Page 13 of Sweet Keeper

The screen of my phone lights up as many notifications hit, but I focus on finishing the essay, even when my hands ache to grab it and read the messages. If I lose concentration, it’s over for me, and I’ll leave it until the due date.

It’s not until I turn in the essay, and I’m free of any academic baggage that I leave the laptop on the desk and reach for the phone instead. Proving that I’m a free soul during the next two days, I answer to a couple of messages in my family group, assuring them that I’m fine and I haven’t been kidnapped by aliens either. Then I simply check the social media notifications. As I swipe my thumb over the screen, I meet a few ones that catch my attention.

In the middle of the notification center, right under the Instagram logo, I can read:ryderweisss followed you.The thread of bubbles tells me that he liked some—if not all—of my photos.

I’m confused. I can’t completely process what happened, and I’m lost, swimming in a pool of concern and curiosity.

Why the hell is Ryder Weiss following me on social media? It doesn’t make any sense at all. I don’t have many photos of myself because my profile is primarily directed towards my photography.

I don’t know him, and he doesn’t know about me.I think.We’ve never crossed paths, other than when I saw him at the party a couple of days ago when he was standing next to John, and then with Stanley during the Beer Pong game. Other than that? Nothing.Nada.

The only information that I have about him is that we go to the same university; he’s a lacrosse player and fills a defensive position there. I don’t pay attention to him or to the rumors that always surround guys like him. He’sirrelevant.

Maybe he’s not a bad guy or doesn’t have other intentions, but we don’t mingle around the same group of people. I don’t think that we would mix well either. People like Ryder and people like me don’t associate.

Completely weirded out, feeling that something isn’t right about this, I choose to take a look at his profile. His bio is short and straightforward, only revealing his age—twenty—, the initials of Moss, and the number of his lacrosse jersey with an emoji of a golden trophy next to it.

Swiping down, I check out his photos. He’s active on the platform, having a fair amount of followers and many posts. His images vary a lot, although he’s the protagonist of most of them. Doing exercise in the gym, dressed up at formal events, some promos of the athletic department, and selfies too. Stanley is with him in some photos, which makes me roll my eyes, but I keep seeing the rest of the images. There are videos of him working out shirtless,

I admit that he’s handsome. He’s attractive in the “I’ll rip your panties off with just a smile” kind of way. His face has almost symmetrical and perfect features. A sharp jaw, pale blue eyes, dark brown hair, and a couple of freckles decorate his face over his cheeks. His smile is gorgeous with pearly white straight teeth, and dimples form with it.

There’s probably some drool sliding down from the corner of my mouth, even when he’s not the type of guy I’m into. Not that I have a type, but I know when someone is not right for me.

Most of the time.

For a minute, I debate on whether I should or shouldn’t follow him back. I could benefit from the support and his account. Although I’ve gotten most of my followers, thanks to Ash and her career—I’ve taken many of the photos that she posts—it wouldn’t hurt to have someone else to benefit from. As athank yougesture, I end up hitting the button.

It’s not like that will connect us. He does follow a lot of people, and I’m no different from the rest of them.

Dropping my phone on the bed, I leave my room, walking towards the kitchen. I hear laughter and music coming from there, and I instantly recognize the voices. The girls are at home.

Ash is in front of the stove with her raven hair tied in a bun to prevent strays from falling into the pot of what she’s cooking. Cora is waiting for the microwave to finish warming up her food, and Karma is sitting on the kitchen counter, nearly choking on a greasy hamburger that makes my stomach cry out in hunger. Ash and Cora usually keep a healthier diet for their careers, but Karma and I take any chance to consume any junk food we can.

“Give me a bite,” I tell Karma, taking the burger from her hand. She whines but lets me feed myself from her meal. “I’m ready to get wasted tonight.”

They all stare at me as if I’ve said something out of the ordinary.

“Are you okay?” Ash asks, cocking her head.

I nod, giving Karma her burger, and I walk to the cabinet where there’s an opened bottle of wine next to the fridge. I can sense their gazes focused on me, analyzing every movement. Especially when I take the cap off and lead the bottle to my mouth, chugging the alcohol. There’s not enough wine to share it with them, and since I bought it, there’s not an issue with me drinking straight from the bottle.

“Wow.” I hear Karma mumble behind me.

I’m not a hardcore drinker if I’m honest. I don’t tolerate alcohol well, and it’s worse when I haven’t fed myself properly before consuming liquor. Tonight, however, I’m looking forward to get wasted as soon as possible, which is why I don’t care about making a big meal before ingesting any substances that might make me do things that I’ll regret.

I groan loudly, trying to put my thoughts together before I start having a long conversation with them. My friends never want me to skip details about what’s going on in my life. That’s the thing about living with your best friends. It’s hard to keep things from them. Even the embarrassing or infuriating stuff that you want to maintain hidden from the world.

Ash, for instance, grew up with me. She reads me like a letter and knows when something’s up with me. This time isn’t the exception. Something is going on, maybe not what they expect, but there’s a variation of different events that have transformed my life the past couple of days. It’s been a rollercoaster of emotions that I still haven’t sat down to process.

“Yeah… No—both?” I stutter because I can’t put it into a single word.

I feel bad because I failed the test after I burned my lashes studying. For once, I realize how screwed up liking John Carter is, and I’m confused because I don’t understand why Ryder Weiss decided to follow me.

Of course, there’s also the Stanley issue that has been the source of my anger this week.

“What happened?” Cora questions in a cautious but caring tone. Instantly, I recognize the future therapist's voice that she uses when she’s trying to get someone to spill their guts.

Scoffing, I take another sip from the bottle. It gives me a couple of seconds to put my thoughts in order. At least in chronological order.

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