Page 20 of The Sun
“And your mom’s gonna believe you’ve slipped back into the archaic ways of pen paling?”
“I’m not allowed to have AOL or the internet because it’s the eye of the devil or some crap, Sunny. They force me to live an archaic life. She’ll believe it.”
Swallowing, I nodded. The fire of rebellion lit in my soul. I respected my parents. I did, but I loved Elias, and I couldn’t stand the thought of losing that.
That nightI laid in my bed unable to think, worried about when he would send the next letter. Worried that I might get caught but fully convinced it would be worth the repercussions.
I wanted to speak to him, write him, but I didn’t even know where he was.
I imagined Juliet must have felt the same way when she received letters from exiled Romeo—in awe and heartbroken and helpless—hopelessly in love with a boy she couldn’t touch or see except within daydreams.
Elias Black was my very own, tragic love story, and what teenage girl wouldn’t drown in the epic depression of such a thing?
And drown I did—until I got caught.
6
Elias
December 1996
Aunt Billie lay sprawled out, snoring on the sofa with a lit cigarette in her hand, the ash half-an-inch long. I placed my football helmet on the TV tray that served as a makeshift table and took the smoke, then stubbed it out in the ashtray.
My twin brothers Judah and Atlas came stampeding up the front steps of the single-wide trailer, causing the entire thing to rock. When the flimsy door banged closed behind them, Billie snorted and rolled onto her side.
“She’s drunk,” Judah said.
“No shit. She’s always drunk.” I ruffled his brown hair when I stepped around him, and he jabbed me with his elbow. They were fourteen, hormones raging, testosterone trying to flare up like a rooster’s wattle, but they were still a foot shorter than me. I couldn’t help myself.
I almost had made it to the hallway before I noticed they were still in street clothes. “Why aren’t you wearing your practice jerseys?”
Judah shrugged. “JV didn’t have practice.”
I glanced at Atlas, and he stared at the floor. He was the one who had a bit of a soul, and he wore mistakes on his face, so I knew that excuse was bullshit. “Look,” I said. “You’re both up shit creek because either you didn’t have practice and you went screwing around instead of coming home, or you got in trouble and coach sent you home—which actually, then you’re up shit creek without a paddle.”
Atlas punched Judah’s arm. “I told you he’d know.”
“What’d you do, shitheads?”
“Ah,” Judah sighed. “I got Mary Peters to show us her titties, and Coach Brenner caught us.”
The big brother in me wanted to laugh, high-five them, but they were already delinquents, and the sad thing was, I was the only somewhat responsible person in that trailer.
“You suspended?”
“Just from the team,” Atlas said. “Not from school.”
“Yeah, a load of bull.” Judah sank onto the old recliner in the corner of the room. “I barely saw her nipple.”
“Her boobs were small anyway, Judah.” Atlas groaned. “If you were gonna try to see a girl’s tits you should’ve asked Wendy Michaels.”
“No,” I said, grabbing the pile of mail on the table and sorting through it until I came to a letter from Sunny. “You shouldn’t be asking any girl to show you her titties. Jesus, what’s wrong with you?”
“I get boners in class, Elias. That’s what’s wrong with me.” Judah snorted before snatching up aPlayboythat Billie’s latest love interest had left over. “Guess I’ll stick to Miss November.”
Shaking my head, I dropped the rest of the mail back to the table.
“Elias doesn’t have to try to see titties ’cause I bet his girlfriend sends him Polaroids of her hooters.” Atlas laughed before ripping the dirty magazine from Judah’s hands.
