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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Rick had spent the last hour and a half with me, his legs hanging from the bottom of my bedspread, him being too tall to entirely fit. It was nearing 10:30 pm on a school night, but he seemed in no hurry to get home. But I knew, that in even another fifteen minutes, my father would barge in and offer Rick a ride. His subtle way of saying it was too late to stay any longer.
Toro hung off my side, his head resting in my lap as I gently rubbed the top of it. And I was thoroughly surprised that he was spending time with me, and not my mother.
A television series played softly in the background, as I scrolled aimlessly through my social media page, debating whether or not I should click the follow button on Elijah's page.
Rick did the same thing, although he seemed rather interested in the redheads page. The redhead from the party, where I would leave and eventually see Elijah.
I believe Melissa was her name.
"What're you doing?" I asked in a singsong sort of voice, leaning over his shoulder.
He pulled away, suddenly clicking the off button of his cellphone. "Nothing."
"Uh-huh," I rolled my eyes, leaning away, and onto my headboard once more. "Sure."
"What about you?" His lips crooked smugly, "what're you doing?"
I then followed his footsteps, shutting the small device off with hurry. "Just checking something, and tell me more about Melissa. You know, the girl you've been stalking since this afternoon."
Rick leaned backward, both hands resting in his lap, mine still attending to Toro. "I don't know, man. It's just—like, she was so sweet. Even when I wasn't being too nice to her."
"Is she a junior?"
Rick shook his head, not bothering to reply. His usually pale cheeks began to redden, and my eyebrows raised in suspicion. "Sophomore?"
Rick slid farther away from me, suddenly seeming uncomfortable. Then, my eyes widened, just as my jaw dropped. "Freshman?!"
He stood from my bedspread, running his fingers through his pale, blonde strands of hair. "You cannot tell anyone, Gage. And I haven't even done anything with her. That night, at Terrance's party, we talked and I really liked her. But she told me the other day she was only fifteen. I freaked out, and I haven't talked to her since—"
"Rick—"
"I don't want to be one of those losers who get with younger girls, because they can't find anyone their own age—"
"Rick, you're fine. It's only a two-year different, and you aren't eighteen yet. If you like this girl, just get to know her. See what happens, then." My words seem to calm him, but I know it hasn't completely suppressed his worry.
Toro is still implanted in my lap, his tongue hanging out lazily, as I rub both ears. Rick turns to me, his eyes now seeming accusing. Like all of a sudden, I'm the one hiding things.
"And what about you?" He asks, taking his seat back down on my bedspread.
I laugh awkwardly, giving Toro my undivided attention, to avoid Rick's knowing stars. "What do you mean?"
Rick scoffs, leaning in even closer, knowing I am incapable of lying directly to his face. "Elijah McCay—you've had a thing for him since he was a senior at Wayland, and you were a freshman."
Then, he laughed. "I guess you and Melissa should get along, then."
I turned my head to the side on confusion, waiting for him to make himself more clear. "You know, because you both are into older guys."
The rest of the night consists of Rick having to drive himself home, my father offering me dinner, and me rejecting. Then, Toro abandoning me for my mother—as he always does.
I settle for a shower, hoping it will chase away the boredom that comes with Rick's absence. But it doesn't. All it does is clear my head of any negative, awaiting thoughts. Usually on nights like this, I'd lie awake in bed, thinking of Terrance. But now, Elijah invades my head—and refuses to leave. No matter how hard I try and act like he isn't there.
Changing into a modest pair of shorts, then a long sleeves sweatshirt, I reach over for my cellphone, which is of course—dry of any messages or calls.
That is, until the smaller device chimes, and I'm unfamiliar with the number that it displays. But still, I click on the notification, my eyebrows curling in pure confusion.
The message reads, you down for another late-night breakfast run?
My heart stutters in my chest, as I have a doubtful feeling of who the anonymous message is from. But still, I have to ask, who is this?
The next messages reads. Elijah, and are you down?
I hold my cellphone to my chest for a few seconds, glancing over at my bedroom door for confirmation that both my mother and father are sleeping soundly in the next room.
