Becoming Ella: An Opposites Attract Romance Read online

  "It's been the best for me too," I say, which causes his smile to get even wider.

  14

  When we turn onto our street, Will slows Matilda to a crawl. She hums at the rapid change of pace. The nervousness in my stomach feels overwhelmingly intense and like I'm humming right along with her.

  "You know, you don't have to go in there alone," Will says when we are in front of his house, leaving two houses until mine. "I could go in there with you and explain that it was my fault. That would probably soften the blow, right?"

  I snort. "If you go in there, my mom will call the cops on you. You need to stay out here."

  "Well, you telling me that makes me feel even worse about you going in there alone."

  I sigh. I'm nervous too. "It'll be fine," I say, trying to get him not to worry. "She's just going to yell at me. I'll apologize a bunch, and then she'll go to bed and will keep throwing it in my face for a couple of weeks. That's what she always does," I shrug.

  "I'm sorry," Will says, squeezing my hand. "You shouldn't have to deal with any of that. Like I said, you're welcome to move into Matilda. We would love to have you."

  Matilda purrs in agreement.

  "It'll be alright," I say, trying to seem more confident than I am.

  "Can you text me when I can come over?" Will asks.

  "Come over? What do you mean?"

  Will chuckles. "I mean, I want to sleep next to you tonight. After last night, I don't know that I'll ever be able to sleep by myself again."

  I laugh with him, happy for the lighthearted distraction. "You've done it for the majority of the last twenty years. I think you'll be fine."

  "But, I would be even finer if I got to sleep next to you and hold you and make sure that you're okay. Plus, I want to make out more tonight."

  I feel my cheeks go red at his cheeky honesty, and he laughs when he sees the color. I wish his face got red easily like mine.

  "I don't know if that's a good idea."

  Even though I know my mom's regular tactics, they still get to me. I don't want Will to see me all shaken up after. Although, the kissing afterward would be nice and something I could focus on while getting chewed out.

  Will doesn't seem like he will drop the subject, so I tell him okay. The smile he gives me after makes it doubly worth it.

  Will takes his foot off the brake, and Matilda slowly creeps forward again towards my house. When we are parked closer to the mailbox, Will puts her in park, knowing we probably won't be seen from the main window, hopefully buying us more time.

  "Let me help you get your stuff," Will murmurs, already slipping out from under his seatbelt.

  I shakily unbuckle my own. I close my door as quietly as possible and take another look under my shoulder, thankful I don't see my mom in the window.

  Maybe this won't be as bad as I thought?

  Will slides open the side door and starts putting my things neatly into my pack. I didn't use half of what I packed; next time, I'll pack lighter.

  Next time.

  "Here, I can take that," I say, reaching for the pack.

  When my hand is in front of him, he uses it to pull me against his chest. I feel the warmth radiating off him, and I wish that our beautiful weekend wasn't ending in such a negative way. I wish that I had never signed up for that extra shift and that Will and I could be in Matilda, lying on the quilt that smells like campfire, making out.

  Will takes my face in his hands, and I lean into his touch. I know that I should be pulling away from him; my mom could come out any minute. If she saw Will and I like this, she would throw an even bigger fit. But his touch soothes me, and I can't back away from it, nor do I really want to.

  "Whatever happens, Ella, everything is going to be okay. And if it gets to be too much, I'll be right out here. You know where my offer stands."

  I nod, and Will bends down and kisses me squarely on the forehead. I relax under his lips. I know he's right — no matter what happens, everything will be okay.

  I reach up on my tippy toes and peck his lips, sneaking another kiss before I go in. Will smiles, and I smile back, slinging my backpack over my shoulders.

  "Thank you for this amazing weekend, William Keely," I say, squeezing his hand.

  It's the first time I've ever called him by his full name to his face. I've always liked the way his name rolls off my tongue. He seems surprised to hear it but doesn't say anything, though his bigger grin reveals more.

