Pink Skittle Paradox

Pink Skittle Paradox - TWO

TWO

It wasn’t until late that night after dinner, when I was ‘doing homework’ at my desk, that I had the chance to further ponder Miranda and Sammy’s combined arguments of why I would make a “move” on Logan.

What better a person to break his slutty habits than someone who’s already in love with him?

Okay, I was not in love with him. That’s ridiculous. You can’t love someone you’ve never actually had a decent conversation with. That’s, like, the rule. But, if you edited that part, it was…true?

I wasn’t…promiscuous, for lack of a better word, like Alyssa, his current girlfriend. I wasn’t just concerned with his looks. I was concerned with his…humor. Happiness. All that crap. But the smile didn’t hurt.

Which reminded me about the first mysterious incident that unfolded in the cafeteria that day—Logan not paying for his lunch. Some kids, whose parents were sort of poor, got free lunches until their families got back on their feet. Oh my gosh, was Logan poor? That fit, and it would explain why he was acting embarrassed as he walked away. It must be hard, to have to do that and feel like everyone’s watching you…

One mystery solved…one to go.

 I pulled out my cell and sent Sammy and Miranda the same text.

“What should I do about Logan?”

Sammy replied first: “Start conversation!!! I can get his # 4 u. R u up 4 it?”

Good question, Sammy, good question. But I was feeling brave, so I responded with consent. She excitedly texted back several minutes later with the her trouble getting it—she’d had to text Brad who texted Quinn who IM-ed James who had it—and his number. It was catchy, the last four numbers being a pattern of ones and fours, and I started to program it in to my phone. At the last minute, though, I decided to see how the conversation went before saving him number.

I dialed in the number, which I already had memorized, and clicked ‘send.’

He picked up after two abnormally-long, anxiety-filled rings.

“Hello?” His voice said, confused from the unknown number, and I almost hung up.

I took a shaky breath and replied, “Hi? Is Josh there?”

Honestly, I had no idea who Josh was, but I was going to play the wrong number card. It made me appear like way less of a stalker—even though most of the stalking was done by Sammy—and left me with an easy escape route if the conversation went bad.

“Josh? Uh, no…I think you have the wrong number.”

Oh, my gosh. We were having a conversation! “Oh, sorry. Who is this, then?”

Logan was silent for a second, and it was a deciding silence. As in, hang up and play Black Ops or see where this conversation goes. “Logan. Logan Parson. Who’s this?”

Deep breath, Shelby. Just because this is going well now doesn’t mean anything. “Shelby Black.”

“Oh.”

Silence. The sort of silence that breaks glass. And then sends shards of said glass in to your heart.

“You go to RSHS?” It was a question, a conversation starter, and I snagged it.

Nodding, even though he couldn’t see me, I responded, “Yeah, I do. Eighth grade.”

He laughed on the other end. “Me, too! Weird. Why haven’t I heard of you?”