Question Mark

Prologue

Love.

What is it? How do I acquire something like that? Do I have to complete a test or something? Why do we have it?

I grew up hearing the word "love", but after my parents' divorce, my dad never truly "loving" me, and my distance away from those who "love" me; I haven't heard the word so much as "like".

I'm a middle schooler, so no one my age has really experienced "love" before.

But I am jealous of those in a relationship. The infatuation that you get from that specific someone is unbelievable. The way your whole mood can change just from hearing that person's name; or the way you move your schedule around to be able to see or meet up with them; or the way you hear their voice saying your name, how smoothly it rolls off their tongue, and how it sings a wonderful melody to your ears.

That's what I want.

I remember my dad saying, "Now, don't go around getting in relationships. They'll only distract you from your work, and the only man you need in your life is me! Plus boys are gross, you'll learn to see how weird and obnoxious we are when you get older."

Only, his rules applied to me up until he signed those divorce papers and moved away.

Now that he's no longer in the picture, nothing could stop me from getting a boyfriend and getting in a relationship.

Except...NO ONE at my dang school has that sparkle to make me giddy.

Everywhere around my school are couples. Couples making up, making out, breaking up, yelling at each other, playing around, cuddling, and hiding away from teachers.

I'm left in the middle of this fun chaos, standing still.

Solo.

I have everything I could ever want and I'm grateful: my super supportive mom, a group of close-knit friends, and great grades; but all which doesn't include: a boyfriend.

. . .

My school has a field trip to the high school for all the eighth graders to go and visit the high school we're transfer to, every year. This is the year my class gets to go and see the prison-looking brick building for approximately two hours. Oh, joy.

The buses are all lined up and ready for leaving, just waiting for the last few stragglers to find a seat; in this case, me. The teachers decided to not have the boys and girls sitting together because "PDA is something that should be waited for til after school hours and off of campus grounds."

I search for seats up front, but no one lets up. I'm left standing in the middle of the bus, until Brandon calls me over and pats on the seat across from his. Thankful, I rush to the very back and give a thumbs up the the driver, letting him know I'm seated.

Brandon doesn't say much to me on the ride, which is odd because we've been best friends since he moved into the house right beside mine. But he's been glancing at me for the past 5 minutes, only to turn away from me when I catch him looking. I think I even saw a blush in his cheeks.

"What are you doing?" I say as a curious smile grows on my face with one of my curved eyebrows lifting.

"What do you mean?" He shrugs his shoulders like nothing is wrong.

"Why do you keep looking at me like that?"

"It's nothing." He tries to come off cool by combing his hair with his fingers, but I know him better than that, and lightly shove the arm near his head.

"Come on, I know you're hiding something. You have that weird look on your face when you hide something, so lay it on me." I say in a demanding tone, pairing it off with my arms crossing my chest.

"I don't want to say." He says, with his bouncing leg.

"What are you so nervous about?" My body is fully facing his right profile.

He ignores my question, and gets dragged into a conversation with a couple of his friends sitting in front of him. I mumble, "Fine, be that way. See if I care." I cross my arms again and face straight forward, looking at the nasty brown cover on the seats.

He doesn't turn to face me, but addresses my quiet annoyance, "I think you do care, Chelsea." He turns his face to me, showing a sly smirk, making me what to shove him again.

I cross my arms tighter and scoff at his cockiness.

I don't care...I really don't care...Okay, maybe I do care.

Dang it! I care.

The bus pulls up in front of the high school.

It's just as everyone described it: an actual prison. The tall brick building barely has any windows, but the entrance has a glassed wall, allowing natural light to brighten the dark inside.

Just as I'm getting up, Brandon gently pulls me back down to sit, his expression completely changed. He's serious about something.

"Okay, this may come out really weird and completely out of the blue; but, I've liked you since I met you, and if you don't like me as "more than a friend" that's okay, I've been really happy being your best friend—I hope you have, too. But I just wanted to let you know, before we get to high school."

The look in his eyes are full of despair when I don't say anything. He doesn't push me to say anything, either; he stands up, pulls me up from the seat, and gestures for me to get in front of him, without looking at me in the eye. I get off and turn around to talk to Brandon, but he's off to his huddled group of friends, with his hands in his jogger pants and his head down. I quietly find my friends, but I don't have the need to tell them anything.

We get to the auditorium to see tall high schoolers along the far sides of the walls, escorting small middle schoolers into our seats. Fancy. I sit down with my friends, only to get a clear view of Brandon with his friends; they're pushing, shoving, and laughing, without a care in the world.

My mind is in a trans of just watching him being playful and funny; I feel a comforting smile move to pick up the corners of my mouth. A presentation breaks my trans with the principle and administrators welcoming us into the school. Then, they announce that the high schoolers along the walls are going to be out tour guides around the school.

A broad shouldered brunette stands at the end of the row I'm sitting in and he waves his hand for all of us to join him.

We shoot straight up and out of our seats to stand alongside with him. We listen to his every word closely and attentively. Our eyes enjoying the movement of his strong jawline he has on his sculptured face as he speaks.

Hannah, the bravest of the group, asks our guide the first question, "What's you're name?" Her voice is higher pitched than what the rest of us are used to, and she covers her bright red cheeks with her strawberry blonde hair.

He looks back at her with sincere eyes, slows down from walking, and says in a deep voice, "Elliot." He looks bashfully down at his Nike's, but recovers quickly and continues the tour, "And this is the library..."

His voice fades into a soft buzzing noise.

His name is Elliot!