Alice

13

"Alice, hey."

I stop writing and look up, my eyes meeting his. They narrow slightly.

"Hi."

"How are you?" He slides into the seat next to me and offers me a wide smile. "I haven't seen you since the party."

"I'm good. What about you?"

"I'm good. I actually...wanted to talk to you about something." Gabe sits up and drums his fingers on the table. "Or, rather, someone."

"Please don't say Charlie," I sigh heavily.

"I've seen you with him. He's bad news, Alice." Granted, he actually sounds genuine. Not that it's needed now.

"Really, it's not any of your business." Too defensive, Alice. Dial it back. "Thank you for your concern, but it's not necessary. Charlie and I don't speak anymore."

I turn away and refocus on the letter in front of me. ...I just hate feeling like a second choice.

"Really?" He perks up. "Why's that?"

"Does it matter," I mumble absentmindedly, "long as we're not talking?"

"I just...are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Gabe. Thank you." I gesture to the paper in front of me, the pen in my hand. "I have to finish this..."

"Right. Sorry. Can I find you later, though?"

"Yes. Sure." I barely glance up at him. ...I'm your daughter too... "See you later, then."

"Bye." He murmurs, before walking away.

I hadn't meant to be so rude. But the last thing I wanted to talk about was Charlie Danvers and how he's bad news or he'll only hurt me. I got it. I wasn't even angry at him. Not really, not anymore. It is what it is. I pushed it. I pushed him. I always push and this is where it gets me.

I finish off the letter and sigh, dropping the pen. It was an apology. I wasn't very good at it, apologizing. I'd never really had to. I'd never done something like that before. She's pregnant. My mom is pregnant and I didn't even say congratulations.

I'm an asshole.

My phone vibrates and I pick it up, peering at the screen. Bleachers. Now.

I frown. I hadn't talked to him in days, hadn't even seen him and now he wants to order me around? No. I meant what I said. I'm over it. My phone vibrated again, another message popping up one the screen.

I want to talk to you.

I unlock my phone and begin typing before hesitating and deleting the message. My fingers hover over the keyboard, unsure of what to do or say. I don't want to go meet with him. But I do want to know why he wants to meet with me.

I type out a simple response.

About what?

He takes a few minutes to reply.

Come and find out.

I shake my head. Unbelievable. Instead of replying, I turn off my phone, gather my things, shove them in my bag, and start making my way toward my dorm. Frankly, I'm beat and I wanted nothing more than to crawl into my bed and sleep. The second I get to my room, I slip inside and throw myself onto my bed, succumbing to sleep.