Chapter Ten

Birthday

I wanted a proper birthday party when I turned seventeen. I'd only ever had one or two. My mom tried when I was younger, but having a holiday birthday, at the tail end of winter break, made it challenging. Before my birthday, people were busy preparing for Christmas, then busy taking vacations, and after my birthday, it seemed pointless to celebrate, like watching a recorded football game when you already know the final score.

Tucker and I had a joint party that year, on New Year's Eve. I planned it. It was my party, in my home, with our parents at the Wagner's house next door, ready to bust us if any off-limits bedroom door became unlocked or one of Tucker's friends had the boldness to sneak in alcohol. I invited some of my friends from dance. Johnny took care of the rest.

Twenty people showed up and Tucker kept an eye on me all night. There was vodka. He didn't let me drink from any cup of soda that I didn't pour myself, and he positioned his body in a way that prevented his friends from getting too close to me. He didn't acknowledge the irony in repeating, "Back up, you don't need to get in her face to talk to her, give her room," while hovering so closely that it looked like I had grown another limb.

None of my girlfriends showed up. I felt miserable. My house was full of people who didn't care about me, didn't care about anything really, and were only there because of Tucker and booze and a lack of supervision.

Everyone showed up for him. He was Mr. Popular . I didn't care to be Ms. Popular, but I was aware that the kids I hung out with were his friends and I wouldn't have a social life without him or Johnny.

Five minutes to midnight, I stood on our back deck, staring out at the woods, my bare arms freezing and eyes watery. I heard the door open. Looking away, knowing immediately who it was, I announced, "Please leave me alone."

"What are you doing out here?" Tucker thrust a hoodie in front of my body.

"I'm not putting that on."

"It's cold. And you're dressed like you're on a Hawaiian vacation. A slutty Hawaiian vacation."

I finally looked at him. "Did you just call me a slut?"

He stared at my short, thin-strapped silver dress. "You're wearing a shiny condom." He rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'm sorry . Okay? I'm sorry, you look beautiful, whatever, just –" He shook the sweatshirt. "You also look cold."

I ignored the fact that he made yet another comment about the way I dressed and argued, "That will mess up my hair."

"Fine." He turned and walked back inside, only to do the predictable next thing. Tucker returned, this time with my dad's coat that hung on the hook beside the door. I slipped my arms into the warm sherpa lining.

We knew these little things about each other. He knew when I needed something, anything , and I knew he'd find some way to look out for me.

He always made sure I had a ride home. He kept a sweatshirt in his truck in case I needed it. He gave me half his lunch when I didn't have time to pack one. He saved me a seat at pep rallies, booting his friends out of the way.

"It's almost midnight," I told him. "You should go inside so Tiffany can kiss you and everyone can sing happy birthday to you and you can be the star of the show."

"What is your fucking problem?"

A tear ran down my cheek. "I can't hide in my bedroom because the door is locked."

He rested his arm on the railing. His jacket made a swishing sound when he twisted, pushing his face into mine. "That's why you're out here crying? Because you want to go in your room? I know your mom took the key, but we can probably open it with paperclip or something."

"No," I grumbled. "I'm upset because I don't have any friends, Tucker."

He leaned back. "You're literally in the middle of your birthday party."

"Those are your friends." I couldn't look him in the eye. "I don't have any friends."

"Not true. You have Johnny."

"Oh great, one random dude."

He laughed. "Random dude? I am telling him you said that." He bumped my shoulder playfully. "Come on, Ella, you have friends. And, okay, those guys in there might be my buddies, but they like you, too. People like you for whatever reason."

"I'm just an afterthought. No one cares if I show up."

"Are you kidding? Most of my friends ask, ‘Is Ella going to be there?' before they agree to do anything with me. And, no, it's not just to stare at your ass, which is my favorite pastime. It's because you're a wild thing. You bring the fun."

"I don't feel like I'm fun."

"Well, you're not right now," he snorted. His hand gripped my cheeks, pinching them, forcing me to look at him. "Not when you sulk. Get out of your head. Stop crying for once in your life."

I bit his pointer finger.

"Ow!" He shook it out.

"I don't cry all the time," I fought.

"Fine," he repeated, his eyes tight, his finger between his lips as if I'd actually wounded him.

My visible breath wafted toward the full moon. His attempts to cheer me up didn't work.

"You should go back inside," I said with a small, quiet voice. "It's almost your birthday."

He checked his phone. "Thirty seconds."

"Tiffany is probably looking for you."

"I'll let her." I felt his hand on the ends of my hair. "You could give me my birthday kiss instead."

I cast him an exasperated look, expecting to see a cheeky smile, but felt confronted instead by his serious, focused eyes. I balked, smacking his hand away. " Elijah ."

He blinked rapidly and groaned, "It was a joke, Jesus."

Inside the house, a countdown began. I tightened my dad's coat in front of my body. Tucker remained at my side. I whispered, "Five, four, three, two, one." Our friends screamed, people down the street banged pots together and our parents' rowdy party next door erupted into shouts I could hear through closed windows.

I muttered, "Happy Birthday, Eli."

He swiped a tear from my cheek. "Happy New Year, Ella."

When I went to return inside the house, Tucker snatched my hand, pulling me back to the deck railing. He explained, "We're waiting until 12:02."

His phone lay face up on the wood. I watched the numbers move to 12:01 and then felt his hand slide, cupping my palm in his, wrapping his fingers around mine.

"Why are you holding my hand?" Through the darkness, I observed his large hand covering my small one. His tan skin. My pink painted nails.

Tucker winked. "Because you won't let me kiss you