Page 27 of The Sun
Momma frowned. “Sunny Ray!”
Groaning, I shoved off the counter. “That did not warrant both names, Momma.”
“How many times have I told you not to judge a book by its cover?”
“Ten trillion. But seriously, the dress she had on today was so tight I could see the outline of her thong. Plus, she’s probably got better things to do than go hang out at the Mission.” I headed toward the stairs at the side of the room. “Like, you know, go on dates or watch reality TV.”
“There’s nothing better than helping those in need.”
That was Momma’s life mission, to help others. Sometimes I worried that I wouldn’t grow up to be half as good of a person as she was. She radiated happiness and breathed charity. I did good to smile at strangers on the street. I definitely wasn’t volunteering at a shelter anytime in the foreseeable future, much as I doubted Miss Weaver would.
On my way past her, I patted her shoulder and kissed her cheek. “You’re right, Momma. You should ask Miss Weaver.”
That pacified her, and she gave me a doting smile before I disappeared up the stairs to my room.
The walls were still Pepto-Bismol pink, and the same white, Victorian bed I’d had since I was six sat between the two windows. The same one Elias used to sleep in to keep the monsters away, though the sheets had changed from fairies to polka dots.
With a sigh, I went straight to my stereo, put “I’m Kissing You” on repeat, and then dropped my head against the curved bedrail and closed my eyes. The image of a soaked Elias standing in the doorway to Miss Weaver’s room crept to mind. His sudden entrance was as close to a movie clip brought to life as I’d ever seen—complete with awestruck gasps and whispers from the girls in the class. And while there was no denying that Elias’ looks were a thousand times over enough to stop any woman dead in her tracks, that wasn’t why I couldn’t get the idea of him out of my mind.
It was the endless list of questions surrounding him. Why was he back? How long he’d been here? But most of all, I wondered what had happened tohim. The vacant expression he had when looked at me that afternoon haunted me the same way he had haunted my dreams.
By the third repeat of the song, I’d pulled the shoebox out from beneath my bed and rummaged through the years of notes from friends and one boy loosely described as my boyfriend. Tucked away at the very bottom were the letters from Elias.
I spent the better part of half of an hour poring over his notes, hating myself all over again for sending the last one I had.
I couldn’t help but think if my life were Shakespeare’sRomeo and Julietthat this would have been the point where I was found cold in a crypt, nearly dead, and Elias would plunge a dagger into his chest because he couldn’t live without me. Instead, he wouldn’t even speak to me.
I hurt him.
I hurt myself.
I ruined us.
I triedon four outfits the next morning, finally settling on a yellow sundress with a white pinstripes. I wore white wedges and put on more make-up than usual—powder, mascara,andeyeliner.
Thomas gawked at me during first period, which made me seriously regret my wardrobe decision.
There had to be a reason why I tried to impress a boy that wouldn’t even speak to me. Talk about pathetic. . . I pulled at the neckline of my dress and slumped in my chair just as Daisy came bouncing into the room wearing knee socks, a pair of shorts, and a Van Halen T-shirt.
Her brows lowered when she sank into her seat and took inventory of my outfit. “Do you have church after school or something?”
“No.” I crossed my arms over my chest with a huff.
“Is that—” she leaned over the edge of her desk. “Eyeliner?”
“I had a moment of weakness.”
“You’ve worn eyeliner three times in your life. Once for a pageant in second grade—which you hated. The other time was when you went through a rebellious streak in sixth grade. And then there was the time when you were trying to get Brian Wheeler to kiss you.”
Tossing my head back, I closed my eyes. “I was bored, all right?”
She moved across the aisle until her book fell to the floor, her desk was on two legs, and she was right in my face. “I know better, Sunny Ray Lower. It’s that boy!”
“Stop!” I shoved her, and her chair clattered to the floor with a thud.
When the bell rung, Elias’ seat remained vacant.
Miss Weaver stood behind her desk, wearing another tight dress. This one had a plunging neckline that showcased impressive cleavagewithouther bending over. She called roll, then instructed us to openThe Great Gatsbyand read chapter one.
