Shaking off the light grasp of misery, I tell myself I have two days. Two days to be sad and mourn the relationship that barely got to happen, then I’m done and I move on with my life.
Work helps the evening hours pass, and Wednesday passes more quickly because of youth group in the evening. It’s a light night and we end up playing games. I beat Luke’s ass at air hockey twice, then we break for snacks.
“Wanna go a little easier on me next time? Man, you’re an air hockey beast,” he tells me, shaking his head as he takes a seat on the couch beside me.
I smile, looking down at my plate. Grace was on snack duty tonight, and Grace just can’t help doing too much. Last time I was on snack duty, I brought chocolate chip cookies and a gallon of milk. Grace set up an apple dipper buffet. Every different kind of apple wedge, a trio of dips—peanut butter, caramel, and chocolate—and an assortment of toppings to sprinkle on top, for the adventurous. I got adventurous. I have a peanut butter dipped McIntosh slice coated in graham cracker crumbs, a chocolate dipped slice coated in crushed up Oreos, and a caramel Granny Smith slice covered with salted peanuts. I also grabbed a spoonful of baby marshmallows, for good measure.
“I don’t know, I think after all this sugar, I might be even more ruthless,” I tell him.
Cracking a smile, he looks down at his own plate. He was less adventurous. Three identical wedges covered in caramel with no toppings. “That spread sure is something, isn’t it?” he remarks.
“Grace always goes all out. She knows no other way, I swear.”
“That’s for sure,” he agrees.
I feel a touch awkward eating with him watching me, but I want to try this Oreo-coated deliciousness, so I go ahead and take a bite anyway.
“You should bring Carter to youth group one of these weeks,” Luke says, suddenly.
Just as my tastebuds are dancing with glee at the combination of flavors, he has to go and bring up Carter. “Oh, I don’t think so,” I offer, shaking my head faintly. “Youth group isn’t really Carter’s scene.”
“Sure, maybe it isn’t, but guys tend to do things they don’t always want to do to please their girlfriends,” he tells me, smiling faintly. “I’m sure we’d all like the chance to get to know him. There must be somethin’ we’re not seeing if you think he’s—”
“We’re not together anymore,” I blurt, wanting out of this conversation promptly.
“Oh.” Concern transforms his features. “I’m sorry to hear that. Are you okay?”
“Yep.” I take another bite of my Oreo apple, then lean forward to grab my bottle of water so I can take a drink.
Seeing that I’m not in a sharing mood, he lets it go, simply telling me, “Well, if you ever need to talk about it…”
“I don’t.” I flash him a smile that I hope doesn’t look as stiff as it feels. “Thanks.”
Thursday marks my official End of Sadness deadline, so I start the day with gumption and sail through with intentional joyfulness. I make it to history, but my mood takes a hit when I see Carter turned around at his desk, offering a charming smile to some girl he is chatting up at the desk behind him. A leggy blonde in snug jeans smiles back, twirling a lock of her chin-length hair and mooning at him.
Two days. God, he doesn’t take long to move onto the next, does he? He might be doing it just to spite me, but it’s entirely possible he’s not, too. The more he projects that he doesn’t care, the more I can’t help believing him.
Oh well. Doesn’t matter. It’s deadline day, and no matter how much flirting is probably going on over there, I will be happy, dammit!
That’s the plan, but I underestimated Carter’s evilness. Throughout the whole class—to the point of the teacher shooting him an evil eye that warns Carter Mahoney or not, he’s about to say something—Carter and Blondie are shameless. She does stupid things to get his attention, and boy, does he give it to her. She pretends to accidentally kick the leg of his chair, so he shoots her a playfully devious look over his shoulder. She drops her pen on the floor in front of her desk, and he oh-so-gallantly bends to pick it up. Cutesy smiling bullshit, casual playfulness—I hate everything.
I can hardly sit still for the bell. When it finally rings, I already have my stuff hugged close to my chest. I’m up and out of my seat, pushing my way down the aisle with mumbled apologies, but I have to get out of this classroom. I can’t breathe.
I practically run to the bathroom, locking myself inside a stall, dropping my books on the floor, and taking a few deep breaths. My tummy is twisted up in knots, my heart beats entirely too fast, and Carter Mahoney is an asshole.