“This ‘thing’isn’t over until I graduate, and you win Prom Queen. You can’t get rid of me that easily, Princess.” He smirked, tipping his chin downward. “Besides, our story is just getting good. Andrew’s joining the cheer team for fuck sake! You gotta tell me how that goes—he’s not the most reliable with that stuff. He’ll just make up some crazy story about how he stopped someone from breaking their neck.”
“Yeah.” I chuckled, trying to hide my amusement. “I guess.”
“This is a historic thing too, ya know? When’s the last time you remember a guy being on the cheer team?”
“I don’t.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, it’s the least I could do for blatantly ignoring him every year. He’s actually really good.”
“He takes some kind of dance class or something.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” Elliot inhaled sharply and pursed his lips. “He shows off his flexibility all the time. Even that one time during the tornado warning when we had to sit out in the hallway for an hour, he was doing the splits the whole time.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“Well, I definitely was. I’ve never seen a dude do the splits.” He shifted in his chair, grimacing. “Where do your balls go?”
“Abercrombie, stop.” I covered my mouth, kicking the leg of his chair with my sneakers.
My toe ached.
A shooting pain radiated up my leg the minute I came into contact with his seat. I flared my nostrils, swallowing a groan.
Elliot grasped the underside of his chair, a devious smirk on his face as he scooted even closer to me. He smacked his lips, playfully flipping invisible tresses over his shoulder.
“It’s giving Ren fromFootloose.”
Laughter spilled from my lips, my breath hitching as the vibrations swelled in my throat. He flicked his wrist with a dainty flair, watching as I doubled forward, clutching my abdomen.
“I love you for knowing that movie, but oh my god, stop.” I cackled, dying with laughter as I hunched forward in my seat, slapping my hand against the desk.
His eyelids lowered. “Youloveme?”
My cheeks became swollen as a pink hue flooded my face. The whites of my eyes expanded, leaving them comparable to saucers.
“No! Not like—umm…that’s not what I—”
“Ms. Taylor, Mr. Keller, mind your volume!” Mrs. Hawthorne scolded with an icy glare, sending shivers down my spine.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
“My bad,” Elliot simultaneously offered.
She slowly pried her gaze away from the two of us, returning her attention to the stack of papers on her desk.My heart fluttered as Elliot and I locked eyes.
“So, did you know SOAPstone isn’t soap made out of stone? Weird, huh?”
I rammed my shoe into his chair.
Seventeen
I will never forget my first anxiety attack. It was four months and three days after Jessie died.
At first, I thought it was just a bad headache—pressure building behind my eyes, and a rhythmic pulsating against my temple. Then my heart started racing, each beat slamming against my rib cage.
