The Understorey, Book One of The Leaving Series (5 page)

The truth is, Elliott started ignoring me in
junior high. For whatever reason that was, he ignored me. One day,
we were riding our bikes to the creek, laughing, listening to
music. The next day, I didn’t exist. It broke my heart. He was my
best friend, then nothing. I admit, I became sort of an introvert
at first as a result of the slight and it’s also why my mom thinks
I stayed that way but in reality
I stayed that way
because I
needed somewhere to sit at lunch and was forced to associate with
the cheerleaders I was sort of friends with at the time. Wait, it
becomes clear, read on.

These friendships of convenience were short
lived because the girls found my personality ‘disconcerting’. I had
no interest in cheering, the color pink, or any of the noise they
liked to call ‘music’ but the kicker was when Taylor Williams
developed her never ending crush obsession on Elliott Gray. She
tried her darndest but he wasn’t noticing her and that meant there
had to be a reason why.

Apparently, according to Taylor, I was that
reason. I may have even survived my complete lack of
 identifying within this social circle had I never been
friends with Elliott in the first place because when Taylor found
out that Elliott ‘dumped’ me as his friend she felt guilty by
association. That meant I was the contaminant that needed flushing.
Long story short, Elliott’s dumping of me was her cue to do the
same. You know, a show of solidarity and obviously after that
Elliott fell madly in love with her right? Anyway, they are the
reason I decided that the only one I could count on was, well,
myself. It is the reason I’m a loner.

I sit at my table, like I said, alone. It
sounds lame but man, sometimes I like being alone. Reading is
literally my favorite thing to do in the entire world. If I was
being honest, I’d have to admit that I didn’t try very hard to make
friends but then again they didn’t make it easy either.

I set my sack of carrots on my lap, prop my
feet on the chair next to me and start reading about Big Brother
again. I almost forget about Elliott,
almost
. A stinging,
buzzing sensation starts to creep into my chest and suddenly I
hear, “I love that book.”

I glance with only my eyes and almost
hyperventilate. It’s Elliott and he looks unbelievably sweet with
his bulky black glasses and chin length black hair. He’s nervous,
an extremely rare side of him. Only a handful of times had I ever
seen him get nervous. He wasn’t even nervous that time in sixth
grade when we almost slipped off the edge of the deep crevice by
the old waterfalls and nearly went toppling to our deaths. He
caught me and pulled me into his arms, consoling me. I was
hysterical. He looked like he was barely bothered but now,
now
, he was fidgety and a light sheen had formed across his
face. He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand and his long
bangs stick to the side of his face.

“Carrots, huh?” He asks. He’s reaching.

I roll my eyes to prevent myself from
giggling.
    “Those are good for the eyes, I’ve heard. I see
they’ve done wonders for your teeth too. Texas A&M did that
study a few years ago. Did you hear about it?”
I don’t respond.
    He continues, “No? Well a few years ago they
developed a carrot that helps people absorb forty one percent more
calcium than when they consume a regular carrot. Interesting right?
Genetically altered vegetables?”
Oh my gosh.
I feel like bursting out laughing he's so
adorable
. I’m not gonna’ make it.
   
“
I
certainly found that
interesting,” he chuckles nervously. The cutest sound I’ve ever
heard. “You may not, or maybe you did, I’m not sure. It’s certainly
something a braniac should find interesting. You’re a braniac,
right? I mean, you’re always reading, so I assumed. Not that I
claim to be a braniac or anything. I’m of pretty average
intelligence, I think.
I realize I should save him, throw a life preserver his way and all
but I’m enjoying this sweaty version of Elliott way too much.
    “Yeah, so, I heard they collaborated with
Baylor’s College of Medicine in Houston. Houston’s a pretty crazy
town or so I’ve heard. Supposedly the humidity is heck on girls’
hair. Your hair doesn’t seem to take on that much humidity. I’ve
never seen it frizz anyway.”
He drums his fingertips on the table. A natural beat, something I’m
sure he did absently, but definitely showcased that he was a
learned drummer.
    “As I was saying, it’s obviously done wonders
for your teeth.”
I wonder what he’ll say next. I look up and study his expression.
Elliott always made inadvertent insults the few times he got
nervous.
    “Yeah, your teeth are big and a pretty white.”
He takes a deep breath.
Here it comes.
“You could mistake
them for a horse’s.”

