unit.”
There’s a collective groan from the class, but Coach Carson ignores it and continues with his instructions. He wants us all to do the typical, old-fashioned trust exercise, where one of us has to fall backward and trust the other person to catch us. It’s simple. But the thing is, we have to do it over, and over, and over until Coach Carson decides that we’ve had enough. That’s where the punishment part of the equation comes in. I think it’s ridiculous, but Coach Carson appears furious with the class, so I assume that in his mind this is justified. I guess it’s better than being forced to run the length of the gymnasium for the rest of the class. If anything, I feel this “punishment” is rather tame. Or at least, it would be, if Elliot wasn’t my partner.
I let out a sigh as Coach Carson instructs all of us to stand up and get started with the trust exercise.
“I’ll catch you,” Elliot says. “You can trust me.”
“Can I?” I say, flicking my brow up. There’s a tension between us that has replaced the warm, genuineness of our conversation about music the other day, and I can tell by the way Elliot is looking at me that it’s taking him by surprise. He’s just gazing at me, his iris slowly moving back and forth, as if he’s deeply studying me, trying to figure out my change in demeanor. Mariana didn’t tell me much about Elliot, but I now know enough to want to be away from him. She said it herself—he’s dangerous. The proof is right in front of me. I know he got into a fight with those boys at the corner store—the bruise is no coincidence—but instead of telling me the truth, he tells me it was an accident. This may be a simple trust exercise, but I’m not sure that I can trust him even for this. I cross my arms over my chest.
“I’ll catch you,” I say, sternly, and his gaze deepens.
“You can’t. Do you know how much I weigh?”
“I’m strong, I can do it.”
“No, Raine, you can’t,” he says, shaking his head.
“Then I’ll find another partner,” I say, looking around at the other students, all of whom have partners and have already begun the trust exercise. I let out a breath. “Fine, let’s do this—just don’t let me fall, alright?”
“Deal,” he says.
The gym echoes with the sounds of sneakers squeaking against the polished floor and the distant chatter of the other students as I get myself into position, standing in front of Elliot. I close my eyes and breathe in, then out. I know he’s going to catch me. He wouldn’t let me fall, right? But what if he does? He wouldn’t. My mind goes back and forth and when I realize just how ridiculous it is—Coach Carson comes up beside us, questioning why we haven’t started the exercise yet.
“Raine’s just a little nervous,” Elliot says. “No big deal.”
I narrow my eyes at him.
“I’m not nervous. I’m just…getting myself mentally prepared, that’s all.”
Coach Carson glances at his watch. “I’ll give you two an extra minute of the trust exercise after the rest of the class finishes, then. I don’t tolerate anyone slacking off. Especially not you, Elliot—” he turns his attention to me. “Alright, Raine,” Coach Carson says, clipboard in hand. “Feet together, arms crossed over your chest. When you’re ready, let yourself fall straight back. No bending at the waist, no hesitation. Elliot’s got you. He’ll have to answer to me if he lets you fall.”
I inhale sharply, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. Seconds go by and when Coach Carson is about to blow his whistle again, I fall backward, landing in Elliot’s firm arms. I let out a sigh of relief, although I’m not entirely sure why. I never thought a trust exercise could feel this intense. Immediately after Elliot removes his hands from my waist, Coach Carson tells us to do it again, and then he walks off to observe the other students.
“See, that wasn’t so bad…” Elliot says, and then he holds his arms out again. I stand in front of him, getting ready to fall backwards again. When I land in Elliot’s arms a second time, I’m already so over this activity. I’m now starting to see why this is a punishment. My whole body is buzzing with anticipation for the third go around. Before I fall backwards, I turn around, making sure Elliot is standing behind me. And he is—but he has a smirk on his face again.
“What?” I ask.
“It’s nothing. I was just wondering…” his voice fades out—along with his smile—as he stares into my eyes. “Who’s your guy?”
I stare back at him, confused.
“What guy?”
Elliot keeps a straight face. “Your guy.”
