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Eighteen-year-old hockey prodigy Elliot Wexler has three goals for senior year. One: somehow graduate with a 3.5 GPA. Two: hide his bipolar disorder from his peers. And three: make it in...
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THE AIR IN THE ARENA is frosty, and I rub my hands together to warm them up. I had no idea so many people cared about high school sports; I'm in the seats with Elizabeth and Adam, surrounded by rows and rows of families as we wait for the game to start.
"Charlotte should be here," Adam mutters to Elizabeth. "I'm worried Ollie won't be able to keep her in line."
"We have to put some faith in her," Elizabeth says, maintaining her pleasant veneer.
Adam laughs gruffly. "How'd I end up with so many kids who like breaking the law? She's way too young to be drinking."
"I agree, but we did let El drink when he was her age."
"And that was my mistake."
I crinkle up, feeling awkward listening to their conversation. My phone buzzes in my pocket. As always, it's Elliot.
Hey good luck charm, come meet me in the hallway?
Even though I'm still choked about Ollie and Charlotte, I tell his parents I'll be right back and hurry to the empty hallway. Elliot waits by the doors to the locker room in his blue and white hockey gear, and he takes off his helmet when he sees me.
"Hey, what's going on?" I ask.
He hugs me. "Just wanted to see you before we go on. You're my good luck charm, remember?"
I smile a little. "Yeah. You'll do great, don't worry."
He rubs his neck with a shaky arm. "I'm a little jittery."
Me too, but not because of hockey. Ollie and Charlotte's words keep playing in my head over and over. This isn't the right time to tell Elliot, but the truth is, I spent all last night thinking of a way to move out. I hate feeling like an intruder where I'm supposed to feel at home. I hate being a burden.
Elliot must sense it, because he asks, "You still bummed about what Ollie and Char said?"
I shrug. "A little."
"Don't worry about it. My siblings can be assholes." He grabs my face with his big hockey gloves and kisses me slowly. Pulling away, he whispers, "I love you, Lucy."
My body stiffens.
For a second, I think I heard him wrong. He couldn't have said that.
"What?" I ask.
"I love you," he says again. The walls in the hallway get tighter.
Love.
He said he loves me.
Even though I heard Elliot say it, Colt's hoarse voice surfaces in my mind. All the times he mumbled those words—I love you—and forced me to say them back. "I love you, Lucy. Tell me you love me back." Nausea churns inside of me. I'm going to be sick.
"Lucy," Elliot says, snapping me out of it. I have to reply, to explain myself, but the damage is already done. Elliot's eyes shatter as they flit over my face. "You're not saying it back."
"Elliot, I—I don't even know what that word means to me anymore."
"It's really not that complicated."
"We've only known each other for a few months."
"So what? That's just—that's just time. I know how I feel."
Chewing on my lip, I look at my boots and the grey floor of the arena. "It's sweet of you to say, but..."
"But what?" His voice crackles with pain, but I can't look at him. Of course I care about Elliot more than anything, but love? I don't know anything about that. Not after what Colt put me through.
"I'm sorry, El," I whisper, focusing on my feet.
"No." He puts his helmet back on. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."
"Elliot, wait—"
"I'm sorry." He covers his eyes as he pushes through the door. "Oh God, I'm so sorry. I don't know why I speak."
He disappears into the locker room before I can stop him.
