Chapter 6

elliot

By the time I’ve reached Neema’s cutesy ranch house, with its moths and mosquitos buzzing ecstatically about the lit porch light, I’ve calmed down. What happened with the girls was definitely just a misunderstanding. Five minutes ago, I was pretty excited to tell them about the team’s rekindling of our friendship, the politeness of everyone at the beach, and—especially—that girl, Alyssa. Now, I would rather go home and do my best to fall asleep.

Still. You don’t ditch movie night. So I’m here.

I can hear the TV of Neema’s living room blasting out that good Titanic-y goodness, so I lightly rap my fist against the front door before just walking straight in. Neema’s parents are used to Duncan and I all hanging out in one big, hormonal mass, and I’ve been instructed to not worry about knocking. Just march in and pray that Lady, the resident evil feline, doesn’t attack you.

Duncan has his arm slung over Neema’s shoulders. They both smile at me, and I wiggle my eyebrows in response. It’s been a bit weird with them dating—not because they aren’t great together or because they’re suddenly bad friends to me. It’s just the whole realisation that I’m as single as single can be, and they’re off being closer friends than I could ever hope to have.

I’m untying my shoes when Lady bounds up to me. Her fur is a shock of white, and she looks more like a bouncy cloud full of slightly-malevolent energy than anything. “Hello, Lady,” I say to her. “Are you going to whack me today, or can I go in peace?”

“She’s feisty tonight,” Neema warns.

“It’s because we won’t share the popcorn,” Duncan says. “But like, Neema put curry powder on it, Ellie. Curry. Powder. It’s literally my second favorite powder.”

“Second only to cocaine?” I ask as I reach out to stroke Lady, who meowls and thwaps my hand. Her claws snag slightly against my skin for a moment. “Ow, why can’t you love me?”

“That cat is possessed,” Neema says. If Lady weren’t the unofficial-official mascot of the Adriko family, they probably would be rid of her, because she is a lot of hassle. A mean hassle. She’s an old husk of a thing with a passion for spitting and throwing up in Mr. Adriko’s shoes.

Lady continues to bat at me, even as I cross over to the couch. It’s an effort not to trip over her.. “You think?”

“I don’t think,” Duncan says. “Curry powder thinks for me. It controls me. And my life. It—”

“Shh,” Neema whispers, scooching a little onto his lap so that there’s room for me to join them. I know that that’s a huge plus of my being here, aside from the fact that we’ve been best friends since we were little. This couch is small enough to excuse some Neema-Duncan overlap when we all pile on together. Just more almost-third-wheeling on my part.

Hanging with Neema and Duncan as just friends is way different than hanging out with a couple as an almost third wheel. Still, they’re my people, and I love them. We work too well. We’re this weird hodgepodge of snippy teens, each of us a little too awkward to properly hang out with anyone but one another.

Okay, that’s a lie. I’m the awkward one. Duncan and Neema are just here out of pity or because we’ve known one another too long or something—they’re, like, peak social. Duncan has his cool-ish jock dudes who all are somehow better people when around him, and Neema has her nice-ish choir kids. After quitting the swim team, I just have Duncan and Neema.

Neema’s arms are wrapped tight around Duncan’s neck when I come to join them, sidled next to Duncan. I used to hang out with him more one-on-one than I do his girlfriend, but I think that’s just because he was going through some kind of epiphany, that the majority of people at our school are more than toxic. Neema has it good—she flits around social circles with ease, enjoying the company of honors students and slackers alike. She gets it all. Honestly, I don’t think she realizes just how lucky she is to be social. When someone falls through for her—like too many of the basketball guys for Duncan, or the swim team girls for me—she has backups. See again: very lucky.

“Have they drowned yet?” I ask, pulling the giant quilt already spread across their legs onto my lap.

Duncan bops me on the top of the head. “Shhings! You are going to spoil this for Lady.”

I can feel Neema’s powerful eye roll from over here.

She’s definitely smiling though. Neema has one of those unbelievably gorgeous smiles. Her lips are big and well-defined, and once she got rid of her Invisalign freshman year, she became low-key obsessed with taking care of her teeth. Her grin is the epitome of dazzling. Neema herself is pretty dazzling, but the smile? The smile just ups the gorgeous factor 10,000%.

