Chapter 5
Ellie
Griffin Hart seems to have turned over a new leaf.
Oddly enough, it’s worse than him being obnoxious.
I know how to handle annoying. I don’t know how to handle…
whatever this is. I can’t exactly put my finger on it, but it’s like sometime after winter break he gained consciousness and decided to stop being a court jester.
He actually kind of seems hell-bent on paying penance for being the bane of my existence these past few months.
And that’s something I have not made easy on him.
It almost feels like he’s overcompensating to make up for some dastardly deed, but he hasn’t really done anything bad enough to warrant that, so I’ll just chalk it up to an enormous ego being humbled by someone who doesn’t immediately fawn over him.
For some reason, every time he says something kind, it makes me want to scream.
I bet if anyone looked closely enough they would see the irritated, involuntary twitch in my left eye.
Part of me wonders if the change of heart is genuine.
Or even possible. That pessimistic train of thought catches me off guard, and stops me dead in my tracks right as I’m approaching the door to our classroom.
That isn’t fair, Ellie, I scold myself. You haven’t really given him a chance.
And you haven’t exactly been warm and inviting.
I generally pride myself on being a gracious and patient person, but apparently my subconscious decided to skip right over Griffin Hart when it comes to exercising those traits.
It doesn’t help that I’d rather re-create my fourth-grade bowl cut than admit I’m wrong about anything. I can practically hear my grandmother’s voice in my head: “Well, Ellie Bellie, would you rather be right or be kind?” I really hate when my conscience makes valid points.
Metaphorically squaring my shoulders, I walk into Spanish determined to extend an olive branch.
I just hope it doesn’t come back to haunt me.
Today when I hear a friendly “howdy Eleanor,” instead of rolling my eyes and taking my seat as quickly as possible, I look intentionally into Griffin’s eyes, which are somehow dark and mysterious without being moody, and give him a genuine smile.
“Hi Griffin,” I say in a warm tone that feels very uncharacteristic before sliding into the desk behind him.
He turns slowly in his seat to face me, and I avoid his gaze as long as possible as I retrieve the maroon journal labeled ‘Spanish’ from my bag.
I can still feel him looking at me, and when I realize I can’t avoid it any longer, I look up at him.
It takes everything in me not to burst out laughing at the look of shock on his face.
“Do I have something on my face?” I ask casually, playing dumb while knowing exactly why he looks so flabbergasted. Pretending to be clueless, I reach up to swipe at absolutely nothing on my cheeks and mouth.
His eyes flicker down to my mouth for a split second, then back up to mine, and all of sudden the monarch butterflies have migrated back from Mexico directly into my stomach.
He meets my gaze with a completely new, very unreadable look–like he’s looking at me for the first time again.
I’ve seen the way his eyes look when he’s being playful, and annoying, and genuine, and irritating–but I don’t have a descriptor for this.
I’m caught off guard, and feel my carefree facade waver a bit while my brain tries to compute whatever it is that’s showing on his face.
“Helloooooo?” I drawl, trying to mimic his own accent and waving my hand in his face in an attempt to snap him out of whatever brain malfunction he’s got going on over there.
He shakes his head a little, the way my cat does when I blow on his ears to get his attention.
I wonder if Griffin likes cats or dogs more.
The thought comes out of no where, like someone else planted it in my head.
Since when do I care what Griffin Hart likes?
He assumes a more neutral expression (or at least it would be if he wasn’t squinting at me suspiciously). “You’re being nice to me.”
It’s more of an accusation than a question. Have I really been that awful? I wonder to myself before responding, “Well yes Griffin, believe or not, I am a nice person.”
“Not to me, you’re not,” he fires back quickly. Not accusatory though, more…bewildered. “Why are you being nice to me?”
“Because I’ve noticed that you’ve gone out of your way to be nice to me lately, and I figured it was time to bury the hatchet between us,” I confess with a defeated sigh. “I’ll be honest, I can’t even really remember why we stopped being friends.”
“According to you, we were never friends in the first place, and you said you didn’t need more friends anyway,” he says, throwing my own words back in my face.
How rude of him to use my own words against me. But it’s my turn to turn over a new leaf now.
