Elijah McCay and Me

Vol. 2: Seven

VOL. 2: CHAPTER SEVEN

     The next morning is as bleak as they come. I spend my entire first class of the morning thinking over the dinner I had with Gage, if I could even call it that. It mostly felt like two old friends getting together for small talk and burgers. Alright, maybe it had been dinner.

Slumping into the back of my seat, a heavy sigh deflates my chest, the boredom almost pouring out of me. The lecture was very informative, maybe even a little informative. Seeing as half of the class was already snoring, while the rest of us tried to fight the sleep that threatened to take over.

The only thing that seemed to get me through this lecture was that right after, my day over, and I would get to see Gage again—and I'd be going to a party with him, too. I wondered if he was as a excited to see me as I was to see him.

Although, it did feel a little weird that I was this excited. But could I really blame myself? I hadn't really hung out with the guy in almost ten months. I had the right to be a little fucking excited.

My thoughts drifted back toward last night and the empty restaurant. Him sitting there across from me just like old times. Except things were different now. He was different now.

His sense of humor had changed a little, I noticed while making a joke that two-years-ago he would've laughed loudly at. But last night, he merely chuckled.

What a little shit. My joke was funny.

His hair was a little longer now, too. And he was even parting it differently. What the hell was wrong with the side part he'd been sporting since he was a little kid? I was actually quite fond of the side part. It accentuated the shape of his jaw well.

Once I mentally pictured his outgrown curls, that were now parted in the middle of his scalp, I didn't stop there. I imagined his now older looking features. His nose still long and standing tall, a thing I knew he'd always hated, but I never really minded.

Or tall he'd become all of a sudden. Not too long ago, I'd been able to see over his head with ease. And now, it seemed that he was only a mere inch or two away from being at direct eye level with me—wasn't he supposed to be down growing? The idea of living in a world where Gage Ciletti was taller than me was laughable.

"—alright, everybody, with your term papers due next Friday, I expect everyone to fill out the progress reports by that Thursday afternoon! No, the progress report is not mandatory but you will be docked several points if you turn in your paper and not the report."

With that, the lecture ended, with my five-foot-three professor who went by Hall, dismissing us all.

I didn't waste another moment, I tossed my backpack around my left shoulder, pulled my car keys out of my Jean pocket and began a steady walk down the tall flight of stairs. But a sharp hand landing on my wrist pulled me back.

I turned back, an irritated look placed on my usually calm face. "What the hell?"

The person who had latched onto my wrist quickly let go, clearing their throat firmly. I resisted the insistent urge to groan in distaste. "I was just, uh, wondering if you're coming to the get-together tonight?"

Narrowing both brows, I dipped my hands into the front pockets of my sweatshirt, jaw clenching with impatience. "Why?"

Jeremiah seems a little confused about why didn't directly answer his question. But he doesn't push any longer, knowing that he's always been on very thin ice with me. "It's just—well, Sabine and I were talking and I was thinking—"

"No."

He stalls, sputtering in a panic. "W-What do you mean, no?"

"I mean, no. I'm not getting in the middle of your guys' bullshit anymore. If it's important, she can come to me. If it's not, figure it the fuck out." He tries calling out for me after I've turned my back to him, but it's no use. I've already made my way out of the building.

     It takes me more than I'd like to admit to find my car in the midst of the busy parking lot, an embarrassed groan leaving my lips when I realize that it's been in the front row the entire time.

     Once I've stuck the keys in the ignition, and pulled out of the buzzing lot, my cellphone begins to ring from the inside of my pocket. I reach into it, eyes squinting at the label. I hastily click the accept button when realizing who it is.

     "Hello?"

     There's rustling on the other end of the line for a few seconds after my greeting. "Hey, it's me."

     I laugh gently, a warmth spreading in my chest, "yeah, I know who it is. What do you want?"

     Gage playfully groans aloud, "what did I tell you about being nicer to me?"

I can't help but roll my eyes, a smirk placing itself onto my wide-set lips. "My bad," I respond lowly into my cellphone, Gage not bothering with a reply. "Why are you calling me so early, though? The get-together doesn't start for another few hours."

I find a quiet street while on my way home, and pull over toward the curb. Once I'm parked, I lean back into my seat and listen carefully for Gage's words, just in case he wants to be picked up after all.

"I, uh," after reaching over to shut off the radio so I could hear him better, I sit there patiently. "I was wondering what kind of party this was gonna be."

I don't say anything, mulling over his words in my head. And even then, I had no idea what he meant. "What do you mean? It's a get-together—not a party."

He scoffs, "well, isn't that the same thing?"

Crossing both arms over my chest, I narrow my already furrowed eyebrows down at my lap, hilarity pouring out of my tone. "No. If it was a party, I would've called it a party when I invited you."

"Sure you would've," Gage chuckles back, the familiar sound causing my fingers to tighten around the girth of my cellphone. "Anyway, I was just wondering because I'm looking through my closet trying to find something to wear and I have no idea how everyone else will be dressed."

Once realizing that our conversation isn't going to be about anything important, I turn the radio back on. "Don't worry about how everyone else will be dressed," I try and reason, "just wear what you'll feel comfortable in."

"I knew you were gonna say that," he sucked at his teeth, more rustling coming from his end of the call. "Come on, bro, just at least tell me what you're wearing so I can wear something similar."

I pause.

Gage had never called me bro before? Actually, I don't remember him referring to anyone as bro. Not even that rich blond guy who I knew he'd always been very close with. So why was he saying it to me now? And why did it feel so wrong?

"One," my words are firm, yet soft, and it's a tone I hardly ever use. "Don't call me bro. And two," he's quiet now. "Don't worry about what me or anyone else is wearing. Wear what you'll feel comfortable in—and make sure it's warm."

Without another word, I end the call.