"Just tell me who it is!" I said.
The girl wearing pyjamas seated behind Layla slurped pop through a straw and stared at us, openly.
My jaw stiffened as my fingers tapped the tabletop. Nothing to see here, plastic-straw-using-turtle-killing person.
Layla's eyes lit with an inner glow. She shoved my shoulder, offering a smile.
"Chill, Nat. It's @ColbyScott, 'kay?" Layla put my phone down and skewered a strawberry on her fork, juice running down the metal prongs.
I pressed the heel of my palms to my eyes. Not Alec. I swallowed and nodded, shoving my hands into the pouch of my hoodie.
"What did he say?" I fidgeted with the weird fluff that always accumulated on the soft side of the fabric.
I rolled my stiff shoulders. Jeez, could Layla chew a strawberry any slower?
Layla wiped her mouth with a brown napkin. "I thought you didn't want to know?"
"Well, I changed my mind. I can't not know." Tiny beads of sweat collected on my upper lip. I pulled the hoodie away from my body. I'd take it off, but nobody would appreciate seeing my hot pink bra. Should've worn a shirt.
Layla unlocked my phone, thumb sliding over the glass screen.
My mouth opened, but nothing came out. How'd Layla get my password? I shut my mouth. Probably, something last night required her knowledge of my 6-digit code.
"He basically said that he's flattered, but he dropped out before school started. Doesn't want to do the whole long-distance dating thing, so this one was a miss," she said.
A soreness scratched my throat and lungs. I picked up my knife and fork and sawed off a piece of hard waffle. My grip tightened on the cold metal. I'd only known Colby for a day anyways. I stabbed the fried dough and shoved it in my mouth. What did I expect?
"Let's look at the rest of them." Layla drummed her feet against the floor.
"No!" I shook my head. " I don't think I can handle any more rejection," I laughed, the sound hollow.
Layla swatted my arm. "Pfft, that wasn't a rejection. This Colby guy doesn't even go here, so it's onward and upward from here."
My gaze drifted to the heat lamps that turned on as the kitchen staff began serving lunch. A ladle full of lasagne slopped on a plate, sauce splashing over the sides.
My nose wrinkled. "I don't know."
"You know you wanna," she teased.
Pyjama girl tore open a crinkly chip bag. I crossed my arms. Did I want to be her, the girl eavesdropping on someone else's conversation, sitting alone?
"Okay, fine, who else replied?" I squared my shoulders, but without any real strength behind me.
Humming, Layla swiped into my DMs. "@PabloRamirez and @BlakeHill. Blake's pretty cute, I approve." She scrolled, presumably through his feed.
My adrenaline spiked.
"Don't like anything!" I shuddered Liking their photos was the kiss of death- I'd be forever labelled the creepy stalker girl.
"This isn't my first rodeo, I got it." Layla rolled her eyes, the light green not red-rimmed like mine. Not fair that I had to be such a lightweight.
"Okay, tell me what they said," I muttered, "But don't open them, because then they'll know I've read it. Just tell me what you know from the little preview thing." I uncrossed and recrossed my legs.
Layla pursed her lips. "Not a lot to go on."
She stared at the screen.
My breathing grew louder. I motioned for Layla to hurry up. "Tell me before I change my mind."
Oil hissed and bubbled as a basket of fries lowered into a vat. Layla glanced over her shoulder at the loud distraction.
I tilted my head up, gaze looking heavenward. Someone give me patience before I go Hulk crazy.
Layla turned back to me. "From what I understand, Blake wants to hang sometime, and Pablo's just says nice things, no actual asking to go out, but it could be later in the message."
A fluttery feeling swung up my belly, but less butterfly-like and more squirmy-wormy. I gave Layla an incredulous stare.
"What? They want to go out? Like on a date-date?" I asked, shaking out my hands in an effort to relax.
Layla bobbed her head. "Yeah, seems like it. You should go!"
A crumpled napkin sat on the table next to a dried blob of ketchup, discarded and forgotten.
I pinched the skin between my thumb and forefinger.
"No, no, no, I can't." My voice wavered.
"Why not?" Layla asked.
My stomach went rock hard, sickly sweet taste of whip cream lingering on my tongue. "Me, on a date?" I pointed at myself, "Yikes."
"I'm sure it wouldn't be that bad," she giggled.
I waved a hand between us, trying to find words to articulate the many reasons this was a bad idea, and knocked over her mug. Whoops.
"I'll go grab some napkins." I pushed my chair back. While I walked over to the station with cutlery and whatnot, my head stayed bent down at my slipper-clad feet.
With napkins in hand, I fretted over the spill. Layla couldn't understand- she was probably popular in high school with a huge group of friends here at Summit. She didn't need or want me to dump my crap on her lap.
"I don't think I'll reply, I'll just deal with it later," I said, fidgeting with the unused napkins.
"Well, let me know if you change your mind. I'm great at picking out date outfits, it's my specialty." Layla stood up too.
"I'll let you know," I said. Yeah, right.
Me replying was about as likely as me voluntarily talking to Ty again.
▿▿▿
Well, it turns out talking to Ty again was more likely and unavoidable than I thought.
Sighing, I took in the small room.
Sturdy bookshelves lined the walls, mainly filled with musty encyclopedias, thick dictionaries and obsolete atlases. Shoes tapped on the staircase outside, followed by laughter as a group of students passed by.
I brushed little eraser bits off the table before resting my elbows there.
The clock above the door ticked, audible over the creak of my chair.
Did I get the time he said to meet wrong? I pulled out my phone and swiped into our brief conversation.
Saturday, September 14th, 4:32am
"Tyler Sawyer" name changed to "Mr. Bathroom Incident"
My stomach dropped. Right. Friday night was a thing that happened. I dipped my chin and continued reading.
