Page 36 of My Fake Date With My Childhood Friend
“No, you need to listen to me!” I snapped. “I am happy with my life now, Joseph, and I don’t really care how you feel about it. You don’t get a say in what I do when you’re not my boyfriend anymore, so just screw off, okay?”
Finally giving up on getting anywhere in this hallway, I spun around and ran back the way I came. I didn’t stop running until I’d gone down the stairs and ended up in a separate wing of the school, where I was sure he wouldn’t be able to find me again.
The closure was important in break-ups, but it was impossible to reach it when Joseph was still in denial about what he did and how I felt about him. I felt like I was finally getting to the point where I was ready to accept everything that had happened and move on, and it was like he was trying to pull me back with him. He had to get over himself.
I was so angry with him that I couldn’t even go to debate club. He had spoiled my mood. Instead, I went to the library — somewhere quiet so that I could hear my thoughts. My mom was supposed to be picking me up after debate club, and I didn’t feel like having to explain to her why I was leaving early, so staying here for an hour seemed like a good enough alternative.
I headed straight for the back, where some chairs and couches were set up for silent reading. I sat down in an empty black armchair and pulled the werewolf book I was still reading out of my bag. When your ex-boyfriend gets you down, read a romance, right?
Unfortunately, it wasn’t that easy to get Joseph off my mind. One memory, in particular, kept passing through my mind, no matter how many times I tried to push it away.
We were sitting together on my living room couch, watching a movie. Joseph was gently running his fingers along my back.
“You okay?” He asked. “You seem stressed.”
I shrugged. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
“Not to be cynical… but do you think we would ever break up?” I asked.
“Of course not. I would never let that happen. You are way too important for all that,” he said, rubbing my shoulders.
“That’s good. I like you too much.” I kissed him deeply in a way you can only do when you’re naïve enough to believe that your love will last forever.
I didn’t know then what I knew now: that any relationship in high school would inevitably crash and burn. That was why I had to be careful about how I thought about Alexander — I’d had a crush on him before, one that came and went every so often. I obviously didn’t think about him like that while I was with Joseph, but now that we were broken up and Alexander and I were starting to spend more time together, those dormant feelings were starting to rear their head again, ever so slightly. But I would never — could never — go after Alexander. He and I were from completely different worlds. Back with Joseph, I’d made the mistake of thinking that we could make it through that, and look what had happened.
The rules of high school were set in stone, and they said that people of different social standings, like Alexander and I, were not supposed to date. It was bad enough to toe that line in the way we were now, even if it was purposely temporary. Adding real feelings and the hope for something more long-term would only ruin it. No, I wouldn’t go after Alexander. I wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
fourteen
Since it was getting soclose to the holiday break, a lot of our teachers had more or less given up on teaching and were just giving us free time in class. In my last class on Wednesday, our teacher told us we could sit anywhere we wanted and work on homework since most of us had big assignments due on Friday, right before the break. Alexander and I sat down on the floor in the back corner of the room, away from everyone else, and decided to each work on our homework.
At first, I really tried to focus so I wouldn’t have anything to do that night, but it took exactly five minutes for me to get bored of that. I managed one question from my French homework before I threw down my pencil and groaned.
“What's the matter?” Alexander asked.
“French.”
He grinned. “The language as a whole?”
“Yes, I think it should just stop existing,” I said with a nod.
“I'll get on that.” He sighed and flipped through the pages of the book he was holding. “Though, honestly, I'd take French over English any day.”
“Really?” I asked, surprised. “Why?”
He shrugged. “It's easier. French is just basic conjugating and stuff. I have to write essays in English, which takes way too long.”
“Let's trade.”
“What?”
“I'll write your essay for you, and you do my French homework for me,” I said.
His brows pulled together. “We can’t just trade homework, Penny.”
“Why not?” I asked. I leaned over and flipped his book over so I could see the cover. “Your essay’s on Macbeth? Easy.”
