silently convert the entire website to jekyll
Web/pipeline/head There was a failure building this commit Details

master
Ellpeck 1 year ago
parent afcd4037ea
commit 6bde3c4ff8

5
.gitignore vendored

@ -1,3 +1,2 @@
/feed.json
/rss.xml
/atom.xml
.jekyll-*
_site

20
Jenkinsfile vendored

@ -1,25 +1,23 @@
pipeline {
agent any
stages {
stage('Pull') {
stage('Build') {
when {
branch 'master'
}
steps {
sh '''cd /var/www/ellpeck
git fetch
git checkout ${GIT_COMMIT} -f'''
sh '''cd main
bundle
bundle exec jekyll build'''
}
}
stage('Node') {
when {
branch 'master'
stage('Deploy') {
when {
branch 'master'
}
steps {
sh '''cd /var/www/ellpeck/node
npm install
node blog.js
node rss.js'''
sh '''rm -rf /var/www/ellpeck/*
cp -r main/_site/. /var/www/ellpeck'''
}
}
}

1
blog/.gitignore vendored

@ -1 +0,0 @@
/*.html

@ -1,4 +0,0 @@
Deny from all
<FilesMatch "posts\.json">
Allow from all
</FilesMatch>

@ -1,657 +0,0 @@
<!DOCTYPE html>
<html lang="en">
<head>
<meta charset="utf-8">
<meta name="generator" content="crowbook">
<meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width">
<meta name="author" content="Ell Peck">
<title>Em &amp; Ben</title>
<style type = "text/css">
body {
font-family: "Linux Libertine", "Georgia", serif;
text-align: justify;
font-size: 100%;
}
p {
text-indent: 1.25em;
margin:0;
hyphens: auto;
}
blockquote {
margin: 1em;
font-style: italic;
}
code {
font-size: 80%;
font-family: "Linux Libertine Mono", monospace;
background-color: #F0F0F0;
}
pre {
font-family: "Linux Libertine Mono", monospace;
margin: 1em;
padding-top: 0;
background-color: #F0F0F0;
white-space: pre-wrap;
word-wrap: break-word;
}
/* Try to disable hyphenation in titles */
h1, h2, h3, h4, h5, h5 {
adobe-hyphenate: none;
-ms-hyphens: none; /* Trident (Windows) */
-moz-hyphens: none; /* Gecko (Firefox) */
-webkit-hyphens: none; /* Webkit */
-epub-hyphens: none; /* EPUB 3 */
hyphens: none; /* Futur standard */
}
h1, h2, h3, h4, h5, h6 {
text-align: left;
font-family: Linux Biolinum, sans-serif;
font-variant: small-caps;
}
/* Title of a part */
h1.part {
font-size: 250%;
text-align: center;
}
/* The `Part X` section of a part */
h2.part {
font-size: 175%;
text-align: center;
}
/* The "Chapter X" section of a chapter */
span.chapter-header {
font-size: 75%;
}
/* Title of the book */
h1.title {
text-align: center;
font-size: 300%;
}
/* Author */
h2.author {
text-align: right;
font-size: 200%;
}
/* Subtitle */
h2.subtitle {
text-align: center;
font-size: 200%;
}
/* When toc is displayed inlined */
#toc ol, #toc ul {
padding: 0;
margin-left: 1em;
}
#toc li {
list-style-type: none;
margin: 0; padding: 0;
}
#toc li:before {
content: none;
}
#cover img {
width: 100%;
max-height: 100%;
}
.image {
margin: auto;
width: 80%;
}
.image img {
width: 100%;
max-height: 100%;
}
.rule {
text-align: center !important;
margin-top: 1em;
margin-bottom: 1em;
font-weight: bold;
page-break-inside: avoid;
break-inside: avoid;
page-break-after: avoid;
break-after: avoid;
}
/* The number of the note in an expanded footnote (e.g. [3]) */
.note-number {
font-weight: bold;
margin-right: 1em;
}
td.note-number {
vertical-align: top;
}
/* When footnotes (try to) be diplayed as margin notes */
.sidenote {
display: block;
float: right;
width: 30%;
border: 1px solid black;
margin: 1em;
padding: .5em;
margin-right: -1.5em;
}
.sidenote .note-number {
float: left;
}
/* The div class displaying notes at the end of a chapter */
div.notes {
text-align: justify;
border-top: thin dashed black;
margin-top: 1em;
}
table.notes {
border-collapse: collapse;
border-style: hidden;
}
table.notes tr td {
margin-left: 1em;
margin-right: 1em;
}
table.notes tr td p {
text-indent: 0;
}
/* Every markdown table is included in a <div class = "table"> */
.table {
margin: 1em;
}
.table table {
width: 80%;
margin: 0 auto;
border-style: solid;
border-width: thin;
border-color: black;
border-collapse: collapse;
}
.table table th, .table table td {
border-style: solid;
border-width: 1px;
text-align: center;
}
.table table th {
font-weight: bold;
font-variant: small-caps;
}
span.initial {
float: left;
font-size: 285%;
font-weight: bold;
margin-right: 0.05em;
line-height: 0.8em;
}
p.first-para {
text-indent: 0;
}
/* Use this for escape narrow space so it is non-breaking */
.nnbsp {
/* white-space: nowrap;*/
word-spacing: -0.13em;
/* Following necessary for Kobo EPUB3 reader??? */
margin: 0;
padding: 0;
}
/* Default HTML CSS file includes default EPUB CSS file */
/* Colors for the navigation menu (toc) */
nav {
background: #CBBFCC;
color: black;
border-right-color: black;
}
#nav a:link {
color: black;
}
#nav a:visited {
color: black;
}
/* Colors for top and footer */
#top {
background-color: #444343;
color: white;
}
footer {
background-color: #444343;
color: white;
}
footer a, #top a {
color: #fc71ff;
}
footer a:hover, #top a:hover {
color: #b743fe;
}
/* Additional elements, only use for proofreading */
/* Grammar error */
.grammar-error {
color: red;
text-decoration-line: underline;
text-decoration-style: double;
/* background: #d966ff;*/
}
p.first-para:first-letter {
font-size: 300%;
float: left;
font-weight: bold;
margin-right: 0.05em;
line-height: 1em;
}
/* The nav element corresponding to the navigation menu */
nav {
z-index: 2;
position: fixed;
left: 0;
top: 0;
bottom: 0;
width: 20%;
overflow-y: auto;
font-size: 80%;
margin-left: 0;
border-right-width: 2px;
border-right-style: dashed;
}
#nav code {
background-color: transparent;
}
#nav a:link {
text-decoration: none;
