Page 12 of No One Else

We finish up the assignment, going over the different strategies for marketing to each type of buyer and make a plan to meet Friday after our classes for the next part.

As she’s packing up her bag she stops and says, “I’m glad we can still be friends.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. I’ve convinced her enough to not be mad at me. “Me too.”

“This will probably sound terrible, but I’ve missed you.” She fidgets with the strap of her bag, twisting it around her finger. “You know, at work. Because you usually hang around the front desk.”

She’s right. It does sound terrible. I’m sure she doesn’t mean it maliciously, though. She doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. Still, a bolt of guilt runs through me. She’s noticed how I haven’t been around then.

I jam my hands into my pockets, telling her, “It’s just been so busy. Beginning of the year and all. In a couple weeks I’ll have time to spare again.”

“Yeah,” she smiles weakly, hefting her backpack over her shoulder. “Plus, you’re probably busy with Sarah now.”

Who? Oh, right. My nonexistent noodle girlfriend.

I nod, unsure what to say. Is it too late to fess up now?

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” she says more brightly. “See you later.”

“See you.”

I watch her walk out of the library, settling back down in my chair after she’s out of sight. It could’ve gone worse, I remind myself. She could have asked for a different partner. Or focused solely on the project and not anything personal at all. Instead, I got her to not only act semi-normal but even admit to missing me. That’s got to mean something, right?

I get up slowly, knowing I need to head home and start dinner, but wanting to stay just a minute longer. Today was the beginning of something. At the very least toward our previous friendship together. But maybe toward something more. She doesn’t have a boyfriend. She kissed me that night a month ago. If I play my cards right, maybe I can convince her that I’m the man for her.

4

Natalie

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“YOU’LL NEVER GUESSwho I have a class with,” Samantha gleefully declares as she greets us, pulling out a chair at our table in the student center. She sits down amid a flurry of jangling bracelets and wild hair as she sets down her stuff. “Your boyfriend!” she exclaims to Eden, who stares at her with wide eyes.

“My boyfriend?” she squeaks, carefully setting down the sushi she was about to take a bite of with her chopsticks. I’m jealous of the effortless grace she wields them with. I’ve never been able to master using them.

“You have a boyfriend?” asks Charlotte, turning to Eden with a smile. “When did this happen?”

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