Chapter 6 Ella

Chapter 6

Ella

I have no good reason for being here, aside from the fact that Mom had an emotional breakdown over dinner tonight. She made a chicken casserole. It was semi-burnt and tasted like sawdust, so I thought I understood why she was crying. My eyes were watering, too, if I'm being honest.

But then she sobbed into her napkin and blurted out, "This was the last meal I cooked for him."

My fork clattered to the kitchen table. My hands trembled. The overcooked chunks of chicken settled in the pit of my stomach like acidic bricks.

I had to get out of there.

Around 7:00 p.m. I text the phone number Brynn scribbled on my arm, having added it into my contacts before I showered the night before.

Me: Hey, it's Ella. I'm thinking about going to that bonfire tonight, but I'm still on the fence. Convince me with three words.

Brynn: I'll be there! :)

Me: Sold. My social skills need work, just a fair warning.

Brynn: That's what beer is for! Need a ride?

Me: I'm not far. I'll walk. See you soon.

Brynn: Can't wait!

She's an exclamation-point girl.

I edit her name in my phone contacts to "Brynn!" before throwing a hoodie over my tank top and stepping into a pair of dark-wash jeans. I study my reflection in the mirror. My hair is freshly blow-dried, falling in long, thick waves over my shoulders, and my eyes don't look as tired and tortured as they usually do. After applying a coat of black mascara, a layer of lip gloss, and pinching my cheeks that are already stained pink with a touch of nerves, I call out a goodbye to my mother, who managed to collect herself and is watching Grey's Anatomy reruns in the living room.

She waves at me from the couch, her voice still hoarse. "Don't stay out too late. I'm going to wait up for you."

"Please don't."

"I can't sleep, anyway. And I worry about you."

I'm not sure I buy that last part, but all I do is shuffle to the front door, snagging my purse off the wall hook. "Okay. Bye."

Twenty minutes later, I'm stalking down the grassy hill toward the bluffs where firelight flickers in the distance and laughter drowns out my anxious heartbeats. The temperature has fallen to a crisp fifty-eight degrees, so I'm grateful I grabbed my hoodie. But as I get closer to the gathering, I notice that all the other girls are wearing crop tops, spaghetti straps, and cute dresses. The intoxicated whoops and cheers of fellow classmates have me wanting to disintegrate into the grass blades or, at the very least, walk back in the opposite direction. But before I can debate my next move, Brynn! is prancing over to me.

It's a legitimate prance. She looks like a unicorn with her high ponytail and pink-and-white sundress, swooping in to carry me away to her storybook world of wonders.

Also known as this shitty bonfire with a bunch of idiots I don't like.

"Ella!"

I freeze in place. I'm the deer in headlights to her majestic unicorn. "Hey."

"You made it! I didn't think you'd show." She slides her arm through mine, infecting me with glitter and watermelon-scented body mist. "Come on. I'll introduce you to everyone."

I allow her to pull me forward, my feet stumbling to keep up with her prancing. "I'm pretty sure everyone knows who I am. And they'd rather they didn't."

"Don't be such a Debbie Downer."

"Okay." I try again. "I'm a sparkling spitfire with an ungodly knack for adventure and fun."

"That's the spirit!"

We make our way to a circle of wooden benches around the firepit as tendrils of smoke obscure the horrified expressions I'm certain are staring back at me. The laughter dies down instantly.

I murdered the fun.

Brynn! seems unbothered by the silence that washes over the group and proceeds to link our fingers together like we share an intimate bond—like she didn't give me her phone number a mere twenty-four hours ago. As she offers up an animated introduction, her palm squeezes mine, and the kindness is appreciated. I force a smile and lift my unoccupied hand with a wave.

Soot bites at my eyes, ashes at my throat. I'm so out of my comfort zone, I've forgotten what it feels like to be comfortable. Back in Nashville, I had friends. I had a social life. I wasn't a unicorn like Brynn!, but I knew who I was and I felt a sense of belonging and community. People smiled at me in the hallways and invited me to bonfires and boat rides out on Percy Priest Lake.

Right now, even my own hoodie is trying to suffocate me.

I scratch at my collarbone, shifting from one foot to the other. "Hi."

Pathetic.

Nobody says anything, which I suppose is a tiny miracle considering the alternative. They simply go back to talking among themselves like I'm invisible.

