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Well, not really.
Wish I Would’ve Told You,
—Scarlett
My date’s breath smells like Doritos. Not the good Cool Ranch flavor, the stale Nacho Cheese kind that should’ve been banned from production decades ago.
We’re sitting in his car as it rains, and I’m wondering why he chose to wear a “Bros before Hos” t-shirt tonight. I’m also confused as to why he’s staring at me with desire in his eyes when the only thing we have in common is our eye color.
“You’re really mature for a high school girl,” he says, running his fingers through my hair. “I wasn’t expecting you to know anything about classical music.”
I smile. “I’ve been playing violin and clarinet since I was four.”
“That’s very impressive.” He pulls my head a bit closer. “So, that means you have some amazingstrummingand fingering skills?”
“Um…I guess so.”
“I’ve never played any instruments, but I bet you’d be impressed with my strumming skills on your body.”
Why did he just stretch out the word ‘body’ like ‘bahhh-deee’?
“I hope you had a good time with me tonight.” He saves me from asking. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you a lot better.”
“Me too.” I nod, even though I have no intention of answering his calls after tonight.
I really need to give up on the idea of college guys being “intellectual and deep” once and for all. He’s the fifth guy I’ve dated, and although he didn't try to slip his tongue down my throat or try to impress me with a never-ending game of beer pong, his conversation was as shallow and mundane as the others.
All he did was talk about himself.
“I really need to get home.” I lean back. “I have school in the morning.”
“Are you sure you don't want me to walk you inside?” He unbuckles his seatbelt. “I’d hate for you to slip in all this rain.”
“I’m sure. I have to go through the back door so I won’t wake up my parents before my curfew.”
“That's the good thing about dorm rooms.” He presses a stale kiss on my forehead. “There are no parents and no one cares about curfew.”
“Sounds amazing.”
“It is amazing.” He wiggles his fingers. “I’ll call you on Friday so I can show you what I can do with these, okay?”
“Okay.” I vow to block his number once I get inside. “Looking forward to it.”
Stepping out into the drizzle, I wave at him before walking up my neighbor’s driveway. Then I watch until his headlights disappear around the corner before jumping the fence and running into myrealbackyard.
As thunder roars in the distance, I run to the oversized treehouse and unzip the duffel bag I left there hours ago.
Panicking, I pull a pair of sweatpants over my fishnet tights. Then I cover my black halter top with a hoodie.
I’ve got exactly fifteen minutes before my parents realize that the human-shaped mound on my bed is nothing more than sweaters and hoodies.
The lights in the kitchen suddenly turn on, so I slide behind the tree trunk.
Seconds later, I see my dad heading toward the fridge.
Walking like a zombie, he takes out a beer and sits at the breakfast bar. He opens a laptop and stretches his fingers, making it clear that he’ll be sitting there for a while.
Shit.