}
#nav a:visited {
text-decoration: none;
}
#nav {
text-align: left;
}
#nav h2 {
text-align: center;
}
#nav li {
list-style-type: none;
text-indent: -1em;
}
#nav li:before {
content: none;
}
#nav ul {
padding-right: 1em;
padding-left: 1.5em;
}
/* The menu containing the button to display the navigation bar */
#menu {
position: fixed;
z-index: 2;
top: 0em;
left: 1em;
transition: left 1s;
}
#menu img {
opacity: 0.5;
}
#menu img:hover {
opacity: 1.0;
cursor: pointer;
}
#menu-button {
height: 1.5em;
padding: 0.5em;
}
#book-button {
height: 1.5em;
padding: 0.5em;
float: left;
}
/* Hide navigation bar */
#nav {
left: -21%;
transition: left 1s;
}
/* The main content of the book */
#content {
overflow-y: auto;
margin-left: 0;
margin-right: 0;
margin-top: 0;
margin-bottom: 0;
transition: margin-left 1s;
}
/* Used for multifiles HTML */
.prev_chapter {
text-align: left;
text-indent: 0;
margin-bottom: 1em;
font-size: 120%;
font-variant: small-caps;
font-weight: bold;
}
.next_chapter {
text-align: right;
margin-top: 1em;
margin-bottom: 1em;
font-size: 120%;
font-variant: small-caps;
font-weight: bold;
}
/* Improving readability for the HTML format only */
p, blockquote, li, .image {
margin-right: auto;
max-width: 33em;
}
blockquote {
padding: 1em;
}
#content {
text-align: center;
}
#page {
display: inline-block;
text-align: justify;
max-width: 33em;
}
#nav-container {
top: 0;
width: 100%;
}
#nav-title {
top: 0;
}
#toolbar {
top: 0;
float: left;
}
#toolbar img {
cursor: pointer;
}
footer {
margin-top: 2em;
margin-bottom: 0;
}
#top {
margin-top: 0;
margin-bottom: 1em;
}
#top p {
font-family: "Linux Biolinum";
font-weight: bold;
font-variant: small-caps;
}
footer, #top {
padding-top: .25em;
padding-bottom: .25em;
margin-left: 0;
margin-right: 0;
text-align: center;
transition: margin-left 1s;
}
footer a, #top a {
text-decoration: none;
}
footer p, #top p {
text-indent: 0;
margin-left: auto;
margin-right: auto;
margin-bottom: 0.5em;
margin-top: 0.5em;
max-width: 33em;
}
</style>
<style type = "text/css" media = "print">
#page {
display: block;
}
.chapter {
page-break-before: always;
}
#menu {
display: none;
}
#nav {
display: none;
}
</style>
<script>
function on(name) {
var elements = document.getElementsByClassName(name);
for (var i = 0; i < elements.length; i++) {
var elem = elements[i];
elem.style.backgroundColor = "pink";
}
}
function off(name) {
var elements = document.getElementsByClassName(name);
for (var i = 0; i < elements.length; i++) {
var elem = elements[i];
elem.style.backgroundColor = "white";
}
}
var display_menu = false;
function toggle() {
if (display_menu == true) {
display_menu = false;
document.getElementById("nav").style.left = "-21%";
document.getElementById("content").style.marginLeft = "0%";
document.getElementById("menu").style.left = "1em";
/* if(document.getElementById("top")) {
document.getElementById("top").style.left = "0";
}
if(document.getElementById("footer")) {
document.getElementById("footer").style.marginLeft = "0%";
}*/
} else {
display_menu = true;
document.getElementById("nav").style.left = "0";
document.getElementById("content").style.marginLeft = "20%";
document.getElementById("menu").style.left = "20%";
/* if(document.getElementById("top")) {
document.getElementById("top").style.left = "20%";
}
if(document.getElementById("footer")) {
document.getElementById("footer").style.marginLeft = "20%";
}*/
}
}
</script>
</head>
<body>
<script type = 'application/ld+json'>
{
"@context": "http://schema.org/",
"@type": "Book",
"author": "Ell Peck",
"name": "Em & Ben",
"inLanguage": "en"
}
</script>
<nav id = "nav">
<div id = "nav-title">
<h2><a href = "#link-0">Em &amp; Ben</a></h2>
</div>
<ul>
<li><a href="#link-1">1. </a></li>
<li><a href="#link-2">2. </a></li>
</ul>
</nav>
<div id = "content">
<div id = "page">
<header>
<div id = "menu">
<img id = "menu-button" onclick="toggle();"
src="data:image/svg+xml;base64,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"
alt = "Table of contents" title = "Table of contents" />
</div>
<h2 class="author">Ell Peck</h2>
<h1 id = "link-0" class="title" >Em &amp; Ben</h1>
</header>
<div id = "chapter-0" class = "chapter">
<h1 id = 'link-1'><span class = 'chapter-header'>Chapter 1</span></h1><p id = "para-1">Thered never been a day quite like Tuesday, February 17. It was a warm, spring day, and the newly awakened sun was warming Bens freckle-ridden face. He didnt know it just yet, but this would be the day that Ben would almost die. Well, thats the way hed think of it <em>afterwards</em>, anyway.</p>
<p id = "para-2">The park was unusually packed with people, and for a second, Ben debated whether turning back was a good idea after all. Hed had these thoughts a lot recently; wanting to just turn back and run away from things. He ran a hand through his long, silky hair and turned around. <em>Damn it</em>, he thought, before he snapped back to facing the center of the park. <em>I have to do this.</em></p>
<p id = "para-3">From afar, he could just about make out what was going on around the large fountain. The water was splashing out of what hed always just assumed to be a large fish, though he didnt have the ability to tell for sure, because the fountain was old and rugged and had probably been just-about-fixed one too many times before. Ben squinted a bit before raising his glasses in an attempt to make out the faces of the people he saw, sitting and standing around the fountain, talking. He was looking for his best friend, Emily. She was really the kind of person that would drag him to outings like this; public gatherings and any sort of parties were terrifying to Ben. It was natural then that he would find a best friend that is his absolute polar opposite: Popular, blonde and, of course, an absolute party animal. <em>Damn it, Em, where are you?</em>, he mumbled to no one in particular.</p>
