Becoming Ella: An Opposites Attract Romance Read online

Will nods again. "I've always been a very observant person."

  I can feel the blush remain on my cheeks as we close the distance to the playground. Will leads me to a gap in the chain-link fence. We duck through and head for the swings. Will plops down on the one on the right, and I sink onto the one next to him. Will is right; it does remind me of simpler times.

  "And no, I don't worry about being secure," Will says, answering my earlier question.

  I frown. I cannot imagine thinking like him. My whole life growing up, my mother has told me all of the steps I need to follow to live a good life.

  Step one, go to school and major in something that will result in a promising career. The better paying, the better. Step two, volunteer or intern every summer to have a good resume built up before graduation. Step three, get a good-paying job. Step four, enroll in a 401k and always put twenty percent of your paycheck into it. Step five, work until you are seventy and then retire.

  "I figure that nothing's really secure anyways," Will shrugs. He starts pushing himself on the swing.

  My frown deepens. "How do you figure?"

  He looks over at me. "You could always lose your job. Your house could burn down, leaving you with nothing. Something could change, and your 401k could be worth next to nothing by the time you retire."

  I start pushing myself too. I can't help the response that tumbles out of my mouth. "Yea but, all of those possibilities are better than what could happen to you on the road."

  Will frowns this time. I feel bad for a moment, but at the same time, he must know. No matter how much he tries to make his route seem smart, it will never make sense.

  "I'm not scared of the way I live," he shrugs.

  It gets quiet between us. Part of me wants to apologize for asking such a prying question, and another part wants to ask him more. We swing for a couple of minutes in silence, the only sound the creaking of the swings.

  "I just don't get it," I admit, dragging my feet against the squishy top of the playground.

  "Get what?" Will slows so that his swings' pace matches mine.

  "How you're okay with living like that. Going against the norm like that."

  The corners of Will's mouth spreads. Unlike his usual smile, it looks sad. Instantly, I feel worse; he's never looked like that before.

  Will clears his throat. "When my mom died, I learned that life really is too short to not live the way you want. She taught me that tomorrow is never guaranteed. I want to make sure that when I die, I've lived my life the way I wanted to. Not just the way that was expected of me. I want to make sure that I don't die with any regrets."

  The passion in his voice and the mention of his mom makes me feel something. I don't know why. I have been around dying people many times at work. I've also heard similar sentiments from dying people, but on the opposite side of the spectrum. I've held an older person's hand and listened to the things they didn't get to do in their life.

  Even though I've done that before, it's never hit me like hearing it from Will has. Something about hearing someone my age speak with so much conviction hits me right in the gut.

  "I'm sorry," I murmur. I don't know what else to say.

  I remember when Will's mom died. He was in fifth grade; I was in third. I remember him coming to school and crying.

  Living on the same street as him, I saw a sliver of some of the changes in his life.

  I remember what his mom looked like. She was tall, had dark brown hair, glasses, and a warm smile, like Will's. She would volunteer at school a lot. The Keely's would always be out as a family, doing yard work, going for walks, or just playing out in the yard. It was clear they had been a close family.

  "Thanks for saying so," Will says.

  Our swings creak as we gently rock ourselves. I enjoy the warm summer air being blown across my face. It comes from Will's side, so it blows his fresh, alluring scent up my nose.

  "You know, since I've opened up to you, you should do the same," Will says.

  He is smiling again, and I can tell that he wants to stop talking about his mom. I play along.

  "What would you like to know?" I ask.

  "What did you want to be when you were in high school?"

  I can't look away from his warm green eyes. I know that he probably just wants to make his point -- that everyone should just be following their dreams. I don't really want to get into that again, but I can't not answer him. Something in his eyes compels me to.

  "I always wanted to be an author," I say. "The first time I wrote something was in sixth grade. Looking back, it was a hot pile of garbage, but I loved it, and I was proud of it."

  "You still write?"

