Chapter 7
Ellie
Alot has changed since spring break. Ever since that night at Griffin’s, my usual Friday routine includes video games and heated debates with the boys. Abby joins us sometimes, on the nights she isn’t babysitting her little brother, Dylan, or covering some event for the school paper.
The first time she came, I thought she was going to have a heart attack.
It didn’t hit me how much David and Dylan have the exact same chaotic energy until I saw her try to deal with him.
I genuinely thought she was going to leave—until Jack sat next to her with a weary look and yelled, “David, stop acting like a toddler who snorted Pixy Stix.” They shared a look, then nodded once, and I could tell a silent “we’re in this together” passed between them.
She’s not there often, but when she is, her and Jack watch like disappointed parents while Griffin and David go off the rails (and I egg them on). Most of the time though, it’s just the four of us, and more recently it’s been the four of us all weekend instead of just on Friday nights.
The weather has started getting nice again, so I’ve added an afternoon run to my routine before I meet Abby at the diner.
Before I left, I sent a text to the group chat confirming our plans for tonight, and I’ve gotten so used to our routine that my heart sinks a little as I catch up on the replies I missed.
Ellie: Same as usual tonight boys?
David: Bruh, I don’t wanna talk about it
David: But I’m on lockdown for the foreseeable future
Griffin: What did you do???
David: NOTHING.
Jack: :|
David: Except maybe me and my sisters set the curtains on fire
Jack: ?????????
David: Cinco de Mayo prep gone wrong :(
David: Those tiny bitch ass fireworks pack a punch
Griffin: God I would sell a kidney to see footage of your mom’s reaction
David: RIP me
Jack: I’m out tonight too. It’s granny’s birthday and I’m taking her to see Hello Dolly at Magnolia Theater.
Jack: Shut the fuck up David
David: I didn’t say anything!!
Jack: Just getting ahead of it
This will be the first Friday in weeks that I won’t be spending with the boys, and something about it makes me feel a little lonely.
Walking dejectedly down the hall to my room, I check my phone as it buzzes again.
Griffin: Hey
Griffin: I know David and Jack are out tonight, but you could still come over
Griffin: If you want
My brain short circuits–I know the texts from Griffin are a super normal, friendly thing to send, but they might as well be in ancient Greek.
I must take too long to reply, because another round of messages come through.
Griffin: No pressure though
Griffin: Just thought I'd offer
Griffin: Hello?
Griffin: If you don't want to, that's fine
Griffin: Just let me know
Shoot. I don’t want him to think I’m ignoring him. I just can’t for the life of me think of what to say.
Ellie: Sorry, just got back from a run!!
Ellie: That sounds fun! I’ll ask my mom if she can pick me up since Jack won’t be there to take me home.
The way my stomach is twisted up in knots, you’d think my nervous system doesn't know the difference between making plans with Griffin and being chased by an axe murderer.
Griffin: Cool, sounds good
Griffin: See you later.
Ellie: See you soon!
I throw my phone like it bit me and stare at the place it landed on my bed like it’s some creature that might come back for more if I don’t keep a very close eye on it.
At the diner with Abby, I don’t tell her that it’s going to be just me and Griffin tonight. I also don’t mention that I was late because I changed my outfit three times.
***
I stand rigidly on Griffin’s porch, at war with myself. Normally I just walk right in and make myself at home, but that feels weird if it’s just the two of us. Should I be more polite? More formal?
I knock hesitantly instead of letting myself in. When Griffin opens the door, he looks genuinely confused.
“Oh it’s you,” he says, sounding surprised. “I thought you were someone else.”
“Were you expecting someone else?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“No, but you never knock.” His brows furrow as he stares at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“Well, are you going to let me in or not?” I tease, echoing my words from the first time I came over. Rolling his eyes, he steps to the side and dramatically gestures for me to enter.
With every step we take down into the basement, the silence gets more noticeable. Why does this feel so different from every other time I’ve come over here?
You have hung out with him dozens of times Ellie, get it together.
Instead of sitting in the armchair like I normally do, I take a spot on the couch, crossing my legs and keeping my eyes fixed on the spot where I’m picking at my cuticles.
I can feel Griffin hovering behind the couch, so I look over my shoulder to face him. He’s still standing, arms crossed, brow furrowed even deeper now. The intensity of his gaze catches me off guard. “What?” I blurt out, sounding way more defensive than I should be.
“You don’t sit there,” he says, gesturing at the couch. “You sit there,” he says, nodding to the armchair.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize there was assigned seating.”