  "Text me when everything is okay, so I can sneak in and make out with you, Eileen Corren."

  I squeeze his hand one more time before walking to the door, pulling my backpack tight and toying with the strings nervously.

  I search for my keys in the side pocket of my bag, but before I can get them, the lock starts turning. The door is yanked back, and then I see my mother with a cool, angry glare. I haven't seen her look this mad in a long time.

  "Hello, Eileen," she says cooly.

  "Hi, mom," I say, feeling small.

  She looks over my shoulder, and I hope that Will is gone, but when I turn and look, Will is leaning against Matilda's hood, clearly staring at us.

  "Is he your guard dog now?" my mother asks, moving so I can enter.

  I squeeze past her and kick my Birks onto our shoe rack.

  "He just wanted to make sure I got in okay."

  "Why wouldn't you?" she snarls.

  The lump of anxiety in my stomach and throat grows bigger. She slams the door shut, and I jump as it rattles in the frame. I feel just like I did when I was younger, and she could tower over me. I know that things are different now, but I've never grown up from that anxiety.

  I brace myself, preparing for her harsh words. And with the door securely closed, she gives them to me.

  After a half-hour of listening to her berate Will, me, and who I've become the last couple of months, my mother storms away for the kitchen. She yanks her purse off the table and slides her shoes on before shooting me one last mean look over her shoulder. I sink further into myself as she grabs her keys out of the dish, heading for the garage door.

  The door slams loudly, echoing. When I hear her car starting, I allow myself to cry. I realize that I am shaking. I wonder how long I've been doing that for.

  I walk on unsteady feet back to my room. I hear my mom's car roar to life and see her back out of the driveway from my window. She speeds past Will's van and disappears down the hill.

  I look down at Will's van. There aren't any lights on, and I don't see him outside. I wonder where he is.

  Alone in my room, I calm down a bit. And I realize that I stink. Bad. I need a shower. I haven't properly bathed since we left for camping. Although I freshened up twice at the campsite, that isn't the same as taking a proper shower.

  I head into my bathroom and start brushing my teeth. I brush them furiously, using all of my pent up energy from the conflict with my mom. After I spit out the toothpaste and take a swig of mouthwash, I take off my headband and stare at my wild curls. I wonder if I looked this bad when I was making out with Will on the beach. The thought makes me cringe.

  As I get ready to shower, I also notice how ripe I smell. I hope I didn't smell this bad to Will because that would be embarrassing.

  I step under the warm water, taking a deep breath as it trails all over my body, relaxing me, soothing me. I take another shaky breath and bite back tears.

  I am so tired of crying.

  This is not what I want to remember from this weekend, nor how I want this weekend to end. This weekend was beautiful, fun, exhilarating, the most alive I've felt in a while, and I don't want those memories tainted by the after-effects of coming home to my mother screaming at me.

  I work conditioner through my wet curls and gently detangle all of the knots. I wash my body with my bar soap until I feel clean.

  When I step out of the shower, I look at myself in the mirror again. I look better now that I'm clean.

  I work in more product to my wet hair and then wrap it up in a
microfiber towel, tying the end through the loop on the back.

  Out of the safety of the bathroom, though, I feel the tears start to come again. My mind replays my mother screaming at me, telling me that she's never been more disappointed in me and asking me what I've done with her daughter, the daughter that she knows would never do something like this.

  I feel like a failure.

  A soft knock on my window breaks me out of my thoughts, and I look and see Will through the glass. My heart leaps at the sight of him, but I cry even harder, feeling more emotional at how much love I feel with him being there.

  I walk over to the window, unlatch it, and lift it up. Will comes through and immediately envelopes me in a hug.

  He squeezes me tight, and I let my head fall on his chest, my tears soaking his shirt. He rubs a hand soothingly over my back, and the dam breaks loose. The anxiety I felt while my mom was yelling at me comes to the surface, and I fall apart in Will's arms.

