It’s exciting to think that my plan to help Madison avoid heartache is working—but I’m also kind of surprised. Madison hangs out with Patrick constantly, but anytime I hint that something more might be happening between them, she seems annoyed, so I always back off.
“That’s amazing. Tell me everything. When did he ask you out? What made you change your mind? Itoldyou you’d love him.”
“Yeah—I didn’t… I certainly didn’t expect this, you know? But, yes, I will tell you everything. Later, though, okay? I’m running late.”
In the blink of an eye, she’s rushing out the door, leaving me to change out of my work clothes and into something more comfortable to go hang out with Alex.
I’m halfway to his dorm when I feel my phone vibrate in my back pocket.
Helen: Have you read this week’s stories for class?
I frown, confused why she’d text me about this.
Me: I thought class was canceled this week. I was planning on reading over the break.
The thought of having to read and come up with notes dampens my mood. Before I can get too upset, Helen’s response comes through. And then another. She’s one of those people who send several texts in quick succession instead of one long text.
Helen: No, you’re right. It’s canceled. Just…
Helen: Ellie’s story got sent out this week.
A brief flash of dread at Ellie’s name. I never sent him my writing. It felt wrong stealing from someone else for the express purpose of impressing Ellie, and when I sat down and tried to write something of my own, nothing came.
Well, actually, alotof things came—they were just all shit.
I think of the text I’ve neglected to respond to for over two weeks. I know I’m blowing my chance, but it feels kind of good, leaving him hanging. Having him be the one to wait for once.
Helen: And I think it might be about you?
Helen: I mean, not ABOUT you. I don’t think you’re like that. INSPIRED by you??
Helen: Idk. I might be making it up!!
Helen: Don’t be offended if I’m wrong :/
Without responding, I pull my emails up on my phone and go to the assignment sent by Professor Travers two hours ago. I download Ellie’s story and sit on a bench to read it.
I know immediately that Helen isn’t making anything up.
The story is told in close third person, through the perspective of an eighteen-year-old boy named Valery. In the first scene, Valery meets a girl named Garrett at a party. They joke about each other’s names. They flirt. She leads him to a bedroom.
It’s exactly the same as the night Ellie and I met.
Only…
It isn’t.
What starts off romantic quickly grows distinctly unromantic. Through Valery’s eyes, I see Garrett—myself—in a light that has to be at least a little fictional. She’s too enthusiastic, too eager. It’s a little much, cringeworthy, even, but Valery eats it up. It’s the first time he’s gotten attention like this from a girl, and he’s not sure what to do with himself. So he goes along with it.
That’s how his perspective of the night is presented—him following my lead up until the moment I take him to a bedroom.
Valery knew they should slow down. He should pump the brakes. He wanted to get to know her better. He wanted to tell her that he’d never gone this far before, and he’d always imagined his first time happening with a girlfriend. He could even see her becoming a girlfriend, though he’d known her less than an hour.
He opened his mouth to say something but hesitated.
He had never had any large amount of confidence to speak of, and the thought flitted through his brain: What if he never got a chance like this again?
Illogical. Irrational. He knew it. That didn’t stop the thought from blaring over and over, like a siren.