I’m not the self-proclaimed comedian here, but I’m trying to break the tension anyway. Griffin doesn’t move.
After a few beats of silence, he says “You don’t have to hang out with me if you don’t want to–,” at the same time as I say, “You didn’t have to invite me over out of obligation or anything–”
“What?” we both say, in the exact same tone, like the other person just said the dumbest thing we’ve ever heard.
I stand up, turning to face him fully, putting my hands on my hips in a way that reminds me distinctly of my mother.
Yikes.
“Of course I want to hang out with you Griffin, you’re my friend,” I say exasperatedly.
He takes a deep breath through his nose, gripping the back of the couch so hard I can see his knuckles whiten.
Exhaling, he says “You’re not an obligation Eleanor, I—” He stops, and clears his throat.
“I always want you to come over.” His voice is quieter now, and earnest in a way that makes my heart stutter.
“Oh,” is all I can manage. I twiddle my thumbs for a few more seconds, then let out an aggravated scoff. “This is stupid, we’ve spent every weekend hanging out for the last two months, can we stop being weird?”
Griffin gives me a sheepish grin and tosses me a Wii controller. He flops onto the couch beside me without another word.
We spend the next hour trying to decimate each other in Super Smash Bros, quickly escalating from on-screen fighting to throwing real life elbows as we get more and more competitive.
After a poorly placed elbow knocks the wind out of him, we decide to shut the game off and find something less violent to do. We don’t argue nearly as much as we used to, but without Jack there as a buffer, there’s no guarantee the house survives any sort of escalation.
The silence we sit in now isn’t heavy, it’s comfortable. We’ve gone from sitting stiffly with a mile of space between us, to stretched out across the full length of the couch, my feet propped up on the coffee table with his long legs casually draped over mine.
“So what would you do after the diner before you started coming over here?” Griffin asks, arms slung over the arm of the couch behind his head, like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
“Nothing really,” I respond with a shrug. “I would read, or watch TV, or hang out with my mom. Usually I was asleep by 9:30.”
“9:30!? What do you mean!?”
He yells it like I’ve just confessed to being the zodiac killer.
“What’s wrong with going to bed early?”
“What’s wrong is that you’re fifteen, not fifty. You can sleep when you’re dead,” he says in the same way someone might explain to a five year old that two and two makes four.
“Well I didn’t do that every Friday, just sometimes.”
“Okay, well what do you do with the rest of your time?”
I begin to share all my favorite hobbies and memories–planting my favorite flowers with my grandmother every spring, summer road trips to the beach, watching a different sports movie with my dad every single week during third grade.
I even share some of the low points (like the one season my dad coached peewee soccer and made everyone on the team cry) and even worse, the embarrassing ones (like how hard I cried when I desperately wanted to be Dorothy in the first grade play but got cast as the Wicked Witch instead.)
When he begins to share stories of his own, I’m overwhelmed by how fascinating I find him.
He tells me about the half sister I didn’t know he had–she’s from his dad’s first marriage, is ten years older, and lives in California with her mom. He doesn’t say it, but I can tell from the way his eyes get sad that he wishes they were closer.
He shows me the scar on his chin, and I howl with laughter as he tells me how he got it from trying to ride the goat at his uncle’s farm like a bronco when he was five.
I learn so many things I never would have guessed about the boy I never expected to become such a central part of my life. I knew he was funny, larger than life with enough confidence to power a small town–but he’s also incredibly kind, loyal, and gentle.
His eyes well with tears when he tells me about his childhood cat that died last year. He talks more animatedly when he shares stories from summers with his cousins at his family’s ranch. He tells story after story, and the more I listen, the more I never want him to stop.
After finishing a story about getting chased up a tree by a goose, he bolts upright and looks at me with wide eyes. Startled by the sudden absence of warmth where his legs were, I immediately ask him what’s wrong.
“Nothing, it’s just late, and I realized I’ve been talking your ear off.” It comes out more like a question, a self-conscious edge to his voice.
“No you haven’t, I’ve loved everything you’ve told me.” I smile at him reassuringly and continue, “You’ve caught me by complete surprise, Griffin Hart.”
“What do you mean by that?” His eyes narrow at me suspiciously.
I pull my phone out of my back pocket, bringing it to my ear as it rings with the outbound call to my mom.
“I mean that when you came into Spanish class like a hurricane that first day of school, I didn’t know I’d end up liking you this much.” I grin at him, never breaking eye contact while I tell her I’m ready for her to come get me.
“I like you too, Eleanor Turner.”
He grins right back at me, and my own smile falters as I wonder if “like” is starting to mean something very different to the two of us.