<p id = "para-4">He started approaching the fountain and the square around it. Several small crowds of people were standing around little stalls that emitted vastly different smells. Amidst all of this mess, he was almost certain he could smell bubblegum ice cream. Hectically looking around in an attempt to find his friend, he tried to suppress any memory related to bubble gum. To ice cream. To the life that hed had before he changed. <em>Fuck</em>, he quietly said to himself.</p>
<p id = "para-5">The smell of the bubblegum ice cream started getting too strong for him to handle, and memories started welling up inside of him. His brain was unfolding like a book, too heavy to close. Ben pictured a red, rickety swing set in the middle of a park much like the one he was in right now. He pictured Emily, and for a moment, he pictured the way it had felt. The way the wind blew through his hair as he threw his legs back and forth on the swings, laughing with Em about wanting to do a three hundred and sixty degree turn. Had he already called her <em>Em</em> back then?</p>
<p id = "para-6">He immediately snapped back into reality when he felt the tap of something on his shoulder. Immediately might have been generous, because the tap really did feel like a heavy knock. Maybe it had taken him a few seconds to come back. His eyes felt a bit watery and his knees were shaking, but he told himself that he was probably just hungry (he wasnt) and turned around to discover the source of the heavy tapping.</p>
<p id = "para-7">“Ben!”, Emily exclaimed right behind him. She was a beautiful woman with curly hair and a smile that probably tasted like bubblegum ice cream. <em>Tasted?</em></p>
<p id = "para-8">“Hey, Emily, whyd you take so long?”, he asked in the flattest possible tone.</p>
<p id = "para-9">“Shut up”, she returned with a snarky grin. <em>Damn</em>, she looked extra beautiful today. Ben looked down at her flowy, blue skirt and matching light purple ballerinas. Even though his eyes were still watery, he couldnt help but smile at the look of her, standing there right in front of him. This is exactly what she did to him.</p>
<p id = "para-10">“Oh man, I want some fro-yo right about now!”, Emily sighed yearningly as she grasped Bens upper arm and started pulling him towards one of the stalls by the fountain. “You want some too? I can pay.”</p>
<p id = "para-11">“Are you kidding me? Youre <em>broke</em>, Im not letting you pay for <em>anything</em>!"</p>
<p id = "para-12">"<em>Broke</em>? Come on, thats a bit harsh", she countered and frowned. She stopped dead in her tracks, let go of his upper arm and, after a few seconds of fondling with her cardigan, produced a thirty-dollar bill out of what he could only assume to be a hidden pocket somewhere. “See?”</p>
<p id = "para-13">Not entirely convinced of Emilys sudden wealth, he raised an eyebrow and tilted his head slightly in disapproval. “Fine.”</p>
</div><div id = "chapter-1" class = "chapter">
<h1 id = 'link-2'><span class = 'chapter-header'>Chapter 2</span></h1><p id = "para-14">Over the next few hours, Ben was dragged back and forth between stalls and attractions. For every single one, he was apprehensive at first but rather quickly changed his mind once Emily frowned. It was such a heart-melting frown, worse than the faces that his aunts dogs would make when they wanted to be taken for a long walk. Every single thing about Emily was just so beautiful that he could be happy doing anything with her. Even going to a shoddy, uncomfortable carnival in the middle of February.</p>
<p id = "para-15">Theyd already stopped at almost every ride and stall, and so Ben decided that now was enough. He wasnt usually the type of person to make decisions like this (hed just leave it up to whoever else was actually in charge), but this time, hed put his foot down. He would, absolutely.</p>
<p id = "para-16">“Em, Im getting tired.”</p>
<p id = "para-17">“Are you serious? We havent even eaten any churros yet!” Emily smiled devilishly at him while tugging on his blue sweatshirts right sleeve. She was staring at him, as if trying to extract the information directly from his eyes. Her blonde locks were flowing over her brow and almost into her eyes, but that didnt seem to bother her. He guessed that, after a while, youd probably get used to it, like you do with seeing your own nose. He really liked seeing her nose, though.</p>
<p id = "para-18">“You <em>love</em> churros," she pointed out with an overly exaggerated <em>o</em> in <em>love</em>.</p>
<p id = "para-19"><em>In love</em>, he thought. This time, he was going to put his foot down, right? Thats what hed decided. He didnt want people to control him anymore. But was that really what Emily was doing here? No. She was his best friend, she knew what was good for him. Right? She was looking at him, in obvious anticipation of his answer. He did really like churros. But did he love them? He wasnt sure about that. Okay, he did love them, but did he love them enough to warrant another thirty minutes at this godforsaken carnival?</p>
