Chapter 17
Girls are such a mind fuck. Let me rephrase that—the girls who don’t throw themselves at me—they’re the ones who mess with my head. I can’t stop thinking about Bess, how adorable she looked on the beach and the way she smiled at me like maybe she was starting to fall for me, too.
But then she gave me her social media contact information, not her phone number. That’s kind of a big slap in the face, but it’s also an olive branch. Because I’m an idiot who can’t take a hint, I hold onto her Instagram username for two days, caught in this war with myself over if I should contact her or not.
Part of me thinks she only gave me that information to make me leave her alone, but the other part, the hopeful part, thinks maybe this girl just wants to take things slow. She wants to see if I’m good enough for her, if I have what it takes to be the kind of guy she wants.
I already know that answer. I’ll work hard to win her affections, no doubt in my mind.
So why am I so scared to look her up on Instagram?
I don’t really use that app very often, but I do have an account. It would be really easy to look her up, add her, and stalk her photos. But it’s been nearly two days and I haven’t done it yet.
Am I scared?
Yes.
I also don’t want to annoy the girl. I guess I was hoping she’d be more open to talking to me, but she wasn’t. She’d asked if it was a joke, me asking her out. I still can’t wrap my head around that one. Maybe I’m just not good enough for her, and that’s all there is to it.
I think of Jenny, my serial texting bad date. I haven’t heard a single word from her since I had Officer Pearson talk to her. It’s definitely a relief to be rid of her craziness, but I can’t stop thinking that I may be turning into a form of her with Bess.
I shake my head, staring up at the ceiling in my bedroom. No, I’m not crazy like Jenny.
But in pursuing someone who keeps rejecting me, am I any better?
The feeling weighs me down like a brick in my stomach, like ropes tightening around my heart.
When I can’t stand thinking about it any longer, I take a hot shower and then climb into bed, and stare at my phone. Finally, I pull up Instagram and search for her account.
Her user picture is of her and an older woman who has her same eyes. It makes me smile; Bess’s account is much different from the girls I follow from our high school. There are no half naked poses, no trying to look sexy and slutty. No party pictures or drunken antics. Bess’s account is mostly pictures of a cat, her grandmother, and artistic shots of nature and places she’s traveled.
Number five on my list: Doesn’t have more than 50% selfies. Bess doesn’t have any selfies on her account, and just a handful of photos of her with other people. None of them look like boyfriends, which sets my heart beating a little faster than usual.
This girl is interesting. She’s been to museums and national parks and she’s volunteered to serve snacks for elementary school field day. Number three on my list: she doesn’t rely on me for fun.
Bess Navarre can have fun without a guy by her side.
There’s a few photos of science fairs she’s won and awards she got at a science competition from freshman year. Hey, I’m not proud of how far back I’m scrolling into her account, and I know it borders on stalking, but it tells me another thing.
Number nine on my list: Bess is smart.
My cheeks hurt from how much I’m smiling as I scroll through her photos, reading her witty captions and clever use of emojis. Bess is fun, smart, pretty. She has hobbies and passions and really loves her cat.
She’s not like any other girl I’ve ever known. Her Instagram tells a story of a girl who is sincere, sweet, and fun.
I know more than ever that I want to get to know this girl, to make her a friend, even if that’s all I’ll ever be to her.
Of course, if I somehow manage to win her over along the way, well that’ll just be a bonus.