“I’m not following you,” I say.
“I mean—whose heart did you have to break when you came here?”
Oh. He’s totally messing with me.
“I didn’t break anyone’s heart. What are you talking about?”
Elliot shakes his head with a smile on his face, amused again.
“So no boyfriend back in Pennsylvania?”
I laugh at this. It sounds ridiculous. The closest I’ve ever been to another boy is right now—right in this moment. I’ve never been kissed, never been held, never been...wanted by anyone, as far as I know. Well—there was that crush that Henry Redmen had on me in the tenth grade, and the eleventh. But that was about it—I’d never been on a date. Not that I’ve ever complained. I’m certain my parents would never allow me to go on one anyway until I was out of the house and on my own. They aren’t what I would call ‘helicopter parents’ but they are pretty close. They’ve always been overprotective, nearly to the point of being overbearing. I can’t imagine bringing a boy home. But I don’t say this to Elliot.
My heart beat picks up pace in my chest, and I turn back around, letting myself fall again. Elliot catches me.
“I’ve never had a boyfriend,” I say, and my cheeks flush as I turn around and gaze into Elliot’s surprised eyes. “Why are you asking me, anyway?”
He shrugs. “I’m just trying to piece you together, that’s all.”
“Well…there’s not much to piece together. I’m not the most exciting person.”
I cringe at the fact that my innermost thoughts have made their way to the surface. It’s always been my fear to live a life that doesn’t excite me, and maybe that’s why I’m so attached to dance—it’s the one thing, out of everything else I could be doing in this world—that gives me a sense of peace. Of unparalleled energy. I may not be the most entertaining person off stage, but I’ve always thought that by pursuing a career in dance it would force me out of my comfort zone and turn me into someone more outgoing…someone who’s not only got a lot going on for herself—but someone people genuinely find to be fun to be around. Right now, though, I feel like I’m the opposite. Shy. Reserved. But, there’s another side of me that comes out when I’m around the right people.
“I mean, I can be exciting,” I pause, brushing a few curled strands of hair away from my eyes. “With Phoebe, I can be a lot. Just…it’s hard when you’re in a place where you don’t know anybody.”
“Who’s Phoebe?”
We’ve completely stopped doing the trust exercise, although Coach Carson hasn’t noticed yet.
“My best friend. From Pennsylvania.”
“You miss her,” Elliot says, matter-of-factly.
I nod my head. “If she was here you’d probably see another side of me. This isn’t exactly me at my…best.”
“What’s you at your best?” Elliot asks, leaning in closer, seeming to be genuinely interested in what I have to say. It’s like he’s holding onto every single word.
“I don’t know, I laugh. I smile. I’m…different.” A part of me wants to tell him that me at my best is when I’m on stage, dancing—in the spotlight—but I decide to keep this detail to myself…for now. “What about you?” I ask, trying to redirect the attention away from myself, but also because I want to know more about Elliot.
His brows furrow. “What about me?”
“What’s you at your best?”
Elliot purses his lips, looking down at his hands for a moment, and then looks back up at me and says:
“I haven’t seen it yet.”
I nod my head at him slowly, but I was expecting a different answer. Something I could work with that would help me figure out who exactly Elliot is as a person, besides what I’d heard from Mariana.
Chills are running down my body as I gaze at him. He has his arms outstretched slightly, as if he’s expecting me to fall again, but then his brow lifts and he walks closer to me, closing the distance between us to the point where I can smell a hint of mint and vanilla wrapped in the air between us, coming off him in waves.
“Raine…” Elliot says, looking downward, and I follow his gaze. Elliot is holding up the end of the bandage that I had wound around my waist to cover up my wound from the other day. I reach over to grab it from him, but he shakes his head slightly.
“Wait, let me help. Come here.” I move closer to him as he uses the tips of his fingers to lift the bottom of my shirt up slightly, revealing the deep gash on my left side. A rush of heat runs down my entire body when his fingers touch the bare skin of my waist. “Does it still hurt?” he asks.
