about our fight?
You know what? It doesn’t matter. Because after he hears what I have to tell him, everything will be forgiven and forgotten. All will be fixed.
He walks toward me like he’s in one of those slow-motion scenes in a high school movie, all hair and swagger. It’s hard to miss the stares he gets from other girls as he passes. I certainly notice, even if Tristan doesn’t appear to.
See, Ellison. He doesn’t care what other girls think. He only cares what you think. Why can’t you just believe that?
I do. I believe it. I’m done with this insecure jealousy nonsense. It’s highly inconvenient.
“Hey,” he says when he approaches. “I was hoping I’d see you here.”
“Well,” I say, giving my hair a playful toss. “Here I am.”
He looks uncomfortable, his gaze shifting to just over my shoulder.
“I thought we could continue our conversation. You know the one we started before first period.”
Suddenly there’s a huge boulder in my throat. The day comes spiraling back to me. The whole, awful, cringeworthy day. Like I’m being sucked back down the space-time continuum and plopped right back where it all began.
“Of course,” I say breezily. “But first, I have some good news.”
His eyebrow cocks. “You do?”
I can’t hold it in any longer. The words bubble out of me. “I got you guys a gig!”
He tilts his head to the side like he didn’t hear me correctly. “A gig?”
“Yes!” I squeal. “Tonight!”
He’s still not getting this. “You did? Like a real gig?”
“That depends,” I reply coyly. “Do you consider the main stage of the town carnival a real gig?”
“WHAT?!” Tristan screeches. “Are you serious?”
I shrug, like it’s no big deal. Just fulfilling my basic girlfriend duty. “Yeah. I heard there was a last minute cancellation so I went down to the fairgrounds and talked to the manager. It took some convincing but once I told him how awesome you guys are—”
My words are cut off because my feet are suddenly no longer on the ground. Tristan has wrapped his arms around my waist and lifted me into the air. And now the room is spinning.
“Ellie!” he shrieks, causing at least a dozen people to turn and look.
Good. Let them look. Let this be the image they remember me by. Easy-breezy-adored-by-her-boyfriend Ellie. Not bumbling-like-an-idiot-election-speech Ellie.
“This is amazing!” He sets me down and looks right into my eyes. “You are amazing.”
I feel an intense urge to kiss him. Just tip forward and fall into his beautiful pink lips. It would be the most perfect moment for a kiss. While this sizzling energy of excitement is streaming between us. While he’s looking at me like I’m the goddess of awesome sauce. While his hands are still wrapped around my waist.
But I can’t. Not after what happened last night. He has to kiss me. He has to make the first move. I have to know that this has worked.
I keep my eyes locked on his. I keep my lips curled in a loose smile. I keep my body language open and accessible. I even lean forward just the slightest bit.
And then …
Sigh.
He closes the space between us. He presses his warm lips against mine. His hands urge my body close, closer, closest. Until we’re tangled up in arms and tongues and passion.
If there’s one thing that Tristan does better than singing, better than pounding out awesome guitar solos, better than walking down hallways in seeming slow motion, it’s kissing. I swear he could teach a workshop or something.
When he pulls away, me and half the hallway are in a state of post-smooch bliss. It’s as if the pheromones are seeping out of my pores and infecting everyone within a half-mile radius.
He rests his forehead against mine and whispers, “You’re the best, Ellie. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
I close my eyes and bask in his words. The fireworks and celebratory trumpets are blaring in my head so loudly, I barely hear the school secretary’s voice as she drones over the intercom system. Something about the results from today’s election.
But I don’t dare pull out of this cocoon of reunited relationship bliss. I can’t even bring myself to care when she announces that Rhiannon and I lost by an even bigger landslide than yesterday.
Because I’ve already won.
Daydream Believer
3:30 p.m.
Detention is not as bad as I thought it would be. It’s worse. I imagined it would be more like The Breakfast Club, where we get to sit in the library and talk about our feelings. But no.