Out-Dated

6.

It was Friday again, but this time I was dreading going to his house. The day was gloomy and sad and I was angry. Despite my internal protests there was no way I was getting out of tutoring now. Now that my dad thought I was out getting drunk and failing my summer school classes.

Alcohol was a sensitive topic in my house, and was probably the last thing my dad wanted to hear. And the last excuse I would've given him.

I pulled up in front of the house that looked as dull as the day and no longer thrilled me with playful excitement. I sat there for a few minutes, drained and empty. I listened to the quiet, cloudy atmosphere around me finding peace in the silence and closed eyes.

My meditation was interrupted by the click of the door opening. Spencer stood there, tall and anxious, waiting for me to approach. I grabbed my keys which jingled in my hand the whole way to the door. He forced a small smile as I passed him.

I sat my bag down on the table and walked down the hallway. He followed after me as I walked around looking around at picture frames and artwork up on the walls.
    "Ella I'm sorry about-"

     "Can we just- .. I don't wanna talk about that."

     "Okay" He said softly and nodded.

     "Or calculus."

    "Okay." He repeated.

      "And I also don't want to...do anything."

      "Oh- Yeah- Of course." He stammered.

    
      I wrapped an arm around my waist and held my other hand to my mouth biting on my nail as I made my way to his desk. He quietly stood a few feet away and watched me. A box sat on top of a shelf with 'Halloween' written in thick black sharpie across the front.

  I took it down and opened it. I came across a short haired pink wig and I pulled it out.

  I glanced at him curious as to why he had it in there.

"My sisters." He waved a hand as if to signal that it was nothing weird.

   I brushed it out with my fingers and put it on. He giggled quietly. I continued to look around.

     The top of his desk was scattered with piles of torn notebook pages filled with writing and drawings in messy ink. I looked at the pages.

   A white notebook caught my eye and I picked it up.

   "Wait-" he ran over "don't-" His sudden panic made me laugh.

   I held it away from him as he reached trying to get it.

   "Are they poems?" I giggled flipping quickly through the pages.

   "Ella! don't- please." He said frantically.

   "Why?" I held it pressed to my chest. "Are they about a girl? I teased and raised my eyebrows.

  "No- just please." He continued to try and snatch it away from me.

  Now I just had to know what his big secret was.

   I held him off with one hand and held it open with the other and began reading.

   My eyes whipped through the words. I dropped my arm, suddenly realizing why he didn't want me to read it.

     "They're about me..." I flipped through pages and pages of the most eloquent, poetic descriptions of the little things I did. How I drank my soda, swung my legs back and forth at the table, crinkled my nose when I thought something was funny. All of it, captured in writing. There were words about my beauty, how I made him feel, everything.

   He ran his hands through his hair. "Oh god." He said under his breath.

  "Ella I'm so sorry. It's just- it doesn't-"

  It's okay." I said as I kept reading.

  "He stared at me.

  "You're not mad?" He asked with wide eyes.

"How can I be? They're amazing. It's all amazing."

  "Really?" He asked, fixing his glasses he wore on occasion.

  I nodded and set the notebook on the desk, pinning it open with my fingers, reading more.

  I got to a line that made me smile.

  "You think I'm beautiful?" I gushed, twisting back and forth.

   "Yes. I.. think you're perfect." He admitted.   

    My heart felt warm, and my chest felt right. These were things no one had ever said about me. The feeling was foreign, having someone pay such attention and with such care.

    "Spence, why didn't you tell me all this? Why didn't you share this with me?" I walked over, clutching the notebook.

  "Because, I didn't think you felt the same way."

  I moved closer, taking his hands and lacing our fingers together.

  "Do you?" He started, looking at our hands. "..feel the same?"

  I leaned closer, my face just inches from his. I just looked at him and smiled.

"Hmm?" He squeezed my hand.

  I just stood on my tip-toes and gave him a kiss. He smiled; he knew.

  He brushed the pink hair out of my face.

  "What are we going to do, love? We're trouble."

I kissed him again.