“You got just burned Gray!” I barely heard Kyle say.
“At least........not yet,” I said, smiling at her.
She smiled back and everyone started laughing, except Jesse, who just shook his head. Taylor shot up and ran toward the exit, her cronies in tow. I didn’t think she was even listening, but her quick dramatic exit was all the proof I needed. The guys barely noticed her, tired of her drama, and began talking about David’s summer of girls again.
“Uh oh,” whispered Jules, only to me, “I think we offended Taylor.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said.
“How could I not?” She replied. “Everyone knows Taylor Williams is in love with you.”
“No!” I said emphatically. “You’re wrong. She only thinks she’s in love with me. She just wants what she thinks I am.”
“And what’s that?”
“Her ticket to prom queen.”
“Oh,” said Jules.
She bit her lower lip to keep from laughing.
“Shallow right?” I asked.
Jules became serious.
“A bit, but more sad than anything else. Imagine if she spent as much time and energy as she wastes on the unimportant doing something that could improve her mind. She could be extraordinary if she wanted to be.”
“You give her more credit than I do Jules.”
Jules took a spoonful from her pudding cup. I was impressed with Jules at that moment. Even with the cruelty Taylor threw her way, Jules still thought she was salvageable. I added gracious to the never ending list of amazing things I thought about her.
The bell rang and I picked up Jules’ bag for her and carried it to class.
“I like talking to you Jules. It’s easy, natural.”
“It might help that we used to go fishing for tadpoles as kids on the creek and play king of the mountain on the giant rock bridge.”
“No, I don’t think that’s it,” I said, walking to our class. “I think it’s because we think alike.”
The bell rang after third period.
“Hey,” I said, “meet me at my truck after school? I’m in lot B.”
“Okaaaay,” she sang.
“You said you’d come Jules.”
“I know. I’ll be there.”
When school let out, I hauled out to my truck and the sight of her stopped me in my tracks. I clutched at my heart. She leaned her back against the passenger side door, her bag already in the back. Her hair blew in the wind and her shirt clung to her figure, accentuating how feminine she truly was. She had both her hands in the front pockets of her jeans. Ugh, You’re killing me Jules. She was the most beautiful girl in the entire world, ironically in its smallest town. Although it only had four hundred and fourteen people in residence that wasn’t what made it the smallest town. No, what made it the smallest was the overwhelming invasion of privacy from the entire population. It was like we had three hundred mothers and fathers keeping track. If you did something naughty, the second it was done someone was calling your mama or your dad and by the time you got home your punishment was waiting for you.
Jules and I lived in the city of Bramwell, fifteen minutes southeast of the city of Bluefield where we all went to high school, in the beautiful state of West Virginia. Thatcher’s, along with many other little businesses, resided on Main in Bramwell’s business district. It was a sleepy little town with one market, a depot for the steam train, and one little post office, run by two employees; one to man the desk, and the other to deliver. Gus and Gertie, a married couple. Gertie manned the desk and Gus delivered. But Gus and Gertie, in reality, owned two jobs. Their second job, as the town gossips, they weren’t paid for, at least not in the traditional sense. They were compensated in other ways, I’m sure, and since their side business was to know everyone else's, that’s where people went to get wind of any scandals or rumors floating about town.
People stopped by there like gossiping was on their ‘to do’ list, right next to shopping at the market and paying the water bill and it wasn’t surprising at all to see through the window that afternoon all the little housewives huddled around Gertie’s desk, chattering and wide eyed. There were a few more wives than usual on account it was the day before our first game and apparently there were things that needed to be talked about. Our town was obsessed with our high school’s football team. They sat at the edge of their seats all summer waiting for the first season’s game.
If I had been smart, or patient, I would have done what the few kids in our town who were actually dating each other knew to do and that was to go to Charleston. No one could pry into your fledgling relationship if they didn’t know about it, right?
You see, Bramwell was the kind of town where the parents had nothing to do but become obsessed with their own children. Living vicariously through their football playing and cheerleading offspring but there was only one diner in the whole damn town and it was a school night so we weren’t allowed to stay out late and I definitely wasn’t going to wait until the weekend to take her out since Friday night was the game and Saturday was too far away.
I felt confident that if I asked her about our lightning bolt, she might stick around this time. We’d been avoiding the matter entirely. Granted, the subject wasn’t exactly school appropriate because people were really good at eavesdropping on us. I knew this because I’d get a full on angry report from Jesse later, on what Taylor thought of things we did or didn’t say to each other. So basically, you can see I didn’t really have a choice.
