Blissfully Ignorant

One: Corina

Maybe I should just choke down some poison while I'm at it.

Jesse bursts out laughing, leaning over to slap his knee. Woah, totally didn't see that one coming.

On second thought, maybe I'll have him choke down poison while I sink into the chilly embrace of ice cream.

"Night, Corina," he finally says, tears streaming down his eyes. So much for being painfully honest - this guy is a jerk through and through.

Getting into his glamorous car and closing the door with a final click, I watch silently as Jesse drives away, waving until his car is no more in the driveway.

"Stupid, inconsiderate animal," I mutter, pulling open the brown oak door. Not quite to my surprise, what feels like a sack of potatoes is suddenly chucked at me.

“Tom!” I exclaim, glaring playfully at Jerome, my pathetic excuse of a best friend. “What on earth?”

"Well, someone doesn’t handle rejection well,” he remarks, stepping away from me and laughing openly.

I smile, leaning over to switch on the lights. “Thought you’d be sleeping,” I lie. This is Jerome; if I’m out on a date, no way he’d grab a wink of sleep.

“Nope,” he returns the grin, walking into the living room as I follow behind. “I was waiting up for you. How did it go?”

I all but fall down onto his brown couch, scowling at him. “How do you think it went, Tom?”

“Awful,” he answers, winking at me as he sits cross-legged on the floor in front of me. “How did he react?”

“I’m apparently not his type,” I say sullenly, rolling my eyes, “He even found it funny.”

“Because you told him you’re going to torture yourself,” Jerome states, laughing at my expression. “You did, didn’t you?”

“You know me too well,” I groan, burying my face into a pillow, “Time to get a new best friend.”

Jerome’s familiar, friendly laugh fills my ears yet again. This guy sure loves laughing. “You realized that eighteen years too late, Ree.”

Standing up, he pulls me up with him. “Why were you interested in that guy anyway?”

“I dunno,” I shrug, straightening my turquoise dress.

Jerome grimaces. “Mom’s choice?”

“Yeah,” I mirror his face, “You got that right.”

“So what was his name again?” he asks, walking leisurely to his kitchen. I follow behind him, tugging at my curled black hair.

“Jesse Richard,” I answer, "Apparently we’re ‘made for each other’.” Blame my mother and her over-imaginative brain. In the past three months, I’ve met about fifteen other guys who were my ‘honest-to-God other halves’.

“So what do you like about him?” Jerome asks relentlessly. I know better than to argue; this has become almost like routine. I go out with a guy my mom recommends, and then once I’m turned down – because I’m always turned down – we try analyzing the ‘perfect match’ and, as always, conclude that he wasn’t worth it.

Just, you know, an eighteen-year-old girl’s average life.

“He’s cute,” I admit, smiling slightly. “And doesn’t really mind me being that awkward.”

“You? Awkward?” Jerome scoffs. Being the professional multi-tasker that he is, he’s halfway through making two cups of coffee.

You see, the thing with Jerome is that he can’t believe all the other guys don’t like me. He can’t even believe I can be remotely awkward. Because for Jerome, I’m...