Ella's Twisted Senior Year

by Amy Sparling

  “Is that . . . dinner?” I say, sniffing the air. My mouth actually waters and all this time I’d thought that expression was just a joke. Oregano, garlic, and cheese permeates the kitchen. Real cheese, not some low fat, dairy-free cheese substitute.

  Ella nods. “Smells like Mom’s famous lasagna. And by famous, I mean it’s about the only fancy meal she can cook. Garlic bread, too.” She squeezes my hand just before we walk into the dining room, where she makes sure to drop it before anyone sees.

  Both sets of parents are here tonight in what is the first time we’ve all eaten a meal together since that first night the Lockharts stayed over here. Mr. Lockhart claps me on the shoulder when I sit next to him at the table.

  “How you doing, son?”

  The question, innocent as it is, has me suddenly unable to speak. Does he know I’m making out with his daughter every night? That I’m crazy about this little girl? Would he kill me if he found out?

  “Uh, good,” I croak out. Ella gives me the side-eye. I compose myself and reach for a piece of garlic bread. “How are you?”

  He heaves a heavy sigh and takes the bread basket I offer him. “We lost a few people this week. Two were DOA but one I couldn’t resuscitate. So this week sucked.”

  “Wow, I’m sorry.”

  He waves a hand at me and passes the bread to Ella. “You can only do your best. The rest is fate, you know?”

  “That’s why I want nothing to do with helping people as a career,” Ella says, curling her lip. “I’m going to bake cupcakes and whatever the customers do after that is their own thing, not mine.”

  She is both sneaky and mean, having chosen a chair directly across from me. Now I can see her beautiful face the whole time but I am unable to do anything about it in front of all these parental witnesses.

  My dad takes a seat at the other end of the table. The wrinkles in his forehead are more pronounced than normal and I’ve overheard enough conversations lately to know that he’s stressed at his job. He unwraps the silverware from the cloth napkin and places it in his lap. “So, Ethan,” he begins in that voice that means he’s less than pleased with me. Mentally, I run through all of the things I’m supposed to do on a daily basis. Trash has been taken out, the pool chlorinated, grass mowed. My grades are good, so that can only mean . . . “You haven’t been working out much, have you? You’re losing some bulk.”

  “I lift weights at school,” I say.

  He shakes his head. “But not that home. Son, when football season is over that’s not an excuse to shirk your athletic responsibilities. How are you going to play college ball without dedication?”

  I don’t want to play college ball. He knows I won’t argue that point in front of all of these people, and he’s right. “I haven’t worked out at home much because I don’t want to bother Ella in the rec room.” I hope that’s not throwing her under the bus too much.

  Dakota laughs and twirls a string bean around her fork. Her eyelids are absolutely covered in sparkly stuff and it makes her look like an evil little sister fairy. “You don’t want to bother Ella? That’s weird, because you’re in there all the time.”

  “She makes a good point,” Dad says, nodding toward his younger (and obviously more favorite) child. “Ethan, work out more. Ella, you don’t mind, do you?”

  Her mouth is full of food but she shakes her head. “Excellent,” Dad says, like the matter is all solved and perfect now.

  So after dinner, I hit the weight bench while Ella watches me from the couch, her expression both cynical and happy. “You don’t have to stare at me.” I say, leaning back against the incline press, my hands on the bar.

  “Oh, but I want to. Trust me, I want to,” she says, leaning forward. Her feet hang off the armrest on the couch, dangling carefree while she watches me struggle to lift three-fifty on the bar. “I feel like a total sexist treating you like a piece of meat, but this is really hot.” There’s a gleam in her eye that makes me work harder to impress her even more.

  “Your phone’s going off,” she says a few minutes later.

  I’m panting, hands on knees, exhausted from the last few reps. “Who is it?”

  “It’s a text from Kennedy,” she says, making a gagging sound.

  I grab a sweat towel and wipe off my face. “Well, what does it say?”

  Her brows shoot up to her hairline. “You want me to read it to you?”

  “If you don’t want to, don’t worry about it.” I lean back and prepare for another set.

