Adam:What time are we leaving tomorrow?
Danielle:Tomorrow? We’re leaving tonight. We’re walking to your dorm right now, so be ready in 10.
I ignore the message, exiting out of the app.
Why, why did I do this to myself? I’m horrible at making friends, even Danielle called me out for it. I’m too prickly and too stuck up for most people to enjoy. I don’t have any hobbies, so I have nothing to talk about with people. My humor comes across as snarky. Maybe my father was right, I amuseless.
My mood plummets, and I pull the hair at the nape of my neck, hoping for the pain to bring me a semblance of control. I’m in control of my life. No one can hurt me. Not anymore.
I have to make it through this weekend and see that thisfriendof Danielle’s isn’t a psycho axe murderer, and then it will all be fine.
A knock sounds at my door, and I can hear two people talking. Panic in one person’s voice and the other soothing tone. Grabbing my bag off my bed, I do a once-over of my room to make sure everything is in place for me to be gone for a few days.
My book bag is on the coffee table, so I’ll make sure to grab that as well before we leave, so I can keep myself busy with something while Danielle entertains herself and her friend.
Walking out of my room and into the living area, there are two people, almost nose to nose, talking in hushed tones. I freeze, my body tensing with the need to flee.
Danielle turns to look at me, a wide smile gracing her face. Herfriendturns, and I’m hit with a wave of something brutal. Something dark, deep, and primal.
Hunter Collins, the object of my desire, is staring at me with his brown eyes wide and his mouth slightly parted. A hint of his pink tongue pops out of his mouth to swipe over his lower lip. My eyes zero in on it, and my pulse is thrumming in my veins. My heart is threatening to burst out of my chest.
I amsofucked.
13
HUNTER
Danielle has been spending every day after class hanging out with me. At first, I thought it was going to be awkward, or that our friendship would fizzle out. But that hasn’t been the case. As much as we’re different, we’re the same on the inside.
We both like listening to podcasts, and we started listening to one together. We had to compromise because I prefer soothing and educational ones, and she likes the chaotic ones where it sounds like the host is rambling for a full hour. We’re listening to a crime one, educational for me, and one of the hosts is a yapper. So it works out well for both of us.
Studying has been minimal this week while I’ve been working on this order of bookmarks. It’s for an event that a local library is putting on, and they want the bookmarks to be simple yet artfully designed. Danielle has been giving me a lot of feedback that I’m thankful for. She’s honest, but she doesn’t purposefully try to put me or my ideas down, instead, she tries to find ways to enhance them.
My mom called me to confirm that yes, I am coming home tomorrow and that I need Dad to pick me up, and Danielle was quick to butt in.
“I’ll take you home,” she whisper-yells loud enough that my mom asks, “Who’s that?”
“No one, Mom. Can I call you right back?” My mom agrees, and we say our goodbyes. Danielle is bouncing on my bed, her face lit up in excitement.
“Why are you going home? Isn’t it a little early in the school year? They normally recommend freshmen don’t go home at all the first semester because they’re more likely to drop out.” I put my phone back on the charger on my desk and turn toward her.
“If you must know?—”
“I must.”
“Anyway. It’s my birthday. Tomorrow. That’s why I’m going home.” She squeals, loud enough that my ears ring.
“I amdefinitelygoing home with you. What are we going to do to celebrate? Go out, get drunk, snort a line of coke off someone’s ass?” I snort, and her eyes crinkle at the corners in amusement.
“As fun as that sounds, and I’m sure it would be so much fun, no. I’m going to go home, eat my mom’s chocolate chip cookies, and watch sad movies until I fall asleep on the couch. What I do every year.” And every year it’s always just been me and my parents, and I’m not sure how I feel about adding someone else to the mix.
“Which sad movies? I loveA Walk to Remember, but I think any Nicholas Sparks movie will do.”
“Why do you want to go home with me?” I ask her, curiosity winning out when I know I should be thankful to even have a friend who wants to spend time with me.
Memories of birthday parties when no one showed up flash across my mind, and I got to the point that I didn’t talk about mybirthday. It was just another day, because I was tired of getting my hopes up for no one to show. The crushing disappointment that I felt year after year still weighs me down. The only things I still allow are chocolate chip cookies and my parents telling me happy birthday. That is more for them than me, because they love celebrating my birthday. They used to always say my being born was the best moment of their lives.
It’s all so confusing to me, because they constantly show me this love and support, and no matter how hard I try, I never feel like I’m enough. I feel undeserving of their love and attention, and I’ve wondered too often if their lives would be better off without me in them at all.