<p id = "para-20">He loved Emily, that was for certain.</p>
<p id = "para-21">Wait, what? Had he really just thought that? No, he couldnt have. That was just one of those jokes his brain made up sometimes. Amusing, albeit slightly infuriating. <em>Fuck off</em>, he said to himself.</p>
<p id = "para-22">“What?”, Emily replied, clearly confused as to what he was saying. He wasnt saying anything though, right? What had he said?</p>
<p id = "para-23">“Im, the,” he mumbled, trying to make sense of what Emily couldve just heard him say. Maybe she didnt hear anything, maybe it was just the wind. What could he have said to her? Surely he didnt say the love part out loud, right?</p>
<p id = "para-24">He stared at her face. Her brown eyes were intensely focusing on him, her lips slightly curled into a smile. She tugged on his sweatshirt one last time.</p>
<p id = "para-25">“So, churros?” Oh Thank God.</p>
<p id = "para-26">"<em>Fine.</em>"</p>
<p class = "rule">***</p>
<p id = "para-27">As they were eating their churros, Ben couldnt help but notice how much chocolate sauce Emily had on hers with every bite. Theyd ordered a little square box filled with twelve or so standing churros, along with a small tub of chocolate sauce that tasted criminally close to Nutella without actually being Nutella.</p>
<p id = "para-28">“You know this sauce is for dipping, right?”, he said to her with a grin before taking another huge bite. “Its not supposed to be a full-on coating.”</p>
<p id = "para-29">“What do you know, huh? Where does it say that?” She tutted and shoved her churro into the tub of sauce with ostentation. While pulling out the excessively coated pastry, she got ready to put her other hand under it as to prevent any of the chocolate sauce from dripping down onto her dress. “Try it!”, she said with an impish smile and held the dripping mess right up to Bens mouth.</p>
<p id = "para-30">“No, I dont—” He tried to interject, but Emily had already rammed the chocolate-covered churro directly into his face. He resisted opening his mouth, so the chocolate sauce smeared all over this face and chin and then continued to drip onto his sweatshirt in big, brown globs. “Damn it, Em.”</p>
<p id = "para-31">“Im sorry, but why didnt you open your mouth?”, she asked jokingly while holding back laughter.</p>
<p id = "para-32">“Fuck,” he said angrily and fumbled around his pockets, trying to find a tissue or something. In the scramble, the smells of the chocolate on his face and the odor of bubblegum ice cream in the air mixed to create something awfully unpleasant in his nose. He was trying really hard to find a tissue now.</p>
<p id = "para-33">“Damn it, Em, why do you always have to do that?”</p>
<p id = "para-34">“Oh, <em>come on</em>, that isnt fair! I was just trying to have fun!"</p>
<p id = "para-35">“Fun? You know I hate these kinds of things. I hate <em>people</em>!"</p>
<p id = "para-36">She tutted. “Lighten up a bit, Ben!”</p>
<p id = "para-37">“Lighten the <em>fuck</em> up?" His brain was unfolding again, this time like floodgates, unable to be stopped by the water pushing against them. “You dont understand me at all!”</p>
<p id = "para-38">He was yelling now, and some people around them were beginning to notice. Fuck. He finally looked over at Emily, his face still covered in chocolate sauce, but she wasnt smiling anymore. Instead, she had this look on her face that shed sometimes get. When watching a sad documentary, or when her mom prepared food that she didnt particularly enjoy. It wasnt a frown, it was more of a neutral expression of… disapproval? Disgust?</p>
<p id = "para-39">“Why is everything such a big fucking deal to you, Ben?”, she yelled, tears starting to escape from her half-shut, pained eyes.</p>
<p id = "para-40">That was the moment a switch in his brain finally flicked. A switch that was probably in a back room, guarded by multiple doors with multiple, separate keys. Use only in emergencies, a sign somewhere close to the switch probably said. Dont use even, maybe. Ben tried to force his eyes shut with extreme determination. No, he wouldnt cry.</p>
<p id = "para-41">But he did. Tears started running down his face like waterfalls, and he tried to cover them up and wipe them away with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. He wiped his cheeks with the sleeves of his blue sweatshirt, and large amounts of chocolate sauce transferred from his face to the sleeves. God fucking damn it, he muttered to himself. The world around him was turning into a very small part of his vision, the rest filled with blurry streams of tears. He tried to get up from the bench they were sitting on and stumbled around the square where the festival was happening. He was sure hed bumped into a few people on the way, but couldnt tell for absolute certain. After what felt like an hour and a half, he finally arrived at a tree a few meters away from the fountain square.</p>
<p id = "para-42">He rested one hand against the bark and tried to catch his breath. The thought of bubblegum ice cream was fresh in his mind again, the thought of the red, rickety swing set was morphing and mixing with the thought of churros, the thought of chocolate sauce in his face. The thought of Emilys smile, the thought of her frown, the thought of her sad movie face. Fuck.</p>
