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https://youtu.be/eJ8BJ1Fn-j8

CHAPTER 23

Elias

Tanner was wrong.

It's taken me six months, 182 days, and 4,380 hours to prove it.

For a little while, I genuinely believed every word he said about "karma". I begged the Gawker to take down the post until they finally listened. I spent most of my weekends getting wasted, hooking up with randoms, and breaking a lot hearts just to redirect the rumors back to me. I took the spotlight off Trish to the point where now she's barely an afterthought at Mission Bay.

And I did it all for the wrong reasons.

'Cause I did it all for him.

I did it to make Tanner happy--to make him feel like I was still his sad, pathetic Eli who's always apologized for everything. Who's never justified. Who's always wrong.

Even when he's not.

I wasted a whole semester saying I was sorry to a girl who nearly ruined my life.

But looking back now, it turns out that Trish just might've been the best thing that's ever happened to me--'cause thanks to her, I stopped being a loser and started acting like a king.

And the best part about being social royalty is--you basically don't have to follow the rules.

It's second period, I'm twenty minutes late for science class, and I'm more interested in tagging a Sharpie-stained bathroom stall than I am in learning about Alfred Einstein or whatever. Some ninety-minute lecture about a dead dude isn't gonna do me any favors, so I'm trading out Mr. Kissinger's academic iron maiden—for this place. 

I've got everything I need in here—a burgundy chalkboard where I can update my hit and quit list, plenty of space to sneak a girl in if the chance arises, and total privacy. This third floor hideaway is one most guys are too lazy to make the climb to piss in, and teachers are too lazy to check.

The only person who probably cares enough to see if I'm ditching class or not is Tanner. Luckily, he's too busy maintaining his new valedictorian status to risk missing out on his precious teacher time just to find me. Win-win situation. Well, almost.

Will I get into trouble for this? Yes. Will getting caught land me in detention again? Absolutely. But that's half the fun. On a good day, detention at Mission Bay's like an episode of Desperate Housewives La Jolla. Girls everywhere. All of them bored—most of them rule breakers—and you'd be amazed what you can get away with when the teacher's not watching—and our teachers never do.

A text pops up on my phone right in the middle of me trying to figure out whether I should book a solid week of after school fun by skipping out on the rest of the school day.

Well, if it isn't lucky number "Seven" E. Levinson. She's easier to remember than the others. Her name's in the number. And she's pretty much like the store. Open 24/7. For all your convenient needs.

Seven: Library in five?

EK: Already on my way ;).

Seven: Meet me in Periodical Section.

EK: x_x ?

Seven: Just ask the front desk :P. See you soon xoxo.

I switch my phone to silent before Seven assaults me with her usual string of heart-eyed emojis. The girl can't end a conversation without them—which might be a sign of a clinginess problem, but I'll chalk it up to her texting habits for now. I finish writing the newest name on my hook-up list and step out of the stall right into the open. 

Mistake #1.

"Hall pass please."

Derek Gibner. Debate club head. Hall Monitor. Royal douchebag.

The kid has more pimples than actual skin on his face and could absolutely pass for the sinister version of Ed Sheeran. His eyes are stupid blue which somehow only draws more attention to just how ginger he is.

Orange eyebrows. Orange hair. Probably orange pubes, but who's asking?

The thing is, I might have been okay with this guy if he wasn't such an anal bead, but he's always smirking. He's the guy on campus that everyone with a social life avoids. He reports every party he can, every on-campus smoker, and every hook-up he sees. If you're breaking the rules, this is the guy who will stop at nothing to catch you in the act.

He caught me before. Only once, but it sucked. I tried sneaking a girl out of Taggert's trigonometry lesson and then we slammed right into him right outside the AV room. Derek likes dusting the DVDs and alphabetizing the school's 1980's video cassettes during his free block, and we disturbed his flow. So, instead of being cool about it and dropping things, Derek landed me and Mary or Michelle or whoever with two Saturdays' worth of detention.

And from the looks of things right now, I'm might be in for a whole lot more.

"Take it easy, Derek—I left it in the classroom," I say, but he doesn't budge. He glares at me from behind his Terry Richardson glasses and busts out that crusty smirk I can't stand.

"How does one leave their hall pass in the classroom, exactly? Technically, you shouldn't have been able to leave the classroom without one unless—"

"Look, it was an emergency, okay? I had to bolt out of science before I puked all over my lab partner."

He cringes a little. Definitely a germaphobe. This could work out nicely.

"If you're that sick then why aren't you in the nurse's office?"

His lisp comes out so hard he practically spits the "c" in office all over my face.

