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“You’re no more a dorky eighth-grade science teacher than I’m a dorky seventh-grade math teacher,” I tell him.
With a thoughtful look on his face, he decides, “You really are honoring our truce, aren’t you?”
I put my sandwich down before getting up and moving to the desk next to his. After sitting down, I tell him, “We don’t need a truce. I made snap judgments about you, and I truly am sorry. I’d like to be your friend if you’re interested.”
He tips his head to the side. “That would be nice. Weird, but nice.”
Using our new friendship status to gather dirt, I ask, “What do you think about Tim and Cami? Do you think they’re a good couple?”
“I guess.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“I’ve been so focused on Brittany I haven’t really thought about anyone else.” Why do I get the feeling he isn’t telling the whole truth?
I feel the need to ask, “Did Tim talk about her at brunch on Sunday?”
Chip’s eyes shift from side-to-side like he’s about to tell me something good. But he only says, “He likes her.”
“And …”
“What more is there to say?”
Come on, Chip, don’t make me regret our friendship so soon. There’s no way they ate an entire meal together without talking more about the show. “Did he mention anyone else?”
“Just you.”
Chip’s pronouncement has me sitting on the edge of my seat. “Really? What did he say about me?”
He crumples his lunch sack and throws it basketball-style into my waste can. “You know, just that you’re a good friend.”Super.Nodding my head, I stand back up and return to my desk. Clearly, Chip isn’t going to give me anything good.
The rest of the afternoon drags on like the last week of Lent. By the end of the day, I’m so sad about going home to an empty house, I think about calling Missy. But the truth is, Missy isn’t the person I want to see. I hold my phone closely while weighing the pros and cons of calling Tim.
I finally decide that if he could show up at my house unannounced and spend three hours with me, surely I can contact him. I don’t let myself think for too long before texting.
If you don’t get back to me immediately, I’m going to call the fire department and have them chop your door down.
I wait patiently for five minutes but when there’s no response, I call him and leave a message. “I wondered if you wanted to go bowling tonight or something. Call me back.”
The whole way home, I tell myself how stupid I was to call Tim. What I need to do is forget him, and not be available whenhewants to get together. I need to put him out of my mind or risk falling for him even harder. As I turn onto my street, I decide that I won’t answer if he texts or calls back. Unfortunately, I’ve never been known for bionic discipline.
My phone rings once I reach the foot of my driveway. I hurry to put the gear shift into park. Then I enthusiastically answer, “Hey, Tim!”
“Word on the street is you’re looking for a bowling partner.”
“I’m not sold on bowling. I just don’t feel like being home.”
“How do you feel about fried cheese curds and cold beer?”
“Do elephants like peanuts? You know I was born and raised in Wisconsin, don’t you?”
He laughs. “Yeah, me, too. Want to meet at Sudz in a half hour?”
“Oooh, and we could play darts! I’m in.”
“See you soon.”
As soon as I hang up, I run into the house to change out of my teaching clothes. I opt for a pair of loose jeans (I love fried cheese curds and don’t want to be uncomfortable) and a light pink cashmere sweater. Then I put on some makeup, brush my hair, and I’m back out the door.
