“I thought you liked him,” she says, mouth full of food. “You should make a move.”
“I made a move. It’s his turn.”
I hate this. I hate that although I’m eighteen again, I should have the wisdom and confidence that comes with being in your thirties, but instead I’m waiting around for a guy to text me.
Does this shit never end?
It isn’t even weird gender politics. I’m not refraining from texting him because he’s the guy and I expect him to text first. If he’d given me his number, I would’ve texted him something flirty on Saturday with zero shame.
But he didn’t give me his number. I gave him mine.
“Or—maybe he’d be thrilled. Maybe he lost your number.”
“I put it in his phone.”
“Maybe he lost his phone,” she muses. At my doubtful look, she adds, “Maybe he forgot your name and spends every evening scrolling through his contacts wondering,Isshethe one?”
“I told you about the thing with our names. He wouldn’t forget.”
“Maybe he’s looking for Ellie instead of Joey,” she jokes. “Or maybe he’s nervous. I would be if I were responsible for the entire start to a romance. You ever think of that? Guys have to text. They have to ask us out—only they don’t know if wewantto be asked. And they risk seeming like creeps if they make the wrong move. Wouldn’t you be nervous?”
I consider Madison’s words. Maybe she’s right—or maybe I just want her to be right.
“I wasn’t exactly subtle.”
“Maybe he’s just that oblivious. Most boys are,” she offers.
“Yeah. Maybe,” I say, unable to keep my smile at bay at her attempts to cheer me up.
My smile slips off my face when I look up to see Ellie walking into the dining hall…
Beside Cat.
Blood rushes from my face as I recall locking eyes with her at the party.
I always knew she met Ellie the same night I met him. And while he and I became strictly platonic friends, the two of them began a flirtation that finally turned into a relationship fall of sophomore year.
Was it naive of me to think that sleeping with him would change any of that?
A memory surfaces: Ellie walked into the dining hall with Cat, but I didn’t notice him until he put his plate down next to mine and said, “Hey, Ellie, mind if we join you?”
I laughed at the callback, and we all ate together. My crush was there but not yet a fully formed thing… I was just happy to make new friends. A sting at the edge of my nail pulls my attention back to the present, and I realize I’m picking at my cuticle, a habit I thought I was long past. I watch as blood wells and, embarrassed, pull my hand down to my lap.
I look up, and Ellie meets my gaze from across the dining hall. His back straightens, and he awkwardly turns away.
I wait for him to turn back around. To acknowledge me.
He doesn’t.
Well, that solidifies things. In this reality, the one where we slept together instead of just starting a weird inside joke about our names, he’s decided to keep his distance.
He didn’t lose my number, and he’s not just nervous. I slept with Ellie hoping I could change the nature of our relationship, and I did exactly that. Instead of becoming my best friend, he sees me as nothing more than a one-night stand.
The only question is—how do I fix this?
6
Saturday afternoon, I peer through bleary eyes as Madison gets ready to go watch season two of that anime with Patrick. She takes care with her makeup, applying and removing different lipsticks: brown, then red, then berry, then finally another shade of brown.