“Not so much anymore,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. Unbothered. “But I don’t want it to get infected.”
He glances across the gymnasium in the direction of a very distracted Coach Carson, and then grabs my hand. He starts walking toward the edge of the gymnasium, and I follow quickly after him, ignoring the pairs of eyes I feel staring into our backs.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“You need a new bandage,” he says, and then we reach a door near the locker rooms that says: Roger Carson. Elliot opens the door with ease, as if he’s been in the office many times before. The walls are lined with framed team photos, most showcasing decades of basketball achievements—players mid-air in a moment of triumph, coaches gesturing passionately from the sidelines. A large, wooden desk sits in the center of the room, cluttered with notebooks, a laptop, and a half-empty coffee mug.
Eliot walks to a far corner of the room and pulls open a cabinet drawer. He retrieves a bandage and then clears the papers on Coach Carson’s desk before gesturing for me to sit. I just stare at him for a moment, but then I sigh and lift myself up onto the desk.
“You know, I can do this myself,” I say.
“There’s nothing wrong with getting a little help,” Elliot says, and then he unwounds the bandage. I lift the bottom of my shirt up slightly so the gash is in view. My cheeks are flaming hot as Elliot just looks at it for a moment and then walks back to the cabinet, returning a minute later with what looks like disinfectant.
“This is going to sting, but it’ll prevent infection,” he says, and then he pours a few drops on a cloth and presses it firmly against my side. It stings more than I expected, and I wince. Instead of the sensation slowly fading away, it gets more intense. I figure if I ask Elliot questions, it will get my mind off of it.
“Are you any good?” I ask. There’s a moment of silence as Elliot looks up at me with a raised brow. “At basketball…I mean.” I internally cringe at the unclear communication and the stupidity of my question. I already know Elliot is good at basketball, Mariana had said he was the star player on the team, but I need some kind of conversation right now. Sitting here in silence while Elliot tends to my wound is too tense. My chest feels tight, and each heartbeat pounds harder than the last.
“I’m a starter, so I guess you could say I know what I’m doing.”
I force a smile at him, my cheeks flushing as Elliot’s hand brushes against my waist as he’s securing the bandage around it.
“That’s impressive,”I say back, offering him a compliment.
I’m surprised when his entire face brightens and he smiles back.
“More impressive than my music taste?”
I think back to the first time I’d seen him—standing outside of the corner store with Louis Armstrong playing. Then later, Stevie Wonder, and don’t even get me started on all the iconic artists on his playlists.
“Not quite as impressive, but it’s close…” I say, looking at him. “I added ‘What a Wonderful World’ to my playlist. I forgot how amazing it is. It’s…different.” Elliot’s smile fades slightly and there’s a layer of intensity that covers his eyes like a film.
“And you like different?”
I look back at him. “Predictability can be boring. So yes, I like different. Different is…” I can practically hear my heart pounding in my ears looking at Elliot now. His sleeveless top makes it so every inch of the tattoos on his arms are visible. There’s one that starts at his wrist in a swirled pattern and twists all the way up to the top of his shoulder. It’s the one that stands out the most. The one that makes him look tough, older. “...fine.” There’s a moment where we’re just looking at each other, with Elliot’s hand paused on my waist, but then he goes back to work.
I watch as he continues to wrap the new bandage around my waist, and then seals it.
“You’re good as new.”
I jump down from the desk. “Thank you.”
“Anytime,” he says back, and then we’re both heading to the door. He flicks the light off as I trail behind him, in a complete daze over him having been so close. I don’t understand it. He’s just a person. A boy. But the way he makes me feel…it’s something I’ve never experienced before. He makes the little things feel like big things. I can only imagine what the actual big things would feel like with him around. A shudder runs down my body when we’ve exited the office, and the rest of the class is now sitting back down next to their cones. The door shuts behind us, loudly, and the gaze of every student in our gym class turns to us. Mr. Carson is staring at us with his hand on his hips, his brows furrowed.