  “It says . . .” She clears her throat and makes her voice all high pitched. “Have you changed your mind yet? along with a handful of stupid emojis.”

  “Write back: No. Go away. Never text me again.”

  Ella holds the phone down her lap and looks at me. “I can’t say that.”

  “Sure you can. You’re being me right now, not yourself.”

  Her lips move to the side of her mouth while she types. “Okay, there.”

  “What’d you say?” I ask between reps.

  “I said: No thanks.”

  I groan. My phone beeps again and Ella reads, “It’s just prom, Ethan. Why are you being so annoying about this? Don’t make me ruin you.” She looks up. “Ruin you? What does that even mean? Does she have some evil lair with creepy science experiments to scramble your brain or turn you into a chicken?”

  I snort out a laugh and rack the weight bar back on the bench. “She needs to be committed. Let me see the phone.”

  She walks it over to me and I type: I’d rather go to prom with a dog turd than you. Leave Ella out of your little hissy fits or I will ruin you.

  “Whoa, that’s harsh,” Ella says, reading over my shoulder.

  I shrug. “I’m beginning to think my mom was right. Girl needs the cops called on her.”

  “She needs a new boyfriend. Maybe we should set her up with someone.”

  I poke her in the stomach because I’m covered in sweat and it’s the only contact I can make right now without grossing her out. “I don’t hate anyone enough to do that to them.”

  *

  On Friday, Ella lets me drive us to school again. Mrs. Kim’s donut holes taste extra sweet now that my favorite person is back to eating them in my truck with me.

  “I’m feeling pretty good about this,” I say, popping another donut hole in my mouth. Ella is all lady-like and eats them in two bites but I don’t know how she manages that. They’re too good, all warm and sugary and fluffy like some kind of angel baked them.

  “Confident about what?” she asks.

  I pull into the parking lot and aim for my new usual spot—one three rows over from Kennedy’s Explorer.

  I lean over and kiss her on the sugary lips. “Confident about us. Kennedy is gone. I should have texted her a lot time ago.”

  “I’m not sure threatening to ruin your ex-girlfriend is exactly the best idea.” Ella hops out of my truck and meets me in front of it. “But I support you.”

  I hold out my hand. “Does that mean you’ll be seen in public with me?”

  She glances around and then takes my hand, lacing our fingers together. I kiss her on top of her head and walk into the school, feeling proud of the girl on my arm for the first time ever.

  “One and a half months of school left,” she says when we get to the shark statue where April waits for her. “We could have made it that long, but it’s your funeral.”

  “What can I say?” I speak quietly, leaning down to her ear. “I’m crazy about you.”

  Her ears turn red and she clears her throat. “Okay, see you later.” She gives me a little wave and her enormous embarrassment is cute in the best way.

  “Hey,” I say, looking more at April. If I can get the best friend on my side, then Ella might feel better about this whole situation. “We should eat lunch together. Maybe out on the quad?”

  “You gonna bring some of your hot jock friends?” April asks. Ella gives her a look.

  I chuckle. “Yeah, I can bring some. Do you have
one in mind?”

  She shrugs. “Maybe someone who doesn’t have a date to prom?”

  I point a finger gun at her. “Got it. I’ll see you ladies at lunch.”

  I may not be an expert on all things girls, but the look Ella’s best friend gives me tells me that I’m in, at least in her eyes. Now all I have to do is get Ella fully on board. I don’t want to just be friends who hook up after the lights are turned off and everyone’s gone to bed. I want something legit with the girl I’ve loved since I was a little kid. After all these years, all the things that came between us, finally, it feels like it’ll all work out.

  My cloud nine mood lasts only until I step into second period.

  Five students crowd around a single desk in the corner of the room. “Dude,” Jason Garcia says. “I mean, really?”

  “What the hell is going on?” I walk over and a girl shoves her phone into the front pocket of her hoodie. Dread slams into me like a huge pile of garbage falling from the sky. I’ve been in this situation before. Everyone crowded around a phone, giving me books that are a mixture of amusement and pity is nothing new.

