And so, it kicked up my urge to chuck my phone out of the window every time it vibrated.
Michael might just be sending me casual greetings—nothing harmful or indecent—but his text messages made my stomach churn, which was why I couldn't eat and think properly. They even managed to change my mood for the whole day, and I didn't know how that was possible.
I didn't reply to his messages because I thought he would stop if I ignored him. Besides, I wanted to make it clear that I didn't want to strike up a conversation with him. But he kept texting me, anyway.
I decided to talk to Clover about it, despite my initial hesitation not to because it might break her heart even more. The minute I told her, however, she went squealing and jumping around in our bedroom, much to my bewilderment.
"Really? You guys are texting each other now? Awesome!" she cried and slammed her hands on my shoulders. "Listen, Autumn. I know I've been asking you so many favors, but this will be the last, I swear." She pressed her palms together. "Will you please ask him to forgive me?"
"Huh?" I stared at her incredulously. "Wait, what? I-I'll ask him to forgive you? Are you for real?"
"Yes!"
Something in my brain clicked.
"Aha! The plot thickens!" I exclaimed, and it was her turn to be surprised. "You gave him my number so you could make way for me to talk to him and ask him to forgive you!"
She frowned. "What are you talking about? I never gave him your number."
I crossed my arms across my chest. "Clover, are you lying again?"
"No, I'm not. Maybe it was Clint. Or Rose! She asked for your number, right? Whatever. It's good that you and he have each other's number, anyway."
I looked at her grimly. "So I can ask him to forgive you."
"Please? I need your help."
"Clover, if you want to make peace with him, why don't you talk to him? I told you, I'm not cleaning up your mess."
"I can't. I still don't have the nerve to speak to him."
"So you think apologizing through text is a good idea?" I groaned. "Do you like him?"
"Not just like him. I really like him."
"So put on your big girl pants and apologize in person. Not through a text message. It sounds insincere."
"I. Can't."
I threw my hands up in frustration. "Write him a letter."
"Letter?" she scoffed. "That's so thirty years ago."
"Good luck with your suffering, then."
"Oh, come on. Just convince him."
"You convinced your Literature teacher to change your Cs to Bs. Surely, your powers of persuasion will work on Michael."
"I tried. It didn't work. Autumn, puh-lease?"
Our argument took about fifteen minutes before I gave up with a big sigh. "Fine, I'll try," I grumbled.
I went to the study table to get my phone and sat on the swivel chair. I hoped the talk would go smoothly, and I would be convincing enough to make him say, "Yeah, okay. I forgive her" or something along those lines. To my dismay, the conversation turned out like this:
Me: Hello.
Michael: You finally answered. How are you?
Me: Good. Thanks. Are you busy? I want to ask you something.
Michael: I'm not. What is it?
Me: Well... this is about Clover. Are you still mad at her?
Michael: What about it?
Me: I was wondering if you could forgive her?
Michael must've been typing so fast because it took him seconds to reply. When I asked him that question, however, it took him a lot longer. He must be considering it.
Michael: Why would I?
Me: She's gone nuts, and I'm doing this on her behalf. Will you please forgive her? She swears she won't do it again.
Michael: What's 1-1?
Me: Zero. What's with the random question?
Michael: That's the number of chances she has to get my forgiveness.
I almost choked on my spit.
Me: Wow. WOW.
Michael: What? Weren't you mad too when she used your name?
Me: I was, but I'm over it now. She didn't do it for malicious reasons. She was just scared to talk to you herself. She regrets what she did, I swear.
Michael: Nope. Can't accept her sorry.
Me: Okay. Fine. But will you do me a TINY favor?
Michael: What?
Me: Will you please say hi to her, or at the very least, smile at her when you see each other? That'll make her feel a lot better. :)
Michael: No.
Me: It's only hi. What's wrong with that?
Michael: Want an honest answer?
Me: Yes.
Michael: I don't like her.
Ouch.
Michael: I've never liked her. She's annoying.
Double ouch.
"So, what did he say?" Clover said, sending me a hopeful look across the room. I simply couldn't say Michael didn't like her and that he found her annoying. That's the last thing a girl wants to hear from the boy she likes.
Closing my phone, I shook my head. "Well, that was... a lot harder than I expected," I said instead. "He's impossible."
She hid her face in my pillow and let out a loud groan. "I just want him to know that I'm sorry. He probably thinks I'm a lying, attention-seeking bitch, and I feel like he didn't believe me when I apologized last time."
I was surprised she would have that kind of understanding. As I stared at her in pity, it occurred to me that I'd never seen her look so crestfallen over her mistake, and she had done and said many mean things to other people in the past.
