I almost let out a scream last night when I saw his name pop up on my phone. The text was really from his mom. He might have sent it, but it was only because she wanted to thank me for the cookies. I responded and waited, but nothing else came so I tried again. I typed out a message telling him it was nice hanging out. The only response I received was, yep. That only frustrated me more. Trying to get him to open up is like pulling teeth.
I should get over it, but now all I can think about is why Berkley doesn’t see me as something more. I know he doesn’t really care for people, but he’s nice to me and good with Davis. Why is it that the one and only guy I’ve ever been interested in won’t give me the time of day? I sigh, knowing that I’ve asked myself this question every day since junior year. Yet I’m still in the same spot I was in then.
What if I’m not being bold enough? I worry my lip between my teeth, trying to think of a reason for him to come back here. Then it hits me.
I go over to my desktop, pulling it out from the wall so that I can reach the cords in the back. I pull a few out that connect my computer. Now I can call him for help. I smile at my brilliant idea. That is, until I lose my hold on it causing it to hit the ground with a loud thunk. Oh God.
I think I really broke it. I start to panic. It can’t be broken. I have to have a computer. It’s how we have to do everything right now. All of my classes are virtual, and without it I’ll be lost.
I grab my phone, not even bothering to text. I call instead. It doesn’t even ring once before he’s answering it.
“Chandler.” When he says my name it’s low and gruff. I’m guessing it’s because he only woke up a few minutes ago. My body reacts to it, though. My nipples tighten. My mind races with thoughts of him in his bed. I push my thighs together. The familiar ache is back. “Chandler.” He says my name with more force, pulling me from my fantasy world.
“Hey,” I croak out, sounding like a frog. What is wrong with me? Other girls make this seem easy. I’ve seen them flirt with Davis too many times to even count. Each time they make it seem effortless.
“What’s wrong?”
“I think I broke my computer and I’m having a small meltdown. We have to do everything on the computer. How will I turn in any of my assignments? How will I do anything? I’m already stuck in this house alone. I’m losing it.” I stop talking because I’m rambling more with each word that slips from me.
“I want you to calm down, sweetness. I’ll be there in ten,” he says, ending the call. Ten? He lives more than ten minutes from here. I catch my reflection in the mirror again. My hair is a mess and I’ve got a Cookie Monster shirt on. I’m going to need every second of those ten minutes to make myself look somewhat presentable.
Still, I smile, for once knowing that at least today will be a little different from yesterday.
Wait. Did he call me sweetness?Chapter FiveBerkleyFuck. I called her sweetness. This is not going well. If I’m going over to fix her computer, I’m going to need a buffer. I call Davis. He doesn’t answer. I jab the redial, but it goes straight to voicemail.
I stick my head back in the reading room. “Mom, I’m going back over to Chandler’s. Her computer broke down and she needs it for school.”
She shifts on the sofa to look at me. “You should buy her a new one, honey. She shouldn’t have to use old equipment during this pandemic.”
“I’ve tried, but you know how she is about money.” Chandler is super proud and won’t take anything she hasn’t earned. The problem is that you can’t even give her a job because she thinks that’s some kind of weird-ass charity. I’ve tried to tell her that sitting on a bunch of cash and watching her scrimp by makes me sick to my stomach, but she’s not interested in hearing it. I admire the hell out of her, but also wish she’d ease up at times.
“You just have to be more creative, dear,” Mom says.
“In what way? Hide a stack of cash in her drawer and have her accidentally find it?”
Mom clicks her tongue. “I said creative, not simple.”
“Ouch.” I slap a hand across my chest.
Mom waves me off. “Enough with your dramatics. Go help your girl.”
“She’s not my girl,” I tell Mom.