Duncan is similarly good-looking, from some angles. You look at him face-on, and you’d think, he’s not bad, but nothing striking. But from other views, he’s all strong, chiseled features and piercing blue eyes. Add to this his freaky-furious workout routine, and you basically have a dorky Adonis.

I’ve been told I have nice shoulders. For a swimmer. So. That’s me.

Being the signature unattractive single friend has never bothered me, really. I know that I have some nice features, but they’re all mashed together in this mixture that just does not work. I’m not dazzling like Neema or handsome like Duncan, but really, I’m fine with it. It’s not as if I’m looking for approval or a relationship right now anyways.

“So, Ellie, what did you want to tell us?” Neema asks, leaning over Duncan to look at me. She’s wearing one of Duncan’s basketball tournament sweatshirts, and with her hair in a long, straightened ponytail, she looks an unfathomably amazing combination of casual and model.

I fiddle with the quilt’s hem. “Nothing really.” Maybe coming here was a bad idea. I love Duncan and Neema—they’re my people when other people refuse to be my people—but there are things that even I don’t want to tell them.

Duncan, at six-foot-five, is a staggering two inches taller than me (going on roadtrips together is the worst), so when he looks over, it’s easy for him to give me his crazy-eyed stare. “Bro. Spill. Spill the things,” he says, because it’s obviously the magical phrase.

“There are no things to spill,” I say, staring firmly at the screen. I can feel myself retreating away from the realm of facial expressions. “Oh guys, look, it’s time to be drawn like a French girl!”

“Elliot,” Neema starts before Duncan cuts her off with, “You cannot distract us with iconic Leonardo moments! Spill. Do the spill.”

My stomach sinks. What can I even say? What can I say that won’t get me a big, fat “I told you so”? The swim girls’ behaviour tonight was peak weird toxicity. Like, they don’t even have a point to it. I don’t need to hear any pitiful “You should have known”s.

“Well, I met a girl,” I say, because it’s hardly untrue.

“A girl?” they repeat in unison.

“Yes. A female of the species.”

“Tell us more about this female of the species,” Duncan says, nudging me with his elbow.

“Well….” There’s not much to say, really. Dammit, this isn’t even going to sound impressive. Way to go, Elliot. “Her name is Alyssa. She just moved here from … somewhere? She’s really cute. And, like, really, really funny, and easy to joke with, and yep. Alyssa.”

Neema shifts the popcorn bowl onto her lap. “How did you guys get to talking?”

“Oh.” That. “I kicked sand in her face.”

Duncan snorts. “Why is that so on-brand for you, Ellie?”

“Hey, it wasn’t terrible!“

“For you. You got sand in her face holes. I’m sure she feels fantastic about it.”

I reach over and snag the popcorn bowl. Neema’s curry popcorn is truly legendary, and knowing Duncan, it’ll be gone in five minutes if I don’t act now. “Don’t make me put sand in your face hole.”

“Did she hang with the swim girls?” Neema asks, turning the TV down a bit.

Ah, the truest question of judgement. Neema and Duncan really hate the swim girls. To them, if you can hang out with a Hulhazy High swim girl, you excel at being a terrible human being. If the rest of the school felt the same way, I wouldn’t be surprised. They dick around with peoples’ emotions a lot. “Nah, we ended up going up to Breakneck Cliff to talk. It was nice.”

“Ooh,” Duncan coos, ripping the popcorn bowl from my hands before I’ve even had a bite. “To talk.”

I slug his shoulder before grabbing a handful of popcorn. “Shut up.”

“Yeah, Duncan, shut up,” Neema says, grabbing a few kernels for herself.

Duncan shrugs us off with ease, continuing to smile his stupid lopsided puppy-dog smile. “You nerds would be so sad if I shut up for real.”

“Not really,” I say.

“Yeah, we’d probably just find a parrot or something instead,” Neema says.

“Talking gerbil.”

“Ooh, that’s good. Maybe we could get him a little gerbil jetpack—”

“Wait,” Duncan says, “did we miss the ‘draw me like one of your French girls’ part?”

Neema just shakes her head and rewinds the movie. 

A/N:

Only one update today! Hope you guys enjoyed some Elliot.

Have a great week!

Edit: did you know that whale milk has the consistency of toothpaste?