The Understorey (The Leaving #1)

The Understorey (The Leaving #1) Page 43

I nodded toward the double doors.

“More like Fred and Wilma,” she said.

“What was that?”

“Forgive me. ‘Airplane’ was on last night.”

“Surely, you must be joking,” I chortled.

“I’m not joking and stop calling me Shirley,” she laughed.

“Uh oh,” I said.

“I’m stopping.”

I waved my hand for Jesse and Taylor to come to our table. They stopped, whispered something to each other and decided to join us. Jules was as cool as a cucumber, probably because I had my hand at the back of her chair and I was cupping the nape of her neck. We lounged in our chairs as if we didn’t have a care in the world. Jules yawned. I promised myself that I’d let her know that it was a nice touch. Taylor and Jesse sat opposite us at the round table we occupied by ourselves.

“Jesse, don’t get comfortable. You won’t be staying long,” I said. He didn’t respond. “I’ve called you over here to let you know that we aren’t going to take what you’ve done lying down. I’m being cordial now because you’ve yet to do anything else. I’ve decided to look past your breaking into Jules’ room, although,” I leaned forward, slit my eyes and almost whispered, “you don’t deserve it.” I casually sat back once more, “I promise you this, next time you even breathe in our direction and it rubs me the wrong way, I won’t be as kind. Jules?” I asked, turning her direction.

She apathetically shook her head that she had nothing to add and turned her gaze back toward the windows. They took the hint, got up and sat at their own table. By this time, I noticed the deathly quiet that had presided over the lunch room.

“Time to go,” I whispered in Jules’ ear.

We both grabbed our bags and lazily tred toward the double doors. When they closed behind us Jules looked up at me as if to ask what I thought.

“I don’t think they’ll be an issue anymore,” I said.

“I really hope you’re right love,” was all she could reply.

A week had passed and there was no sign of Taylor or Jesse except their literal presence and we barely took notice of that. They didn’t talk to us, look at us, or, like I had warned, breathed in our direction.

“See Jules,” I said with confidence after school scraping the ice from my windshield, “nothing to worry about sweetheart.”

“I’ve almost forgotten about them. That’s a good sign. I don’t easily forget. You know that from experience,” she winked.

“I have something I could say, but I won’t,” I jested.

“Oh yeah? Well I have something in response to that so go right ahead,” she joked back, knowing my exact thoughts.

“Okay, consider it said.”

“I have,” and bounded from the car at lightning speed. She tackled me to the ground and we fell into the snow. I swung her around by her waist and pinned her to the white blanket underneath her. I kept my left hand at her waist and held her hip bone between my thumb and index finger.

It was cold, extremely, so I removed the glove from the other hand with my teeth and placed it on her warm neck. The torridity boiled in our veins and we were both comfortable again.

“I’ll never get used to that,” I said.

“Neither will I and I don’t want to for that matter.”

“I forgot what we were doing,” I said, genuinely confused as to why we were on the ground.

“Me too, this is nice nevertheless. I’ll take it.”

“I’m curious to know how long we could stay this way. I mean, does the charge actually keep us warm? Or is it an illusion?”

“Oh Elliott, you think like a scientist. I understand, it comes so naturally to you, but honestly? There is no way this, we, are an illusion,” she smiled, placing her hands over my heart on the word ‘we’.

“Good answer! Five points. That earned five points.”

“Five points? Come on, at least ten.”

“Okay, ten.”

She winked.

“What topic are you choosing for your paper due next week?” I asked, pretending I wasn’t dying inside that her hands were touching my chest.

“Hmm, I thought about it and since it’s an open topic, I chose to write on the history of the word fate and its definitions.”

“Oh Jules, that’s worth at least fifteen points. You’re raking them in today.”

“Thanks Elliott.”

“Are you planning on citing specific examples?” I asked.

Her smile pushed into her eyes and made her nose wrinkle.

“I think it would weaken the strength of the paper. Don’t you think?”

“How so?”

“Think about it, true life examples, when not thoroughly understood by any one, take away from the faith we all should put in fate. Fate is not tangible. It’s real, but not tangible and I don’t want to put any names to it. No, people need to experience fate as an idea at first and open their minds to it on their own. Then, it’s an inevitability.

“Like us, you and me? We’re too powerful an idea for anyone to fully comprehend. It has to be found on their own, through the help of their own fate.”

She smiled her answer. I just stared at her. It was easy. She was definitely easy to look at but most importantly, she was easy to love. I watched as Jules closed her eyes and breathed in the crisp, cool air.

She told me once that winter smelled like Christmas to her and that was one of her favorite things to breathe in. She did something to my heart when she said things like that. I liken it to the inflation of an air balloon. Slow, steady and blistering as it unfolds from its orderly frame and can barely stay contained within my body.