  I feel a little embarrassed, but I nod. For some reason, I feel like I can trust Will. It feels like I'm exposing a big part of myself, but he doesn't look at me with judgment. Instead, he seems genuinely interested.

  “I put some of my stuff on free writing websites. Probably the closest I’m ever going to get to that dream.”

  "You're gonna have to let me read some stuff some time," he says, smiling.

  A hideous, nervous laugh sneaks out before I can squelch it. Will's eyes widen at the sound. I internally cringe and clear my throat, trying to cover up the fact that I just made a noise like that. Although at this point, what's the use? I might as well stick to my brand of embarrassing myself in front of him.

  "I don't know about that," I say.

  I know that I put my writing up on the internet, but it still feels private because I don't use my real name. The thought of letting Will read something I've written makes me seize up inside.

  Will raises his eyebrow. "I remember how good you did in AP Lit," he says, "you're probably a fantastic writer."

  I feel my face heat, and I look away, focusing on the random swirls of blacks and browns on the rubber playground surfacing.

  "I have a friend that self publishes," he carries on, "she writes a couple books a month and makes a full time living. She lives in an RV with her boyfriend, and they're on the road more often than they aren't, like me."

  It sounds intriguing, which I hurriedly work to push down. The self-publishing part sounds incredible. Being able to support myself with my writing? That would be a dream. I could stay at home and lose myself in my own worlds and tell people stories that I love.

  I know that it could never happen for me. But knowing that there are people out there doing it, real people who aren't celebrities or have connections, just ordinary people, inspires me.

  "We should hang out with them sometime. I know Maddie wouldn't mind telling you how she does it."

  We.

  I shrug. It sounds incredible, but I know I would never take Will up on his offer. Even though I want to.

  "Yea, maybe," I say. I stop my swing.

  "Tell me something about you that no one knows," Will says, also stopping.

  "Well, the writing counts as something no one really knows about me," I say, smirking.

  Will playfully rolls his eyes. "Fine, I'll give you another, and then you'll have to give me another."

  "And what if I don't want to agree to those terms?"

  "Please, Corren? I want to get to know you! Gimme a rope here!" Will laughs, running a hand through his crazy hair.

  Heat explodes through my chest as I replay those words in my mind. I want to get to know you.

  He probably doesn't mean anything more than just trying to be friendly. Getting to know someone is something you do when you're trying to befriend someone. And that's all he's trying to do.

  Don't read more into it, I tell myself.

  "I got my first and only tattoo when I was fifteen," Will says, raising his eyebrows as if to say "so there".

  "Fifteen?" I chuckle. "What was it?"

  "A quote for my mom. Probably one of the stupider things I've done in my life. I don't regret the tattoo and would have got one for my mom regardless. But I should have gone to a professional rather than letting one of my friends practice their illegal tatto
o skills on me."

  I laugh with him, wondering where the tattoo is, what it looks like. Probably not very good if it was some bootleg job.

  "Your turn," he reminds me.

  I pause, thinking of what to tell him.

  The thing about me is that there aren't very many interesting things. Especially compared to Will Keely. He just came up with something off the top of his head, something wilder than anything I've ever done in my nineteen years. Even as I try to think of something, nothing even comes close to a story like that.

  "Don't think so hard. Just tell me something. Anything."

  "I've always hated my name?" I shrug, blurting out the first lame thing that comes to mind.

  The difference between what Will told me and the first thing that I could think to tell him is vast, but Will seems to accept it. He nods, looking me over. For a moment, I feel self-conscious—what a stupid, awkward thing to say.

  "Yea, you don't really look like an Eileen," he says.

  I feel warm under his lingering gaze.

  He's not looking you over in that way. He's just being friendly. Just being friendly.

  "What do I look like?" I ask.

  "Hmmm," he hums, looking me over again.

  I hope that my cheeks aren't on fire, though knowing me, they probably are.

  "What do you want to look like?" he asks.