“I did say that, and it was mean. For what it’s worth, I was wrong,” I admit. “...and I’m sorry.”
To their credit, David and Jack try very hard not to openly eavesdrop when Griffin and I start going back and forth like this. But at my unexpected apology, I find all three of them looking at me, dumbfounded.
After a moment of awkward silence, Griffin breaks into a grin brighter than I’ve seen him wear in months, and the weight of that smile shifts something inside me.
I realize not only that I’ve missed seeing it, but that it’s stirring up more than a simple smile should.
It brings up a whole lot of warmth and feeling I didn’t expect.
That’s something for Future Ellie to deal with.
“Why, Eleanor Turner,” he gasps in fake surprise, clutching at pearls that aren’t there like some sort of old granny down at the hair salon. “I didn’t know you knew how to apologize. Is this a first for you?”
Despite my resolution to actively be kinder to Griffin, I can’t help but roll my eyes at him and let out an impatient huff.
“Don’t push it Griffin Hart, I still have time to take it back.”
This only makes him smile even wider, a dazzling and beautiful thing that reaches every corner of his face, including those warm, chocolate eyes that I realize I’ve never taken the time to actually look at.
From this close, I can see flecks of green and gold sprinkled on the inner rim of his irises—more than just brown, and holding something more than I anticipated.
They’re a deep well drawing me in, the kind I wouldn’t expect from a boy who seems to revel in finding new ways to bother me on a daily basis.
“Nope, too late now darlin’. I knew I’d get you to warm up to me eventually,” he says with a boyish excitement that has the corners of my own lips twitching upward.
For a split second, I think I see Jack stiffen, and Griffin and David share an undecipherable look before Griffin’s attention is back on me. It’s so quick I think I might have imagined it, and I don’t have the time or care to dwell on it as Senor Flores calls our attention to the front of the room.
With another quick flash of a smile, and a playful flick to my nose, Griffin says matter-of-factly, “I think this is the start of a real fun friendship for you and me, Eleanor.”
I can’t tell if that sounds more threatening or exciting–but an almost imperceptible shiver runs down my spine as I wonder exactly what I’m getting myself into.
***
He was right. Being friends with Griffin Hart is fun. Not just Griffin either - apparently he, David, and Jack are a package deal. Some days it’s like having brothers that I never asked for, but I’m secretly glad to have ended up with anyway.
Others…it’s like those chaotic videos you see of ducklings who imprint on a cat instead of their mom and follow her around everywhere, except the cat is a fifteen year old girl and the ducklings are tornadoes disguised as teenage boys.
At first it was just goofing around before and after class (but not during–I still have grades to maintain, I can’t descend into total anarchy), but over the past month and a half, it’s turned into finding each other in the hallways between every class, not just Spanish, which then turned into nightly Skype calls, sometimes lasting for hours, comfortably talking about everything and nothing at all.
Without realizing it, I’m laughing more than I ever have, and the highlight of my day has become the time I spend with them.
I’m not sure when I started taking life so seriously.
As a kid, I was all about fairies and pirates and adventures.
I reveled in knock-knock jokes and campfire stories and running through the sprinklers.
I was a windswept, scraped-kneed, constantly giggling force of nature who left joy (and mess) wherever she went.
I would spend hours in the hammock in our back yard, staring up at the clouds, daydreaming big fantastical dreams.
Somewhere along the way my wires must have gotten crossed.
Sometimes I don’t recognize the rigid, anxious perfectionist looking back at me in the mirror.
I try so badly to cling to the freedom I felt as a kid, but it’s becoming increasingly easier for me to get overwhelmed, and increasingly difficult to talk myself down.
But being around Griffin has started softening edges I didn’t even realize were sharp to begin with. I’ve been so focused on getting out of this town that I haven’t been enjoying the life around me.
It’s not that I don’t love Larkspur, I really do.
I can’t pinpoint exactly why I’m so set on leaving, but it’s all I’ve been able to think about since I was twelve years old, head buried in a book about a girl leaving her podunk town for the big city.
But now the life around me seems a little sweeter every day–a life that might be harder to leave than I anticipated when the time comes.
***
“I feel like I never see you anymore,” Abby says, popping another fried pickle into her mouth.