<p id = "para-43">He tried telling himself to breathe. <em>Five in, six hold, seven out.</em> Thats what his therapist had told him. <em>One, two, three.</em> Whats the worst that could realistically happen?, thats what he was supposed to ask himself. <em>Four, five.</em> Well. <em>One, two, three.</em> Emily might never talk to him again. <em>Four, five, six.</em> She might hate him, now that shed just tried to be cute by shoving a churro into his face, and now that hed reacted like a total fucking asshole. <em>One, two.</em> Was he already breathing in again? <em>Fuck.</em> He kept telling his body to calm down, his mind to stop racing. His heart to stop racing. He started leaning against the bark and then slowly slid down the tree trunk, sitting down on the ground with his knees close to his chest. He observed the rickety swing set in the middle of the field, and saw himself and Emily swinging back and forth again, talking about three hundred and sixty degree swings. He saw himself, laughing and giggling and occasionally licking a cone of bubble gum soft serve he had in his left hand. He saw Emily doing the same. He saw himself wobbling a bit on the swing, trying to hold himself steady with just his right hand. He tried to breathe again. <em>One, two, three.</em> He saw himself, still holding the cone, sliding out of the swings seat and yelling something. He saw himself landing in the rough, wet sand, the cone having left his hand and landing face-down in the sand next to him. <em>Four, five.</em> Tears were still running down his face. He saw himself turning around as Emily jumped off of her swing and came to his rescue.</p>
<p id = "para-44">“Are you alright?”, he heard her say in her beautiful, melodic voice. <em>One, two, three.</em></p>
<p id = "para-45">“I wouldve been, if you hadnt forced me to get this stupid ice cream!”, he heard himself shoot back aggressively.</p>
<p id = "para-46">He felt something tap on his shoulder again.</p>
<p id = "para-47">“Are you alright?”, he heard someone say. “Im sorry, I shouldnt have said that.”</p>
<p id = "para-48">It was Emily, standing next to him, bending down a bit to reach his shoulders. She slid down the tree trunk next to him. “Im really sorry.”</p>
<p id = "para-49">Ben tried to catch his breath, but with Emily here, it felt much easier all of a sudden. Its like a tension had been lifted from him, like someone had come to push on the floodgates from the other side. “Its alright. Im sorry I yelled, too.”</p>
<p id = "para-50">Emily tutted.</p>
<p id = "para-51">“You know, sometimes I think of that day on the swings.”</p>
<p id = "para-52">“What day?”</p>
<p id = "para-53">“The day we had our first fight. Dont you remember?”</p>
<p id = "para-54">Emily tutted again. She placed her hand back on his shoulder, which he liked, because it was Emilys hand. Thats all that mattered to him.</p>
<p id = "para-55">He wiped the remaining tears and chocolate sauce off of his face, his sweatshirts sleeves now completely covered in both. “I keep remembering that day, being scared that Ill re-live it. That well have another fight. That youll leave.”</p>
<p id = "para-56">"<em>Leave</em>? Come on."</p>
<p id = "para-57">“Im serious.”</p>
<p id = "para-58">“I am, too. Im not leaving.”</p>
<p id = "para-59">She scooched closer and rested her head on his shoulder. “You know, I think about stuff too.”</p>
<p id = "para-60">“Like what?”, he asked while also resting his head on her head, which made him feel really close to her. Intertwined, even.</p>
<p id = "para-61">“You”, she said quietly and grunted. “I really like hanging out with you, you know?”</p>
<p id = "para-62">“I do too,” he said almost immediately. Did this mean what he thought it meant?</p>
<p id = "para-63">“Do you want to go home? Im sure my mom has cookies.”</p>
<p id = "para-64">He nodded. Maybe it did.</p>
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<h2 class="author">Ell Peck</h2>
<h1 id = "link-0" class="title" >Emilys Fake Boyfriend</h1>
</header>
<div id = "chapter-0" class = "chapter">
<h1 id = 'link-1'><span class = 'chapter-header'>Chapter 1</span></h1><p id = "para-1">For Emily, Saturdays always seemed to be the days when most things went wrong. She didnt exactly know why, but she was almost certain that there was some pattern, some sort of spiteful spirit that hated Saturdays, hated her, or both. This Saturday would be one of the most bizarre ones so far, but she didnt know that yet.</p>
<p id = "para-2">The alarm rang, its screeching noises filling Emilys bedroom. With a huge sigh, she pulled the cover off of her body and jumped out of bed. As she picked up her phone from the nightstand, she sighed again. <em>Oh God</em>, she thought. <em>What now?</em> She tapped various locations of the devices large screen until she ended up in a text message chain with her mom, her brother and her younger sister. Her eyes kept trying to entice her to fall back asleep while she was scanning the lines of the last ten or so messages as carefully as she could.</p>
<p id = "para-3"><em>Damn it</em>, she thought as she got to the last message. <em>Thats today</em>? She quickly gathered her things, put on her favorite, pastel pink cardigan, messily fluffed up her hair as she ran past her large mirror and made her way downstairs.</p>
<p id = "para-4">“Good morning!” Her mom said with a slight smile. She was standing in the kitchen, as she usually did, preparing homemade waffles. Emilys mother was a very good cook and baker, but waffles werent her strong suit, for some reason. Every time she tried (and she tried too much), theyd end up burnt or somehow taste of licorice. The thought made Emily grimace as she walked past the kitchen.</p>
