The last two weeks of school drag on. I get through my finals and manage to squeak out A's and B's in all my classes.
The sexy Instagram post situation died out quickly after Jane hunted down who had shared it. She made her post a couple other photos that clearly showed we were just kissing, along with an apology.
Elliot and Alex joke with me after the new pics surfaced that one day I would be laughing about the fact that my fifteen minutes of fame were from being Shawn Mendes's summer screw. I doubt I will ever find humor in that.
There are a few weeks between the summer session and the fall term, so I go home to Beaufort. I do my best to not be mopey, but I'm still pretty down about how things had ended with Shawn. He stopped texting and calling after a few days. Part of me wonders if I should have heard him out, but what on earth could he say? I heard what I heard and it was clear as day that he was planning to end things.
I spend my time in Beaufort going to the beach, hanging out with my friends, who thankfully know better than to bring Shawn up. The bitch who took the picture of me and Shawn knows better than to show up anywhere I am. I enjoying being pampered by my mom and dad, and if my dad ever got wind of the photos, he never let on about it.
At the end of August, I go back to Toronto to start my junior year. I'm looking forward to the new semester. Becca has moved in with us, sharing the room with Elliot. It will be good to have another girl in the house.
We all go out drinking the Friday before school starts. Even Alex joins us, but only because his boyfriend has moved to New York.
We hit up a bar near campus where we meet up with several other friends, including my best girl friend, Rachael, who I hadn't seen all summer. Chris, who'd gone to school with Shawn, is also there, and it crosses my mind that maybe Shawn will show up. He doesn't. I should be relieved, but I'm not. I miss him, even if I was nothing to him.
We all drink too much and stumble back to our homes. I fall into my bed after taking my clothes off and putting on a t-shirt. I decide to post a funny picture on IG of me and all my friends that someone took at the bar. It's the first thing I've posted on Instagram in months.
I post it with the caption "so glad this crappy summer is over."
The next morning, I wake up hungover. I go to the kitchen, pop a bunch of Advil, and drink water to try to detoxify my body. The only logical thing to do is sleep until I feel better.
I'm awoken a few hours later to the doorbell ringing. Surely someone else in this house will get it. Nope. The doorbell stops and whoever is there starts knocking.
I throw a pair of sweats on and trudge to the front door. I fling it open.
He looks me over and grins slightly. I know how I look, and I don't appreciate him judging me.
"So your summer was crappy, eh?" he says.
It takes me a second to understand why he asks that. Then I remember my Instagram post. I'd forgotten that he followed me.
"It was the worst," I say.
"Aren't you going to invite me in?"
"What are you doing here, Shawn?"
"We need to talk."
I open the door wider and gesture for him to come in. I sit down on a chair in the living room; he sits across from me on the couch.