Page 141 of My Rules

What the hell is she going on about now? I frown.

What is wrong with everybody?

“Of course, it’s no secret—when Blake said she’s not the girl he wants, it’s obvious to all who know him which one he does,” she calls.

“Who?”

“Oh, Rebecca.” She laughs. “Are you really this clueless?”

I stare at her as I begin to hear my heartbeat in my ears. “Obviously, yes, because I don’t know who his dream girl is.”

“It’s you, dear. I’m not sure if he even knows it yet, but it’s definitely you.”

Poor deluded Carol, the woman who thinks she knows everything but actually knows fucking nothing.

She’s a bona fide idiot.

“Have a nice day, Carol.” I wave, then walk back into my house and flop on the couch.

This is just great.

The day is a disaster, and it’s not even 7:00 a.m. yet.

The problem with anger is that it never lasts for long. It comes in like a tsunami, crashing and smashing everything in its way. But as the tide leaves and washes back out to sea, all that is left is a lot of debris and regret.

I don’t think we should be friends anymore.

What a horrible thing to say to somebody, even somebody you just want to be friends with. Let alone somebody that you have feelings for.

I sit in my classroom, and as the class plays freely, I stare out the window. I’m sad today. It’s like this big deadweight is sitting on my shoulders. I’m not here with my class; I’m miles away.

Blake is at a conference, and I can’t even go over and tell him I still want to be friends, because I do.

He’s a great friend. Things have just gotten a little out of hand lately, and I need to rein it in. But we obviously can’t double-date together anymore.

Carol’s words from this morning—about me being his dream girl—keep coming back to me.

Is she right?

Honestly, it feels like everybody these last two weeks has just been telling me how Blake and I are meant to be together, and I’m even feeling it myself.

But Blake was never in my plan.

And unfortunately, he has shown me a side of himself that scares the living crap out of me. He says mean things. He’s spontaneously crazy. Why the hell would I know that about a person and purposefully go back into that zone?

I wouldn’t; it’s stupid.

I’m just confused.

I wish I could talk this out with my friend, because that’s what I would normally do. The problem is that the friend I would normally talk this out with is the person I want to talk about.

“Miss Dalton,” Toby calls, pulling me out of my daydream.

“Yes, Toby.”

“Can we color now?”

You can do whatever you like, Toby. Hell ... set the classroom on fire, for all I care.

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