Ursa Minor (On hiatus)

Friend or whatever

A/N: I hope there's still someone reading this. I hope to be able to update every other Sunday from now on. You comments and votes and much appreciated as always. This chapter is kinda long and a bit meh, but I'd still like to dedicate it to my First Fan Girl, my Disney princess in shining armor: JazzStardust, who's kept me on my toes. In a good way! I'll give you a better one next time, Jazzie!

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By Monday, the great love story of Adam and Trish had once again gotten its unhappy ending. And I once again found myself sitting on the armrest of the dusty library couch, listening to Trish telling me how it had happened. Or whining about it. She was wearing her 'I feel like shit but still want to look awesome' dress, tight and black with a strange tropical flower print. She'd been wearing it a lot after her and Adam broke up for the first time. Not as much after me and her had broken up all those months earlier. But then with us, it hadn't exactly been love at first sight.

Me and Trish had met at some party and most probably hooked up, but I didn't really remember. Nothing personal of course, I very rarely remembered much about the girls I hooked up with. Which of course made me a total douche bag, blah blah, whatever. I'd heard it so many times, them angrily calling it after me, telling their friends, coming up to me at some other party and hammering their little fists at my chest just to start crying the minute afterwards. I didn't get it. So yeah, maybe not getting it also made me a douche, but the thing was already sophomore year I had that reputation. And I never came on to them. But they still came sat next to me and stroked my hair and called me cute. 'Like a kitten?' I'd reply and they'd giggle like it was funny. And I'd give in to it, let my body do what it was supposed to be doing when you were a hormonal teenager, like drinking water when you were thirsty. Except I didn't feel much relief afterwards, I just felt grossed out. Not with the girls, with myself. Like I'd given into something I shouldn't have. Like I'd been better off staying thirsty instead.

I felt bad for the girls too, but really what did they expect? That I'd wake up beside them the next day and the sheets would be crispy white and the sun would be shining through the window and the birds chirping outside and I'd be like all reformed and be like 'oh baby, I feel so pure and loving and I'll go make you pancakes for breakfast even though this is not my house, you have beer all over your shirt and I can't remember your name'. Not a chance. I bailed on them the minute I was done.

It had been the exact same with Trish. To a T. We met, we'd made out (according to her) and she'd found me in the hallway Monday morning. Banged her tiny little fists against my chest, called me a dick.  

"Give me your number dick," she'd hollered across the hallway. "We're going out." I hadn't had a chance in hell of getting rid of her. Luckily. Even if we weren't compatible relationshipwise.

"I know, I know" I finally interrupted Trish complaining, "I know Ade's a douche, that's like all we talk about nowadays, it's boring." 

Trish looked up at me with a trembling lower lip. "You find me boring?" 

"No, no," I backtracked. It's just...can't we talk more about what dunno, we used to talk about? Before you started dating Adam or we were dating or whatever?" 

Trish snorted. "We mostly talked about what we were doing for our dates or what we had done at our dates or the fact that you didn't reply to my texts. And before you I mostly whined about not having a boyfriend." 

"That's very unfeminist of you." 

"You're a guy, you don't get to tell me what's feminist and what's not. And speaking about feminism, you coming along for the poster painting? We're probably doing it this weekend, Sunday maybe." Every year in May and December and sometimes even in February, Trish has made it her mission to cover up underwear advertising by the mall in Glenville with her own slogans. Like 'sisters unite against sexism or 'show us brains not boobs'. I shrugged. "Don't think so. Who do you mean by we?"