+ LOVING ELIJAH MCCAY +
VOL. 1: CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I sat in my last class of the day, my chin resting limply in the palm of my hand, and my left leg bouncing with nerves. I couldn't stop thinking about what would Elijah possibly want to show me, after school. And my parents being on a date all night, was just the icing on the cake. Considering, it meant I wouldn't exactly have a curfew.
I sincerely hoped that it wasn't another group of friends, seeing as how well meeting the first batch went.
My fingers gripped tightly onto my mechanical pencil, watching as my science teacher scribbled all sorts nonsense I didn't understand, onto a large whiteboard. His voice projected, as he spoke, and he stopped every few moments to ask one of my peers a question.
Biting onto the eraser of my pencil nervously, I watched the clock that sat just above the whiteboard, with calculating eyes.
I was quite thankful that the teacher speaking, Mr. Mulberry, never called on me. Because I knew that if he did, I'd come off as a complete idiot, and make a fool out of myself. All because I could not stop thinking about him.
My eyes zeroed into the clock, watching every second pass by idly.
But the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, as I felt someone's eyes on me. I tried my best to seem subtle, while my eyes searched the room for anybody who could be staring.
I didn't know what to think, when my line of vision connected with a boy's. That same boy from only days before. The one who was for some reason, wearing a trench coat during the summertime. My cheeks tinged a light pink color, as I shifted my eyes away from his.
He did the same, tucking his chiseled chin into the crook of his coat.
He had dark brown hair, and light brown eyes, that seemed to have hints of green to them, a little like my mother's. The coloring in his cheeks never went away, due to my incessant staring.
I hadn't meant to make him uncomfortable, but to be quite frank, he was the one who stared first.
I could clearly make out the fact that he was now bouncing his leg with nerves, just like I had been. I wondered why he was staring at me, and if he needed something from me. My only hope was that he would gather the courage to come speak to me.
My eyes found themselves latching onto the ground, watching the boy with dark brown hair, in the corner of eye. I waited the for the bell to ring, so that maybe on our way out of school, he'd find his way over to me.
Mr. Mulberry continued to scribble things on the whiteboard, as my finger found itself in a tight curl, wringing it between the hair funnily.
He was staring, again. I let him have his fun, eyes never straying from the whiteboard. But I could feel his eyes on my heating cheeks. The staring never faltered, and I almost wanted to laugh at how open and obvious he was about it.
Because whenever I stared at people, I usually looked away whenever I caught. Especially when I was staring at Elijah.
The ringing from the large school bell began to ring, and my heart dropped into the pit of my stomach. I knew that this was his opportunity to ask, or tell me if he needed something. Because it was apparent that he did.
But I also didn't want to make him feel any awkwardness of any sort, so I figured that if he really had anything to say, he'd work up the courage and do it himself.
I slid my bottom out of my curved desk, and slung my backpack over my shoulder. My shoulder was aching from carrying it all day, everyday, but I ignored it with a slight wince.
My feet made their way toward the door slowly, as I waited for him to walk over to me. In the corner of my eye, I could see his feet edge closer and closer to the door, but he seemed to be hesitating. As though, he were waiting for something, or someone to leave.
Someone like me.
Quickly getting the memo, my feet made a dash for the door, and pushed it open with force. My body collided with a few others while walking, them never sparing me a an apology. But I was used to it—in these crowded hallways, it seemed as though there were teenagers everywhere.
I made my way over to my locker, putting in its combination, while trying to forget the almost-situation that happened in the science classroom. But it was hard to, when he that same boy, with the dark brown hair, came slowly trudging down the hallway.
He kept his head down, as though he was afraid to make eye contact with anyone. I related with that tactic to a certain extent.
My eyes found his, just like they had before, and I held his gaze, raising a suspicious eyebrow.
And to my pleasant surprise, he began stalking toward me, a loose hand tightening around the strap of his backpack. It seemed as though he was struggling to bring himself to come up to me, but what I couldn't understand, was why.
His dark, brown eyes matched his hair. It was neat, was brushed back against his scalp, as though he had taken time to do it. It made me slightly ashamed of my messy hair-do.
His clothes were smooth, and clean. His appearance was so neat, and clean-cut, that I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. Usually people my age weren't very out together, and threw on the first things that they could find.
But due to his seemingly pressed trench coat, that wasn't his style.
Finally, he found himself right before me, eyes bright and wide. His cheeks were light, and his fingers began to shake wildly. I wanted to calm him, and tell him that he would be alright. But I didn't really know him, and if it were me, I wouldn't enjoy being comforted by a random person.
I grabbed my history textbook from my locker, for whatever homework I would have tonight, and forced my attention from him, waiting patiently for him to speak.
His lips parted, and the nameless boy before me finally found his words.
"My name is Spencer," he began, voice shaking with uncertainty. And I couldn't tell if he was telling me this, or if he were asking me.
I sent him a small smile, shutting my locker softly, careful not to disrupt him, while leaning against it. "Hello, Spencer." I wasn't sure what else to say, all the while trying not to make him feel like he couldn't talk to me.
His lips quirked up into a shy smile, and I looked at him with a wide-set grin. He was sort of adorable. "I was just wondering . . . well, I was wondering if you . . ."
I stood there before him, as quiet as can be. Both of my history textbooks sat idly in my arms, as my heavy backpack hung off of my shoulder. The pressure was burning, as my arm clenched. I wanted Spencer to hurry up, and say what he needed to say.
But then again, I understood what it felt like to be anxious to talk to someone about something.
"Never mind, I-I'm sorry I bothered you, I'll just . . ." He was gone not even a second later. His legs moved vastly and speedily toward the double doors, leading into the student parking lot.
I watched with both hands raised into the air, lips parted in open confusion. What did he need to ask me? And why did he suddenly stop, mid sentence? None of it made sense.
But I didn't have time to worry about what Spencer needed to speak to me about. Because only about eight hours earlier, Elijah made it very clear that he had something to tell me. And that thought made the previous encounter practically extinct in my overworked mind.
Pushing aside every question that I had in the back of my mind, I also made my way out of the large double doors, eyes squinting at the blinding light coming down from the sun.
The thoughts still lingered, as my eyes made a quick sweep around the parking lot in search for Spencer, just for safety measures.
And I found him.
Although, he was saddling himself in a neutrally colored bike, strapping a helmet over his head, and taking off. It wasn't as though I was going to chase after him or anything, but the curiosity in me was bubbling—wanting to so desperately know what he needed to ask me.
And I wondered if I would ever know. But I guess, only time will tell.
Just as I was getting ready to take off on foot, toward my house, I spotted Elijah's familiar car in the far corner of the parking lot.
He stood there patiently, leaning against the passenger side door, both arms crossed across his broad chest. My fingers tightened around the strap of my backpack, just like Spencer's had been before. And my heart did the smallest of flips on the inside of my chest.
My feet were slow while making their way over to him, and my throat began to dry, and heave. As though I hadn't had any water in days.
I stopped, when I was just in front of him, and I ran a slow hand through my curls in hesitation.
"What did you want to show me?" My voice was lower than usual, and he only stood off to the side of his car, pulling the passenger side door open for me. Just like he always did.
He stood there, and watched me with calculated eyes, lips parting slightly to speak. "We're going to my families restaurant."