Alice

8

Paris. A letter from Paris. I stared down at it, a heaviness I hadn't felt before now settled on my chest. It's been so long since I've seen her, so long since we talked. She was off, studying abroad. Seeing the world. I knew she had no plans of returning. I couldn't hate her for it. She'd always had big dreams.

I just thought those dreams included me.

I had once been able to talk to her about anything. I remember so clearly. I'd go to her room late at night and we'd sit on her bed and do each others' nails and eat ice cream and watch Netflix and just talk. Talk about anything and everything. Boys. Shopping. Our problems. She was my best friend. My sister.

And she left.

Shaking my head, I shoved the envelope into my desk drawer and slammed it shut. The lamp on my desk rattled for a moment before settling.

My phone vibrated and I picked it up, glancing at the screen.

Meet me at the bleachers in fifteen.

I frowned. I didn't recognize the number but I had an inkling of who it was. Still, to be sure, I played cautious.

Who is this?

Color yourself curious. Hurry up, I don't have all night.

So it is Charlie. How did he get my number? I was kind of irritated with him, but I couldn't help but smile as I reread the text. I let my mind drift back to the day we went for pizza.

"You know, Charlie, you're a complicated person to talk to."

"Am I?"

"Yes. Very hard to figure about."

"Why do you want to figure me out?"

"Color me curious."

I bit down on my lip, my fingers hovering over the keyboard as I contemplate a reply. I could be a bitch and say no, fuck you. But the truth is, I can't do that. Damn me and my feelings. Damn him and his everything. I could be forgiving and say 'yeah, totally, of course!' But I'm not feeling that happy either. I didn't want him to think all was just forgiven.

He's been treating me like crap since we first met, and he seems to think a barely-sincere apology will smooth things over.

But I'm not a welcome mat. I won't allow him to walk over me like that.

Finally, I typed out my response.

I'll be there in ten.

Once I clicked send, I hopped up and changed out of my sweatpants. Okay, so I was a little excited. I can't help it! They're called crushes for a reason.

They crush your ability to hate them, and then they crush your heart and spirit.

I pull on some yoga pants that make my butt look really nice – I know, I'm pathetic – and a grey t-shirt I got from Adidas. I stared at myself and scowled when realized I didn't look like Selena Gomez or Kylie Jenner when I dressed down. Sighing, I slipped on my Adidas slides (because at this point, fuck it, you know?) and tied my hair up in a bun.

I went from trying to look hot to looking like a coffee-obsessed white girl on her way to the library for a late night study session. With actual studying. Sighing, I grab my jacket and head out.