Elliot ignores the stares, and I pretend to do the same as we return to our spots by the orange cones. The moment we sit down, Mr. Carson starts pacing up and down the front of the gymnasium, keeping his eyes on all of us. His mouth moves, and a few hands go up, but I don’t pay attention to the responses. My fingers just brush along my waist, where my new bandage is. Where I felt Elliot’s fingertips brush against my skin.
“Raine, what about you?” I jolt when I hear my name being called. He’s talking to me. No—he’s asking me a question. In front of the whole class. I stare blankly at him, as I had not been keeping up with the conversation. After an awkward few seconds of silence, I ask him to repeat the question.
“What do you think the purpose of the exercise was?”
My cheeks flush as I gaze around at the expectant faces of the other students seated throughout the gymnasium. Is this a trick question? He’d already said the purpose of the exercise at the start of the class, and it seemed obvious. Still, a part of me is frozen—holding out hope that one of the other students will mouth the correct answer, but none of them do. I’m still figuring out how things work here. I could say it plainly—the purpose of a trust exercise is to build trust…duh. But something tells me that Mr. Carson wants more than that. I hope that he will put me out of my misery, and just give me the answer he’s looking for, but he stands still—staring at me, along with the rest of the class. He’s not letting this go. He’s letting me sit in this awful feeling.
“Um…” I manage to let out. “I think it’s to put our trust in the hands of someone else…someone other than ourselves.” It’s an obvious answer—one that I wanted to avoid. But it’s the best I’ve got. I wince after the words leave my mouth, expecting Mr. Carson to tell me to go more in depth, but his eyes light up at my short answer, as if I’ve said something profound. But I know I haven’t.
Mr. Carson slows his pace, glancing around the gym.
“Prescicely.” Mr. Carson starts pacing the front of the gymnasium again. This time slowly. “In life, a lot of the times we can feel overwhelmed when we put too much pressure on ourselves. But when we learn to trust—not just ourselves, but the people in our lives, we find that we can be safe. We can be vulnerable. I’m not happy with your performance last week during the Floor Hockey unit, but I’m willing to forgive. To trust all of you again. Which is why I wanted us to start off today’s class with the exercise.”
A student raises their hand.
“So you’re not going to keep punishing us?”
Mr. Carson tells them he will let the class off with a warning—a warning to put our all into the class going forward, and then he splits the class into two. One side to play volleyball, and the other side to play basketball. He selects the groups at random, so Elliot and I end up getting separated. I have to figure out a way to make myself useful on the volleyball side while Elliot gets to shine on the basketball side.
When the first volleyball game starts, I find myself distracted as I sit on the sidelines, awaiting my turn. Every few minutes I’ll steal a glance at Elliot, who is completely in his element. His wavy dark brown hair bonus with every jump and pivot, as he scores point after point while the other team struggles to keep up. The whistle blows, the sound cutting through the chatter of the volleyball game, but I can’t tear my gaze away.
His tattoos glint under the harsh gym lights as he dribbles past a defender, then launches the ball towards the hoop. He’s good. Great, even. Every time he scores, the members of his team celebrate by giving him a pat on the back. The game comes to a pause as Mr. Carson blows the whistle again, signaling the teams to swap out. I watch as Elliot jogs over to the sidelines, his sneakers squeaking on the hardwood floor. He wipes the sweat from his forehead, and for a moment, he stands there, looking out over the gym, his chest rising and falling with each breath.
As I hear my name being called, his eyes meet mine. It’s a quick glance, just a fleeting moment, but my heart skips. I quickly avert my gaze, pretending like I wasn’t staring at him at all. I stand up and head to the court, focusing hard on the volleyball net, willing the heat in my cheeks to fade. I wasn’t looking at him, I tell myself. The rest of gym class, I try to focus on only one thing—getting the volleyball over the net, but I can feel Elliot’s eyes on me the whole time. Regardless, I still manage to finish out the game without completely humiliating myself. The ball almost hit me in the face one time. Which is one less than last time I was in a gymnasium playing volleyball with my peers. I let out a relieved sigh when Mr. Carson tells us that gym class is over and we’re free to go to the locker room to shower and change.