  I press my palm into my forehead as more students rush into class hoping to beat the tardy bell. “What did she do this time? Ella is going to kill her.”

  Jason snickers. “Ella might kill you actually.”

  The bell rings and Mrs. Hinojosa sweeps into the room, her long multi-colored skirt flowing behind her. “Why isn’t everyone in their seats?” she calls out in a singsong, and the class obeys as we drop into our desks one by one.

  Luckily my first period health science teacher doesn’t really care about phones, so I’m able to take mine out, sit it on the desk and scroll through the apps without fear that she’ll confiscate it. Unfortunately, the rest of the class can do it, too.

  It only takes about two seconds to find Kennedy’s online profile, where she’s released her newest virtual attack. The garbage feeling from earlier feels more like being hit with molten lava right now.

  I don’t hear a single word the teacher says while I look at Kennedy’s idea of “ruining me”. All of the donut holes from earlier threaten to come back up. I sink into my chair and try to look as small as possible, but at over six feet tall, I’m sure it’s not working.

  Kennedy has posted a status update calling out Ella as being a boyfriend stealer. But that’s not the worst part. She’s pasted screenshots of our private text message conversations along with the words, Does this sound like the words of a guy who’d leave me and be with another girl just a few days later? STAY AWAY FROM ETHAN POE, LADIES. I’m posting this for your own good. XOXO

  My face feels numb. I wish I could smash the phone to pieces, erasing her post forever. I’d gladly spend all of my T-shirt money buying the whole school new phones. Of course, that’s not how the internet works.

  Now everyone has seen this epically embarrassing mistake of a conversation.

  My heart thunders in my chest as I read over the words I’d written weeks ago. It was after our first date and subsequently our first make out session. She’d taken off her shirt and I’d rejected her advances, mostly because it felt like the gentleman thing to do.

  Kennedy: Goodnight.

  Me: Look, I’m sorry if tonight felt weird. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I just think if I’m going to be with someone sexually, it should be someone I really care about, maybe even love.

  Kennedy: So you don’t care about me? Wow.

  Me: It’s not like that. I’m just not a fast moving guy. I’m not going to meet someone and then have sex, I just can’t.

  Kennedy: Feels more like a rejection to me. Goodnight.

  Me: Don’t feel rejected. We’ll get there.

  Ugh. My own words, thrown in my face. By my own admission, I wouldn’t hook up with a girl just after a few days of dating. Isn’t that exactly what’s happening now with Ella and me? No one cares that I’ve known her my whole life. They’re only going to side with Kennedy’s broken heart on this one.

  I can feel everyone’s eyes on me. If this is what Ella went through, she’s a hell of a lot stronger than I am. I raise my hand and ask to get a drink of water.

  Every eye in the classroom follows me as I slink out of the room as quickly as my legs will take me. Once out in the hallway, I am alone and finally able to breathe.

  According to Kennedy’s page, the pictures have been shared over a hundred times now and she has dozens of comments, all slamming me and praising her for being “so strong, girl”. Ugh.

  When I broke up with her it wasn’t for Ella. I didn’t leave Kennedy to hook up with another girl. I left her because she was a horrible person. So why do I feel like my heart has been squashed in a vise grip as guilt consumes me more with each passing second? Kennedy can be vicious, but she’s also really hurt from losing me. I don’t want to be the cause of anyone’s heartache, even someone like Kennedy.

  I get to the water fountain and don’t feel like taking a drink. Instead, I lean against a row of lockers and take out my phone again. I guess I’m hoping to see someone comment anything that might be sticking up for me. Funny how as much as I hate the internet, here I am looking to it for consolation.

  Someone calls me a pussy in the comments. Other people say they didn’t know jocks could have feelings when it came to sex. I guess that’s supposed to be good but it sure sounds like an insult.

  Some guy commented, “I’d hit it” and Kennedy replied to him with a winky face emoji.

  Uh okay.