There it was. I almost run out of the
cafeteria in a burst of laughter. If you could only see the look on
the poor sap’s face. All the blood drained into his neck. He was a
sight to be seen, face pale as death, neck red as beets. I have to
look back down at my book to keep my composure.

    “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean
to compare your teeth to a horse’s. I was only trying to point out
how large they were. That is, I mean to say, that they are larger
than most people’s. But! Perfectly proportionate to your face. Your
face isn't huge or anything! Your face seems pretty average in its
proportions. Yes, very well proportioned.” He sighs. “What I meant
to say is that you have very beautiful teeth.”
    I sit there, baffled, unsure of what I should
say. Right when I worked up the nerve to turn to him and open my
mouth, he turns to his backpack and removes a bottle of water,
drinking half its contents.
    “Jules,” he pants.
    “Julia,” I say, not even sure I really said
it.
    “
Julia
, obviously I’m an idiot. All I
want to do is talk to you. It’s extremely hard for me to talk to
you.”
    “Then you should stop,” I say.
Please don’t
stop.
   
“But I can’t.”
    “But you should,” I say. I bite my tongue to
prevent myself from taking it back.

I sit up and sigh, collecting my belongings
as I head toward the double doors. I have to leave. I’m upset with
myself for even considering for a moment that I should trust him
again. The literal spark between us is too powerful a thing to give
into. I know this. I know if I give into it I’ll fall so hard for
him that when he eventually tires of the novelty he thinks I am, I
won’t be able to recover. I’m obviously a glutton for punishment
but I’m not suicidal. I’m certain that if I ever gave my heart to
Elliott Gray and he brutalized it? It’d die, simple as that. It’s
just not worth the risk. It truly is better to have never loved
Elliott at all than to have loved him and lost him. Trust me, I
tasted a glimpse of what it could do.

I stop by my locker one more time just to
gape at the sheer beauty of it. My heart tingles at the very sight
of it. I run my fingers along the leaves and stems before admiring
all the unique petals. I am awestruck.

Third period Economics held no interest for
me. I did like that there were practically no other seniors in the
class although they all did seem to be aware that I was ‘off
limits’. It’s not at all surprising that popular Taylor’s poison
seeped into the grades below.

By fourth period Chemistry, I’m convinced the
only class we share was Mrs. Kitt’s. I force myself to try and feel
relief but it just wouldn’t come.
I really am a glutton for
punishment.
I pick the lab table smack dab in the middle of
class. Chemistry is not my forte’. I decide the back is too far
away but the front is definitely too close for comfort.

I feel a tingling in the center of my chest,
a clear cut sign that he’s near.
Uh, oh.
I bite down on my
lower lip to control its trembling anticipation. I’m bewildered by
these inherent reactions to him. He walks into the classroom and I
take a sharp intake of breath, biting my lip a little too hard and
tasting blood. Elliott winces but I'm not sure why. He slides past
my table and I avoid eye contact. He joins Sawyer at the lab table
behind me. I realize now that I should have made Sawyer come sit
next to me so I wouldn’t be alone with Elliott’s eyes piercing the
back of my head.

I reach for my bag on the linoleum and pull
it onto the lab table. I open the flap and feel around for my
notebook, pens and pencils. I close the flap and place the bag back
onto the floor but I can’t control myself and I sneak a peek over
my shoulder in his direction. He smiles at me. I fix my direction
at the blackboard and chide myself for being so careless.

Everywhere I go in town, Elliott seems to be
there. He is out and about way more than I’d ever seen him out
before. He’s looking for me and I’m troubled by the fact that I’m
not as upset about this as I should be. In fact, I actually look
forward to seeing him. The very few times I’m certain he can’t see
me provides the window I am looking for to observe him.
By just
how much as he truly changed
or
has he stayed the
same?

There’s no denying it now.
I’ve already
begun to ache for Elliott. Ugh.
 I lay in bed, grasping at
my heart, praying that the ache will dull but it never does. I feel
addicted to his touch. A single touch has sealed my fate.

