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“You know that, too.”
“I know you.”
“Yeah, well. There you go.”
“It’s not healthy. Running off any time your sister says she needs you like a spoiled little princess.”
“Oh come on,” I mutter. “She isn’t being a whiny brat. She really needs me.”
She’s my other half, my other side. I’m her dark shadow, her hollow reflection. My life revolves around hers, just as hers is linked with mine. I can’t bear to see her so broken.
“Would she take care of you if you needed her? Wait, I got one better: Did she take care of you last time you were down? Or the one before?”
“I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”
A sigh drifts over the line. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t forget about me pining over your sexy booty, all right, girlfriend? Call me. Text me. Sext me. Whatever.”
“I’ll totally sext you, and you won’t know what hit you.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Snickering madly, I hang up and stow my phone away as I rush through the vast campus. Okay. I’ve got this. Time to text my sis, see if she’s doing all right, and then get on my next task.
The day isn’t done yet. Lots more to do… Like work.
So, work isn’t all that complicated. I have my list of things to do, and it takes me most of the afternoon to figure out where is what and how to handle it, but like I said, I’ve got this. Not my
first rodeo. I can handle admin stuff in my sleep.
I feel like I’ve been sleepwalking all my life, come to think of it, and…
This isn’t about you.
I repeat that to myself as I head home to my sister’s place and grab some dinner, as I watch TV and browse my Facebook notifications.
As I get up the next day and start all over again. Find the auditorium or classroom, sign the sheet, take notes, check in with my bestie, reassure Dad that all is fine with his girls, get mad all over again at Mom’s new radio silence, and work.
And even though it’s not about me, well heck, I could sure take the break. A break from my life. It’s like babysitting. Or housesitting.
Can you life-sit? Cause that’s what I’m doing. And it’s going well. Perfect. I’m kinda proud of myself so far. It’s all going without a hitch.
I high-five myself in the mirror in the morning before heading out and check my sheer lipstick while I’m at it, tug my ponytail this way and that until it’s straight and brush over my brows with my fingertips.
You never know. I might run across that blond hottie again, and what if my brows aren’t perfectly groomed, right?
Somehow that makes perfect sense in my head.
But when I arrive on campus and I think I see him in the distance as I cross between two buildings, I hurry my steps, unsure of what I’d do if I came face to face with him.
But it seems some things are inevitable—like my downfall—because I run across him again… in one of the cafeterias.
Full tray in hand, piled high with a salad, a sandwich and a hot coffee, I’m just turning around to look for a free seat, and there he is, in all his glory, like a prince traveling incognito, shoulders stretching his white T-shirt, long legs, spiky hair like burnished silver, and a mouth like sin.
Of course, a girl retinue is also included. Three of them today, nudging each other in the ribs, biting their red lips and tossing their hair. Pretty little vultures.
He’s talking to a dark-haired guy now, ignoring the girls, and grabs a tray from the stack at the end of the food line. When he turns in my direction, I look hastily away, but when I chance another glance his way, he’s busy talking to his friend again.
Good, he hasn’t noticed me ogling him. I lift my chin and tear my gaze away from him to locate a spot to sit and eat.
