The Trials and Tribulations of First Love

Chapter 1: Lilla

I remember the first time I ever saw Elias Barlowe.

I was eight.

My family had just moved into the Lake Washington waterfront home, and his mother had come to greet us.

"You have an eight-year-old?" She had smiled as she looked at me. "So do I. Elias!" She had called for her son, and a ruddy-cheeked, blonde boy had appeared. I smiled at him, perpetually friendly and trusting at that age, and—

"Mom, why is she ugly?"

I am, thank you very much, not ugly. However, there comes a time in every girls life where she must have That Bob: an ugly, choppy mess that her mother thinks is cute, when, in truth, it is anything but.

Mrs. Barlowe, a kind woman who you would never believe had birthed such devilspawn such as Elias, gasped at the little monster that stood at her side.

"Elias, we don't say that! She's pretty, isn't she?"

"She looks like Edna from The Incredibles," Elias had said, smirking.

My god, that smirk.

Honestly, he wasn't wrong. Between that and my pre-contact lens glasses, I did look like Edna.

I remember the rest of that interaction. Running between my mom's legs, crying into my hands, while poor Ms. Barlowe scolded the little monster she called her son.

And the strongest memory, the most intense feeling I have derived from my interaction with Elias Daniel Barlowe, is hatred.

A pure, strong river of it that flows endlessly through my veins.

Perhaps it is unfair to treat him like a sea slug to the present day, nine years later, but I honestly don't regret it, especially since he's turned out exactly as you would have expected him to.

***

Mr. Jacob's AP Lang class was ruined by his presence. I thanked whatever forces controlled us from the sky that it was the last day of school.

But I cursed them for having him sit behind me.

Private school is usually nice. Good buildings, good education, until you have to go to the English building for sixth period, which, while a gorgeous Georgian revival building from 1910, did not have any air conditioning to speak of.

The two-in-the-afternoon sun beat through the open windows, and we might have had class in the greenhouse for all the good it did us. I thought back to last period, where I had been blessed with the air conditioning of the new, eco-friendly main building, which had housed my AP Chemistry class. I missed the cool air, and the long-sleeve I had donned under my lab coat.

But now, I had switched entirely into the floral, slightly lacy camisole I wore underneath. I felt rivulets of sweat drip from the roots of my hair (highly visible black in contrast to the platinum blonde I had begun to don sometime in the spring of Freshman year) down the nape of my neck, and into the camisole. I knew I'd need to shower the second I got home.

My thoughts were interrupted by Mr. Jacob's voice. "Turn and talk with the person behind you about your plans for tomorrow."

I rolled my eyes. Before he had changed the seating charts, I had been next to my best friend, Amira. I glanced over at her, making myself look as miserable as humanly possible, before turning around with a groan to Elias.

"Lilla."

"Don't call me that, Elias. Only my friends do."

"Rather I'd call you Edna Mode?"