set//elijah stevenson

chapter three

     11:30. 'Hey, what time we hanging out?' Sent. Read.

     12:00. 'Earth to Eli?' Sent. Read.

     12:30. 'I give up. Nvm then.' Sent. Delivered.

     I tried to take this in a good way. Maybe he was busy. Maybe there were a lot of possibilities and I just decided to be petty. But he agreed to hang out. Surely, he knew that if he didn't want to hang out he could just say something. I would be less hurt by that than I am by a no-call no-show. Eli deserved time to himself, true enough, but all he had to do was tell me. Or maybe that isn't the case, and I'm overreacting. 

     I sat in my office chair, sighing. My eyes stared blankly at an empty notebook, trying, hoping, wanting words to spill out so I could move on. If I wrote it all down then maybe it would all just life away. Or maybe Eli would appear and I'd realize I was writing some made up spell to make him appear. Sometimes, or, a lot of the time, I wish magic were real. I wish I could spew out gibberish, or boil a pot of herbs, and there would be what I desire most. In this case, I think what I desire is to not be so clingy and consistent. I think the thrill of finally having a friend might have gotten to my head.

     My mom knocked on my door, and I told her about what Eli was doing. Or, rather, what he wasn't doing. This was at 1:30. So my mom did what single mothers do and she made me tea and told me that all guys do this and that I'd probably get stood up a bunch more, but it was okay because she'd always be there to eat junk and watch high school drama movies with. I loved my mother.

       At around 2:00, I received a text from Mitchell on Messanger. This was after I posted a sad quote on Facebook. Eli and I were friends on Facebook, and I was hoping he'd see it. He liked the post, actually.

       'Did you get stood up by your boyfriend?' I wanted to scream at the little chat bubble. I wanted to yell "How dare you call him my boyfriend?" I wanted to scream all my frustration out, but I didn't want to do that to Mitchell. So instead I slammed my fists on my desk and then got mad at myself because it hurt my hands. After that, I had something similar to a tantrum I think. More or less, I was angry at Eli. This was the first time I had ever gotten stood up, and I didn't like to cry so instead I just got really mad. I knew it wasn't healthy so I calmed down and made some chocolate milk. It was now 3:00 and my mom was at work. 

     I fell asleep on the couch and woke up to a knock at my door. I rolled myself off the couch and checked the time. 5:30. I opened the door to reveal a bouquet of roses, red roses, and a note. 'I'm sorry. -E' The note was painful to read. No context, no asking for a rain check, nothing. All he was was sorry. And better yet, he couldn't even show his face at my door. I rolled my eyes, pushing the flowers over onto the key table and shutting the door. I hoped he was watching that. I hoped he saw me, a mess and angry. I hoped he understood that I realized today how much I liked him because you never know that sort of thing until you're really angry. I also sort of hoped he knew that I was really dramatic and would get over this by Monday, I just had to throw a fit first. But guys are clueless and he'll probably end up dating some girl who looks like every other girl before the week is over so maybe it would be best to stay mad at him forever.

     17. That was the number of times Eli called until he gave up. 14 was the number of times he tried using *67 while calling, hoping I'd pick up if I couldn't see the caller ID. I answered once, that was the first time I got the call without a caller ID. I simply sighed and said, "Eli, please stop calling me." He didn't stop calling, and that was just because Eli is stubborn like that. He only texted once, though. Another 'I'm sorry' without any context or any visible sincerity. Eli was not sorry. This was the Eli I met at my locker. The Eli that surrounded himself with people and acted like nothing in the world mattered to him. This was not the Eli who looked at me like I was the best thing to ever happen to him.