4. Elouise Age 15
Washing my hands, I inhale the peppermint scented soap. Mrs. Stoleman really went all out with her Christmas decorations, even the hand soap in the little bathroom is themed to the season.
Letting out a sigh, I turn off the water and dry my hands, staring into the mirror.
My reflection stares back at me. Judging me.
I don’t know why I tried so hard. I spent hours getting ready today.
Hours planning my red velvet dress. My white tights.
My shimmery eye shadow. My glossy red and white butterfly clips holding each small braid in place for my half ponytail.
When I left the house, I thought I looked amazing. Mature. Adult.
But my lip gloss has worn off. My hair is starting to frizz – despite the layers of hair spray – and the damn crotch of these tights are sagging to my knees.
Growling, I yank my tights up one more time before giving up completely.
This was supposed to be my big debut in front of Beckett. My reveal.
My moment.
But instead of blowing him away with how grown up I’ve become; he’s barely spared me a glance.
Of course, there’s like a million freaking people here. I hadn’t expected that. I’d wrongly assumed that it was just going to be my family and his. A sort of reunion for James and Tony after their first year of college in separate schools.
Oh, how wrong I was.
Beckett did say hello when we first got here.
But that’s it. Hello.
No double take. No wide-eyed appreciation. Just Hello .
I brush my hands down the front of my dress, smoothing the wrinkles out of the fabric.
I won’t be discouraged now. Not after all this time.
Not after filling notebook after notebook with our initials.
Not after all the tears I cried when he left for college five years ago.
Not after the tears I cried all over again when James left for college last year.
My parents thought I was distraught about losing my brother, and I mean, I was sad he’d be gone, but really I was sad because with James and Tony out of town I would never get the chance to see Beckett. Maybe ever.
So when my parents told me we’d be coming to this Christmas party at the Stoleman’s, I knew this was my chance.
Squaring my shoulders, I pull open the door and step out into the noisy house.
I got this!
Except ten minutes later, here I am, sitting alone at the small breakfast nook in the corner of the kitchen.
Clunking my forehead down on the table, I accept defeat.
How am I the youngest person in this entire house? Seriously, doesn’t anyone have nieces or nephews anymore? Or is the whole night a conspiracy to make it obvious that I’m still a baby?
James is busy with Tony and their group of friends from high school. Mom and Dad are chatting it up with the other parents of the neighborhood. And last time I saw Beckett he was deep in conversation with someone’s dad.
I lift my head and let it thud back down on the tabletop.
Why does Beckett have to look so freaking handsome? So freaking grownup?
His hair is shorter than the last time I saw him, and his face is showing signs of a beard.
I don’t really know what a 5 o’clock shadow is, but I think what he has might qualify.
And his outfit. Gah! He’s wearing these khaki pants that make his butt look super cute and this dark red button up shirt that brings out the golden color in his eyes.
And if I squeeze my eyes shut really tight, I can pretend that we are dressed to match each other.
Topping off the look, and the absolute worst part, is the glass of wine in his hand. It makes him look that much more sophisticated, and is a stark reminder that he’s 23-years-old and that much further out of my league.
“Not having a good time?”
The deep voice startles me so bad, I let out a small scream as I jolt into an upright position.
To my absolute horror, I find Beckett standing two feet away, laughing.
My mouth opens, but my heart is racing and I can’t think of anything clever to say.
He makes an apologetic look while pulling out the chair opposite me. “Sorry for scaring you.”
I open my mouth again, but… words… what are words?
The lopsided smile he gives me makes it feel like there’s a pile of grasshoppers in my stomach. Then he points to himself and says, “I’m Beckett.”
Before I can stop it, a small snort comes out and I say, “I know who you are.”
My eyes widen. Oh my god, why did I say it like that!?
He shrugs, “It looked like maybe you were drawing a blank.”
Trying for nonchalant, I shrug back. Then immediately regret the decision. I don’t want to look like I’m copying him.
Beckett takes a sip of his wine, his eyes staying on me, and I want to scream. The whole point of me being here tonight was to impress him. But instead, he finds me sitting here like a loser, startling at everything he says.