<p id = "para-5">“Morning, mom!” she hastily said and made her way to the front door.</p>
<p id = "para-6">“Not so fast,” her mom shouted back from the kitchen. “Dont forget your waffles!”</p>
<p id = "para-7"><em>Oh, God.</em> “Of course,” Emily replied with a sigh.</p>
<p class = "rule">***</p>
<p id = "para-8">Ben was sitting on the side of his bed with his laptop firmly planted on his crossed legs. With the speed of a twenty-fingered person, he was typing away on an essay for school. He heard a knock on his room door and, while <em>very</em> annoyed by this, he still managed to calmly shout “Come in!”</p>
<p id = "para-9">“Emilys here,” his mom said while peeking her head through the slightly opened door. “She says its important.”</p>
<p id = "para-10">Almost immediately, far too many thoughts started sprinting through his head: Its <em>important</em>? What could that possibly mean? Was Em, his best friend since kindergarten, <em>dying</em>? No, thats unlikely. But what if she <em>was</em>? Why wouldnt she just <em>call</em>? Oh God, no, a call would be <em>even worse</em>. Still begging his brain to shut up, he trotted down the stairs and arrived in the houses main hallway. A myriad of family photos plastered the walls, most of them from when Ben was still a child. His mom <em>loved</em> showing off pictures of his “little baby boy,” evidently in the most embarrassing ways possible.</p>
<p id = "para-11">“Ben!” Emily said hastily as he opened the door. “I need you to be my boyfriend!”</p>
<p id = "para-12"><em>His what</em>? His mind began racing again. Not only was that a very weird way to phrase that sort of thing, but it was also an extremely unexpected request in general. Emily, while insanely beautiful and extremely charming, wasnt really known to start relationships with anyone. Ben occasionally talked to her about it. It didnt seem to be her favorite topic, so usually, hed lay off after only two or three questions. They werent necessarily the easiest of questions for him to ask her, either, because he was <em>obsessed</em> with her, almost uncomfortably so. Not in a stalker-y, watch-her-every-night, masturbate-to-her-daily sort of way, but in an I-love-you-and-I-want-to-marry-you kind of way. Of course, Ben (being who he is) was far too self-conscious to <em>ever</em> bring it up.</p>
<p id = "para-13">“You need to <em>what</em>?", he responded quickly.</p>
<p id = "para-14">“Well,” she said and took a deep breath. “My aunt is coming to town and I may or may not have told her that were, uh, together.”</p>
<p id = "para-15">“You did <em>what</em>?"</p>
<p id = "para-16">“I know, I know. Its bad.” She tutted. “The thing is that my aunt can be really <em>annoying</em>. She always goes on and on about my love life, about how I havent found a boyfriend yet, even though Im already 19, and how that is <em>absolutely unacceptable</em>. So, I decided to put a stop to it."</p>
<p id = "para-17">Ben closed his eyes. <em>Fuck.</em> Of course, it wasnt what hed hoped it was. <em>Of course</em>, she didnt want to be his <em>actual</em> girlfriend. Whod want to be? Nobody. Especially not her.</p>
<p id = "para-18">She was standing there, her blonde locks swaying back and forth in the breeze that the open front door let in, and Ben was lost for words.</p>
<p id = "para-19">She tutted again. “Arent you going to say anything?”</p>
<p id = "para-20">“Well,” he started. How could he say yes to this? If anything, wouldnt it just cause him more pain to have an entirely fake relationship than none at all? Maybe. But maybe, this could lead to something. Maybe, he thought, this could be like those cheesy romance films that he sometimes watched when he was in a <em>particular</em> mood. Maybe this could really be the start of something.</p>
<p id = "para-21">“What do you need me to do?” He asked.</p>
<p class = "rule">***</p>
<p id = "para-22">Emily breathed a huge sigh of relief. “Lets sit down somewhere,” she said quietly.</p>
<p id = "para-23">As she finally entered the house, and they started making their way over to Bens living room, she felt a kind of unease course through her body. It wasnt the <em>bad Saturday waffles</em> kind. She couldnt quite put her finger on what this feeling was, but she felt her heart beating faster when they sat down on a rickety, brown sofa.</p>
<p id = "para-24">She knew, of course, that Ben didnt enjoy this whole situation. She knew that he wasnt the best liar, and she knew that he didnt <em>enjoy</em> lying all that much either. But this was different, she thought to herself. Emily never understood what, if anything, Ben felt for her. It wasnt that he was secretive about his feelings, its that she was incredibly bad at reading them. To her, it was weird that so many people automatically <em>assumed</em> that she was amazing at talking to people, making conversation, and understanding what other people want. But this wasnt really the case. While Emily <em>did</em> love hanging out with people, the part of her brain that was meant for understanding peoples feelings was probably being repurposed to store excessive amounts of Ariana Grande quotes. And it made her feel bad, too, because her best friend Ben was absolutely <em>packed</em> with feelings.</p>