I pick one of the showers on the far end of the locker room—one with more privacy than the others—and then quickly change into my blouse and skirt. I grab my backpack from the locker and exit the locker room, without saying anything to the other girls. They haven’t said a word to me, and I’m not the greatest at breaking the ice. I leave the room only knowing the names of the girls I shared a team with. I walk out, back into the gymnasium.
“Raine?”
I freeze outside of the doorway, the sound of my name pulling me back into the moment. It’s Elliot. His voice is low, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he should call out. I turn, and there he is, standing beside the entrance to the women’s locker room, his dark brown hair messy and wet, his tattoos just visible beneath the sleeves of his shirt. He’s looking at me like he wants to say something more, but the words don’t come. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, unsure of what to say or do.
“Yeah?” I manage, trying to sound casual. The last thing I expected was for him to be waiting for me outside of the locker room, yet here he is.
“I can walk you to your next class,” he says. His gaze is unwavering, and I feel that rush again. The heart-pounding, hairs on my arms prickling rush that I hadn’t felt before I met Elliot. I never thought a pair of light brown eyes could have this kind of effect on me. He’s asking to walk me to my next class and I can hardly contain my emotions standing in front of him right now, let alone walking beside him for who knows how long. I know my next class is on the third floor. That’s at least three flights of stairs I would have to climb with him by my side. Who knows if I’ll be able to even make conversation. I’m starting to become a nervous wreck around him, and I have no idea why.
“Elliot—you really don’t have to,” I say. “I can manage.”
“What’s your next class?” he asks.
“Choir.”
Elliot’s brow lifts, and a slow smile lifts his lips.
“What?” I ask.
“I didn’t know you could sing,” he says.
“Just because I enrolled in choir, it doesn’t mean I can sing,” I say, shifting back and forth on my feet again. It’s not that I can’t sing. I’m just not the best singer. I can hold a note, but not for long. “I just needed an elective to fill some space in my schedule.”
Elliot nods his head slowly, just staring at me. I stare back, waiting for him to say something more, but he just leans one hand against the wall and then looks down at the ground briefly before looking back at me with intense eyes. How does he do that? Just shift. One minute he’s smiling at me, the next he’s just looking, and then there’s this—the gaze that makes me feel like I’m being seen in a way I’ve never been seen before.
The door to the women’s locker room opens and a group of girls pour out. Some of them stare at us for a moment before quickly looking away—others just keep staring. I pretend not to see them from my peripheral, but it’s a challenge, to say the least.
“Choir is a hard class to find,” Elliot says. “I can take you there.”
“Why would you go out of your way to help me?” I ask, gazing back into his eyes. Based on what Mariana had told me about him, he didn’t appear like the “helping” type. He seemed like a classic bad boy, although I hadn’t been a witness to any of his antics yet, Mariana seemed to be genuinely warning me about him. It’s hard for me to get her words out of my head. Stay as far away from him as you can. I’m staring into his eyes, thinking about how I should be far away from him when suddenly the corners of his lips turn upward again and his gaze softens a bit.
“Because you’re my friend now,” he says. “I’m not going to let a friend get lost on their way to class.” I begin to twirl a lock of my hair that is hanging in front of my face.
“Friends? I never agreed to that,” I say, purposefully being difficult. Partially to mess with him. Partially to get away from him, but I can tell by the way his eyes darken again that he has taken this as a challenge. I start walking toward the exit to the gymnasium as the bell rings.
“What? I’m not good enough to be your friend?” Elliot asks, keeping up with me.
I pause, and then turn to look at him. The reason is complicated—at least in my mind. I don’t know anything about him, aside from what I’ve heard, and what I’ve heard is worrisome. It’s better for me to not be involved with him at all. But I can’t bring myself to say this to his face. I won’t say this to his face. Instead, I think back to my grandma’s words. The words she always used to tell me about the different kinds of people we come across in our lives.