Saturday, September 14th, 3:48pm
"Mr. Bathroom Incident" name changed to "Ty"
Sunday, September 15th, 8:46pm
Did you turn in the article yet, or can you make changes?
I sent in the rough draft to my editor, but I can still make some changes if need be, no problem. Thanks again for doing the interview!
I used one exclamation mark, normal, not psycho.
Can we meet before you turn it in?
Yeah, for sure!😊I'm free for the rest of the night or Tuesday afternoon. Tuesday's cutting it a little close cause it's due Wednesday tho
Okay, the creepy smiley face bordered on psycho, but oh well. Couldn't take it back now.
Can't tonight @ dinner w fam. Tuesday?
Sure! See you then!
Tuesday, September 17th, 8:43am
Where and what time do you want to meet? I'm done classes at 3:00, so any time after that works for me! I'll come back to the dorms, so somewhere here would be best for me.
Library @ 7
Okay!
I put my butt in this chair at 7:00. Unless I forgot how to read the hands of a clock, it was almost 7:20.
Tick.
A backpack zipper opened.
Tock.
A mouse clicked.
Tick.
A printer whirred.
Tock.
I glared at the string of messages.
7:20. Son of a gun.
My fingers flew across the screen. Was I ever going to send this? No. But, a girl's gotta vent. Does 7 have a different meaning for you? Because, in my book, 7 means 7:00 pm Eastern Standard Time, not on Ty Time. Got things to do, people to see and all that. I have half a mind to get up right now and-
"Waiting long?" a familiar, deep voice said.
I held the phone tightly against my chest.
"Nope, all good," I replied. Thank you for gracing me with your presence, Ty.
He pulled out the chair across from me and set down his bag.
I glanced down at my phone. Delete, delete, delete. My finger slipped, and I pressed the little blue arrow. Crap!
His phone dinged, the sound muffled by the fabric of his bag.
My spine straightened. I took deep, controlled breaths. Be chill, Nat.
He sat, tall frame folding into the chair.
I chewed my bottom lip, eyes darting to his bag. Where was the unsend button when I needed it? I gulped.
"You're not gonna check that?" I blurted out.
"Nope." He leaned his elbows on the armrests, spreading out.
My scalp prickled. "Well, just ignore it when you see it," I said and cleared my throat. How did Ty make a hoodie look hot? I wore 'em for comfort but was well aware that I resembled a sack of potatoes.
"Now, I'm curious." He smirked and leaned down to grab his phone.
Ugh. I squirmed, sinking lower in my chair.
The screen lit up the sharp contours of his face.
"You really don't have to-" I stammered.
His eyes flashed to me. "So you were waiting." He cut in.
"You said seven, I was here at seven." I shrugged, shoulders almost brushing my ears.
"I did say that," Ty said.
Staring at a sign about and the importance of literacy, I avoided the bright blue eyes that made my mouth move without permission from my brain.
From the rustle of fabric, I assumed Ty put his phone away.
My knee bounced. Please say nothing about Friday night. Friday night did not happen, it's wiped from my memory Men In Black-style.
"No more Mr. Bathroom Incident, huh? I liked that name," he said, pointing at my face-up phone left on our conversation. Rookie mistake.
Ears hot, I rubbed my palms on my jeans.
"I didn't actually think of you as Mr. Bathroom Incident," I trailed off, "I was drunk and said a lot of things that are very, very not true."
"What's that saying?" He tilted his head to gaze out the window.
Look at him, pondering out the window, musing. If only Shakespeare wore a baseball cap, Ty would be a splitting image.
His eyes returned to mine."A drunk tongue's an honest one?"
"You can believe whatever you want to believe." I raised my chin. Why couldn't I think of a wittier reply? Instead, I'd be replaying this conversation in my head while I tried to fall asleep and come up with a real zinger.
"Sure, Sunshine."
"Ew. Stop it with the nickname." I folded my arms across my chest.
"I let you call me Ty, it's only fair I get a nickname. That is unless you'd prefer, say, Tasha?" He settled back into his chair with exaggerated casualness.
I scowled. Footsteps thudded overhead.
"Whatever," I said. My annoying twelve-year-old cousin had better comebacks than me.
My phone buzzed.
I snatched it off the table and into my lap before Ty could snoop any more.
"So, why did you want to meet?" I asked.
My eyes darted down to my lap. For a split second, my breathing suspended. I tightened my grip on the phone. Ohmysweetgoodness.
"Coach found out about the article and wanted to make sure that we're on the same page about the whole misunderstanding with the fan at the game on Friday." Ty rubbed the back of his neck.
"Right, the misunderstanding," I said. The notification across my screen came from @AlecItoRussell. @AlecItoRussell! My pulse quickened, a grin breaking out.
@AlecItoRussell replied to my message.
"Yeah, I apologized, and we cleared it up, but the team's been getting some backlash," he said, scratching the dry skin on his hand.
I nodded rather than speaking. Biting down on my smile, I smoothed down my shirt. Alec replied!
"So, Coach wanted me kinda make sure you're, uh, what did he call it- painting me in a good light?" he stumbled over the words.
"Yup, for sure." I looked down at the shiny message. What did Alec say?
"Glad that's all cleared up then. See you around, Sunshine."
I stared at the empty seat across from me.
Wait.
What did Ty do at the game?
Another chapter bites the dust! What did you think of Nat, Layla, and Ty? Or the responses to her messages? Ou and what do you guys think happened at the game while Nat had her nose in her phone?
Real question for you though: Pancakes or waffles? Waffles all the way for me!
VOTE
THANKS
PEACE✌️
(me trying to be concise)