  "It's gonna be okay, baby," Will says, holding me tighter.

  He walks us over to my bed, where he plops down and pulls me onto his lap. I curl up against him, and he wraps his arm around my legs.

  "Shhh, it's gonna be okay," he murmurs, kissing me on the forehead.

  His sweet whispers soothe me. Even though everything feels like it's falling apart, Will is here, holding me, comforting me.

  He rocks me back and forth, and I know a part of me should feel embarrassed, being rocked like this, especially naked, but this is the safest and most comforted I've felt in a long time.

  "Thank you for being here," I get out.

  "Of course. You're gonna have to get used to me being here. Anytime you need me, I'm going to be here for you."

  He looks at me so seriously, and I can tell he means it. The sincerity in his voice scares me a little, and I feel a little bit more guilt adding to my already existing pile.

  I worry that I won't be able to do enough for him. He is so good at this, so good at understanding me. I fear if the roles were reversed, I wouldn't be as good for him. I know that I will try, but I worry I won't measure up.

  Slowly, as Will keeps rocking me, I stop crying, and I start to feel okay again. Will keeps me in his lap.

  "You wanna talk about it?" he asks.

  I shrug. "It's how my mom has always been. I don't know. I just hate it when she says that she's disappointed in me and that I'm failing. She just said a lot of awful things to me."

  "I'm so sorry, baby," Will says.

  I try to brush it off my shoulders. I don't want what happened to impede on any more of my time with Will. I want to be able to enjoy this time with him.

  For one, this is the first time a boy has ever snuck into my room. And with an empty house. The thoughts of things we could do fill my mind. I can't look Will in the eye as dirty thoughts of him start. He seems to notice that I look away from him, but he doesn't say anything about it.

  "It's alright. I don't want thinking about that to ruin the night," I finally say.

  Will rolls his eyes. "You having feelings wouldn't ever ruin the night."

  My heart melts, and I give him a small smile. He slides off his lap and stands up, taking in my room.

  I'm glad I cleaned up before we left. My logic was that it would suck to come home to a dirty room. I'm glad I listened to myself because I would have been embarrassed if Will saw my room a mess.

  "I like your room," he says, walking over to my bookshelf.

  He skims the titles, and I look over my room with him. The light gray walls, my clean gray bedding with a white comforter, the dark wood of my dresser and closet door, the fuzzy gray rug that matches my walls. It's cozy.

  Will moves on to my next bookshelf. My collection of books are my proudest possession. My entire reading history is represented there. I have never gotten rid of a book I've read, even books I didn't like.

  "You're going to have to let me borrow some of these," Will says, trailing his fingers across a few spines.

  "You can pick any you want," I say.

  I'm happy that Will shares my love of reading. I never would have guessed that about him; it was a pleasant surprise.

  Will makes his way over to my dressers, and without saying anything, he starts to go through the drawers. For some reason, I don't speak up. I don't mind him going through my things. It's not like I have anything exciting in them.

  The top three drawers are packed full of clothes, and the bottom two are packed full of notebooks. Some of the journals, some of them story notebooks. I've never let anyone see them before, but when Will gets to those drawers, I don't stop him. He is the first person I feel comfortable seeing them; he already knows about my dreams of being an author.

  Will whistles through his teeth. "Wow, you've a lot of journals. Huh?"

  "Yea, I do," I shrug.

  "Mind if I read some of them?" he asks, flipping through them.

  Some of them are nicer ones that I spent way too much money on from Barnes and Noble, and some of them are basic $0.99 composition books that I stock up on whenever it's 'back to school' season. The composition books are where my story ideas live; the nicer ones are reserved for pouring my heart out.

  "If you want. You can read through any of the composition books. The nicer ones are my old diaries."

  Will takes out a stack and flops up next to me on my bed. Our knees brush as he sits cross-legged next to me and opens the first one on the stack. I recognize the purple journal with various stickers on it. That was the book I would bring to every one of my classes junior year. When I didn't feel like paying attention or had spare time, I would jot down character or story ideas. I'm glad that Will has chosen this one over some of my older notebooks from middle school.