Brynn! drags me around the back of a bench toward the waterline, where two figures are silhouetted, conversing with each other. I can already tell that one of them is Max Manning by the stretch of his shoulders and the tousling of his hair as pale moonlight hugs him. McKay stands beside him with a beer in hand, his profile strikingly similar to Max's, only with longer hair that teases his shoulders.

"I want to introduce you to McKay, my boyfriend," Brynn! says to me, still dragging me along by the hand. "And his brother, Max. I think they live by you."

"They do. Across the street," I confirm. "And I already know them. I lived here with my dad for a year, back when we were in first grade. We went to school together."

Her eyes ping open as we trek forward. "Wow! I didn't know that. I didn't move here until I was in junior high. We'll definitely need to get together and watch a movie or something." She pauses, looking away. "At my house, anyway. I'm not allowed at McKay's house. I guess his dad is kind of a mess."

"Oh, really?" I immediately sympathize with Mr. Manning since "mess" is almost always code for misunderstood .

She shrugs. "I wouldn't know. McKay never talks about him."

"How long have you two been dating?"

"Six months."

Six months is a long time to have never met the parents—but, then again, what do I know about dating? Nothing. I know nothing.

Nodding, I follow beside her as she releases my palm. "I've seen you two in the hallways together," I say. "You really like him."

She lights up like a moonbeam, flipping her long ponytail over her shoulder. "I think I love him, Ella. Is that weird?" Shaking her head, she waves a hand in the air as if to erase the question. "Don't answer that. I already know you'll think it's weird. You have anti-love eyes."

"What? I do?" I blink repeatedly like I'm trying to see my own eyes. "I think people call that resting bitch face."

Her nose scrunches up. "That's just a classless term for girls who wear their pain in their eyes. I always hated that phrase." Then she grabs me by the shoulders and halts me in place before we reach the base of the hill. "What do you see when you look at me?"

Glitter. Everywhere.

Aside from that…

We stand face-to-face as starlight reflects off the lake and illuminates her shimmery hazel gaze. I tilt my head and reply with the first thing that comes to mind. "You're compassionate and fun-loving. A good friend to everybody," I tell her. "You have Christopher Robin eyes."

She squints, processing the response. "Who?"

"A character from Winnie the Pooh."

"Oh…" Those pretty, kind eyes twinkle as a bright smile follows. "That sounds like a compliment."

"It is."

"Well, thank you."

"Hey, Brynn!" McKay hollers from a few feet away. "What's the holdup?"

Lowering her hands from my shoulders, she smooths out the baby hairs frizzing along her hairline, then picks up her pace, still grinning wide. "Coming!"

Max turns toward us when we approach, his focus sliding over to me and holding tight. His lips twitch with the barest smile and I'm not sure what to make of it. It appears he's not disappointed to see me, even though I was kind of a jerk to him earlier at the clearing.

I don't say anything and duck my head, erasing his smile from my mind because it shouldn't have been there in the first place.

When I lift my eyes, it's gone. Perhaps I imagined it.

"Hello, lover!" Brynn! squeals, leaving my side to wrap her arms around McKay. "I didn't realize you used to know Ella. She's my new friend."

How easily the title has been bestowed upon us.

No wariness, no indecision.

Only: "I think you're cool. Here's my number. Now we're friends."

It's almost like Max and me when we were bright-eyed first graders, scoping out our future lifelong friendships on the first day of school.

McKay gives me a once-over. His eyes are the hue of midnight against the nighttime backdrop, but I know from catching them in the school hallways that they are only a shade darker than Max's. Still blue, still piercing, but a little less light. Shaggy dark hair frames his face, landing at his broad shoulders, and while his bone structure is similar to Max's, McKay has a wider nose and zero trace of dimples. He smiles a lot more than Max, so I've noted their absence.

Puckering his lips, he debates his next move. I'm certain he thinks I'm less compelling than his reheated leftovers from last week, but his girlfriend likes me.

A conundrum.

"Yeah, hey," he opts for, extending a hand. "I remember you."

"Cool," is my lame reply. I accept the handshake but my attention pans over to Max, who is glaring at our clasped palms. Clearing my throat, I pull free. "How's it going?" I ask Max.

"Fine. I didn't think you'd show," he replies.

"Me neither. Mom got all emotional over a chicken casserole so the bonfire suddenly became more appealing." I chuckle awkwardly but no one else does.

My knack for honesty is not at all charming and always misplaced.