<p id = "para-25">While poking at a small hole in the brown fabric she was sitting on, she recalled a situation from a few months ago. She and Ben were in the park, and there was some sort of spring festival going on. She had dragged him out to it because, even though she didnt necessarily <em>like</em> taking this role in his life, shed often try to take him out of his shell and help him fight his anxiety. During that festival, he had a full-on <em>panic attack</em> (the kind of thing that she, as an avid Ariana Grande listener, did not understand), which caused him to run off and hide.</p>
<p id = "para-26">Was this really such a good idea?</p>
<p id = "para-27">“Okay, so,” she said and let out a big sigh. “Lets talk relationship. What kind of boyfriend do you want to be?”</p>
<p id = "para-28">“Im sorry?” He said, flustered.</p>
<p id = "para-29">“Well, I didnt tell my aunt that many lies about you, so the whole thing is pretty open. You can be super caring, or, you know, the bad boy type.”</p>
<p id = "para-30">“The <em>bad boy type</em>?"</p>
<p id = "para-31">“Yea, like, uncaring and aloof, you know? Maybe wear a leather jacket.”</p>
<p id = "para-32">“A leather- have you <em>met me</em>?" He responded in playful disgust.</p>
<p id = "para-33">“Okay, super caring it is, then,” she laughed and moved her hands around in the air as if writing something down on a giant, invisible notebook.</p>
<p id = "para-34">Honestly, <em>super caring</em> was exactly the kind of boyfriend that she actually wanted. Of course, she would never say this out loud, but occasionally she dreamed of the perfect storybook romance. <em>Romeo and Juliet</em>, just without all the tragic stuff. Just like that one Taylor Swift song. While shed fooled around with some of her girlfriends once or twice, shed never actually had a relationship with anyone, especially not a guy. She didnt really know why, either. She briefly wondered if any guys had ever been visibly into her. Maybe shed just missed it.</p>
<p id = "para-35">Shed also never admit <em>this</em>, of course, but Ben seemed like a fairly good candidate for the position of the super caring boyfriend. He was innocent, sweet, and he had the mane of an extremely gentle lion.</p>
<p id = "para-36">Uncomfortable silence had set in between the two, as it sometimes seemed to do. It didnt help that Emily had one of those weird thoughts again. Very occasionally, shed have this intrusive image in her head: Ben, lion-like as he looked, not-so-gently on top of her. Sometimes hed touch her breasts; sometimes theyd be kissing. Was she sexualizing her friendship? Maybe. Was that bad? She didnt know. She also didnt know if she cared yet. After all, she didnt <em>mean to</em>. It just kind of happened every now and again. If anything, didnt that speak to her fondness of Ben?</p>
<p id = "para-37">In an attempt to quickly change the subject on her mind, she started telling a story about her aunt.</p>
<p id = "para-38">“Youre going to <em>love</em> my aunt," she said sarcastically. He looked at her with a sense of dread in his eyes. “Okay, one time, we were at this restaurant, the whole family all packed into this corner booth, and she would not stop pestering the poor waiter with question after question about the most ridiculous stuff! Every time she waved him back over to our table, he looked more and more tired of her shit.”</p>
<p id = "para-39">“Thats actually kind of horrifying,” he responded and shook his head slowly.</p>
<p id = "para-40">“Right?”</p>
</div><div id = "chapter-1" class = "chapter">
<h1 id = 'link-2'><span class = 'chapter-header'>Chapter 2</span></h1><p id = "para-41">In the early evening, Ben found himself sitting at a big dinner table, straight across from an overly cheerful looking lady. If he had to guess, Ems aunt was probably around fifty-five years old, maybe a little older. She was slightly hunched over the table, resting one of her arms on it. <em>Thats not how you sit at a table, young man</em>, he heard his own aunts voice echoing in his head. Clearly, Emilys aunt didnt care, and from what hed been told, this wasnt surprising.</p>
<p id = "para-42">When Emilys mom came into the room from the kitchen, she was carrying a large tray that held a variety of sweet pastries and cookies. Homemade, Ben assumed, waiting to bite into one of those chocolate croissants. Emilys mom set the tray down in the center of the table and pointed at it with an open hand as if to say <em>There you go, dig in</em>. So Emily and her sister did. After they finished selecting something they liked, Ben also felt comfortable taking a croissant.</p>
<p id = "para-43">A chocolate cookie in her delicate fingers, Emilys aunt turned to Emily. “So,” she began while raising her thickly overdrawn, black eyebrows. “How have you been, my love?”</p>
<p id = "para-44">“Well, schools been going pretty well. Ive only gotten good grades this semester, and my classes have been bearable.”</p>
<p id = "para-45">Her aunt started smiling wide. “A perfect student as always! I expected nothing less of you, dear.”</p>
<p id = "para-46">Emily provocatively rolled her eyes and sighed. Her aunt didnt seem affected by that at all. Instead, she continued smiling as she bit into her cookie. “And you, love?”</p>
<p id = "para-47">Confused for a second, Ben realized that she was talking to him now.</p>
<p id = "para-48">“Me? Oh, well,” he stuttered. “School is also going great for me. Emily and I are pretty much on the same level in terms of grades and stuff.”</p>
