“Dude, I think I really messed up this time. I think I messed up bad.”
Evan didn’t even bother rolling his eyes. He just kept right on staring at his phone. Eventually, probably realizing that he really did want to hear what I was talking about, he grunted out, “Okay, what’s up?”
“So I was on a date with Jazz last Sunday–”
“So yesterday.”
“Shut up, smartarse. Anyway, we were on a date and she said the L-word.”
“What? Really? You’re freaking out over the saying ‘I love you’? That’s weak dude.”
“What? No, we’ve been saying that for weeks.”
“Aw, aren’t you guys just freaking adorable.”
I swear, if he was the kind of dude who spit on school campuses, Evan would’ve right there. What the hell is up with him?
“Dude, what’s up with you?”
“What’s up with you?! All you ever do these days is complain about her. Jesus, just break up with her already.”
“What the hell dude? No!”
“I mean, I vent to you sometimes, but that’s just when I need to vent. Everyone needs to vent sometimes. And most of the crap I tell you are my goofs anyway. Like, dude, our relationship is pretty great. I love her. Love the hell out of her. She’s, like, awesome.”
“No you don’t.”
“Yes I do. Screw you.”
“Screw you! She’s not right for you, I’m telling you.”
“You like her! You do! That’s why you’re always hanging around us! I’ve seen you glaring when I kiss her!”
Why am I saying this? He’s pissed me off. Crap. I don’t like this. I don’t want to be angry with him. I don’t like being angry. People say things they don’t want to when they’re angry. He’s quiet. When does this class end? Stupid finals schedule. We didn’t even do anything. Last day of finals though. The bell rings. Freaking finally. Evan doesn’t rush out. I try to meet his eye.
“I’m sorry dude. I got carried away.” He looks into his bag, then throws it over his shoulder and looks me full in the face. Has he always been this much taller than me?
“It’s not Jazz I like, dude. It’s you.”
And he turned and walked out, way too dramatically. I wait a second, processing, then run out of the bungalow after him. He’s speed walking, I can’t reach him. Jazz and I have plans after school anyway. There’s a cafe up the road that she recommends. Apparently, they’ve got great pancakes. That’ll be a good setting to talk about Jazz’s illness. I guess this proves it though. I can finally stop calling myself a freshman.