"Chicken has that effect on me, too," Brynn! eventually pipes up. "That's why I'm a vegan. Did you know eight billion chickens are slaughtered each year by the food industry?" She visibly shudders. "No, thanks. I'll have no part of that."

McKay nudges her with his elbow. "Nobody is perfect, baby."

"Ugh. You're lucky you're adorable and well muscled."

They start making out until kissing sounds mingle with raucous laughter from the bonfire. Max glances at me again, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans. I watch as he teeters on the heels of his worn-out sneakers, looking like he's about to say something. Curiosity dances in his eyes, swirling with intensity. I'm not sure why he's always looking at me like that, like he wants to know more, wants to learn more, wants to dig deeper than what I offer on the surface. Most people see right through me, but I'm pretty sure he just… sees me.

I'm not sure how I feel about that.

McKay interrupts, drawing back from Brynn!'s watermelon kisses and swiping at the balm left behind. "Max, help me grab the coolers from the truck. I need a beer," he says.

Max blinks, tearing his attention from me with a hint of irritation. "Yeah, fine." With a drawn-out sigh, he sifts through his pockets and pulls out a pack of cigarettes before shoving the box back in. He follows McKay up the hill made of sand and dying grass, sneaking a final glance at me over his shoulder, then disappearing over the peak.

Brynn! trails behind them, her skips eager, hair bouncing. "Be right back!" she calls out to me.

I nod, tugging the sleeves of my hoodie down over my palms. "I'll be here," I whisper to the night. Lake water ripples and laps beneath the starlight, a picture of tranquility. It looks so peaceful, so unburdened. Envy spools and coils in my chest because…

I want that. I want that more than anything.

Peace.

Just one peaceful moment. Lots of people get thousands of peaceful moments and all I want is one.

Just. One.

As I exhale deeply, my hand instinctively slides into my back pocket, wrapping around a polished white stone. It's the same one Max tossed at me earlier today—the one that brought back memories of the small stone he handed me just before my father drove me over two hundred miles away, leaving him behind on a sunny playground, expecting to see me the next day.

I give it a squeeze before looking back out over the water as the moon offers a glimmer of contentment to the graphite sky.

I'm not sure why I brought it.

I'm not sure why I kept it in the first place.

***

Flames crackle and glow as I sit by myself on one of the wooden benches with my hands folded in my lap. Brynn! and McKay are snuggled up near the water, kissing and giggling by the light of the moon. Well, she is giggling. McKay is scrolling through his phone.

Music blasts from someone's Spotify playlist, serenading us with The Arctic Monkeys' best song, "Do I Wanna Know." I like the band but prefer classics like Fleetwood Mac and The Eagles, because they remind me of blissful family road trips before Dad cheated on Mom with my first-grade teacher and Jonah committed two counts of murder in the first degree.

I knock my knees together and fold in my lips, feeling antsy. Out of place.

Max wandered over to the bonfire a few minutes ago and is seated on the bench across from me, his face going in and out of focus as fire spits and smoke billows. I've caught him staring at me a few times and I wonder what he sees right now. What he feels when he looks at me. Disenchantment would be my guess, with pity taking second place.

Andy is seated beside him, chugging down his fifth beer and acting loud and moronic. He's living up to the football player stereotype just as effortlessly as I've been embracing my title of tragic outcast, so I can't really judge him.

I watch as Max reaches into the cooler beside him before I pull my eyes away and redirect my attention to my hands fisted tightly in my lap. I circle my thumbs, zeroing in on my still-chipped nail polish. One of these days, I'll feel motivated enough to repaint them.

I'm so immersed in my fingernails that I fail to notice Max has left Andy's side and is now taking a seat to my left. It's a small bench, so our shoulders brush. Warmth seeps through the thick sleeve of my hoodie as his scent wafts around me, something like burnt wood and peppermint gum.

I glance up just as a dewy can of Dr Pepper is tossed at me.

I catch it one-handed.

And then my heart does a weird loop-di-loop thing.

Partly because I'm not expecting it, but mostly because I'm shocked that he remembers the kind of soda I like and that I wield superhuman reflexes. People have a knack for being oblivious to trivial details. They often miss the essence of what others are saying or doing because they're too preoccupied with their own bullshit. Your favorite things only matter to them if they genuinely care enough to listen and see you for who you are.

Max was paying attention to my bullshit.

