Gage Cilleti has just begun his junior year of high school, and is becoming more and more involved in his school's activities, considering he'd been playing baseball since he was just seven-years-old.
Elijah McCay has just dropped out of school, du...
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Before now, I hadn't known just how hungry I actually was. But here I was, stealing bits and pieces of food from Elijah's plate, after having finished mine. He protested, but to no avail was he successful.
Soft music plays from the background of the fast food restaurant, as my fingers dig into my pockets for loose change. I don't want to leave Elijah stuck paying for our meals, especially since I was the one who had drunkenly suggested it.
Although we arrived only ten minutes ago, or so—I'm already bored. While looking over at Elijah, he seems rather wrapped in one with his French fries. I can feel myself begin to sober up, while I take small sips from my cola.
The drive over was quiet, as I found myself embarrassed for asking for such a thing from Elijah? What if he found me annoying—irritable? I'd probably die right here and now, if I knew he did.
"I can see you're sobering up." He remarked with a chuckle, as if he'd seen the trace of thoughts I left behind.
"Yeah," I replied, "it seems, I am."
His eyebrows narrowed in feigned annoyance, as he leaned forward me, a dark piece of hair falling into his lightly colored eyes. "Well, say something. Just before we came here, you seemed to be in serious need of attention. So please—speak."
A scoff belts out from my stomach at his sarcasm, as I rush to defend myself. "I was not in serious need of attention. I was just—lonely and hungry, alright?"
A small shrug came from his broad shoulders, "alright, alright. But still, tell me something. I'm not one for eating in uncomfortable silence."
My shoulders slump against my side of the booth, as I struggled to come up with something interesting about me. Something that Rick doesn't even know—something I never had the opportunity to share with Terrance.
"Um, I'm Chicago born and raised," now that I've begun, he seems bored. "My mother's from Bucharest, and my father's from Tel-Aviv—"
"No, no, not about your parents, about you, Gage. Tell me something specifically about you. And only you, you understand me now?" At his words and requests, my throat threatens to close up, as I quickly realize that nobody's ever asked me such a question.
While taking another moment to think, more and more details rail themselves into my brain, as I begin to spill. "Baseball is my entire life, and I actually just got back from camp two weeks ago. I cannot cook, but for some reason, I'm kind of exceptional in the whole baking department,
"I've never, ever touched a drink before tonight. And telling from my humongous nose, and freakishly deep cheekbones, you can probably already tell that I'm Jewish." Elijah lets out a laugh at my ability to poke fun at my own insecurities.
My fingers work at the inside of my pockets, as I watch his facial expressions, somehow worried that he thinks I've overshared. "Baseball, huh? I forgot to address this—you lied to me."
"W-What? Lied to you about what?"
Elijah takes another sip from his tall glass of iced water. "Nothing too serious, just about where I knew you from. Remember that night at the candy store, you backed into me, I knew I recognized you from somewhere."
When I don't speak, he continues. "So, why did you lie? I mean, you could've just told me that you were the freshman who had a thing for me, back when I was still going to Wayland."
There are no words to describe the embarrassment that courses through my veins. So fiery, that I can practically feel my cheeks reddening under his knowing gaze. Was I ever obvious? We had only ever spoken once, and it wasn't the nicest exchange.
Had I blown my own cover? Although, honestly—I wouldn't be too surprised, considering that nobody's at their best while under the influence.
Elijah continues to wait for me to speak, as the words keep themselves lodged in the back of my throat. "Don't feel too bad, the only reason I even found out was because that blonde friend of yours used to always try and make you look good whenever around me."
During this momentary silence, I loathe Rick. Although, I know he meant well.
"I'm sorry if I ever made you feel uncomfortable or anything. I was a freaky freshman—and long story short, I'm sorry." Elijah laughed aloud at this.
Another slump. "You're apologizing for having a crush on me? Fucking ironic, shouldn't I be the one apologizing to you, for not returning your feelings?"
His words feel like a dig in my chest. But now, I know. Elijah McCay is straight, and most-definitely doesn't have a thing for me. "No, no, we're all good. But, uh—you tell me about you, now. I mean, you do know literally everything there is to know about me."
Elijah seems hesitant, reaching down into his plate to quiet himself with a bite of a fry. This makes me want to laugh. After he's bugged me for details and facts about myself, he won't return the favor.
"Oh, come on, Elijah," my words reek of laughter. "Not even one thing?"
He leans back into the headrest of his booth, taking smooth and soft breaths. I find myself trying to match mine to his. "Okay, I'm allergic to broccoli, and as you can tell by the color of my skin, I am most-definitely mixed of two races."
"Do you mind sharing those races?" I ask with raised brows, and perched interests.
He doesn't waste another second, leaning in closely. "I'm Cuban and Irish."
My heart melts just a little more, as I silently curse myself for ever being born a male, wishing that he could sweep me off of my feet. "That explains the green eyes, then?"
The music in the background quiets, as the woman who had seated us at our booth made her way over, eyes shining in apology. "I'm so sorry, gentlemen, but we actually close in five minutes so I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
Both Elijah and I nod in understanding, him tossing a twenty dollar bill on the table, along with my three dollars in change as a tip. I find myself wishing it was cash, as she shoots me a look.
I softly thank her for our meal, as I follow Elijah out to his car. That same car that smelled so much like him, that just seemed—like him.
But it isn't until we've driven out of the parking lot that I realize it's time for Elijah and I to part ways. I want to spend time with him forever. I want to get to know him, be his friend, even though someone like me isn't made for something like that.
His fingers fiddle with the radio, as an unfamiliar song begins to play softly. The street lights have shut off, once we near my street, as I realize that most people my age are probably out having the time of my life.
But as I sit here, in Elijah McCay's front seat, I remember that that was me, only two hours ago.
His car skids into my parent's driveway, as Elijah looks over to me patiently. "Look, Elijah, I'm really sorry about the whole, you know—crush thing. I really hope you didn't feel uncomfortable at all tonight."
He smiles a thick-lipped smile, his fingers reaching out to turn down the radios volume. "No, Gage, this was cool. An awkward, drunken kind of cool, but regardless cool."
As I'm reaching out for the handle of Elijah's passenger side door, I can see through my home's living room window, that the light is still on. Meaning my father is still awake, and waiting for me to get home.
This makes me feel like a complete, and utter—asshole.