“I don’t know if you’re a rose, or a daisy,” I say, and Elliot’s brows furrow. I know it doesn’t make sense to him. It would only make sense to anyone my grandmother’s words have touched. My parents, my cousins, my Aunt Susie, and Uncle Evan. Grandma always, and I mean always used to say that a person becomes a target if they are a rose with thorns on it. I used to ask her why and she would tell me it’s because roses bring out a kind of joy in people, because it stands out. If a person wants to stand out in a cornfield they’d much rather be a rose than a daisy, and if they see that someone else is a rose while they are a daisy—they aren’t going to be too happy about that.
She used to go on about how even with its thorns, a rose can only protect itself so long before it’s overrun by the daisies. A week before I left Harler, I’d listened to her as she sat in her old, worn chair, and she’d told me that just by moving to a new city and being at a new school with new people—I would become a rose. Now, the main issue with being a rose is how you deal with it, she’d said. You can choose to surround yourself with other roses and embrace the attention, or be targeted by the daisies, it’s up to you. She always emphasized that it was a metaphor, and it took me years to fully understand what she’d meant by it. In simple terms, Elliot is either someone I want to have around—a rose—or someone who could lead me to destruction—a daisy—but I’d rather not get into my grandma’s old metaphor right now. I regret even bringing it up as Elliot stares at me with a look of confusion in his eyes.
“You could be a rose,” I continue. “Actually, it would be much better for the both of us if you were…but if you’re a daisy, we can’t ever be friends. It’s nothing personal.”
Elliot nods his head slowly, as if he’s actually following along with what I’m saying.
“So, to earn your friendship, I have to prove to you that I’m a rose?”
“Yes,” I say, readjusting my backpack on my shoulders.
“And when I do…I have permission to walk you to your class?” I give a simple head nod, my entire body heating up as he continues to gaze into my eyes with that intense stare of his. Gosh, I don’t know if I hate it or love it when he does that. “It would help if I knew what the difference was between a rose and a daisy…” he says, waiting for me to tell him what the difference is, but I want this to be a challenge. I stare back at him silently, suppressing a smile. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
I shake my head, amused.
“Alright, I’ll figure it out. Either way, I’m a rose,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head up slightly with confidence.
“Prove it,” I say, and I can’t believe the words that are just flying out of my mouth right now. Maybe it’s the adrenaline radiating from my pores at the fact that Elliot Dawton actually wants to be my friend. The adrenaline that isn’t helping the fact that I should be staying away from him—but still. I’m loving this. The look on his face. The way I’ve gotten him stumped. The fact that he’s willing to prove himself to me in order to be my friend. You shouldn’t enjoy this, Raine, I tell myself. But I do it anyway.
“I will, and when I do, I get to walk you to your class every day for the rest of the week,” he says. Oh, the horror. The innermost part of me is thinking that this would be a great thing. A terribly great thing that I most certainly shouldn’t be a part of. Ugh.
“I don’t get what you want from me, Elliot. I don’t see what you would get out of this transaction.” There has to be something more…something I’m not seeing. He’s much too eager. Much too willing to do whatever it takes just to walk me to my class. It’s suspicious.
He lifts his brow slightly and there’s that curve of his lips again.
“Your friendship,” he says.
“What else?”
“There’s nothing else.” He’s grinning now.
“Okay, fine. Deal. Prove it by the end of the day tomorrow. I’ll be the judge.”
Elliot holds his hand out in front of me and I take it, shaking it lightly. His hand is so warm, and soft and…What is happening to me?
“Deal,” he says, and then the warning bell rings. I curse under my breath and Elliot’s just looking down at me with a smile. Without a goodbye, I rush down the hallway, not wanting to be late to my next class, and hoping I won’t get lost on the way there.
17Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgkuOfkr5vw
