anything to say, so when he does speak, you just know it’s going to be important. He was that way in middle school too. The silhouette behind his friends, constantly observing but not always participating. I don’t know if that makes him even more culpable for what was done to me or less.
I continue walking until it feels as if I might burst from the silence. “If you’re going to shadow me, the least you could do is speak, instead of just acting like a weird, creepy mouth-breather,” I huff, whirling on him. He slows his car down even more until it’s practically stopped in the middle of the street. There’s a tiny smirk on those delectably wicked lips, one that makes the tiny scar on his left cheek appear even more pronounced. But instead of hindering his appearance, it only adds to his appeal. It makes him seem rugged and unattainable. Hard and gruff and dangerous.
“Words are strange,” he answers simply, fiddling with a dial on his Jeep. A second later, soft classical music drifts from his speakers. He nods his head at the radio, as if pleased with the song selection, before turning to face the road once more. “You’re supposed to string them together to create some type of meaning. You do this for monologues, for novels, for songs, for normal, everyday conversations. But look at the English dictionary. There are dozens of words that mean joy. So which one will you use to describe yourself, if you had to? Jovial, enthusiastic, happy—”
“So you don’t talk…because there are too many words?” I ask bluntly, and those violet-brown eyes of his glimmer in the morning light.
“I don’t talk because there’s usually nothing to say,” he counters immediately, and then he pauses, eyes turning contemplative he taps his fingers in time to the grand piano. “Except…except for when I’m talking to you.”
I try to ignore the surge of butterflies that take flight in my stomach as I peer out of my peripheral vision at the striking, evasive man. Currently, his brown and purple hair is pulled into a loose bun at the top of his head. A few strands frame his face, but it doesn’t make him look any less masculine. I’m pretty sure Elias could wear a tutu and a sparkly headband and still look like something out of a magazine.
“Is that why you’ve been showing up at school?” I blurt, and when he turns to stare at me, one eyebrow quirked, I realize my slip. “I mean, I heard from some of the other cheerleaders that you usually skip the morning classes.”
But not now.
I’m pretty sure since I arrived, he’s had a perfect attendance record.
“I told you,” he evades with a small smirk. “I don’t like talking to people.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” I point out, but his smile simply grows, turning almost smug, as we turn onto the road that leads towards our school. “What do you even do when you skip?”
“What do you think I do?” he counters immediately. Amusement dances in his eyes before he focuses once more out the windshield. “Let me guess…have illicit affairs. Partake in drug deals. Rob convenience stores. You know, the stereotypical ‘bad boy’ thing.” He gives me a glance that makes me feel indignant.
“Well, you do feed into it—riding a motorcycle, wearing a leather jacket…” I protest, gesturing towards him. “And you have this whole…” I trail off once more, unable to articulate my thoughts without sounding like an imbecile.
Of course, Elias won’t let the conversation drop.
“Have that whole what?” He bites down on his lower lip to keep from laughing at me.
“That whole… Ahhh!” I wave at him in dismay.
“Are you saying that my face makes you scream? I’m hurt.” He places one hand to his chest in mock offense, while his eyes alternate between me and the road. Through it all, that damn smirk remains firmly in place.
“You know, that whole ‘stay the fuck away from me or else I’ll cut you’ thing going on,” I confess in a rush. He stares at me for a long moment, his jaw slack, before he breaks into raucous laughter. Tears stream down his face as he slaps at his knee.
“You have me pegged,” he chortles.
“Stop it.” Embarrassment burns my face as I pick up my speed. “It’s not funny.”
“It is pretty damn funny,” he protests around another laugh. “Maybe that’s what I need to do with my spare time when I decide to skip again…cut someone.” He throws