Why am I hurt?
My thoughts travel to the moment I woke up alone three days ago. Will snuck out when I was sleeping. Not that it bothers me. It would’ve too been risky for him to stay. My mom comes into my room every day at eight fifteen sharp. No, what rubbed me the wrong way was the text waiting on my locked screen when I rolled out of bed.
Willy Wonka: Thanks for the therapy session. You’re a good friend, control freak.
I remember asking myself why the word “friend” bothered me so much. It shouldn’t. It couldn’t. Why else would he sneak into my room all worried after I came home looking sad? He was just checking on his friend. I dismissed the sinking feeling in my gut and texted back.
Kass: Anytime, Willy
I don’t understand why I experienced these weird emotions then, and I definitely don’t understand why I’m experiencing them now. The words he said to me the night we broke into Alex’s backyard roar into my brain.
“I said I don’t do love, control freak. I never said I don’t fuck.”
Of course he’d a have a regular friend with benefits. I’m not sure what I expected. My phone lights up with a new text, zapping me out of Alex’s hot tub and back into the school’s busy cafeteria within seconds.
Speaking of the devil.
Willy Wonka: What are you doing tonight say 9ish?
I delete the conversation impulsively, loathing my own pettiness. He’s been texting me like this since we “slept” together. Every day, I get a “Good morning, control freak,” a few messages throughout the day, and a good-night. Although our good-night usually come at 3:00 a.m. once we’re done talking nonsense.
Will blamed our never-ending messages on insomnia, said it’s a recurring problem with him. I claimed I couldn’t sleep either when in reality my eyes were as heavy as concrete.
I’ve barely seen him since the night he snuck into my room, but I have art class with him last period. Isn’t that great? I’ll get to picture him banging Callie Cooper for a whole hour. Kissing her, twisting her hair around his fist as he…
My phone goes off again.
Willy Wonka: And you better not give me a shitty excuse like you gave Luke.
I delete his text once more.
I do feel bad about bailing on Luke. But I knew going to that date would mean leading him on, so I told him I was sick with food poisoning. That didn’t stop him from continuing to text me. He even asked me out a second time. I had to tell him I was swamped with homework and I’d let him know if my schedule clears up—notice my usage of if instead of when here. I don’t know how to make it clearer that I’m not interested without rejecting him, and he’s still my boss’s nephew.
Twenty minutes go by.
A third text comes through.
Willy Wonka: U there :(
I’m burying my phone into my back pocket when Zoey suggests we go enjoy what’s left of our lunch break. We vacate our table, following a stream of students out of the dining hall. Winter says she’ll catch up with us later and walks off.
I’m treading into my art classroom an hour later. I scan the room, the nuisance in my chest sinking like a rock. Will’s not here yet—emphasize on yet. Let’s just say I’ve never wanted to cut class more than in this very moment.
“Okay, what’s wrong?” Morgan pops up beside me.
“Nothing. Why?”
“You’re mad. You’ve been mad since lunch. Something’s going on. Spill.”
I lecture myself for being so transparent.
“I… I was just thinking about my dad,” I lie.
She buys it. “He still hasn’t called?”
“Nope.”
“I’m sure he’s just been busy. Or the mystery woman didn’t tell him you called. There has to be a good explanation for this.”