  My entire life, I wish that my mom had named me something younger. She named me after her mother, my grandmother, whom I love, but the name Eileen has always made me feel older than I am. Maybe it's part of the reason I've felt like I've had to be an adult since I was in the first grade.

  "Ella," I say.

  He nods, looking me over once more, before smiling.

  "Yes, you look much more like an Ella, Ella."

  I smile back at him. I like the way that my name sounds coming from him. Hearing 'Ella' come from Will's mouth and knowing that from now on, I will be Ella to him makes me realize how much power a name can have.

  "Tell me something else," Will says.

  "Like what?" I ask.

  The night has gotten chillier. My arms break out in goosebumps.

  "Tell me what you've been up to since high school," Will says.

  He leans down and starts unzipping his backpack. Before I can protest, he is shoving a thick, gray hoodie towards me.

  "Really, I'm okay," I say, trying to hand it back to him.

  "You're shivering, and you've got goosebumps. I want to talk with you more. I don't want our time to be up yet because you're cold."

  I blush at his words and accept the hoodie from his outstretched hand. There's no way I could develop a good response to that, and I don't want to make an even bigger fool of myself. Plus, though I wouldn't admit it, I am excited to have his hoodie wrapped around me.

  I shrug the material on and over my head. The hoodie is so big that it hangs down to my knees. I am definitely plenty warm now, and his clean, masculine scent is closer to my nose.

  "See, cute and warm," Will smiles, looking pleased with himself.

  Cute.

  I clear my throat, changing the subject. "Honestly, I really sucked my first year out of high school."

  Will raises his eyebrow, waiting for me to go on.

  "I was accepted to a lot of colleges. But when I went to my orientations, it just didn't feel right."

  "Really? I remember hearing you talk about that in classes."

  "Yea," I say, feeling the familiar embarrassment and shame that comes whenever I talk about the subject. "I just knew I couldn't go to any of them."

  "So what did you do then?"

  "Well, for the first couple months, I did nothing, honestly. As lame as that sounds."

  I shrug, not wanting to go into more detail. The only other people that know about these struggles are my mom and Violet. It's depressing to look back on that time of my life.

  I had always had a plan. I had always known what my next step should be. Falling so completely flat on my face had knocked all the wind out of me.

  My mom had hounded me that entire year, telling me that she would kick me out if I didn't get it together, that I had to figure out something, do something. I lost more weight than ever before in my life, not even trying because I was always too stressed and anxious to eat.

  "That must have been really hard for you," Will says.

  "Yea," I shrug.

  "Is that why you're clinging so hard to the plan you have now? Any plan is better than no plan? Even if that plan isn't really what you want deep down?"

  I shrug again. It's frustrating how Will has hit the nail on the head. Everything that he's saying is right, but I don't want to admit that to him. It's too embarrassing.

  "So what do you do when you're not working? Besides school and writing?"

  Again, I shrug. And again, it is painfully obvious how different Will and I are.

  If someone were to ask Will what he does in his free time, he could probably go on for hours about all of the elaborate and cool adventures that he goes on. Whereas I'm the complete opposite.

  Usually, I am pretty content with my lifestyle. Sure, it's a little plain, but it keeps me busy. And when Violet is home, we have a lot of fun hanging out. Other than that, I'm a homebody.

  "I'm a very boring person," I laugh.

  "No, you're not. Don't say that about yourself," Will says

  "Alright," I laugh. I know he's just trying to make me feel better. He probably thinks I'm very boring too.

  "I'm serious. You know, I can be quite the homebody. Or well, van body. Sometimes going out and doing things is nice, but sometimes I would much rather hang out with book characters than actual people, and there's nothing wrong with that."

  I smile back at him. I appreciate how he's trying to make me feel better, although I don't believe him.

  Suddenly, Will jumps off his swing. He runs back towards me, a crazed look in his eyes. My heart starts to flutter. He dives for me, and I squeal, dragging my feet across the ground, shocked.

