Chapter 2
1552 Words
CHAPTER 2
ELSIE
If it was possible, Brett James Jackson looks better now than he ever did. My eyes travel over his strong jaw and his perfectly chiseled features.
Dark hair. Leather jacket. Blue jeans.
And, of course, the dark tattoos that peek around his collarbone.
I've always noticed them. Even though I've never seen him without a shirt on.
It's true what people say. Thinking about a crush really does near kill you.
Well, no, not really. But it sure feels like it.
He shocks me, grabbing me out of my frantic fall. I can tell he shocks himself too.
Staring dead at me, his one green eye clashing with the other blue.
And the only thing I can think of it is to say "Hi."
Brett freezes as if the fact that I can speak is a miracle itself.
"Hi," he finally says, in a murmur. "Long time no see."
"Yeah, long time no...see," I say, almost robotically. I know it's totally embarrassing, but I can't help myself.
My whole body is shaking.
And I don't know why. Well, I don't know why so much.
I thought I’d been prepared for this very moment.
I lick my lips. "How have you been?"
"Good. Really good." He clears his throat. "How are you?"
"I'm–good. I mean, I'm...better when I'm not actively flying through the air." I straighten. "It's my first day back at Riverside."
"Yeah. I had a feeling. Kayla told me your…living situation had changed. Felt weird not seeing you coming out of the choir hall anymore.”
He noticed?
No, my brain screams at itself. Of course he did. You were gone for months.
And this isn't part of your plan now, is it?
The plan is to focus on the Christmas talent show in two weeks, to getting my voice in the best possible shape it can be, and to write new material every single day, making sure I have enough songs to fill both the talent show and my next record. Not to let the crush I have on Brett James get in the way of anything.
And yet...here I am.
Sweating like a dog, as if my whole life is depending on this moment. As if the past three years of his ignoring me mean nothing.
"Yeah. Um...Yeah, things around my house are pretty tense," I say.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. It's kind of a long story."
A story I don't even have time to get into. Because the second I open my mouth, Maxwell Johnson and a boy I don't recognize lumber over to us.
They're staring at Brett, as if to take his cue. And he gives it to them by tightening his hold on my elbows, as if he's afraid I might bolt.
I still may.
"Guys, you remember that annoying brunette that lives with me? About yay-high?" Brett motions. "Likes slapping me on the back of my head every chance she gets?"
The unknown boy raises his brows. "You mean your sister, Kayla?”
"Yeah, her. This is her best friend, Elsie Carpenter," he introduces, his aqua eyes boring into mine. "Elsie, this is my friend Max Johnson, and that Harry Potter bastard over there is my other friend, Dresden British-Wanker."
"Dresden Banks," the blonde boy corrects, extending a hand for me to shake. "I know the American education system has its problems, so I'm going to give Mr. Jackson a pass on his pronunciation. Nice to meet you."
I go to shake Dresden's hand, but Brett's hands on my arms keep me trapped.
It's disappointing. But not as disappointing as the look Max Johnson gives me. His blue eyes leer over my body briefly before flicking back up to my face.
"Ellie, is it?" he asks.
I glare. "It's Elsie."
"Really? You don't look like an Elsie. You look like a Barbie doll. I like the blonde hair."
"Thanks. My genetics team will take your feedback into account."
"You're welcome," Max says, looking pleased. "So, you new to the school? First year? Just getting acclimated to the place?"
"No," I answer, teeth barely avoiding grinding. "I'm a junior here. And we've met no less than five times. I know that beer consumption has an effect on memory, but I would have thought you would've remembered."
Dresden sucks in a breath. And Brett's lips twitch upward.
Max Johnson looks like he might throw up.
And I'm annoyed.
"Oh s**t," Dresden interrupts the staring contest that's started between Max and me. "Your ankle." He points, only for me to see a trickle of blood running down my skin.
My high heel must have gotten caught on my choir robe, when I had fallen. I hadn't even noticed it in the moment.
But now it's clear.
I'm bleeding.
"It's fine. I'm fine." I take a step away from Brett, turning toward the boys. "Really. I'm perfectly fine."
I shake my shoe off, regretting my choice in footwear this morning. Mom isn't going to be happy about this. Maybe I can beg for an advance on my allowance for a replacement.
If she stops screaming at Dad long enough to notice me.
Brett steps forward. "You're bleeding. That would mean you're not fine, wouldn't it?"
The school day is officially over. The nurse's office isn't open at this hour. And the last thing I want to do is to beg my mom for the first time in five months.
But the next last thing I want to do more is have Brett Jackson help me in any way.
"No. I'm okay."
"You look like you're in pain."
"I'm not in pain." I shake my head. Maybe if I say it enough, it'll become true. "I'm fine. I'm just a bit of a klutz. It's this stupid courtyard. All those rocks and uneven payment."
"Let her go, Brett," Max says. "She says she's fine. So just leave it."
Brett turns to him, jaw working beneath his perfect cheekbones. "She can barely stand on that leg."
"It was a little trip," Max counters. "She'll be fine."
I try to agree with him.
But Brett's green and blue eyes are hard and clear. "She's not fine."
I put my hands on my hips. "She's fine."
"You don't know that. And until you do, I'm going to help you make sure you are. Now," he gestures over the courtyard, "the baseball locker room is barely seventy-five feet away. We'll go. We'll get some bandages. Get you sanitized and wrapped up. And all your problems will be solved." He blinks once. "I'm not taking no for an answer, so you'd better just go along with it. Because I'm not leaving you here like this."
I meet his gaze, ready to fight. Maybe if I make him angry, he'll leave me alone.
But his eyes don't reflect anything but calm and security.
And I realize why.
He's used to being in charge. Used to being in control. Being the big man on campus.
The purported prince of Riverside High.
I look at his handsome face, wondering how great it must be to be the king of your castle, to walk into a room and have everyone fall for you—everyone, no matter what you did to them.
Is that why he thinks he can do this?
I'm not one of those people, though. Not anymore.
Max and Dresden exchange a look behind his back. I do too.
There are a million reasons why I should walk away from him.
And not one good one why I should stay.
But I do anyway.
For reasons I don't even understand.
"Fine," I snap. "Let's go."
Brett's hands shift from my arms to my hips as I walk, holding me up as I limp. He's not even thinking about trying to get me to lean on him. For which I'm thankful.
Honestly? I hate how insecure I've been in the past. Hating myself because of how I look compared to him.
But he's not going to get to me.
Not anymore.
I feel the warmth of his body wrap around me as he guides me toward the school building.
Grumbling, I push past the boys, avoiding their eyes and their stares. I imagine that Max and Dresden have decided in that microsecond of a glance that I'm a freak–the kind of girl who'll let a force like Brett Jackson walk all over her.
I'm not that girl.
But it's easy to forget when Brett's hands settle harder on my hips, cinching them tighter so he can better help me through the courtyard. I can feel the heat of other students as they pass us, hear the whispers.
See their stolen glances.
Brett doesn't miss any of it. He doesn't stop to let anyone by or stop to ask what's going on.
He keeps marching.
And though I'm kinda grateful, it takes everything I have not to cry.
"Keep it together, Elsie Carpenter," I whisper, hating myself for thinking of him like this.
I'm just so accustomed to it by now.
So I keep marching.
Just like him.
He only pulls away from me when we've reached the front entrance of the locker room. Motioning for me to do the same, he pulls on one of the double doors, helping me inside.
- Writer