I curl my fingers around the ice-cold beverage. "Thanks," I say, blinking over at him. He's clasping a red plastic cup that's likely filled with flat beer. "That was nice of you."

"We're friends again, aren't we?" He takes a sip from his cup, eyes pinned on me over the rim. "Friends do nice things."

I watch his throat bob as he swallows a gulp, then swing my gaze back up. "You rejected my attempt to rekindle our long-lost friendship. You seemed repulsed by the very prospect."

"That was before you won me over with promises of an arm-wrestling competition."

A laugh falls out of me, unexpectedly. Untethered and unplanned. It's like he poked a tiny pinhole in my balloon of sorrow and some of the sadness leaked out. "That was what sold you, huh?"

"Yes. Your arms look small and breakable, so my curiosity was piqued. Still is."

I glance at one of my arms. Once upon a time, I was more filled out. Athletic and defined. I was even sporting a little tummy from laughter-lit nights of pigging out on pizza bagels with Jonah, or shoveling popcorn and sweet snacks in my mouth with friends during giggle-infused sleepovers. I miss my tummy. It meant I was living. It meant I was enjoying life and all of the highly caloric wonders that came with it.

Now I'm feeble and petite. Withered. My breasts are full and my hips are wide— child-bearing hips , according to Grandma Shirley—but my arms are gangly, my belly sunken-in. To be honest, I'm not sure how I'd perform in an arm-wrestling match these days. Max may be supremely let down.

Not wanting to disappoint him prematurely, I lift my arm and pump my fist, flexing with conviction. "We can give it a go if you'd like."

He shakes his head at the offer. "You mentioned it's for when boredom strikes." Twirling the red cup between both hands, he chews on his bottom lip for a beat before glancing up at me, his blue eyes reflecting the orange flames. "I'm not bored."

The look he sends me has me squirming for unknown reasons. He's not bored because he's at a bonfire with his friends. It has nothing to do with me.

Obviously.

I scratch at the back of my hand as my legs start to bob up and down, toes digging into the sandpit. My undiagnosed case of restless leg syndrome is acting up again. "That's fine." I shrug and sip my soda. "I didn't want to hold your hand, anyway."

"Why? I have nice hands."

I peer over at them. He's right; they're really nice hands. Just as nice as his arms, which do not affect me. "They're okay," I lie. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Taking a bath."

My mouth snaps shut when his answer sinks in.

That's…

That was my line.

Max looks blasé as he sips from his red cup and stares into the blaze of firelight. He's managed to render me speechless, which is rare and unprecedented. I don't think I like it. Swallowing, I fumble for something smart and witty to say but come up as empty as my cold, black heart.

I pop open the tab on my can of Dr Pepper and start to chug. It fizzes on my tongue, bringing it back to life. "So, are you actually friends with these guys?" I flick my hand up and wave it around, referencing Andy and his cringey followers.

Before Max can respond, Andy interrupts with a roar of laughter as he slaps a buddy on the back with a thwap . "Dude. You're so hard up for a lay, you were playing Bloody Mary in the bathroom, hoping that bitch would show up so you could get some."

"Shut the fuck up," some blond guy says while putting my scowling abilities to shame.

I groan inwardly. If Max says yes, any friendship potential will shrivel on the spot.

"Nope," Max mutters, shifting on the bench until his denim-clad thigh kisses mine. "I only have one friend and she's still in the preliminary stage."

"Preliminary?"

"Mm-hmm." He nods, squinting into the fire. "I need to make up for my knee-jerk rejection that had nothing to do with her and had everything to do with my own isolated tendencies."

Something tells me he's serious. He wants to be friends.

I have no idea what to say, so I say nothing. I see Max staring at me in my periphery, waiting for a response. For a confirmation or a handshake. A friendship bracelet.

Maybe a binding blood oath.

All I offer is a weird noise. "Ohm."

Awesome. My brain couldn't decide between oh and um . I fill my cheeks with air and blow out a slow breath, tapping my feet in opposite time and becoming supremely interested in a tiny insect crawling along the toe of my faux-suede boot.

He's still staring and it's making me fidgety.

I spare him a glance and watch as a smile stretches on his lips, his eyes twinkling against the flames.

Why is he smiling at me? Why is he twinkling?

I'm feeling hot all of a sudden. From the fire.

I curl my fingers around the hem of my hoodie and pull it over my head with both arms. I smooth my hair back down and readjust the straps of my navy tank top, catching the way Max's eyes flick to my chest for half a second before he looks away and takes another sip from his cup.

