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Typing bubbles fill my screen instantly.
Wes: Not even I can make operant conditioning interesting. Send evidence.
ME: Sorry, I’m not a pic sending type of girl.
I smile victoriously. He set himself up for that one.
My phone dings again, dragging my attention downward. I open the message, gasp, and hurl my phone across the cobblestone path. Instantly realizing my mistake, I scramble towards the flower bed my phone flew towards.
Cursing my stupidness, I breathe a sigh of relief when I see my device uncracked and safely waiting for me in a pile of dirt. Carefully brushing off the screen, I re-open the last message Wes sent me. It’s a picture, one I barely looked at other than to register skin was showing and throwing it away in panic.
Why my immediate thought wasAHH NUDES!I do not know. Especially considering the message is from afriend. An annoyingly attractive friend who uses dimples to his advantage but still. A friend.
Blowing the photo up, turns out Wes didn’t send me nudes at all. Shocker.
Instead, the photo is a solid PG shot of his ten-page report lying mockingly on his bare chest. The only reason I know his chest is bare is because the tiniest bit of shoulder pops out the righthand corner. So basically, I decided to shotput my phone over Wes’ ten-page psychology paper.
As one does.
I type back a responseand put my phone away. With a heavy sigh, I take one last glance around my personal Eden and start walking back to the dorms.
Those ten pages aren’t going to write themselves.
Wes
Nerd.
“Uh oh. Someone’s got a crush.” Nico’s voice pulls my attention away from my phone screen. I look up and smirk, “Mrs. Montez and I blew by the crush stage years ago.”
My best friend rolls his eyes. “Not even my mother puts a grin that big on your face.”
Busted.
The curse of a childhood friend is they always know when something’s up. In the twelve years we’ve grown together, I have never once gotten anything by Nico. He sees right through my charades, from the time I lied about stealing his last cookie in fourth grade to the reasoning behind my prom date last year; no matter what I show the outside world, Nico always sees beneath the surface.
“Let me guess,” He taps his chin thoughtfully, “This girl’s name may or may not rhyme with Slip.”
See what I mean?
I sigh with defeat, “You may be on to something.”
Pumping his fist in victory, Nico draws looks from the other benchwarmers lining the sidelines. I lean forward, making eye contact with one of the sophomores, and give him a big thumbs up so he knows the crazy comes in a duo.
Never abandon a brother. It’s part of our bro code.
Nico shifts his attention back to the skill demonstration the seniors are putting on and bumps my shoulder. “So, what’s the deal? I’ve never seen you gush over text messages before.”
I scoff, “Smiling at a comment does not qualify as gushing, thank you very much.” I pause for a moment, taking the time to admire a backwards pass Cody just pulled off. The guy’s got moves.
“I don’t know, man. Trip and I are… friends, but it’s like half the time I don’t think she even likes me while the other half just clicks. Like on a different level.” I hesitate before adding, “And we almost kissed in the courtyard the other day.”
There’s no point in me holding back information because Nico is bound to find out eventually. He’s got perceptive powers that could rival Wonder Woman’s lasso of truth: the more you resist, the more it hurts.
Think friendly intervention with a side of emotional torment.
“So, what I’m hearing is you’re insecure about where you stand in this friendship and are unsure whether you want this connection to stay friendly or become something more.” And just like that, Nico takes the jumble in my brain and lays it all out on the table in a clear, orderly fashion.
Lasso of truth, I’m telling you.
