5
1002 Words
Jordyn’s house is packed.
Every hallway hums with bass, perfume, and the dizzy chaos of a party that’s one red Solo cup away from becoming a crime scene. Girls dance on countertops. Guys play beer pong like it’s an Olympic sport. Someone’s crying in the laundry room.
Classic Friday.
I’m already tipsy. Not blacked-out, make-out-with-a-houseplant drunk. Just warm, reckless, and slightly too honest for my own good.
“Drink this,” Jordyn says, shoving something into my hand. “It’s called Electric Lemonade. You’ll love it.”
“It tastes like regret and battery acid.”
“Exactly.”
We’re sitting on the edge of her pool, our feet dangling in the water, surrounded by laughter, chlorine, and the echo of Taylor Swift’s Cruel Summer playing way too loud.
Skye leans in, grinning like she’s about to ruin my life. “Sooo…”
“No,” I say immediately.
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“I do.”
“C’mon, B,” Jordyn croons. “Just admit it. You fancy Eli.”
“I don’t.”
“You do,” Skye sings. “You get all glowy when he texts you.”
“I do not get glowy—”
“Oh my God,” Jordyn cuts in. “You blushed when he lent you a pencil. A pencil, Blake.”
“That was a warm day and I was iron deficient—”
Skye rolls her eyes. “Why are you even denying it? He’s cute. In a weird, tortured poet way.”
I take another long sip. My head spins slightly, and suddenly, the weight of the crowd and the music and their smug little looks press in.
“I don’t fancy him,” I snap, louder than I mean to. “I would never fancy someone like him.”
Jordyn blinks. “Whoa chill.”
“He’s a geek. He spends lunch alone. He probably still plays Pokémon and has, like, zero social skills. And you think I’d be into that?”
The words pour out too fast. Too sharp. Too loud.
“He’s an outcast. He’s weird and awkward and has these stupid glasses and… and he probably still lives with a pet tarantula or something.”
Skye’s mouth is frozen mid-smirk.
Jordyn looks past me.
Something in her face changes.
Oh no.
Oh no.
I already know before I turn. I can feel it. The shift in the air. The ghost of someone standing just a little too close.
I turn.
And there he is.
Eli.
Behind me.
Expression unreadable.
Eyes blank.
Solo cup clutched in his hand like he might crush it.
His mouth is a tight line, like he’s biting back everything he could say—but won’t.
“Eli—” I start, standing too fast. My balance sways.
He shakes his head once.
Then turns and walks away, cutting through the crowd like a ghost. Like he doesn’t exist.
Like I just made sure he doesn’t.
“s**t,” Jordyn mutters.
Skye winces. “That was… harsh.”
My chest caves in.
I don’t know what burns more—the alcohol or the look on his face.
Maybe both.
Because I didn’t just ruin something that might’ve become something.
I shattered someone who never deserved it.
And I don’t think I can take that back.
Monday morning is a punch in the face.
The fluorescent lights buzz too loud. My mascara’s doing that flaky thing. And Jordyn keeps giving me looks like I murdered a puppy.
“I didn’t mean it,” I mutter as we walk into the main hall.
“Mmhmm,” she says, tight-lipped.
Skye won’t even look at me.
Awesome.
People are whispering. Not everyone was at the party—but enough were. Enough to make it spread like wildfire. And of course, someone definitely recorded it. I saw it reposted at least three times before I could delete my own tag.
“I heard she called him a tarantula boy,” someone whispers as I pass.
I clutch my books tighter and pretend I can’t hear them.
I see him in homeroom. Eli.
Same seat. Same hoodie. Same stupid glasses.
But it’s different now.
He doesn’t look up when I walk in.
He doesn’t glance when I sit two rows behind.
He doesn’t even breathe in my direction.
Like I’m nothing.
And honestly? It stings.
Even worse: Ms. Kay hands out new project assignments for the science fair. Pairs. Of course.
She reads out names like she’s conducting a Hunger Games reaping.
“Eli Mercer and… Blake Holloway.”
I blink.
“No,” I blurt. “There must be a mistake.”
Eli says nothing.
Not even a twitch.
Ms. Kay peers over her glasses. “The list is final. And if either of you refuse, it’s an automatic fail.”
The whole class is watching now.
Even Kyle in the back lifts his head from his sketchpad.
Eli still doesn’t say anything.
He just nods once. Sharp. Cold.
“Cool,” I mutter, slinking down in my seat.
Jordyn mouths karma. Skye doesn’t even bother hiding her glare.
⸻
At lunch, he’s already at the library table. Set up with his laptop, pages of notes, and zero intention of speaking first.
I sit across from him slowly, awkwardly, like the chair might bite.
“I—uh—hi.”
Nothing.
I clear my throat. “So… science fair. Cool. Explosions. Who doesn’t love that?”
Still nothing.
His silence is aggressively loud.
“I didn’t mean what I said,” I try. “I was drunk, and—”
“Is that supposed to make it better?” he cuts in, finally looking at me.
His voice is quiet, but sharp.
I flinch.
He shuts his laptop, gaze flat. “Let’s just get this project over with.”
And then he leaves.
No dramatic exit.
No scene.
Just… silence.
And the worst part?
I think I deserve it.
- Writer
