Chapter 8
Griffin
Eleanor has been staring at the wall of movie candy at the Dollar Tree for approximately twelve minutes, and if it was anyone else, I’d be losing my mind. But I think I could be happy watching paint dry with this girl.
With how seriously she’s taking this, you would think this was a life or death decision, not picking a snack for movie night.
Jack and David are coming over for our regularly scheduled Friday hang, but this week we’re making Eleanor watch Final Destination since we discovered that she’s never seen it.
When I volunteered to handle snack duty, I happened to–accidentally–text Eleanor separately to see if she wanted to come with me.
I totally meant to send it in the group chat. Scout’s honor.
Even though she’s nearly scowling with deep concentration, she can’t help but hum happily along with whatever pop princess is playing over the speakers.
“What’s your favorite song?” I blurt out, suddenly feeling like it might kill me if I don’t know the answer.
For a second I think she didn’t hear me, but without taking her eyes off the candy, like she’s scared it might disappear if she looks away, she says, “Probably Favourite Colour by Carly Rae Jepsen.”
I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that.
“Really?”
The shock in my voice is what finally pulls her away from our low-budget Wonka factory, and she looks up at me, her face looking as shocked as I feel.
“Uhhh yes? Why does that surprise you?”
“I don’t know, I pinned you for maybe a Frank Sinatra or Fleetwood Mac fan. I can’t picture Call me Maybe on any of your playlists.”
Rolling her eyes, she shifts her attention back to the real task at hand–snacks.
“Don’t ‘manic-pixie-dreamgirl’ me, Griffin. I’m exactly like other girls,” she says, with an air like she’s trying to explain something I should obviously already know. “Anyway, Emotion is a perfect pop album and CRJ is criminally underrated.”
“I…don’t really know what those words mean.”
“Of course you don’t.” She doesn’t look back at me, but she shakes her head softly and I see the corners of her mouth tilt upwards.
I’ve never been more confused, but it doesn’t matter–I’d listen to her explain anything to me anytime. “Can you elaborate please?”
With a sigh, she grabs Airheads Xtremes, bite-size Kit Kats, and–
“Wait, what the hell are those?”
She holds up a box with a red brick pattern on it, and an old-timey font that reads Boston Baked Beans.
“These are my favorite,” she says incredulously.
Oh this is about to be so fun.
“There’s no way these are anyone’s favorite–who in their right mind picks something called ‘Baked Beans’ for a snack?”
“They’re just chocolate covered peanuts, don’t be dumb. They’re obviously not actual beans.” She swats my shoulder, and I fight the urge to grab her hand and keep it in mine.
“These were my grandma’s favorite, which became my dad’s favorite, and now they’re mine,” she says with a shrug. “I’m just keeping a family tradition going.” She crosses her arms across her chest and pops her hip out, giving me a challenging look. “Is that allowed, candy snob?”
“I’m not a snob,” I cry in mock outrage. “But this is Texas darlin’, I don’t want beans in my chili OR my candy.”
“Well no one is making you eat them, but I’m getting them,” she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder and dropping them into the basket I’m holding. “You can do whatever you want.”
“I still don’t really know any of those words you said earlier, but that seems like it might be very ‘manic-pixie-dreamgirl’ to me.”
With an indignant scoff, she yanks the basket from my arm and stalks off toward the register–I nearly pull every muscle in my cheeks grinning as I follow behind her.
***
“Are you guys planning on coming over tonight?”
Jack and David’s heads both snap up, first looking at each other, then turning to me. David’s eyes look like they’re on the verge of popping out of his skull. His mouth hangs open, giving me a front-row view of the street taco he was mid-chew on.
We’re sitting in the local food truck yard, The Park, like we always do after our Saturday morning disc golfing.
Jack “wasn’t raised in a barn,” as his granny reminds him on an almost daily basis, so luckily I’m spared the sight of his food, but there’s no avoiding the way his eyes narrow at me suspiciously.
“What the hell are you talking about dude?” David asks. “When have we ever ‘made plans’? Our default setting is ‘at Griffin’s house,’ where else would we be?”
“I don’t know,” I mumble. “We did movie night last night, I figured you’d want a night off from my house.”
David shakes his head, muttering something under his breath–probably something rude as hell–as he dives back into his food.
Jack’s attention hasn’t wavered for a second, and I’m actively avoiding making eye contact.
After the look he gave me the first time Eleanor came over, I don’t think I want him paying any more attention to me than he has to.
“Are you going to finish your food or just keep staring at me?”
I’m trying to keep my tone casual, playful even, but he’s always been annoyingly perceptive and I don’t think I’m getting out of this one that easy.
“Why are you making sure? Is there a reason we shouldn’t come over tonight?”
