I found myself texting Summer about an hour later. All I said was, Meet me at the park, but it was still a text nonetheless. She responded, Okay, in record time.
She showed up five minutes later, and when she opened her mouth to talk, I held my hand up to stop her. "I don't need you to say anything," I told her. "It's okay."
"No, it's not. You're angry, and you have every right to be," she replied. "I shouldn't have kept it from you." She sat in the empty seat next to me on the park bench. "Are you going to yell at me?"
I looked at her incredulously. "Why on earth would I yell at you? You should be yelling at me," I retorted.
"Because you're mad at me, maybe? You yelling at me might actually make me feel better."
"I'm not going to yell at you," I said quietly, softly. "I did that enough yesterday. You didn't deserve it. You were being honest, and it's better late than never."
"I think that saying only refers to certain things," she told me.
"Just let me forgive you."
"Okay."
"You know something Summer? I really don't hate you," I said.
She smiled. "I really don't hate you too. In fact, I might actually like you."
"I might actually like you too."
And it wasn't a happily ever like in the books. I didn't see her differently - her laugh and her looks and her voice were still the same: regular. We didn't fall in love, and we got mad at each other a lot.
But this time it was different. She was a regular girl with a regular laugh and a regular smile. I was a boy who was just as regular as her.