When I peer across the firepit, I spot Andy leering at me. His gaze rolls down my body and hovers on my cleavage. He doesn't break away like Max did and instead licks a dollop of beer—or drool—off his bottom lip before capturing it with his teeth and making a hissing sound.

Then he makes a derogatory comment, to nobody's surprise. "I didn't think you had any redeeming qualities, Sunbury, but you're making quite the case for yourself with those titties."

Max flies up from the bench and hurls his drink in Andy's face.

"The fuck, Manning!"

"Have some respect, you piece of shit." Max returns to his place beside me, tossing the empty cup in the fire as the plastic curls and chars.

My cheeks burn. My heart teeters.

I sit there stunned, my hands raised, palms forward, as my chest heaves with a quick burst of adrenaline.

That was…unexpected.

Andy rumbles with laughter as he shakes the moisture out of his T-shirt and slides his tongue along his chin to taste the stray droplets. "Water," he mocks. "Fucking pussy."

Max stands again, glancing down at my wide-eyed expression. "Want to go for a walk?"

"No. What? Okay," I ramble through the mood whiplash. I squeeze my can of soda and pull up from the bench, then start walking hurriedly in front of him toward the water's edge. I hear his footsteps following, a whoosh of kicked-up sand and rustling grass blades as I toss the Dr Pepper into a recycling can. "So, um, why are we walking?"

"I'm walking," he says. "You're sprinting."

I slow my gait and watch as he sidles up beside me with his hands tucked in his pockets. Biceps lined in blue veins tick and stretch under the moon's glow. He's not wearing a sweatshirt or hoodie and his sleeves are cut off at the shoulders.

"You're sizing me up for that arm-wrestling match, aren't you?"

He caught me staring at his arms. My face burns hotter, so I decide to pivot. "What was that back there?"

He shrugs with nonchalance. "Andy Sandwell made a disrespectful comment toward you and I reacted accordingly."

"You didn't have to do that. I don't need someone to rescue me."

He's silent for a beat as we traipse toward the lake. Moonlight paints a shimmering path across the water like a mirror speckled with stardust. "Nobody ever really needs rescuing," he says, our footsteps slowing. "But it feels nice sometimes."

I glance around, wondering where Brynn! and McKay ran off to. I let his response roll off me, not knowing how to process it or what to say. Max keeps doing that. He keeps tying my tongue into knots and zapping my words to ash. I'm not used to it.

"Why did you want to take a walk with me?" I ask again, picking at the frayed hem of my tank top. "According to everyone ever, I'm pretty off-putting."

There's another long pause as the breeze coasts off the water and causes my hair to whip around my face. Then Max says softly, "Remove the term ‘off-putting' and I'll agree with you there."

My brain rewinds and I almost choke. A heavy lump lodges in the center of my throat as I flit my gaze over to his. "You…think I'm pretty?"

We come to a stop at the edge of the lake where soggy sand meets water. "Yeah. Sure." He acts like the admission is no big deal.

I gape at him, mouth unhinged. "Are you flirting with me?"

"You tell me. I've never flirted with anyone before, so I wouldn't know."

The lump swells, threatening to overtake my response, but I manage to croak out, "Sounded like you were flirting."

"Then I guess I was. Does that bother you?"

"Yes. I mean…not really." I shake my head, blinking rapidly. "But yes."

A smirk spreads, carving out those signature dimples. Every time they appear, it feels as though a little secret has been shared, turning an ordinary moment into something more intimate, more personal. "Which is it?" he wonders. "Am I allowed to flirt with you or not?"

I swallow hard, swiping my clammy palms down my thighs.

I don't do intimate. I don't do personal.

Max watches me, eager for my reply, his starry eyes scanning my face for a reaction. Something inside me melts a little. I think it's my heart. Goopy pieces start to drip, making a slow slide down my chest and depositing in my belly with a warm plunk.

This is probably the part where I'm supposed to smile back at him, or say something flirty, or ask what he's doing tomorrow so we can make plans.

But in true Ella fashion, I ditch him like a coward.

Backing away, I stutter through a goodbye and offer a quick wave. "Sorry but I gotta go. Curfew. Mom will be worried. Bye." I catch the way he blinks with confusion, his brows furrowing in disappointment, before I spin around and sprint from the bluffs.

I run the whole way home.