It didn’t help much that Julia wasn’t your typical Bramwell resident. While the other girls were painting their nails and practicing their hurkeys, Julia was painting a canvas and practicing her guitar. For this, she was considered the moody and pensive outcast, but she didn’t care. I loved this about her because she had the guts to stand out amongst the ‘cookie cutters’, at least that’s what she called them, and I didn’t.
While we drove to Thatcher’s, we stayed perfectly quiet the ride there. I think it may have been the anticipation of the conversation about our grossly intense lightning bolt that unsettled us or maybe it was because we weren’t officially dating and I didn’t know how Jules felt about that after today’s denial of it at lunch. Personally, I was more scared of what the lightning bolt actually meant as opposed to the bolt itself. I could handle Jules’ denial of me. That was a piece of cake in comparison.
As we drove, I followed a bead of sweat dripping down Jules’ neck. It was starting to stifle inside the cab. It was an unusually warm day in September and my truck had no air conditioning, so we rolled down the windows and I stared as her long hair lifted and dove with the breath of the wind. Smiles were the only form of communication we held and if my dashboard had been a confessional, it would have known we were promised to be thick as thieves.
Thatcher’s seemed pretty busy. I hopped out and ran to the other side of the truck to open her door for her. I took her hand and the cindery flash shot up both our arms. I let go and she looked at me, paralyzed. It was warmer, brighter. When I smiled, she caught it and I could see all the muscles in her body relax at once as she took the same hand I had previously offered yet again.
When her hand cupped with mine, there it was, that same shocking voltage, but this time, it was no longer alarming. The spirited force ignited the muscles in our fingers, hands, and arms. It continued through our shoulders and necks. I felt it in my ears, eyes and even tasted it on my tongue. Its bitter alkaline smacked of one of the best flavors that had ever passed my lips, at the time, because I had yet to kiss Jules. We stood with our hands locked for at least five minutes, enjoying the current, not wanting to let go, ever.
“Bizarre,” she giggled.
I nodded once and began to lead her toward the door.
“I blame it on this fickle southern weather,” I teased over my shoulder.
We walked into Thatcher’s and as I had previously guessed, a bunch of students were already there. It made us feel volumes more comfortable in choosing a somewhat private booth.
Truthfully, it wasn’t the students we worried about gossiping. We could handle them. As a matter of fact, it was the adults but because we were under the protective mask of pre-game day students we picked the dark unwanted booth way back in the corner without difficulty. She slid in and I clumsily tumbled in opposite her. We knew the menu.
Thatcher came up and took our orders. He acted quite annoyed for it being such a winning sales day. There was nothing surprising about that, he was such a grumpy old man but we loved the old crab anyway.
“What do you want?” he barked.
“The usual,” we both said in unison, tossing our menus aside.
He eyed us carefully.
“Keep your gum out from underneath my table.”
“Yes sir,” said Jules with a wink and a salute.
Thatcher turned and mumbled something under his breath.
“We’re not even chewin’ gum,” I said with a shrug.
“I know. He’s so kooky.”
We laughed but it got uncomfortably quiet and Jules pretended to stare out the window at a street she could probably navigate in her sleep. I couldn’t help but stare too, but at her. She was breathtaking. She fiddled with a long curl, twisting it in her fingers while her elbow rested on the table. She sighed and bit her bottom lip crookedly, trying to think of something else to say. The sun shone through Thatcher’s windows and it brought bits of gold out in her green eyes. She caught me glaring and I failed to play it off. I actually think I made her a little uncomfortable.
“Jules?” I asked.
She turned her stare from out the window and her eyes met mine. I felt a tiny jolt to my stomach.
“Yes Elliott?”
I loved the way she said my name. Her mouth distracted me and for a moment made me forget what I intended to ask her.
“The lightning bolt,” she guessed.
“Exactly,” was all I could rally up.
“Outside Mrs. Kitt’s class, that first day and every time after that, when I feel it, the hair stands on the back of my neck. I can even feel a tingle underneath my fingernails,” she said.
“Me too,” was all I could reply, swallowing the thrill her words gave me.
I was too afraid to say anything else. Frankly, the feeling thrilled me and scared me to death. A wide grin began to spread across her face.
“Hey,” she smirked, trying to lighten the mood, “Have you ever read Plato’s Symposium?”
I chuckled on the inside.
“What are you trying to say?” I asked. “We were once, together, a hermaphrodite?”
She laughed wildly. I could tell she was shocked and frightfully pleased that I even got the reference.
“It suddenly doesn’t sound as romantic as I meant it to sound but it would explain the lightning bolt feeling.”
“You’re ridiculous," I teased.
“I’m only kidding, but still, it can be our own private joke," she said, beaming.