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“I may have told Wren that you said you were head over heels for Birdie.”
Shit. “Why would you do that?”
“She was asking a bunch of questions. Said that Birdie really likes you… like more than friends. I thought the poor girl had a chance with you. I misunderstood. Sorry man. I hope I didn’t screw things up for you.”
I run my hands through my hair, a nervous tick of mine. “Thanks for telling me.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “I have to get going. I’ll talk to you later. Have a good first shift at the theater.”
“Are we good, bro?”
I take a deep breath. “We’re good.”
Once I’m off the phone with Ben, I can’t help but head toward my computer. My head is reeling from Ben’s confession. Birdie likes me.
I rub my temples. I feel a headache coming on. I can’t imagine a girl like her liking me. She’s better than most girls my age, and I enjoy spending time with her. We talk about a lot of stuff, and she keeps me company while my parents work… or rather, my dad passed out upstairs, oblivious to the fact I didn’t come home until four in the morning.
Dad’s drinking was an issue before I was born, or so Mom says. He got some help when I was a baby, but now he’s fallen back into it. He isn’t mean or anything when he gets drunk, but he’s useless. I got so used to him working or drinking and mom working long shifts at the hospital, a lot of days it felt like I didn’t have parents. So, I filled my time with Birdie or Ben, then of course football and the summer job at The Daily Scoop.
I log on to Instant Messenger and see Birdie’s screen is active.
Could I like Birdie more than a friend? Sure, she’s beautiful, funny, likes my kind of music, pancakes, and even my stupid jokes. But what would she think if she found out that Dad drinks and forgets that he even has a son sometimes?
Even if I like Birdie, dating a girl like Jen Brown is easier. She doesn’t know my life; she won’t ask questions or get too committed. She’s going to college soon, and there won’t be any strings. If I date Birdie and we don’t work out, I’d lose one of the only friends I feel one hundred percent myself with.
So… I decide, right here and now. No matter what, I can’t like Birdie more than a friend. If I lose her, I… I don’t want to think about it.
I message Birdie and hope that she never even mentions that she likes me, but it doesn’t take long for her to do exactly that. When I see the message on the computer screen, telling me she likes me, I freeze. All my fears are coming to life right before my eyes.
Without thinking, I type the only words I can muster. The only words I can think of that will get her to understand that we aren’t going to be a thing—even if she doesn’t realize it’s for her own benefit. Not because I don’t find her cute or one of the best girls I know. Yes, this is the only way.
I hit send, the words “I’ll never like you like that” hang in the air around me like smoke, as if they’re choking me. I immediately wish I could take them back—but I can’t. I just hope Birdie will still be my friend, because if she doesn’t, I don’t know what I’ll do...
I finish telling Birdie the truth and brace myself for her reaction. She’d listened quietly to my side of the events from that day ten years ago, not saying a word the entire time. Somehow, she’s managed to keep her eyes clear of emotion, which makes it hard for me to determine what she’s thinking or feeling.
We sit in silence for several more moments, before she makes a small movement to reach for her iPod. She starts to scroll through songs, and I’m left to wonder if I fucked up by telling her the truth.
My voice is thick with emotion when I speak again. “What are you doing? Aren’t you going to say something?”
Her eyes dart to mine then she leans forward. She brings her pointer finger up and presses my lips closed. “Shh, just listen.”
She presses play on a song, and Birdie’s voice echoes through the speakers. I follow her plea and listen carefully. This must be an earlier song, because her voice sounds younger, less seasoned; though still beautiful.
It doesn’t take me long to recognize it; I think it’s the one she sang while we watched the meteor shower in my backyard. I thought it was about some boy she was crushing on, but now I understand. It's about me.
Sweet summer boy
I know how much you care
You love with a force
of a thousand volts
Your eyes show your soul
And your lips tell a tale
Sweet summer boy
I listen to the words; they really are beautiful. But she had it wrong even back then, I’m not a sweet boy, nor a sweet man. I’m… I don’t even really know anymore. Broken is probably a better word. I used to think the accident made me harsh, but really, it was the day the woman before me left my life. And the worst part is, I can’t even blame her. She didn’t do anything wrong; I was the one who pushed her away. She had every right to tell me to fuck off.