  "You're it!" he screams. He tags me on my shoulder.

  My mouth drops open in shock as Will turns and sprints away from me. He heads straight for the ladder, which he quickly scales up onto the tall bridge. I can't help but laugh.

  "You want to play tag?" I laugh, shocked.

  "When's the last time you've played tag?"

  "When I was a kid," I chuckle. I drag my feet against the squishy covering of the playground.

  "What? Are you scared you won't be able to catch me?"

  Will laughs again, and he runs to the left, up the incline that leads to the highest tower. He props his elbows on the fake steering wheel, staring down at me.

  It's stupid. I should just tell him no, that I'm not going to play this game with him, but I still stand up. Even though it's dumb, I laugh as I take off after him, climbing the ladder myself. The playground has definitely shrunk since the last time I was here.

  I run across the bridge, expecting Will to take it easy on me, but he sees me coming, and he flings himself down the slide. He gets to the bottom before I even make it up to the tower.

  "Gonna have to be faster than that, babe," he shouts, running to the other side of the playground.

  Babe.

  Instead of going down the slide, I dart back across the bridge. I turn, expecting to see Will on the right side behind the smaller slide, but he isn't. I do a one-eighty to check if he's by the other swings or hiding behind the rocking boat. He isn't.

  "Where'd you go?" I shout, jumping off the short ledge.

  "Giving up that easy, Corren? I thought you'd be more persistent than that."

  I turn and see Will is at the top of the tower again, leaned cockily against the steering wheel. He smirks at me, and I can feel my chest warm. I haven't been called by my last time in a long time. And never by a cute boy.

  I run towards him, determined to get him before he can go down that damn slide. Will's eyes widen as I gain on him. He tries to grab onto the top of the sl
ide so he can go down again. However, his shirt gets caught on the steering wheel. The second that he gets his shirt undone and turns to go down the slide, I lunge and tag him. I feel ridiculous shortly after as I nearly fall flat on my face in the process.

  "Got you," I laugh, righting myself.

  "Now it's my turn to get you," he laughs, walking towards me slowly.

  "No! No! You have to give me five seconds to get away. Those are the rules, remember?" I laugh and dodge him when he lunges for me.

  "Fine, you better run then."

  He turns, and I dart for the slide. He is on two by the time I sit against the cold plastic and push myself down. When I am a third of the way down, I hear him get to five. I push myself faster, thinking that he is going to slide down behind me.

  Near the bottom of the slide, I can see the swings in front of me again. I cautiously creep to the end of the slide, worried that Will will be there when I try to slip out. Slowly, I peek my head out. When I look to the right, Will lunges in front of me, and I shriek, pressing flat into the slide again. Will laughs as he follows me, grabbing my wrists.

  "Too slow, Corren," he laughs, tagging me squarely on the collarbone.

  I laugh hard, unable to help myself. Will laughs too. I can feel his warm breath on my face, which makes me realize how close we are. Will is nearly pinning me to the slide with his body, covering most of the exit. With him this close, I think for a brief moment he's going to kiss me. And I realize that I want him to. Something has definitely shifted between us just now.

  Will smiles at me softly, and for a second, I think he will lean in and give me what I want.

  But he doesn't.

  Instead, he sighs and laughs softly one more time before he starts to pull back. As he exits the slide, cool air runs over my skin. I want to tell him to come back. I almost do, but I bite my tongue before it slips out. If he wanted to kiss me, he would have.

  Will is the guy who got a van and started traveling all over the country fresh out of high school. He's the guy who confidently tells me about the work he does online and lives how he wants to. If he can do all of that with confidence and ease, I'm sure he wouldn't have had a problem kissing me if it was something he wanted.

  My chest gets tight as I grab the top of the slide and pull myself out after Will. I know it's stupid, but tears burn in the corners of my eyes. His rejection feels palpable.