[completed] Nova Carter knows exactly what the next few years of her life will look like: she will work harder than anyone else (as she didn't get into New York University to slack off); she'll be keeping her head down and prioritizing getting her a...
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Chapter Three | This Charming Man
♫ This Charming Man by The Smiths
The business card that Atlas Wilder has given me is made of such a thick paper that it doesn't even crumple between my terrible fingers.
I've saved it in my phone case, but my phone case is clear and if I would've happened to bump into him again and he saw it, he'd probably think that I'm psychotic or obsessed with him. Instead I now save it in the folds of my wallet, which means that I have to carry that around now. And since it's too big to fit into any pocket (thank you, women's clothing and your innovative idea of fake pockets), that in turn means that I have to carry a purse around, all to keep a phone number safe that I, for some reason, haven't yet saved to my phone.
It freaks me out that I even have this to worry about. Since when have I ever been the kind of girl boys give their phone numbers to? Why didn't I scare him off the second I opened my mouth or stirred an inch, exposing myself for the spastic freak I am? I may be eighteen years of age, but I don't have enough experience to deal with phone numbers.
"You're sitting there like someone's about to photograph you for a cover of a historical coming-of-age story." A half-eaten PopTart is dangling out of the corner of Olivia's mouth as she gets dressed, her hair still soaked from the shower.
"I don't know what that means."
Olivia laughs as she sticks her feet into a pair of white Nikes. "It means that you should probably loosen up, move around, and tell me why you've been staring at that card for over forty-eight hours."
Forty-eight hours? God, she's right. At this point it'd almost be rude to text him anymore. "It's just a phone number." I shift uncomfortably on my bed.
"Oh, I see. Some guy gave you his number at Monday's party, didn't he? And you're too innocent and sweet and inexperienced to know what to say."
Pretty much.
Olivia's quick to come to my rescue and jumps onto my bed so she's sitting next to me, plucking the card from my hands. "Let's start with the most important question, here. Do we want to text him back? Or leave him wondering if the pretty girl with the big brown doe eyes was just a vision created by his drunken state?"
"Atlas doesn't drink," I remark. I immediately blush afterward, maybe because me remembering that seems sickeningly significant and maybe because of Olivia's amused smile, but she's unbothered and turns back to the card.
"Say no more. Phone?"
I begrudgingly hand her my phone. A feeling of apprehension creeps up on me, a question mark, is this a good idea? What will this lead to? Do I want a stranger to have my phone number? My Dad once said it's the key to unlocking someone's entire online identity and the more I think about it, the more appealing anonymity sounds.