"I'm going there right now. You can walk me there if you don't trust me to—"

I make a fake retching sound and throw my hand over my mouth like my breakfast is fighting to make a second appearance. Derek backs away from me, nose crinkled like he can smell the vomit before he sees it.

"That's okay. Just go, already. I'm not good with bodily fluids--"

Then how does he—? Wait, I don't even want to know.

"--so just check yourself into the sick ward before you endanger us all."

I give him a half-hearted salute and check my reflection one last time before I head out. If there's one good thing I learned from Josh before we stopped talking, it was how to keep myself in shape. It's weird having something close to muscles now.

I'm not meat head, but I'm lean for the first time in my whole life. I remember not really having a jawline and never really fitting into t-shirts the way other people did. Now I wear what I want, and girls actually pay attention, but it never stops being surreal.

I owe the way I look now to Josh. I still run like he taught me. Some weekends, when I'm not partying, I go back over the same trails hoping I'll run into him, but he's never there. He's has a new crowd now. 

All football players and cheerleaders. No outcasts. No former losers. Just fake people who keep feeding his ego. It's rare when we catch each other in the halls, but when we do, it's still tense. He's still pissed. I am too. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss having him around. I doubt he feels the same. Whatever. What's done is done.

"Thanks, D. I owe you one. We should hang out sometime, maybe I could give you a couple pointers," I say, and some weird desperate part of me means it.

He rolls his eyes which is terrifying to look at, but I don't have the heart to tell him.

"Pointers on what? How to spread the flu or whatever STDs you have?"

"Not exactly, but thanks for the compliment."

"It's not a compliment—"

Obviously.

"—and next time you're contagious, stay at home. Not all of us can have perfect attendance."

Derek snort-laughs at his own statement which is sad for a number of reasons. I don't even know why the thought of possibly hanging out with him even crossed my mind. I need to get to the library to see Seven before I say or do anything else that I'll probably regret.

"Whatever. See you 'round, Gibner."

"Hopefully not—or else it's detention again. Good luck explaining that in your future college interviews—if you have them at all."

Seriously?

"You know what? Before I go, I was meaning to ask you some advice--since you're so on top of everything," I say.

Derek puffs out his chest and folds his arms over his 8th grade Mathlete Championship t-shirt.

"How can I help you?"

"It's about a girl—"

He scoffs.

"I don't talk to girls so—"

"Yeah, I didn't think so. Later."

I jet out the door before Derek has a chance to spit-scream at me for taking a shot at his ego. I jog a little ways away from the bathroom until I'm out of sight.

Mission Bay's the most peaceful when everyone's shut away in their classrooms. It's just me walking on top of the newly waxed linoleum floors spreading out underneath rows of dark red lockers. The screech of my sneakers is the only real sound inside this hallway aside from the muffled rambling of the teachers behind closed doors. I stop for a couple seconds to take it all in.

This place is the best without all the eyes and the attention, but I've come way too far to go back to being anonymous. I'm Elias King now. The guy who high fives everybody, the guy who parties like there's no tomorrow, the guy who doesn't need to have friends because he's cool with everyone and no one.

I keep walking to outrun the loneliness that's starting to settle in. I sprint to the library and do my best to slip in the door without making a scene.

Anyone who knows anything about skipping class is careful not to come barging into the school's giant book box when mad-eyed Judy's on her shift. She's gotta be at least seventy-five—that or time hasn't exactly been kind to her.

Neither has life which would explain the death glare that she throws at any one who dares disturb the silence of her library. Once I manage to get the door shut without rattling my way onto Judy's bad side, I head over to her desk like I'm not here to break every single rule posted on the bulletin board behind her.

"How's it going Ms. J?!"

She grimaces at me, but I like to think that's her version of a smile.

"Please keep your voice down in the library, young man."

I lean over the desk and wink at her which I'm not sure she sees.

"Really, Judy? I'm here every week. We should be on a first name basis by now."

She lowers her wireframe glasses and squints at me until a billion wrinkles break out around her pale blue eyes. You'd never know it now, but she probably was a looker back in the day. She acts like one.

The lady dresses with class—grey cardigans on fleek, ruffled Victorian era collar, pearls for days, and bright red lipstick. Even if she didn't maintain her style, her bitterness gives her love life away. If she was a heartbreaker, she probably knows all about getting her heart broken.

"Who are you?" She asks.

"Elias King—and I need a favor."

She shakes her head full of white curls at me like her default answer to every request is "no."

"I don't do favors. I do books. Checking-out or returning?"

"Neither. I'm looking for the Peri—pe—"

"Periodicals? Back of the library on the left. If you hit the computer lab you've gone too far."