  Will starts to flick through some of the pages, and I see the smirk start on his lips. I resist the urge to get closer to him and see what he's stumbled upon. But I decide that I don't want to know how badly I should be cringing.

  "Young you was quite obsessed with Mitchell Parker, huh?" Will chuckles, holding out a page for me to read.

  My cheeks heat as the words "hot," "sexy," "beautiful" jump off the page, and I see that my ad for Mitchell Parker goes on for pages. I'd totally forgotten about him until now. He was one of the upperclassmen in Will's grade that I was obsessed with. He was a football player but was also in all of the plays and musicals. Everyone was obsessed with him. And it didn't hurt that he had been attractive — blonde hair, blue eyes, muscular.

  "Don't remind me," I laugh, closing the notebook.

  I throw it into the corner of my room, making a mental note to burn it later — not everything needs to be saved.

  Will takes the next one from his lap and starts flipping through it. I recognize from the different colored writing it must be from my sophomore year of high school. Back then, I wasn't as obsessed with boys, so at least it won't be cringe in that way.

  Will leans against my pillows and reads. I take a moment and admire how he looks against my pillows. His dark hair contrasts with my light pillowcases, and it makes me happy seeing how comfortable he seems. He pats next to him, and I don't hesitate to cuddle up next to him.

  Will reads for a couple more minutes before closing the notebook and setting it on my bedside table. He turns on his side so that our noses are touching.

  "You wanna self publish something tonight?" he asks.

  My eyebrows raise. "What do you mean?"

  "I can show you how to do it. Maddie showed me the process one time when I was hanging out with her and Matt. It's actually pretty easy. From all of the notebooks that you have, I know that you must have at least a couple things ready to go."

  "Will…I…I don't know. I'm not really the type of person that can just go and do things like that. I need time to make lists and plan and prepare. And I just don't think I'm ready to let the world see my stuff like that yet."

  "But you publish your stuff on free sites. What's the difference if you start actually making money from your hard work?
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  "I don't know what to say," I say, feeling completely flustered.

  "I know you're a marvelous writer, Ella," Will emphasizes. "Maddie makes so much money every month self-publishing. I know that with your voice and ideas, you could be making a lot, maybe even more than her. Your dream of being an author could really come true."

  "Will, I just don't know," I say, feeling insecure. "Like I said, I'm not the type of person to put myself out there like that. I don't even know the first thing about self-publishing. I'm not the type of person that can jump blindly into things like that without having the first clue of what I'm doing. And if I were to actually make money at it, I'd really need a plan. We're two very different people when it comes to that kind of thing."

  "But we don't have to be!" Will exclaims. "You may not feel comfortable doing those types of things now, but if you practiced at them and tried a little more every day, you could become that type of person. Ella, I think you're capable of far more than you're letting yourself be."

  I coil back, a little offended. "So are you saying that I'm not a hard worker? Or are you calling me stupid or what?"

  Will's eyes widen, and I feel bad. Deep down, I know he didn't mean it like that, but I don't like that he's pushing this that much. Why can't he just let me be where I am? Why does he have to push me to be where he thinks I should be?

  "No, I didn't mean it like that, and you know that. I just mean that you have all these dreams. You've wanted to be an author your entire life. I think you just won't let yourself achieve those dreams. And I don't get it. You've published on free sites where I know tons of people enjoy your writing. You already have an audience, Ella! You already have people who love your free stuff. Some of those people could turn into loving your paid stuff!"

  "Why do you care so much?" I shoot back.

  "Because I care about you. I want to see you happy. Ever since we started talking, I can tell that you want so much more. Every time we start talking about writing or your dreams, you get this look in your eyes that's all dreamy. I want you to look like that when you talk about your actual life. It could be your reality, and I want to help you get there."