Half-heartedly tugging on a flannel shirt, I answered the door.
“Hi,” Courtney said, her voice as dry and monotone as it had been at the store.
I crookedly buttoned my flannel and leaned against the doorframe. “Hi?”
“I shouldn’t have been honest about the fact you look like the mascot for Lucky Charms.” This was again said in that same emotionless but somehow snarky voice that made her sound like a zombie Valley girl.
“Is this you apologizing?” I asked.
“Yes. I should have been less vocal about your shortcomings. That was wrong of me.”
“Unbelievable.” I went to shut my door, mostly to hide the inexplicable laugh rising in my chest, but her combat boot stopped it.
“I’m sorry.” Now, at last, something cracked in her expression, and the vulnerability shining through made me pause. “I understand if you never want to talk to me again, but maybe—”
“You’re right. I don’t.” I couldn’t cave. Couldn’t indulge in exploring the intrigue she inspired in me.
Her face hardened once more, and she tossed her head. “Fine. No talking. We don’t need to be friends to be neighbors.”
“Sounds good to me.” With that final dickish sentiment, I shut the door, feeling both pleased and strangely disappointed with myself for having gotten rid of her for good.
I didn’t love the type of person I’d had to become in the name of self-preservation. I never wanted to be someone’s asshole neighbor, at least not until I was eighty-five and being grumpy was endearing. When I was a child, people described me as kind and sensitive. Now, only half that description applied. I never knew if being sensitive was good or bad. Grandma said it meant I loved too hard. Grandpa said it was a nice way of saying I was weak.
It didn’t matter. I would never have to be strong because I didn’t plan on loving at all.
Courtney’s revenge was swift and sadistic.
Once she left my house, I heard her enter her side of the duplex and turn on the TV. She cranked it up to full volume, but I didn’t let it bother me. I’d been a jerk; let the girl blow off some steam.
Seven hours later,Riverdaleseason one was still going strong. I couldn’t believe this woman watchedRiverdaleon purpose. Still, I figured she’d fall asleep eventually, and her streaming service would time-out.
She apparently turned off the prompt feature of her streaming service, because her TV blared all night long.
The next morning, I shot awake from my fitful sleep, utter panic striking me deep when I heard Courtney’s keys jingle in her front door as she left for work, her TV still booming.
I tumbled out of bed, found a pair of sweats, and staggered out my front door, throwing a hoodie on and blinking backmoisture as sunlight assaulted my weary eyes. “Courtney!” I called as she opened her car door. I scampered across the driveway, the concrete freezing my bare toes. “Courtney,” I gasped again, rounding her car. “You left your TV on.”
She didn’t respond. Didn’t even acknowledge the fact I was half draped over her driver’s-side door. She simply slammed it, nearly taking off my fingers in the process. Seeing her put the car in reverse, I darted back, narrowly avoiding getting my toes run over as she whipped out onto the street.
I knew when I was being subjected to a silent treatment, even if it was the loudest silent treatment to have ever been performed. Even if I hadn’t worked it out myself, she’d left me a subtle clue she was pissed in the form of her charming new Wi-Fi network name: Bryceisabuttface.
“No talking,” she’d said. “We don’t have to be friends to be neighbors.” Apparently, the alternative she had in mind wasWe’ll be mortal enemies instead!while I’d been assuming she meant we’d be cordial acquaintances.
I would not let her win this petty game. EvenRiverdalehad an end. All I had to do was wait it out. A quick Google search revealed that there were 137 hours of the show, which meant my torture would be over in less than a week, if Courtney didn’t get sick of her own warfare by then, which she probably would.
Spoiler: she did not.
By day three, my ears were sore from the earplugs I’d taken to wearing. By day four, I knew moreRiverdalelore than any human should. By day five, I was reluctantly intrigued. By day six, I was even blinking back a tear as I heard the season finale come to an end, though that might have been because I was so happy it was finally over.
Then at last. Atlast. Sweet, sweet silence.
I removed my earplugs, letting out a little whimper of relief.
Three seconds later, the opening music forRiverdaleonce more thundered through the building, the first lines of season one episode one striking pure terror into my heart.
That was it. I snapped. I shoved away from my desk and burst out the front door. I crossed to Courtney’s side of the porch and repeatedly jabbed her doorbell. When there was no answer, I looked over my shoulder and discovered her car was gone. She must be at work and had somehow set up her TV to autoplayRiverdaleon a loop. Forever.
I’d just have to take matters into my own hands.