That's where I've been going? I "hang out" here all the time, and I never even noticed that the sections in here even had names.

"Thank you, Judy. What would I do without you?"

"Probably get lost on the way to your new plaything. Get your priorities straight, young man. Too much variety never did anybody any favors."

My jaw drops a little, but I hide it behind a smile.

"Thanks, Judy. I'll see you around."

I leave before anything else Judy says makes me start questioning habits that shouldn't be questioned. She's just saying what old people say. I can mess around with whoever I want, and I don't need Judy's permission.

***

Seven's nowhere in sight when I show up to meet her. There's a handful of nerds wandering through the bookshelves but no Seven. I lean back against the shelves, shut my eyes, and try to lose myself in the quiet until Seven disturbs the peace.

I hear her before I see her—the click clacking of her nails against the screen of her phone. I shut my eyes and try to block out the sound—the noise tied to a memory of a night I've spent six months trying to forget. Eventually, the tapping stops, and the shy quiver of her voice takes its place.

"You're Elias, right? Sorry, I'm late--I got stuck in Mr. Chase's class, and he's super strict about hall passes so I—"

"Don't worry about it. I've got time if it's for you," I say.

Our eyes meet, and soft pink spills across her face like watercolors. She's cute. Round cheeks, heart shaped face, silky dark hair, and the kind of lips I could get lost in. With the right kind of confidence, she could probably have any guy she wants. But her eyes give her nerves away. Bright baby blues that might as well be a billboard when it comes to putting her innocence on display.

I thought she was putting on the "good" girl act to draw me in when we first started texting a couple days ago. But she's 100% genuine. Naive. More than she came across in her texts and her texts were already way too PC for my taste. Red flags all around.

"I really appreciate you meeting up with me last minute. I know you're a really busy guy, so this means a lot."

Probably way more than it should.

"Of course. Anyway, did you wanna go somewhere more private where we could talk?"

I linger on the last word while my eyes roam all over her curvy little figure. She's dressed like a prep school girl—green plaid skirt that cuts off just above her knees, perfectly white polo, and black tights that I'm already thinking of ways to peel off.

She cautiously glances around the library and then pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. Fear's tattooed all over everything she does. Every gesture. Every movement. I don't usually mess with this type. Fragile ones are always easy to spot. Hopefully, she's the fun kind and not a closet prude. Guess I'll have to find out.

"Sure. I thought a quite corner in the library would be fine for our conversation, but I'll go anywhere you want."

Perfect.

I extend a hand in her direction, and she takes it, fingers trembling like nobody's ever touched her before.

"Follow me."

I lead her through row after row of book shelves stacked high enough to brush the ceiling. The library's one of my favorite spots—but not for reading. The whole room's just big enough to keep your secrets hidden from everybody's eyes and ears if you know where go. And, luckily, I do. 

I lead my new "special" friend past the computer area which earns us a few stares from the handful of students who are scrambling to get their last minute assignments done.

I spot a couple of familiar faces behind the laptops—two guys who throw me a congratulatory head nod and one blonde chick who stares me down until I'm out of sight. I try to place her—a time or date when we met, hooked up...you know. etc.

Then it hits me.

She's Six.

The sixth girl I hooked up with this month who may or may not have slapped me when she found out she wasn't my #1. But that's what I don't get. I'm a straight shooter—for the most part. Everybody and their mom at Mission Bay knows about my no-relationship policy. 

The Daily Gawker's run enough blind items about me for most of the school to know that I'm the guy you call when you wanna have fun—nothing else. But every now and again I get a Six—the jealous possessive type who doesn't like to let things go or accept reality. She's not the first of her kind, but that doesn't change how much it sucks to deal with. Let's just hope that soon-to-be-not-so-innocent number Seven isn't the same way.

I tighten my grip on her hand, lead her through our ghost town of an archive area, and into one of the three abandoned study rooms in the back of the library. Nobody hangs out here. Mostly because it's creepy in a 1970s horror film kind way. 

The doors to each one of these learning closets are faded red, the insides are claustrophobic, and there's no windows in sight. The walls are made outta that spongey stuff that may or may not give you lung cancer, but, whatever, at least they're sound proof. I'd mess around elsewhere if I had the time and the patience but let's face it—I don't. Even if I had more choices, this area's secluded, and, right now, that's really all I care about.

I open the door for Seven and gesture for her to walk in first which makes her cheeks light up like a stove top. She scuttles inside, and I'm quick to shut the door behind her so the fun can start. She turns around to face me, doe-eyed, innocent, and full of expectation. 