This gets David’s full attention again, and now I’m looking around the food truck park like it’s the damn Louvre to avoid this conversation.
“Yeah Griffin, isssss there a reason?”
David draws out his question in a mocking tone, which is annoying because I know he doesn’t even know what he’s mocking me about yet, he just knows Jack is honing in on something.
“No dude, chill,” I mumble irritatedly. “Eleanor was just asking if there was a plan for tonight or if it was boys only, and I was figuring out what to tell her.”
Jack’s eyes narrow even further, and David gives me a confused look as he checks his phone.
“What are you talking about? She didn’t ask what the plan was, she hasn’t said anything in the group chat since Wednesday,” David says, obviously bewildered by this whole conversation.
I can see the exact moment the puzzle pieces click together in his little pea brain, and I know exactly what’s coming. I drop my head into my hands with a groan as David lets out a very dramatic gasp.
“Now wait a damn minute! Have you guys been texting outside of the group chat?”
I look over to Jack, silently begging for a lifeline. He raises his eyebrows and crosses his arms, looking at me expectantly.
I guess I’m on my own here.
“Just sometimes,” I say with a shrug. “She came over that one Friday when you were both busy. It’s not a big deal. ”
David gasps again, and even Jack’s stoic expression turns into genuine shock. “Funny how you conveniently forgot to mention that for, I don’t know, the last month,” Jack says, looking amused.
“Hang on,” David yells, his tone turning accusatory. “Have you hung out without us more than once?”
I inhale slowly and deeply, trying to buy some time. I knew I’d have to fess up eventually, but I didn’t think it would be today.
“Yeah, we have,” I begrudgingly admit. “A few times actually. Mostly on Sundays when you have family dinner and Jack has his weird routine–recharging his robot batteries so he can be a human the upcoming week or whatever it is he calls it,” I reply, desperately trying to get the conversation off me.
“It’s called being an introvert, jackass,” Jack says coolly. “I need at least one day a week to recharge my social battery after dealing with you morons the other six.”
“Hey, we’re not that bad!” I exclaim in offense.
“I am,” David says with a shrug.
“Thank you, David,” Jack says with a satisfied nod. “Now back to the issue at hand.”
“It’s not a big deal,” I repeat even though my brain feels like it’s trying to stage an escape through my ears.
I’m losing the battle of keeping my voice level. I’m frustrated enough trying to figure out what’s happening between me and Eleanor on my own–I’m going to snap if they hound me about it.
“I’ll put the plans for tonight in the group chat. Can we get out of here now? I would like to end this interrogation and go take a shower.”
I storm to the car, clambering into the backseat and slamming the door in a way that makes it very clear I am done with this discussion.
It doesn’t take long for Jack and David to find something else to yap about, leaving me alone with the doom spiral occupying most of my mind these days.
This is turning into an actual nightmare. At first Eleanor was more of a fun challenge, but now that we’re settling into a real friendship, there’s a sinking feeling in my gut that gets heavier every time we hang out.
This stupid bet is looming over me. I know that David doesn’t see Eleanor as just a bet anymore either. If anything, he’s more attached to her than I am. I have never seen him go out of his way for anyone, but he fusses over her the way my mom doted on my baby niece when she was born.
But there’s a nagging feeling that this could still blow up in my face.
I need to find a way to tell her about it that doesn’t make us all look like giant assholes. Or make Jack and David swear that we’ll take it to the grave.
Every time I think I’ve worked up the courage to come clean, something stops me. Either we’re having too much fun to ruin it, or the moment’s too deep to drop a bomb like that. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
Or maybe I’m just chickenshit, and I’m scared of losing our friendship.
Or losing something more, I muse, staring out the window of Jack’s Jeep on the drive back to my house. Because if I’m being totally honest–I don’t know if having just a friendship with Eleanor is going to be enough for me.
It catches me off guard at the most random times–we’ll be sitting in the hammock in her backyard, and I’ll nearly reach up to tuck a lock behind her ear when the wind tousles her golden cascade of hair.
Golden cascade? Since when do I think poetic shit like that?
I wake up and look forward to seeing her.
I make up excuses to text her throughout the day–outside of the group chat, which I guess is a cardinal sin.
I lie in bed at night thinking about the way tears run down her face when she laughs hard enough–the way she harmonizes with songs in the car, the way she’s already planning her sixteenth birthday even though it’s six months away, and a thousand other moments that draw me in like a magnet.
Jesus, Griffin, dial back the soliloquies.
Or how I swear that sometimes she looks at me in a way that makes me think maybe she spends a lot of time thinking about me too.
Jack parks in front of my house, him and David continuing an argument I haven’t heard a word of as we walk inside. I head upstairs to shower, and I stand under the showerhead with my face buried in my hands, wondering how I can keep from screwing this up until the water runs cold.