Voicemails to Will

eight; of trips

"Dearest, Eleanora," you called-sang across the courtyard, ignoring the fifty other people minding their own business.

You ran to catch up to me and pulled me in for a hug. "I've missed you," you whispered, your voice husky and soft.

"Come on, Will, you can do better than that," Dylan said with a wink as he made some subtle kissing noises.

Ignoring your best friend, I laughed as I placed my arms on either side of your shoulders, "you just saw me."

"It was too long," you whined in agony as you pretended to fall to the ground, and accidentally fling your right arm right into Dylan's smirking face.

Jill came up behind Dylan and planted a wet, exceedingly long one right in the middle of his lips. She moistened her own lips as she turned back to face us and said to me, "Are you going to Surfside this weekend? It's our annual summer trip."

I looked to you who seemed a bit bothered with the news and gave an inconclusive answer to the gross couple.

"Will?" I asked once they were out of sight. "Do you want to go?"

You stiffened and then deflated. "Well, yeah."

"Just- just not with me, right?" I asked in a whisper with my voice mangled.

You shot up and turned to face me immediately. "You're kidding, Eleanor. Of course I want to go with you. I just- I had this grand gesture in mind, and I was going to take you to that restaurant you like, and-" your voice died off as your cheeks lit up.

My arms wrapped around your body immediately, and you laughed, the vibrations running through my body as well as yours.

"I'll pick you up at six, yeah?"

True to your word, you knocked on my window three hours later.

"Let's go," you said with a smile as you slung my duffel bag over your shoulder.

Your thumbs tapped rhythmically on the steering wheel, and every once in a while you'd turn over to me and tug your lips up in that dopey, boyish smile.

God, Will, you made my whole body, let alone my stomach, erupt into butterflies, and rainbows and all that good stuff.

You sang along to the radio, winking at me or squeezing my hand every so often.

"Are you hungry?" You asked, squinting at some fast food restaurants on the way.

"Not really," I dismissed, and you drove on.

You rolled down all four windows and yelled random phrases out into the night sky, and I remember laughing, and laughing, and your beautiful laughter.

Your phone rang, the standard ringtone you had been too lazy to change. You handed it over to me, and I picked up on the third ring.

"William," a man in a deep voice greeted. "Your mother's gone again. If she keeps running off like this, I-" he mumbled some obscenities before hanging up.

You arched a brow, as to ask, "Well, Eleanora, what was it?"

I thought back to the bright, smiling you, and I couldn't bear to think that I'd be bearing the news that would crush you.

"Your dad just called to make sure you were okay," I lied, fiddling with my thumbs, hoping you wouldn't notice.

You nodded skeptically, then mumbled under your breath, "doesn't sound like him."

You were right, Will, but had I told you, you wouldn't have acted like you. You would've drank, and drank, and drank, then throw up, but that's a story for another day.