"I guess writing him a letter is your last option," I suggested, trying to be helpful. "There's nothing outdated about it. It's cheesy, sure, but it's also a sweet and sincere way to tell someone how you feel."
With that, I remembered the sticky notes I had received, and I suddenly felt quite flustered. Secret admirer.
Clover propped herself up, making the bed creak. She looked at me through the curtain of her hair covering her face and asked, "I suck at writing, though. Will you help me? You know, with the grammar and all."
I smiled. "Okay."
──────
Never once in my life had I expected to find myself hiding in a corridor and looking out for a particular boy on an early Monday morning. Clover acted like we were involved in a spying operation because she'd been sneaking around the area and hissing, "Found him! Target locked!"
I was so ashamed of both of us.
When she pressed her letter in my hand and tried to push me out of our hideout, I exclaimed, "Are you serious? You should do this yourself!"
"But he doesn't want to see me! Pretty please, do me this one last favor," she pleaded.
"This is like your twentieth 'last' favor, Clover," I said, but she ignored me.
"Look, he's about to go away. Give it to him already."
She shoved me harder, and I stumbled out of our hiding. I looked back and flashed my eyes at her, but she pumped her fist and mouthed at me to hurry up. Groaning, I marched toward Michael, who just slammed his locker door shut.
I held out a slightly crumpled folded paper to him. When he took it, I said with a look of imperfect calmness, "I hope you'll have time to read it."
The corners of his lips pulled up. "Is this a love letter?"
My heart went frantic. "No! Why would I... w-whatever. Just read it. It's not mine, but just read it."
I didn't give him a chance to reply. I scurried back to Clover. She tapped my back, telling me I did a great job and promising that was the last favor. Finally, her real smile showed up after a few days in hiding. She walked to her class with an air of satisfaction and with hopes of the letter doing its job to mend what little friendship she had with Michael.
Everything she felt was a contrast to mine. Nothing she had done in the past few days had been pleasant to me. I was sick of her ordering me around, asking me for favors, but I couldn't be frank about it because I was scared of hurting her feelings even more.
I tried to brush the feeling off with a forced smile as I went to my classroom. Finn was already sitting at our table, and he grinned as I arrived. Seeing him come early to school had never failed to astound me.
"Hey," he said. He studied my face for a moment. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine." I hung my bag on the hook on the side of the table and settled on my chair. "So, how did the rest of the party go? Did your parents get mad at you?" I asked.
"Oh, I told everyone to get out not before long you went home," he said. "I'm pretty sure half of the school hates me now."
I laughed.
"But at least my parents didn't give me hell for it. The house was squeaky clean when they arrived, thanks to my friends who I forced to clean up all the mess. Except for that one broken figurine which I'm still gluing the pieces back together before Mom finds out it's missing from her collections."
"Is she that strict?"
"Very."
"Good luck. I'm sure you need it again," I said.
A coy smile tugged at his lips. "By the way, I listened to the mixtape you made for me."
"And... what do you think of it?" I asked, expecting him to make a joke about it or say my music taste was terrible.
But he said: "It was awesome. You nailed the playlist perfectly."
I moved my gaze to my finger fiddling with the loose thread on my sweater sleeve. "Great. I'm glad you like it," I said in relief.
"Correction. I love it."
I stole a glance at him. His entire face, even his neck, had taken on a vibrant shade of red. I'd never seen a boy blush as often as that, and maybe that quirk of his was what made him endearing to many girls in school.
I covered my mouth to hide my amused smile.
"What's funny?" he asked.
"Your ears look so red."
"Yeah. I know," he mumbled, looking down. "I've been getting that a lot since I was a kid. Valerie likes to make fun of it."
I remembered Aislin's words when she had talked about him, and without thinking much of it, I blurted out, "It looks adorable."
I thought he would find it funny and make a sarcastic reply. But Finn only looked at me like I'd grown a second nose and buried his face in his hand. Half-jokingly, I asked what was wrong. He didn't utter a word. He didn't even talk to me throughout the class.
But his ears remained crimson for the rest of the day.
──────
I received another sticky note during lunch. I shouldn't have been surprised when I saw it, but that one seemed different from the previous notes. The handwriting could still be mistaken as the work of a doctor, but it was a lot neater and more legible.
And the content threw me into another round of confusion.
You know—I wish I were drunk that night so I could have told you everything I was afraid to say while sober.
Even now, I still find it funny how that mysterious message made a big difference in the fall of my fifteenth year. It was tucked in a place only I knew about, and my heart remained with it for a long time.