It began to snow on top of us and I followed flake after exceptional flake float onto her lustrous skin and slowly melt into tiny droplets of light watery kisses. The dissolved, silvery trickle would pool at her neck and slide back onto the powdery quilt underneath us. A shivering, tempered wave of warmth kept us more than comfortable. I couldn’t help but marvel at our gift. I had just begun to press my lips to Jules’ when we were sadly interrupted.

“Ahem,” a strange voice said.

It was the track coach, Mrs. Littlebrook. I jumped up and helped Jules to her feet. I dug my hands into my jean’s pocket and dragged the chain out for my watch. It was four o’clock and all the cars had left the lot. It hadn’t even phased us. Mrs. Littlebrook must have been in charge of locking the gate.

“Oops,” Jules said.

We rushed to the cab.

“Sorry Mrs. Littlebrook!” Jules yelled out of the window with a wave. She rolled up the manual window and it was practically frozen shut.

“Are you cold?” She asked.

“No,” I said, surprised. “Are you?”

“Nope,” she grinned. “Told you.”

At Jules’ house, we ran inside to drop off her bag. We were going to the rock bridge tonight. We had no homework and wanted to ‘get away’, as Jules always said.

“Nothing like a fresh blanket of snow,” Jules said as we trudged our way to our little spot. I had the blankets and she had the hot chocolate.

When we arrived it looked like a post card. The snow formed a perfect sheath over our marble. I handed her the blankets and jumped up before her to clear an area. I methodically used the side of my boot to clear a section for us to lay the heavy blanket onto. It was waterproof on one side, we learned to bring one of those the hard way.

I took the blanket from her, spread it out and laid the other one on top along with the thermos. I grabbed her hands and lifted her onto the sculpted rock. We bundled ourselves together and drank everything in the thermos while laughing. We rolled up our sleeves underneath the blanket to get an even more cogent punch of our electricity while holding hands, the inside of our forearms stuck to together like a heated magnet.

Only lately was it that I’d especially found that holding Jules’ hand was starting to feel lacking. It was still just as potent, but we found that we needed it more for longer periods of time to feel satisfied. Every day, I felt like a junkie, always searching for his next hit. It was becoming a problem for Jules too.

Once, at the library she had gone into the fiction section and I into the non-fiction. We were apart for only thirty minutes but I began to feel panicky and raced through the rows until I found her. She reached her hand for mine and when I grabbed it we both let out an audible sigh. We were shushed. Well, we had to leave after that because we almost lost it laughter-wise. I never got the book I wanted.

You can only imagine what it was like in the morning time after a ten hour lapse. Needless to say, I was picking Jules up for school earlier and earlier and my mom ultimately put her foot down at five forty-five in the morning.

We discovered that when we made out that it would buy us more time in between ‘hits’. I clearly took no issue with this type of medicine and neither did Jules. I was concerned though. The next level required to pacify our growing addiction was off limits. Yet another reason to convince Jules she should marry me over the summer.

“Hey Jules,” I hinted.

“Yeah?” She said with the biggest smile on her face, reading every thought I just had.

“What do you say to suckin’ face with me?”

“No,” she teased.

“Why not?”

I still hated rejection, even when she was joking.

“Well, I want to talk to you,” she hesitated at the next part, “about graduation.”

My heart skipped a beat and my mouth began to water.

“Is there anything in particular you’d like as a gift?” She asked, catching me off guard.

She thought she got me there but I had a trick up my sleeve.

“Har, har. Nothing in particular unless you’d like to gift your hand.”

She shook her head.

“There is something I’d like to get you though.”

“A marriage is not a gift Elliott,” she teased.

She was close.

“No, no. I know you won’t agree to that.” As a side note, “If you’re not careful, I’ll stop asking.........No, I want to give you an actual gift. Something concrete.”

If I could just get her to agree to wear it.

“Something real you say?” She asked suspiciously, one eyelid close.

“Something real. I promise.”

“Gimme’ a hint.”

This was good, she was warming to the idea.

“Well, it’s smaller than a bread box.”

She laughed. Laughing was a very good sign.

“It’s beautiful,” I continued. “Like you.”

“Awww, go on.”

“It is something I’ve been dying to give you since the day I met you outside Mrs. Kitt’s class.”

“These are horrible clues. I have absolutely no idea what it could be.”

“You give up?”

“Would you even tell me if I guessed it?”

“Probably not,” I said.

Absolutely not.

“Then I give up,” she conceded.

She grabbed my right hand and placed it on her right cheek. I fought so desperately to keep my feelings about my gift to myself. She was trying to emotionally pry it out of me.