Not all Blondes do Backflips

17 - We Can Work It Out

Dedicated to ZombieTime for the banner.

Listen to We Can Work it Out by The Beatles or Just One Yesterday by Fall Out Boy ft. Foxes.

I'm a horrible decision maker. I'm sorry.

   

17 – We Can Work It Out

   

“So, uh, thanks.”

It'd been thirty long seconds since Finn had pulled his car into a stop in front of the Simms residence and only now had one of us – me specifically – said anything since getting into his car half an hour before.

Finn nodded, trying too obviously to not catch my eye. The lamp post in front of his car had captured his complete attention.

“For the company today and showing me around town and –” I quickly stopped myself. “You know, I think a general 'thank you' is good enough.”

“I agree,” he quickly answered. His tone was joking and light but the humor in his voice was laced with bitterness.

It was my turn to nod and avoid his gaze.

Finn's fingers continued to restlessly tap against the steering wheel. It was the only sound filling the humid interior of his car. “Uhm, no problem,” he continued, ten seconds too late.

I replied with something that was between a whimper and a 'yes' and stepped out of the car. Not even half a second after I'd shut the door, Finn was driving away.

Discombobulated, dear reader-who-so-thirstly-yearns-for-every-detail-about-my-life?

Well, I would be too.

As a rare gesture of niceness, I'm going to tell you what really happened an hour ago in that clearing under the stars: awkwardness. Awkwardness happened. It wasn't just awkward though – it was awkwardness in its purest and most concentrated form.

As much as it sucks to hear this, that is literally all you're getting from me about the whole ordeal.

All together now: Wait, whaaaaat.

Confused?

Of course you would be.

I would be surprised if you weren't.

Nothing I've said has made any real sense and given you any real information about what may – or may not – have happened between Finn and I in that clearing not so long ago.

So I will, as an act of finality, make things absolutely clear for you.

I have, at least for now, decided that the question of did Lennon and Finn kiss or not? will remain, unanswered.

Cue gasps of shock mingled with screams of rage.

Horrible, I know.

But I like to keep you creepy people in the dark. I mean, I'm sure you all remember the fiasco that was my middle name, right? Then there's the fact that you still don't know where the hell I live.

This is like those things but worse.

Am I evil?

That, ladies and gentlemen, is what we call a rhetorical question.

For those whose mastery of the English language is, to put it politely, lacking, it's a question that doesn't need to be answered.

Feel free to call me a sadistic little twat for this. For once, I promise I won't jab you in the trachea.