I’m starting to wonder if he’s even picking up on my signals. My friends think he is and is deliberately shying away from them, because he knows how intense our connection is and that scares him.
But I’ve watched the movieHe’s Just Not That Into You. Isn’t that just a thing that friends are meant to say to each other? So as not to hurt your feelings? Although, I do take some comfort from the fact that Ginnifer Goodwin’s character got together with that love-cynical bartender guy. But, on the other hand, Jennifer Connelly’s character did end up alone. (But that was because Bradley Cooper had an affair with Scarlett Johannsson, I mean . . . who wouldn’t? Look at her! I digress!)
At least this has all given me an idea for work. Have been doing research for a new article “Real friends tell you the ugly truth, not the pretty little lies”—it’s about the lies we tell our friends, but shouldn’t.
1.She tells you that your new haircut is cute, “you can totally pull off the pixie cut,” even when it makes you look like a boy
2.When she changes her profile pic to one that she thinks makes her look sexy, but it’s just a little too slutty and try-hard.
3.You tell her you totally like her new boyfriend because you don’t want to hurt her feelings, but clearly the guy is a loser and totally beneath her.
Need to run and think of four more lies we tell our friends. Have managed to get lists of seven past editors at the moment. YAY! Anyhoooo . . .
More later . . .
P.S. I AM SO IN LOVE WITH MATT
P.P.S. I HAVE NEVER EVER FELT THIS WAY ABOUT ANYONE BEFORE
CHAPTER EIGHT
I had no intention of boarding any flight bound for any island today. All I intended to do was sit at the bar and wait until I was sure Matt and Sam and whoever else was at the airport were gone. Then I would leave and catch a flight back to Johannesburg.
Yes, yes. . . I knew how cowardly, not to mention expensive, this little mad escapade had just made me look. Running away from the problem, quite literally. But I was running away for a good reason: self-preservation!
I once watched a YouTube video of a snake that pretended to die dramatically by thrashing and twisting around like that girl fromThe Exorcist. I was seriously considering this as my next option if running away didn’t work. If I walked out of here and Matt and Sam were still there, I may be faced with no other option but to fake my own dramatic death right there and then on the airport floor.
I felt as if I was in some kind of a strange, surreal daze. Like a big heavy blanket of fog had descended on me. My phone beeped for what felt like the hundredth time, and I looked down at it. My friends had clearly learned of my crashing and burning and were all very concerned.
Annie:You okay? I just heard what happened!
Boy, did bad news spread fast. I turned my phone off and slipped it back into my bag.
“Hey. Hi!” I raised my hand in the air and waved at the barman. My arm felt unusually heavy and somewhat hard to lift. “Another vodka, lime and soda. Please,” I said when he turned.
I looked up at the TV behind the bar. A familiar program was playing and I found that somewhat comforting. It was season 3 of the UK’sBig Band Battle, in which wannabe rock-star hopefuls competed to win a recording contract. The band that was currently playing was called Six Feet Over It.
The lead singer was totally over the top. He was trying very hard to be sexy. He gripped the mic in the way he might grip the naked flesh of a woman, running his hand up and down the mic stand suggestively as he thrust his pelvis and sang passionately.
Their music was definitely of the cheesy, eighties power-ballad ilk, but it wasn’t entirely offensive. It was the kind of music that you would probably find yourself singing along to at a wedding, if you’d had a glass of champagne, or seven. The song reached its dramatic crescendo whereby the lead singer threw himself onto the stage floor. He grabbed his chest as if he was having a heart attack and then raised his head, looked directly into the camera and grimaced as if he was having a painful bowel movement. I rolled my eyes. That was taking it a tad too far, methinks.
I downed my new drink when it arrived and realized it was probably a good idea to leave it there. I stood up, slapped some money down on the counter and decided to move on to a duty-free shop. I took a few steps, then, suddenly, I heard my name.
“Valeria Ivanov.” It was a woman’s voice and there was something warm and comforting about her tone. It was almost motherly.
“Valeria Ivanov.” The voice spoke again and I felt compelled to find out where it was coming from.
I walked slowly through the mad rush of people in the airport.
“Valeria Ivanov.” The voice called again. “This is the last boarding call for Valeria Ivanov. Please proceed to gate twelve for immediate boarding.”
I looked to my left, and there it was. As if this was some kind of sign. As if it had been put there purposefully, just for me.Gate 12.A shiny, golden beacon calling my name—literally. I stared at the gate for a while. The pretty-looking woman standing there lowered her mouth to the microphone.
“This is the last boarding call for Valeria Ivanov. Flight F765, departing from gate twelve.” The woman gazed around with a concerned look in her eye, and for some reason I felt bad for her and touched by her concern. Then she turned to the man next to her and spoke.
“She’s not coming.” And with those words, something inside me flicked on. Something inside me screamed to life and I suddenly found myself shouting.
“WAIT!” Everyone around me stopped walking and looked. “Wait for me. I’m coming!” I shouted again. I hobbled towards the gate on still unbendable knees.