<p id = "para-49">“On the same level, you say? Maybe thats why you two get along so well! For years now, Ive been <em>absolutely positive</em> that you two would make the cutest couple. And now its <em>finally</em> happened, God bless."</p>
<p id = "para-50">Emily sighed, louder this time. Ben let out a stifled chuckle. <em>I wish</em>, he thought to himself.</p>
<p class = "rule">***</p>
<p id = "para-51">As the conversation continued over dinner, followed by coffee, Ben felt himself zoning out from time to time. As he continued to observe Em and her aunt conversing, he felt his mind wander to a different world without his control.</p>
<p id = "para-52">A world where him and Em really <em>were</em> a couple. A world where, against all odds, theyd happily been together for years, with their own apartment, with floor-length windows and a balcony. Theyd sit outside in the evenings, eating ice cream and sipping on cocktails. They would laugh and share stories of their day while watching the sunset over the park. Theyd go into town on the weekends and eat at that little Italian place he keeps wanting to go to. Theyd never fight anymore, because theyd be happy. Hed never cry alone, never wonder why he was too <em>stupid</em> to tell her how he felt.</p>
<p id = "para-53">Emily grabbed his hand. “Were going upstairs now,” she said and got up from her chair.</p>
<p id = "para-54">Even though he knew it was fake; even though he knew that her hand in his meant <em>nothing</em>, it felt good. He craved contact like this, with someone he really cared about. Hed hug Emily more if it wasnt for his fear of being overbearing. Of being a nuisance. Why did he have to feel that way?</p>
<p id = "para-55">Emily dragged Ben behind her as she walked up the stairs, her palm still resting in his. When they got to the door of her room, she still hadnt let go of his hand. Why? Was Ben just reading into things again, or did she <em>enjoy</em> holding his hand? <em>Surely not. Shed never enjoy that</em>, he told himself. Then, as he frequently did, he told himself to stop telling himself things like that.</p>
<p id = "para-56">Emily finally let go of his hand upon entering her room. This was one of Bens favorite places to be. Sometimes, hed imagine him and Em cuddled up together on her bed, sharing a blanket, watching a movie or playing <em>GTA</em>.</p>
<p id = "para-57">He thought about this kind of thing a lot. Of course, he also thought a lot about the fact that he thought about this kind of thing so frequently. Was it bad to have these thoughts? Was he risking ruining his perfect friendship with Emily by making some big romance out of it in his head? Was it unfair to her to keep quiet about it? As they sat down next to each other on the bed, he tried to let these thoughts fade.</p>
<p id = "para-58">“Thank you <em>so damn much</em>, man," Emily said and let out a sigh of relief. “What a nightmare.”</p>
<p id = "para-59">“Oh come on, it wasnt <em>that</em> bad."</p>
<p id = "para-60">“Did you hear what she <em>said</em>?" Emily put on a very bad, fake British accent. “I was <em>absolutely positive</em>," she mocked. "<em>My dear.</em>"</p>
<p id = "para-61">Ben couldnt help but laugh. “Shes not that bad! I thought she was nice.”</p>
<p id = "para-62">“Oh shut up, I <em>know</em> you." Did she? “People like her drive you <em>mad</em>! You never miss out on an opportunity to hide in your room. You dont <em>like</em> her."</p>
<p id = "para-63">Maybe she did know him. And maybe it was this realization that made him unable to think about the words flying out of his mouth. He let out a quiet, but emotional sigh, and said “I like <em>you</em>, though."</p>
<p id = "para-64">Emily turned and looked into his eyes. As he stared back, he could see a tiny reflection of his face in her brown irises. “I like you too, Ben. You know that,” she said.</p>
<p id = "para-65">Maybe she didnt know him after all. He focused intensely on her face. What if this was the moment to be honest? What if, in the light of this fake relationship, he could finally be true to how he felt? Anxiety boiled up inside him. This was a panic attack just waiting to happen. But he had to try. Right?</p>
<p id = "para-66">“No,” he said and gently took her hand. “I <em>really</em> like you, Em."</p>
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#toc li:before {
content: none;
}
#cover img {
width: 100%;
max-height: 100%;
}
.image {
margin: auto;
width: 80%;
}
.image img {
width: 100%;
max-height: 100%;
}
.rule {
text-align: center !important;
margin-top: 1em;
margin-bottom: 1em;
font-weight: bold;
page-break-inside: avoid;
break-inside: avoid;
page-break-after: avoid;
break-after: avoid;
}
/* The number of the note in an expanded footnote (e.g. [3]) */
.note-number {
font-weight: bold;
margin-right: 1em;
}
td.note-number {
vertical-align: top;
}
/* When footnotes (try to) be diplayed as margin notes */
.sidenote {
display: block;
float: right;
width: 30%;
border: 1px solid black;
margin: 1em;
padding: .5em;
margin-right: -1.5em;
}
.sidenote .note-number {
float: left;
}
/* The div class displaying notes at the end of a chapter */
div.notes {
text-align: justify;
border-top: thin dashed black;
margin-top: 1em;
}
table.notes {
border-collapse: collapse;
border-style: hidden;
}
table.notes tr td {
margin-left: 1em;
margin-right: 1em;
}
table.notes tr td p {
text-indent: 0;