Has to Be Love by Jolene Perry Page B

of not going too far with Elias is much easier when I’m not sitting next to him. Reconciling what I believe I should do around him and what I want to do with him is a near-constant struggle.
    â€œI love you, Clara. If you’re having a hard time, I want to help. If that means leaving school and going to McDonald’s, then that’s what I’m going to do. If it means being patient while you deal with what you need to, then I’ll do that too.” Every breath and every part of his eyes show that he’s telling the truth. “You’ve been a little distracted over the past few days, and that’s fine, but if you want to talk, I want to listen.”
    In a million lifetimes I could not hope to deserve this kind of devotion. And after the other night in the barn with Rhodes (the one I didn’t tell Elias about) and the crazy thoughts I’ve been having since then, I deserve a very confused or angry boyfriend. Instead I’m getting this.
    Elias’s eyes are so deep that it always makes me think of the scripture about how the eyes are the windows to the soul. Elias’s eyes have nothing but goodness in them—even down deep where I’m spiteful and petty.
    Because instead of remarking on his awesome eyes or how good he is for me, I jump into the one conversation we tiptoe around more often than any other. “At what point do you think it’ll be weird that we go to different churches?” I ask.
    He shakes his head. “Why are you looking for a fight today?”
    â€œI’m not, but we don’t always agree.” We’ve never actually fought, because one or the other of us always shrugs off the disagreement. Elias thinks my church overdoes meetings, and I know all of our forever-family stuff bothers him. He thinks we’ll love everyone the same after this life, and I can’t imagine that. At some point, if we stay together, our different views are going to cause problems. “Maybe that’s something we should start talking about.”
    Elias lets out a slow breath. “I don’t understand why you believe some of the things you do, but in the end, it’s made you who you are. And I love you.”
    He always says something like this, and I think part of him is putting off having this conversation for real, just like I’m putting off having the conversation when I tell him I might want to go to New York.
    â€œMy house?” I ask and he nods.
    â€œYour shake.” Elias passes it to me with a smile. “And fries.”
    I stare at Elias for a moment, trying to shove away my totally unjustified irritation. “Thanks.” I slide down in the seat relieved that the hard part of my day is over and having no idea what comes next. Not in the next hour or … for the rest of my life, really.

7
    My house is blissfully silent. Dad should be at work for hours more, and neither Elias nor I have anywhere to be. This is his day off at the construction company, I barely work any hours at his dad’s hardware store and lumberyard, and since he signed us out of school (our parents trust us way too much), neither of us is expected at play rehearsal.
    I wrap my arms around his neck as soon as we’re inside and slide my lips across his. Maybe this will make up for my moodiness today.
    Elias matches my soft kiss before gently grasping my arms, taking them from around his neck, and stepping away. “I don’t know, Clara.” This is how he always handles us being alone—way too carefully. Neither of us believes in sex before marriage, and both of us have watched our friends slip off that path. There are times when I definitely want to slip. I generally feel really bad about that … after Elias has gone home.
    â€œWhat?” Even though I totally know.
    He rests his head to the side, like he’s conflicted. He probably is. I don’t know that anyone could be as good, deep down, as he is. Good parents,