“I ruined it,” Karli says. “I’m so sorry.”
It wasjust one,almostkiss. One Idefinitelydidn’t stay up thinking about after he left last night. “Don’t worry. A cactus and some thieves also made the night an adventure.”
Her head pops up, her eyes quizzical. “You had a good time.”
I shrug. “Yeah.” But did she hear about the cactus and the thieves? That’s some serious stuff.
“Are you going to go out with him again?”
I shrug. What could it hurt?
She leans back in her seat and beams. “You’re falling for him.”
“No, I’m not.” It’s not love. We are just going on a few dates.
“Then why were you out so late?” She cocks her head to the side. “And why are you sitting here at the table with me when I thought you needed to take an exam today?”
Shoot!
I jump from my seat, then drop rightback down. I wait for my brain to catch up with the rest of my body and for my vision to clear, then flee the room at a much slower pace, leavingKarli’s questions unanswered. I’d rather torture my brain with a math final than admit anything to her.
Yes, I like Michael. He’s fun and pushes me to do stuff I wouldn’t do on my own. Maybe we could even be friends. Being friends with him is safe. I can do that, no problem.
My phone buzzes.
Michael. Of course he’d show up right when I’m trying to banish him to the friend zone.
Michael: I hope your foot is feeling better. I had an excellent two dates with you last night. :)
***
I slam the apartment door and drop my bag onto the table. My exam did not go the way I wanted it to, and I’ll be lucky to pass the class. I can’t believe I stayed out so late and risked my GPA for some guy. Why didn’t I listen to that annoying voice in my head?
Sometimes she’s actually right.
The chocolate chip cookies Karli made for me yesterday are the only thing giving me motivation. I open the pantry door and step onto a stool to see the top shelf. We purposely keep treats there so they are “out of sight, out of mind.”
They aregone.
Evidently, we need a new tactic. And more cookies.
“Ugh.” I trudge to the living room and fall onto our couch. I forgot it’s not one of those cozy couches with fluffy arm rests, and my body hits it like a board.
Ow.What’s the point of a couch if you can’t angrily throw yourself onto it?
My phone rings, and despite my bad mood, a tiny flutter of excitement takes off in my chest.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Juliet.” It’s not Michael’s voice that greets me, but my mother’s. And to think, this day was going so splendidly.
“Hi,” I say again, as is typical for one of my mother’s calls. I have to say hello twice before she will dive into the conversation. The extra “hi” serves as our small talk.
“I wanted to confirm you’ll be here Christmas morning at eight. I have the Thompsons coming over for breakfast, so things will be the same as they always are.”
The same? As in, my mom will be taking multiple shots at my dad, who isn’t invited, and gossiping for hours with the Thompsons.
My dad called me two days ago, asking for my itinerary so he could prepare for our trip to California. Which is the same thing I do almost every year I’m with him.
