Chapter 3 CHAPTER 3
Chapter 3: Elias pov
“I can’t believe you’re still being this dense about it!”
“Me? You’re the one who’s impossible, Elise!”
The familiar chaos hit me before I even reached our usual lunch table in the Willow Creek High cafeteria.
Marcus and Elise were already mid-battle, voices carrying over the clatter of trays and teenage chatter. Their daily flirt-fight was equal parts exhausting and entertaining—like watching two magnets that couldn’t decide whether to attract or repel.
Oliver groaned the second he spotted me. “Dad’s home! Make them stop. My head is going to explode.”
I dropped my tray—greasy pizza slice, limp fries, and a questionable apple—beside Oliver and put on my best stern-parent face. “Elise, inside voices only. This is a cafeteria, not a wrestling ring.”
Elise’s eyes widened in betrayal. “Theo—wait, Elias! You always side with him! You haven’t even heard the ridiculous garbage he just said!”
Marcus leaned back, arms crossed, a dramatic eye-roll already in progress. “He doesn’t need details. He knows I’m right.”
I reached across the table and took Elise’s hands, grounding her the way I’d learned worked best. “Okay, peace. I’m listening. What’s Harrison—Marcus—done now?”
“This absolute clown still insists subs are superior to dubs. In 2023!” Elise threw her hands up. “Subtitles ruin everything. I can’t focus on the animation and read tiny text at the bottom. Dubs let you actually feel the emotion.”
Marcus jumped in. “Original Japanese audio is art. American dubs butcher the soul of the story. Voice actors can’t match the nuance.”
Elise pointed accusingly. “Matt Mercer exists! Jotaro in JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure—tell me that’s not perfect.”
I nodded, chewing a fry. “She’s got a point. Mercer’s legendary.”
“See!” Elise crowed, shoving Marcus playfully. “Someone with taste at this table.”
Marcus looked betrayed, but the grin fighting at the corners of his mouth gave him away. Their banter danced on that perfect line between rivalry and something warmer. I smiled despite myself. Marcus deserved this—someone who lit him up, even if it came wrapped in loud anime debates. Watching them made my chest ache with a quiet, unnamed longing.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, expecting a group chat meme. Instead, it was her.
SOPHIA:
Hey Elias! Sorry we didn’t get to talk much after church yesterday. Work schedule this week? Coffee soon? I have so much from the mission trip to share. Miss your face! ❤️❤️
I suppressed a sigh and typed quickly.
ELIAS:
Hey Soph… Darn, I’m closing at Ridgeview Grill tonight and family stuff Friday. :(
Relief flooded me first, followed by the familiar knife-twist of guilt. What kind of person feels relieved about dodging his… whatever she is? I added another message before I could overthink it.
ELIAS:
What about next Monday?
Please be busy. Please let her be busy.
The reply came fast.
SOPHIA:
Bible study Monday night Other nights?
Another whip of relief, then shame. I checked my calendar. Off Tuesday. Perfect storm.
ELIAS:
Tuesday works?
SOPHIA:
Yes! Tuesday it is. It’s a date!
I locked my phone and stared at my pizza. The guilt sat heavy now, mixed with something deeper I couldn’t name. Sophia was kind, passionate, beautiful in that effortless way. Two months ago I’d been excited about her attention. Now every interaction felt like wearing shoes two sizes too small.
“Earth to Elias.” Oliver waved a fry in front of my face. “You good?”
“Yeah,” I lied, forcing a laugh back into the conversation. The table dove deeper into the sub vs. dub war. I played referee, cracking jokes when needed, but my mind wandered to Saturday’s planned ghost hunt with Marcus. That felt real. The rush of sneaking into abandoned places, chasing shadows with cameras rolling, hoping for proof of something beyond the ordinary—that excitement didn’t come with this confusing weight.
After school, I headed straight to Ridgeview Grill for my shift. The diner smelled of grease, coffee, and sweet tea. I tied on my apron and fell into the rhythm: refilling drinks, clearing tables, smiling through customer small talk. Willow Creek was small enough that half the patrons knew my parents from Eternal Light.
“Tell your dad we missed him at the men’s group,” one regular said. I nodded politely, the invisible leash tightening.
During a lull, I leaned against the counter scrolling paranormal forums. Old St. Agnes Church on Holly Street had new ghost tour buzz thanks to Hudson’s Haunted Habitats. Perfect timing for our Saturday plans. The thought of flashlights cutting through dusty pews, EVPs crackling on recorders, sent a genuine spark through me.
But as the dinner rush hit, my mind circled back. Sophia’s sparkling eyes. The way she talked about God moving in South Africa like it was the most natural high. The pressure to match that fire. And underneath it all, this restless hum I couldn’t quiet. The way certain songs hit different lately. The way my eyes sometimes lingered on shoulders or jawlines in ways that made no sense.
What is wrong with me? I prayed silently while wiping down a booth. Help me figure this out. Or at least stop feeling guilty for breathing.
The evening dragged. By the time I climbed into Eileen’s driver seat, the Georgia night was thick with humidity and cicadas.
I blasted a playlist—indie rock with moody undertones—and drove the long way home past the glowing steeple of Eternal Light.
Marcus texted the group chat plans for Saturday: soccer game, pizza at Tony’s Oven, then St. Agnes after dark. I smiled for real. Those nights with my friends felt like the only time the weight lifted. No expectations. Just laughter, scares, and the hope that maybe something extraordinary was out there.
I pulled into the driveway on Maplewood Lane. Lights glowed warmly in the windows. Harper’s car was gone—she was probably back at campus avoiding the drama. Inside, Mom called out a welcome. Dad asked about my shift. Lucas was glued to his Switch.
I headed upstairs, the day’s conversations echoing. Anime debates. Sophia’s text. The ghost hunt promise.
Lying in bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars I’d stuck on the ceiling years ago, I whispered another quiet prayer. Whatever’s coming, just… let it make sense eventually.
But deep down, I wondered if sense was what I was really afraid of.
