Elevated by Elana Johnson Page B

with prom if you want,” he says.
     
    I don’t want to start anywhere,
    But I can’t help it.
    My mind automatically flows back to that night on the roof.

AFTER PROM,
    I waited on the roof for a long time
    For Trav to show up.
     
    After prom,
    He smelled like Honesty’s perfume,
    Causing whatever hope had bloomed with Jesse’s texts
    To wither into curling wisps of smoke.
     
    “Hey,” he said, breathlessly,
    Like he’d taken eighteen flights of stairs instead of the elephant elevator,
    Like he’d been rushing to see me.
     
    After prom,
    He put his arm around my shoulders,
    And just like that,
    I leaned into him.
     
    After prom,
    I blinked;
    Honesty appeared behind my eyes,
    Looking at me with hurt,
    Betrayal,
    Loathing.
     
    “I don’t know why I cared about prom,” I said.
     
    “Girls care about that kind of stuff,” Travis said.
     
    “I guess,” I said. “Honesty does.”
     
    He stiffened,
    Just barely,
    Almost imperceptibly,
    But I knew him.
    I knew the way he stood with his feet just so,
    The way his hands fit into his pockets,
    The way his shoulders squared,
    Everything.
     
    “Yeah.” He exhaled. “She does.”
    He sounded as tired as I felt,
    As confused as me,
    As lost.
     
    Did he have a raging storm of guilt swirling in his chest?
    Did he think about breaking up with Honesty?
    Did he know Jesse needed a friend the same way he did?
     
    I didn’t know;
    I couldn’t reason it all out.
     
    I wondered why I didn’t change before coming up here.
    Maybe because there was nothing worse than being alone,
    And I didn’t want to go to my empty apartment,
    Not even long enough to slip into jeans.
     
    “Well, I’m dead tired,” I said.
    “I’m gonna go… home, I guess.”
     
    “You can sleep at my place.”
     
    “In this?” I gestured to the second-skin that was my dress.
     
    He licked his lips. “Sure. Or out of it. Whatever.”
     
    I stared at him,
    Hope building in my bloodstream again.
    He maintained eye contact,
    Opened his mouth a little.
    One hand found its way to my waist,
    The other slid tenderly over my face.
    His body pressed against mine,
    And I tilted my head back to keep looking at him.
     
    “Elly, I like you.”
     
    “Prove it,” I murmured,
    My body singing with possibilities.
     
    His eyes closed just a split second before his mouth met mine.
    My lips screamed in joy to finally be with his,
    A tingle shivered from my throat to my feet.
    Time solidified and in that moment,
    It was just the two of us,
    Together.

WHEN I KISSED TRAVIS
    He was still Honesty’s.
     
    When I kissed Travis,
    His mouth was warm and alive
    In a way that made the confusion inside me order itself.
     
    When I kissed Travis,
    I could feel the intensity
    Of his soul through his lips.
     
    Just remembering that feeling makes me lightheaded.
    The euphoria is quickly followed by guilt.
    Crippling,
    Rippling,
    Gripping
    Guilt.
     
    Because I killed Honesty
    When I kissed Travis.

IN THE ELEVATOR, I SAY,
    “You can’t find me,”
    Feel the weight of the words,
    The truth heavy in my mind,
    On my tongue.
     
    Trav murmurs in that sweltering voice of his,
    “I know the places you hide.”

SITTING LIKE THIS,
    With silence between us,
    Simply existing together,
    Reminds me so much of last year.
     
    Everything with Trav was easy,
    Natural,
    Casual.
    I didn’t have to try to be someone I’m not.
    He didn’t have to explain things he’d rather forget.
     
    Now, I spend all my time trying to disappear.
    He devotes hours to riding elevators,
    Trying to glimpse the ghost of a girl who doesn’t exist.

HE WHISPERS SOMETHING,
    But the words don’t register,
    Because all I can hear is the last time he whispered to me
    In that smooth, rounded voice of his.

“CAN YOU SNEAK OUT?”
    Trav’s voice quivered over the phone line,
    Sending a similar tremble through my limbs.
    Midnight had come and gone an hour ago,
    Our first kiss, six days old.
     
    His mom must’ve come home,
    Finally.
    I