So I kiss her. I pull her close and feather my fingers through the waves of her hair while she wavers on her feet. I wait for her to kiss me back or to do the kinds of things that so many other girls have done before, but her mouth doesn't mold to mine. Instead, she pulls away from me, completely confused.

"Sorry, I thought we—came here to talk, not that I don't like kissing you or anything, I just—" She starts trailing off, so I thread my fingers between hers to calm her down.

"You just what?"

I lean in and give her a peck on the cheek which paints them red all over again.

"I just wanted to tell you how I felt—"

Uh-oh. Not what I meant about being "open."

"—before we kissed, but—now that I know that you feel the same way, it won't be as hard for me."

Definitely not "convenient."

"W-what are you taking about?"

She takes in a deep breath and straightens out her posture like she's ready to give the State of the Union.

"Elias, I-I've liked you for a while, kind of since the start of the year, and back then, you didn't notice me. We have math class together, and I don't know what it was but whenever you walked into a room I just—couldn't concentrate on anything else. You're always so confident—"

Lie.

"—people love you—"

Double Lie.

"—and something about the way you are made me fall for you too—"

Unfortunate truth.

"—and that's why this is so surreal. I never thought that you'd even talk to me much less agree to be my boyfriend."

Uh uh. No way. Not happening. She's absolutely not anything like a 7/11.

"Sev—Eve, listen. I think there's been a mistake. You said you got my number from a friend, right?"

She nods in that slow and unsure way that makes me wish we weren't talking at all. Talking like this means complicating things that shouldn't be complicated. I never should've asked her to come here.

"Yeah, she said I should text you if I wanted to talk, and I was so excited that you actually texted me back that I—"

I lift up a finger to quiet her and rest it lightly on her lips.

"She didn't tell you what 'talking' to me meant, did she?"

Eve's wolf blue eyes dart back and forth between mine and the floor about a million times a minute which makes doing what I'm about to do even harder.

"No. What else would it mean? She probably knew I wanted to tell you how I felt, so—I thought—"

"We'd actually be talking-talking, right?"

"Right."

I sigh out a chestful of guilt and lead her over to the table desk that's attached to the far wall. She lifts herself up and sits with her incredibly long legs dangling off the edge. Maybe she's too preoccupied with all her feelings to notice, but her skirt's slipped up a couple inches to where I can't help but stare. She catches me after a couple seconds, but instead of slapping me or getting angry, she lifts up my chin until we're eye to eye.

"What's wrong? You can tell me now that we're...involved." She asks.

"Listen, Eve, you're a great girl. You're gorgeous, you're probably super smart, and I know that one of these days you're gonna find a guy who's gonna rock your world. But the thing is, I'm not that guy."

All that pretty color fades out of her cheeks as the truth behind what I'm saying settles in. Her eyes glisten and shimmer under the fluorescent lights, and I immediately regret texting her back in the first place.

"So, you're saying that you don't like me?"

I wipe away a couple of her runaway tears and keep my palm steady against the curve of her face. I should stop. I should walk out of here like I don't care, but I'm still not strong enough to do it. I'm still not as numb as I wanna be.

"No, I do like you--"

Turn it around, Eli. Get back in control.

"—But I'm not someone you should like."

She stops sobbing for a couple seconds and stares right through me like she'll find the answer she's looking for. She won't.

"Why not? Everyone likes you."

"Because I'm not a good guy, Eve—"

I step toward her, and she parts her legs to let me in closer than she should. I breathe in her sticky sweet perfume and tilt her head up until her lips are dangerously close to mine.

"—but I can make you feel good—if you want me to."

I let go of her hands and slip my fingers just under the edge of her skirt.

Her whole body freezes.

And I wait for her to tell me to stop.

I wait for her to push me away the way I should've pushed away Trish but didn't.

I wait for the part of me that knows what it's like to be used to keep me from using her.

Because I know better.

Because the guilt haunts me worse than anything.

Because she deserves so much better than the person I'm turning into.

But she doesn't say a word.

Not a single—

—Word.

So I pretend to 'like' her for the next forty-five minutes.

Because all she wants is a piece of the 'Elias King' everyone knows and loves.

Even though nobody really knows him at all.

###

Thank you guys so much for reading and for being so patient with this update! I'm still battling this cold so I've been a little slow with this update! Big thank you for kaelking12 for waiting on my very late submission of this chapter to do edits, co-writing & the awesome recording! Next update should be FRIDAY unless stated otherwise! 

#RealTalkQuestionoftheWeek

1. What do you think the reason is behind Elias's change in character?

2. Do you think he'll be able to find love with a reputation like this one?