Gage Cilleti has just begun his junior year of high school, and is becoming more and more involved in his school's activities, considering he'd been playing baseball since he was just seven-years-old.
Elijah McCay has just dropped out of school, du...
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Elijah doesn't say much, merely watching me as I hide in the far corner of the men's room. He has both arms dug into the pockets of his sweatshirt. He takes a deep breath, leaning his again against the dual sinks that stand there, as I try and recollect myself.
Everything had happened so quickly. I didn't mean to become so provoked but something about that idiots face just makes something in me catch on fire. And after the last few weeks that I've had, I guess I was just looking for something to set me off. I think it could've happened anywhere—and KJ just happened to be the asshole on the receiving end.
Not that it did much harm, anyway. Even after the shooting started, he was still snickering under his breath, like I was just some kid he could laugh at whenever he wanted.
It made me frown to think that this was now my second social setting with Elijah, and I had stormed away, yet again, because his asshole of a best friend. I wanted to apologize to him in some way, but it was difficult to bring my eyes to his without a herd of embarrassment flooding in.
But when I do, he smiles lightly, and my heart already feels lighter at the sight of it. Elijah begins to walk toward me slowly, but not before reaching over for the bin of paper towels and grabbing one, running it under the faucet for a few seconds.
When he's standing firmly in front of me, he takes a small piece of the paper between his fingers and his thumb, lightly reaching toward my face. I know that my face has probably already started to redden, due to our close proximity—but Elijah doesn't seem to mind.
He softly daps the paper towel over my cheeks, the cool water feeling refreshed against my patchy and red skin. I didn't realize how worked up I'd gotten. Until it was too late, of course.
In the midst of gently tapping my face with the cool-watered paper towel, he paused to inspect it, the pad of his thumb tracing the inner curve of my smile lines. The small action made my lips curve into a gratuitous smile, to which he returned.
"Feeling better?" He asks, taking a step back and tossing the paper towel into the nearest trash bin.
I nod, crossing both arms across my chest, to hide the fact that my heart is beating so fast right now, I could almost faint. "Yeah, thank you."
He shakes his head, and I frown, knowing he's going to reject my 'thank you'. "You don't have to thank me—we're friends."
The word puts a dreadful stir into my chest, as my smile begins to fall. I know that we're friends, and that we'll always be friends, but nothing hurts more than hearing it being repeated over and over again. And I know that Elijah means nothing by it and that he's just trying to be a good guy, but it makes it hard to notice that when I'm distracted by his—everything.
He turns to me once more when he notices that my mood has changed again. "You sure you're feeling better?"
Not wanting to get into anything too serious, I nod, playing along. "Yeah, of course. I'm just tired after all of that yelling and public humiliation. That can really take a toll on a guy."
Elijah laughs at my attempt to make a joke, although he doesn't seem too convinced, himself.
When I walk towards the main door of the restroom, I'm almost out before he grabs onto my arm before I can get any further. His hand attaches itself to my wrist. Being too surprised to try and wiggle free, my wrist stays planted in his grip, as I wait for him to say something.
When he releases it, he takes a deep breath, running a stressed hand down his face. I'm not sure why we're still in a men's restroom, sitting in absolute silence—but the look on Elijah's face tells me that there's something he needs to say. And it's important, too.
"Gage, I think you and I should clear something up." My mind begins to race with a million different possibilities of what we should "clear up".
I'm now in his previous position, back leaning against the dual sinks as I wait for him to continue on. "Back when I was still going to Wayland, I was super close with some of my guy friends. And some of them, I still talk to now. And some of them, I don't. You know, because of distance or time and other dumb shit."
Chuckling lightly, I nod, wanting to know where he's going with this. "And even when things were tough or weird, we were able to pull through and remain good friends, you know? Because that's important to do in good friendships."
My eyebrows furrow together, as I try and think of where he could be going with his clear analogy. "Elijah, I don't understand . . ."
"What I'm trying to say is, I know. I know how you feel about me—how you've felt about me. And I think that you know that I know, but we've both just been too scared to address it." A lump forms in my throat. I can feel it coming, he's about to put me down slowly, nicely. So that we can still remain friends.
But it's still going to hurt so badly.
"Gage, you are a really good person, a nice person too. And I just know that one day, you'll find an awesome guy who's gonna appreciate that more than anything. Who's gonna be able to return whatever you feeling you have for him," I'm stuck, I can hardly find it in me to nod.
"But I need you to know and understand that, that isn't me. F-For a number of reasons you know, the biggest one being that you're sixteen." It takes everything in me not to shed a tear in utter embarrassment and shame.
I didn't think that my actions were so noticeable, and I hadn't meant to make him feel uncomfortable or anything—but I understood what he was saying.
Elijah finally stops talking, taking a deep breath and waiting for my response. He bites onto his bottom lip, shoulders shaky and breathing not at all stable. I know that he's nervous about what my response might be. But I wish that he knew that he didn't have to worry, that I would rather he his friend than nothing at all.
"Hey," I begin, "I understand. You and I are friends, really good friends. And I like things this way, I promise." Trying my best to send him a reassuring smile as I say this, I reach out pat his shoulder for effect.
"And you're not mad?" He asks, still seemingly skeptical.
Shaking my head, I keep eye contact with him, so that hopefully he'll get the sense that I'm telling him the absolute truth. "I'm not mad," when his chest deflates with relief, I chuckle. "Can I hug you?"
He doesn't answer, leaning in and wrapping both arms securely around my waist. My stomach erupts with fireworks it feels like, as I stand on the toes of both of my feet, wrapping both of my arms around his neck. As we stand there, holding onto one another, a weight that I hadn't known even existed, was lifted off of my shoulders.
And I was honestly okay with Elijah and I never bring anything more—but I was sure that he would always hold a special place in my heart.