  As I’m scrolling through the comments, feeling more and more like a heartless douche (their words, not mine) with each passing second, the page refreshes with a new post from Kennedy.

  This one makes my blood boil.

  “Thx for the love guys. But I’m over it now. He had a pretty small thing if you know what I mean. On to better and BIGGER things! Xoxo!”

  Okay, all of that shit I said earlier about not wanting to hurt her? Forget all of it. It takes all of my willpower not to comment back and tell her that my thing both A) isn’t small and B) it’s not like she ever saw it so how would she know?

  But an online argument with my ex would be stupid so I swallow my pride and keep walking, hoping a loop around the school hallways might help me calm down before I have to face my second period class again.

  Voices sound around the corner and I stop short, not wanting to face anyone. But then I recognize the voice—or the giggle rather. “Oh my god we’re totally gonna fail!”

  I poke my head around the corner and find Ella and April sitting cross-legged in the hallway, a poster board between them and a dozen different colored markers lying around.

  “Do you two ladies have a hall pass?” I ask in my deepest, most authoritative voice.

  Ella’s head snaps around, and then her expression softens when she sees me. “Hey there, handsome.”

  Every muscle in my body is drawn to her and I nearly forget why I’d been so pissed off.

  April waves. “Listen, Ethan. Is this the worst poster you’ve ever seen or can it be salvaged?”

  I pretend to consider it for a moment. They’ve made a political poster as if the WCHS Sharks mascot was running for president and the gray thing in the middle of the poster is, I guess, supposed to be a shark.

  “Looks okay to me,” I say.

  They both roll their eyes. “No, it looks terrible,” April says, hanging her head. “Ugh, this sucks.”

  “What class is this for?” I ask. Ella pats the carpeted floor next to her and I take a seat, letting my back rest against the wall. “Economics. We’re doing a faux presidential election campaign. Other groups all chose celebrities to run for president but we picked the mascot.” Ella leans her head against my shoulder, capping her marker. “Babe, we suck at drawing.”

  The pet name was quick and harmless but it sends a shiver of desire through my bones. She called me babe. I grin and reach for the gray marker.

  “Maybe I can help.” I lean over and draw another
shark on top of theirs, making it big enough to cover the terrifying blob in the center of the poster. After a few minutes, I shade in the rest and use a black marker to give it more definition and some eyes and gills.

  I lean back and wrinkle my nose at my creation.

  “It’s perfect!” April says.

  Ella beams and throws her arms around me. “Thank you thank you thank you.”

  I sneak a quick kiss on her cheek. “Anytime.”

  April watches us with a weird expression on her face. “Oh my god, you guys are totally in love,” she says, shaking her head like she just can’t believe it. “Kennedy can S-T-F-U if you know what I mean.”

  A lump rises in my throat. These last few minutes made me forget about the whole Kennedy thing but now the anger and humiliation from her post is back full force.

  “It was bad enough before the penis remark,” I say, shaking my head.

  “The what?” Ella says. She and April exchange a confused look.

  “I guess you haven’t seen it,” I say, leaning my head back against the wall as I stare at the ceiling tiles. “Trust me, you will soon enough.”

  Ella’s brow creases as she grabs her phone. A few seconds later, April mutters, “Whoa.”

  Ella chuckles. “Yeah, this ends now.”

  “What do you mean by that? I’m not posting a picture of my thing to dispute her.”

  Ella shakes her head, her jaw clenching. She looks me dead in the eye and I shiver. Whatever sweet girl she’d been a minute ago has been replaced with an evil villain who looks just like her. “Nope, this ends now, Ethan.” Her eyes sparkle under the fluorescent lights and the tone of her voice sends a chill up my spine. “If Kennedy Price wants a war, I’ll give her one.”

  Chapter 22

  Despite Kennedy’s well-laid plans to destroy us, my first day of eating lunch with Ethan actually goes pretty well. He’d stayed true to his promise to April and brought a friend. Toby is also a football player, but he’s a running back, whatever that means. He’s kind of thin for a football player, and I’d actually assumed he did something like track until Ethan mentioned their recent football practice.