The few weeks of playing cat and mouse has a
profound effect on me. My life is filled with unbelievable anxiety
every moment I am awake. I do everything in my power to get him off
my mind but fail.

The Tuesday of the second week of our careful
dance my mom sends me to the store to pick up a bell pepper.
Careful to avoid the main streets Elliott often travels, I arrive
at the store and lock my car. I peek above the top of my Karmann
Ghia and spot Elliott getting out of his truck. I duck down like an
idiot only to realize that my car is in no way inconspicuous. It’s
Tiffany blue and older than ninety-nine percent of the cars in the
lot. I crouch down and practically crawl towards the entrance,
watching his feet underneath the cars as he passes. My head hits
something hard and I glance up. Sawyer.

“Uh, Julia?”
    I shoot to my feet after Elliott passes us and
watch him head toward the entrance, his back toward me.

“Uh, hey Sawyer. What’s up?”

“Nothing.” He laughs, “What’s up with
you?”

This is why I like Sawyer. He doesn’t even
bother asking why I’m crawling in the grocery store parking
lot.

“Just getting a bell pepper for me ma’.
You?”

“Similar errands but I need a lemon.”

“Ahh,” I sigh, “the curse of the driving
teen.” I eye Sawyer carefully. “Doesn’t your mom make lemon
chicken, like, three times a week?” I peek Elliott’s direction.
“She should just invest in a fruit of the month club. Skip the
produce section altogether, just have it delivered already.
    “Right. Anyway, shall we?” He asks, gesturing
toward the entrance.
I toss an extra glance Elliott’s way and discover he’s talking to a
woman at the door.
    “Uh, actually. I need to get something from my
car. The, uh, rest of my list. Yeah. See you around?”
    “Okay, see you around,” he says and heads
inside.
    When Sawyer passes through the automatic doors,
he and Elliott nod at one another. I walk hurriedly toward a pillar
near where Elliott is standing and crouch behind it. I peer over my
shoulder at him. He doesn’t see me, which is good because, I admit,
I am absolutely terrible at being inconspicuous. I strain to listen
when my neighbor Mr. Rosenfeld’s cart creeks by at an alarmingly
slow rate.

“Miss Julia? Is that you?”

I scrunch up my face and bury my head in my
shoulders. I spastically wave him on. He shakes his head, but
continues on, muttering ‘she’s looney’ and something along the
lines of ‘probably forgot her pill’.

I turn my ear toward Elliott. He’s been
talking to the young woman for some time now and I’m curious as to
why. I’ve never seen her around before and jealousy creeps up my
neck and into my face, infecting my thoughts. I check myself,
forcing myself to calm down.

    “.......and I’m not sure
what I need to do because he just left us,” the woman says.
    “I’m so sorry to hear that. That breaks my
heart. How old is your son?” Elliott asks, reaching for her baby’s
face and dragging a finger down its cheek. The baby giggles through
a toothless grin, enamored of Elliott.
The woman adjusts the baby more securely on her hip.
    “He’s six months.”
    “What’s his name?”
    “Samuel.”
    “No way! That’s my grandfather’s name. I
knew
there was something about the little guy I
liked.”
The woman laughs but loses the happiness just as quickly as it
came.
    “Well,” Elliott continues, “I believe I’ve got a
few tricks up my sleeve for Samuel here. How about we take a trip
down the baby aisle together?”
    “Oh thank you.....”
    “Elliott.”
    “.....Elliott. Thank you. I am so embarrassed.
I’ve never had to do anything like this before but I’m desperate.
It’s either this or head to the nearest soup kitchen but I don’t
have a car and I don’t want to expose Samuel to the
elements.”
    “I understand...."
    “Karen.”
    “....Only a great mom would brave asking a
stranger for help. I’d be honored to help you guys out. Truly, it
would make my day.”
   Both Elliott and Karen, with Samuel in tow,
headed toward the baby aisle. I decide that this will be the extent
of my eavesdropping, that I won’t risk the possibility of further
humiliation. I am firm in my decision.
Maybe another second
wouldn't hurt.

I crept one aisle over and listened to their
progress.  A little old lady rushed past me in her cart,
eyeing me strangely.
I know, I’m insane grandma.