Elijah McCay and Me

Vol. 2: Twelve

It's hard being someone's friend, especially while wanting to be so much more than that.

I pulled out of the jammed parking lot, then carried on toward the building where my dorm sat.

Once I'd gotten home and unlocked my door, I pushed it open, a little taken aback by my roommate, Jeremy, sitting quietly at his desk with a pair of earphones embedded into his ears while he typed away at his laptop.

When he looks over at me I send him a polite smile and a short wave, watching as he does the same. Jeremy pulls an earphone out of his ear, setting it down on the surface before him.

I set my bag on my bedspread, slipping out of my shoes and kicking them under the bed frame. The next thing that comes off is my jacket. "Hey, you haven't been here in a few days," I begin, hanging my dark blue jacket on the wrack on the door. "Everything okay?"

Jeremy nods, a grateful smile on his lips, "yeah, I've just been spending some time with my girlfriend who lives off-campus."

I bob my head in understanding, parking my backside against my sheets. Just as I've parted my lips to say something back, my cellphone goes off again on the inside of my backpack.

I whisper a small, "sorry" and dip into the front pocket, eyes zeroing in on the new text message from—no surprise there, Elijah McCay.

His previous messages from last night say,

Is everything okay? I know tonight was kind of weird.

Is there a lot of traffic? Pull over and wait it out if you need to.

Did you get home safe?

My heart lurches at the last one, and I realize that I hadn't even seen it when it first came in, being too busy having terrible sex with Jeremiah to notice—what a waste. Then, one from this morning.

How did your midterm go? And are you okay? Call me when you get the chance please. Wanna see how you're doing.

I finally grow a pair, sending Jeremy an apologetic smile as I ready beneath my bed for the sneakers I'd discarded only a moment ago. I slip them, then walk out of my dorms door, closing it firmly behind me so Jeremy can't hear the phone call I'm about to make.

Which will without a doubt, be awkward.

With a few clicks on Elijah's contact, my cell is dialing his and in just a few rings, the line picks up.

"Gage, hey," he greets me first.

My cheeks burn involuntarily, my heartbeat beginning to pick up. "Hi," my voice is soft, hardly even present in our conversation. "I just got all of your messages, sorry it's taken me forever to get back to you."

He takes a moment to reply, "sorry, I didn't know you'd be going to sleep so early."

"I wasn't sleeping," I say without realizing, slapping a palm over my mouth to stop whatever else I decide to say without caution.

"What do you mean?"

"I, uh—I mean that I wasn't really sleeping yet. Just kind of relaxing . . . hanging out." I'm not entirely sure why I emphasize so much on the end of my sentence, but the nerves of bringing up an unwanted topic is eating me alive.

There's another moment of silence before Elijah let's out a breathy chuckle. "Hanging out with who?"

I cross my arms, leaning back against my door, "um, well, you know—just a friend." My words sound like they're hanging off of an edge. I hope Elijah doesn't notice it, but then again I know he will—he notices it all.

There's ruffling on the other end of the line, then the sharp sound of a door being closed. "A friend? Who, like your roommate?"

I wish he wouldn't pry so much because I really don't want to dive into deep detail about who I spent the night with. "No, it was another friend."

"Why are you being so weir—"

"Let's hang out tonight!"

He stops, not seeming to expect my sudden encouragement, "what, tonight?"

"Yes."

"And what would we do? It's Monday." I don't know what we could do, seeing as I'd pulled that idea right out of ass just so we wouldn't have to talk about Jeremiah.

"Well, there are after-happy-hour drinks during the week at a bar down the street from campus. We could go there?" Even in my own ears, my voice sounds hopeful, and I pray Elijah latches onto that.

Instead he laughs, sending panic straight into my gut. "Nice try, but you're still underage."

This time, I laugh. "I have a fake ID."

"What?" I thump my head into my door, internally cursing myself at the fact that I can't keep my mouth shut around him to save my life. It was as if the minute he asked a question, my first instinct was to blindly answer.

"Nothing!" I try and save the conversation, "so, tonight, drinks at that bar? I'll be ready at nine—you can come pick me up."

Elijah doesn't give up so easily, "Gage, wait—"

"Bye!" I disconnect the call.