Get this back on track, Lou!
“So,” I start, “How’s Chicago?”
His eyebrows raise in surprise, like maybe I wouldn’t know what town he went to for school and that he stayed after.
But our brothers are friends, so it’s not completely unlikely that I’d have heard through them.
He doesn’t need to know that I’ve spent the last several years trying to learn everything I could about him.
“It’s good. Busy. How’s high school?”
He knows that I’m in high school now!
Heat. So much heat fills my chest.
“It’s fine,” I work to keep my voice level. “Same old, ya know.”
He hums, “Do you like school?”
His question catches me off guard. Do I tell him that I love school? Do I try to play coy?
Deciding that I want him to fall in love with the real me, I give him an honest answer. “I do. I’m not like amazing at it, but I want to be a teacher one day.”
He makes a thoughtful face and a sound of approval. “I think you’d be good at that.”
He thinks I’d be good at teaching!!!
He nods, as if reconfirming what he just said, “Good for you, knowing what you want to do when you grow up.” When I grow up. Ouch. “Most people don’t figure that out until they’re halfway through college studying under the wrong major. Some never figure it out.”
Brushing off the grow up comment, I focus on what he just said.
“Did you?” I ask. “Figure it out, I mean.”
“I hope so.” He smiles.
His smile is so comforting, I feel myself relaxing into the conversation. It’s the sort of smile you give a friend. Or someone you like.
“Beck Baby,” my body jumps at the sudden grating voice, “there you are!”
If I were a dog, my ears would’ve laid flat at the sound of someone calling Beckett something so stupid.
I swear I see something like annoyance flicker over his face, but before I can blink, it’s gone.
“Kira?” Beckett’s tone shows his confusion.
Already feeling sick to my stomach, I turn my head to watch a skinny girl – sorry, woman – in a tight red dress approach us.
Her dress is the shorter grownup version of mine.
Her hair is bright blonde, curled in big ringlets around her face.
She has a pretty black choker around her neck and sparkly heeled shoes. Complete with bare legs.
Beckett slides his chair back, like he’s going to get up, but before he can, she lowers herself onto his lap.
That sick feeling inside me grows. Twisting and turning. Coiling up from my stomach and sliding straight to my heart.
“I didn’t think you were coming until tomorrow.” Beckett says to the woman, perched on his thighs.
“I just couldn’t wait that long.” She replies, in a voice that sounds like something I’d hear in drama class.
Her eyes dart over to me before she grabs his face in her hands and lowers her mouth to his.
Hot tears fill my eyes as I shove away from the table.
No one tries to stop me.
No one says my name.
No one says anything.
Running in my bare, nylon covered feet, I flee the kitchen.
How could he? How dare he! Right in front of me!?
Humiliation and sadness slam against each other inside my chest.
I push through clusters of bodies until I reach the entryway.
Dropping to my knees, I dig around in the pile of footwear until I find my shoes.
Not shoes . Not sparkly sexy heels. Big snow boots.
Big ugly black snow boots because it’s winter outside and because my mom made me wear them.
Because I’m still just a kid playing dress up.
Because no one will ever see me as anything other than a kid.
Violently shoving my feet into the boots, I find my puffy bright purple jacket that clashes with my dress, and I yank it on over my carefully crafted Christmas outfit.
I’m not being careful or quiet or subtle, but no one notices. Everyone is having way too much fun with all their friends to notice the one child throwing a fit.
I jerk open the door andstep out into the cold night.
My breath clouds before me, blurring my view of the sky.
The air is still, the cold hanging all around me, chilling the tears as they slide down my cheeks.
Beckett didn’t care .
One deep inhale.
Beckett doesn’t love me.
I watch my exhale thicken the air.
Beckett loves someone else.
Another deep inhale.
Beckett won’t ever think of me like that.
I blink away more tears as I let my breath out.
I need to stop loving Beckett.
One final inhale.
I can’t keep loving Beckett.
One last breath out.
I watch it float up towards the twinkling stars.
I’m going to forget all about Beckett Stoleman.
And I do.
For another three years.