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“Earth to Jolie.” Chelsea waves her little hands in front of me, smiling. I snap out of my stupor, shaking my head lightly.
“Sorry, you were saying?” I close my MacBook and grab my shoulder bag from under my chair. I admit defeat. There’s just no way I’ll be able to concentrate on anything other than him today.
“So things must be serious between you and Sage, if he is claiming you as his in front of the entire world.” We both stand up, gather our belongings, and make our way to the door. I’m about to answer Chelsea, when…
“Slut,” one of the sorority girls coughs into her curled fist, just as I pass her by.
“Social climber,” the other one breathes viciously. I keep walking, ignoring them, but just as I’m about to round the corner into the hallway, I notice that Chelsea is no longer by my side. I turn my head around and see her standing in front of their desk. My eyes nearly bug out of their sockets, cartoon-style. Oh, no. Chelsea has some serious mama-bear-on-steroids-when-aunt-flow-is-in-town bones in her. She takes care of her own and never passes down a chance to stand up for a friend. But this bitch doesn’t deserve her attention. Not one bit.
“Hey, girls.” Chelsea juts one hip out, her hand on her hip and her smile Type 2 diabetes sweet as she snaps a picture of them with her phone. “Just wanted to stop by and let you know that by talking shit about the captain of the football team’s girlfriend, you pretty much killed every opportunity you’ve ever had to date a jock in this place. Just putting it out there. So, good luck and so forth.” My friend shrugs, strutting her way back to me.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I blurt, but still squeeze her into an embrace, my arm wrapped around her shoulder. We walk out to the orange and pink fall, toward the students’ parking lot.
“I know I didn’t, but I wanted to. So, are you and Sage a thing, or what?” She stops by her sensible blue Buick and fishes out the keys from her back pocket.
“Um, no. I kind of got freaked out yesterday at the possibility of him leaving the state in May and basically told him I’m calling things off. It all started with him telling me that he wanted me to be his fake girlfriend until graduation. Something about a Christmas event in New York, or something, so I think his telling people that we’re an item is more because of his mysterious plan and less about a love declaration,” I sullenly admit. Chelsea whips her head and gives me her best are-you-a-complete-idiot expression. It’s a cross between puzzled and annoyed.
“You seriously think he’s playing a game? You don’t know that he likes you?”
I shake my head. I mean, I do. I know Sage likes me a lot as a friend. It’s hard not to see it. We do so much for each other. But more than that? Romantically other than a lay? Nah. He had countless chances to ask me out, to blur the lines, to take a chance. Literally, a decade of opportunities ticked by. He saw me with boyfriends. On dates. At prom with Clay Jacobs. He never gave me any indication that he was even remotely jealous. No reason he caught a bad case of the feels all of a sudden.
“Jolie, he is crazy about you.”
“I don’t see it.”
“Well, you should, because everyone else does.”
I bite my lower lip and ponder. Maybe it’s true. Maybe I’m just being a bit of a bitch. I mean, what exactly am I expecting from him right now? A declaration that he’ll always be mine? A goddamn ring? Who knows what’s going to happen in May? All we have is today, and today matters.
“Okay, I’ll talk to him,” I say. Chelsea nods.
“I’ll give you a ride to work.” She winks.
“You’re the best.” And for the millionth time since I met her here a couple of years ago, I thank the Lord that He gave me one best friend that I love like a drug, and another who takes care of me like a fairy.
I tie my yellow apron around my waist in the employees’ room of the Happy Bunny. Trisha, my fifty-something-year-old colleague, coughs in my face, cigarette smoke drifting from her breath.
“All I’m sayin’ is, don’t let a man fool ya. They’re all the same, hotcakes. They will use you and leave you if you let them. Why buy the cow if you can get the milk for free? See what I mean?” She gathers phlegm and spits it into a trash can, her fire engine red curly hair littered with white cigarette ash. I pretend to fluff her mane when really, I’m just making sure she doesn’t lose all her tips and her job by sprinkling ash into people’s food like a Tinkerbell from hell.
