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So, I busied myself with one of my favorite things in the entire world. Lists.
There were those of us who found lists boring and tedious.
To me, they were the renegade ones, the ones who chose to drink dairy even when their lactose-intolerant guts would send them running to the nearest bathroom stalls right afterward.
I'd been down that road and didn't fancy doing it without my safe space, A.K.A., my old-school notebook, which I'd decorated with little ribbons for different lists.
There was a list for all my weekly shopping, including groceries. One for every time I'd gone out of my house and ended up making a fool of myself.
That particular list served as a reminder of life being better when I was at home. Introverts, unite.
I even had one of all the Hollywood stars I wanted to meet and possibly kiss. A girl could dream, right? And Henry Cavill was a good kinda dream.
The most daring of the lot, though, was the one I was working on today.
A Hundred Ways to Tell the Boys You Adore Them
Pretty. I'd even colored the title with my new set of gouache paints. Some washi tape here and there, and I'd have the prettiest, most nonsensical list in the entire world.
"Not like I'm lying here, though," I muttered to myself.
I decided I'd finish the list and call it a day. Maybe check on Leia. I'd called Reed, but he was off chasing a lead. The other boys were busy at their jobs too.
Leia dropped by on her way home from school.
We sat down for a nice lunch, and I told her about a new shopping mall that had just opened a few roads down.
"Can we go there?" she asked me, her eyes lighting up.
"Sure we can," I replied, chugging water. For some reason, I was absolutely parched. "I'm free for a bit on Monday. I'll pick you up from school?"
She beamed. "It's a date."
By the time evening rolled around, I was in my Grandma era, totally ready to binge-listen toMidnightsand enter Swiftie heaven.
To my utter dismay, my fair-weather friend, Lori Watt, decided we were to have other plans.
You're coming.
I'm not,I typed, trying to rebel for one last second.I hate clubs, and I hate being around delusional kids who think everything slaps. Please, Lori.
Is this about you never getting a date in these places? Come on, how will you get one if you never try?
I sighed. I could keep trying to counter her, but she'd make me feel worse and worse until all my defenses came crumbling down.
When it came to Lori, I ultimately went with whatever she decided.
It was usually easier than having her call me up and lecture me to tears until I'd give in anyway.
An hour later, I found myself sitting in the cutest little bar in town. I didn't mind The Posh Pony at all. In fact, the crowd here was really cool. They were mostly young hipsters with colorful braids in their hair and exuberant freedom in their eyes.
Plus, I loved the long mahogany bar table, the ambient jazz that was so different from the jarring DJ mixes that threatened to blow my eardrums off, and the warm yellow lights shaped like clouds hovering overhead.
The bartender made me a drink unlike anything I'd ever tasted. It was a heady emulsion of coconut in vodka with fig syrup, creamy, decadent, and not without a good hit afterward.
Yeah, being here wasn't all that bad. Except, I looked around me at all the young guys, and none of them spoke to my heart. Not the way my boys did.
Lori joined me a good ten minutes later. She looked stunning, as always, her hair tied up in a sleek pony, her figure accentuated by the shimmering bodycon number she'd donned.
