Hearing that shouldn’t make my stomach sink, but it does. “Oh.”
Mr. Lohman nods. “Too bad. His article was really good.”
My chest feels heavy as I make my way out of the school.
I have to walk home today, and instead of taking the long way like I have been, I decide to take the shortcut through the woods.
When I get to our footbridge, I stop. I look around, as if expecting my presence here to summon him, but of course it doesn’t.
I know I should walk the rest of the way home, but I want to feel close to him in some small way, so I sit down on the bridge. I take out some books and attempt to get started on my homework, but I’m too distracted thinking about everything Mr. Lohman said.
Thinking back on how unwelcoming I was when Hunter showed up at the first newspaper meeting, I feel guilty. I don’t own the school paper. If Hunter was interested in it and good at it on top of that, he should write for the paper. I would hate to stand in the way of that. I don’t think he signed up out of genuine interest, but… what if he did, and he only quit because of me?
Setting my books aside, I take out my phone. I navigate to Hunter’s contact information.
I hesitate, but only for a second, then I unblock his number and start a text to him.
“You didn’t have to quit the paper. I hope it wasn’t because of me.”
I press send before I can change my mind, then I stare at the screen, but it doesn’t register as read.
I know I should wait, but I can’t seem to stop myself from texting him again. “Mr. Lohman said your article was really good, and I agree. You’re talented, Hunter. If you want to write for the paper, you should.”
I wait longer that time, but he still doesn’t answer.
It starts to make me feel desperate. A tight, constricting feeling starts in my chest. I haven’t felt this way in a long time.
Not since middle school.
Not since last time he gave me the cold shoulder.
It’s similar to the feeling I get when I’m fighting with my mom, but there’s a desperation with Hunter I don’t feel with her. No matter what it’s about, I know I’ll never lose Mom over a fight, but that’s not the case with Hunter. I can lose him. I did before.
That wasn’t what I wanted.
I know I told him no in my bedroom, but this isn’t what I wanted.
I know I shouldn’t, my rational mind all but expressly forbids me from texting him again when he hasn’t responded to my first two messages, but without my mind’s permission, my thumbs start flying across my phone screen again.
“This isn’t what I wanted, Hunter. I don’t want you out of my life completely. Just because we can’t be together that way… does it have to be all or nothing? Can’t we still be friends? I still care about you.”
I sigh, putting my phone down on the aged wood and trying my best to study again, but it’s impossible when I’m sitting there waiting for messages that aren’t coming.
I finally pack it up and head home.
I hope I’ll accomplish more once I’m there, but when I get to my bedroom and spread out all my school books across the bedspread, I still find my gaze going back to the damn phone.
It’s like that all night. Trying to study is an exercise in futility. I’m so frustrated by the end of it, I give up and go to take a shower. I don’t even need one, I usually shower in the morning, but I need to do something that forces me away from my phone, and showering is all I can think of.
As soon as I’m out, I run back to my bed and grab the phone.
Still nothing.
I sit down on the edge of the bed and sigh, realizing I made a big mistake. I gave up a lot of ground texting him. The ball is in his court now. I don’t know when—or even if—he’ll hit it back, so I’m tempted to just keep throwing balls at him.
I can’t, though. The more I do that, the more power I’m giving him. I’m letting him see that being without him is making me crazy. If he sees that, I’m doomed.
I wish I could give my phone to someone and tell them not to give it back to me, but I tell myself I have more self-discipline than that. I have enough self-control not to text him now that I’ve unblocked his number. Hell, I had the self-discipline to keep his number blocked all this time when what I enjoy the most is talking to him, so I can handle not texting him when he’s not even texting me back.
I manage to, but it’s pure hell.
When I settle in and try to go to sleep, he still hasn’t texted me back. My messages aren’t showing as read, either, so maybe he didn’t even read them. Maybe he did, but he turned his read receipts off so I wouldn’t know and he could make me even crazier.
I’m too frustrated to fall asleep for a long time.
Even past the point of it making sense, I lie there waiting for my phone to light up. There’s little chance he’s going to text me at 3 AM when he’s undoubtedly sleeping, but I lie there tired and unable to fall asleep, just in case.
Friday is hellish, too. I’m exhausted. After sleeping for a few hours, I’ve cleared my cache a bit. I’m dragging and having difficulty staying awake all through school, but I manage to stop waiting for a text I’m clearly not going to get.
When I get to English class and Hunter’s sitting at his desk—with his phone in hand—I accept that there is no exceptional excuse for why he didn’t text me back.
He chose not to.
That definitely doesn’t feel good, but in a strange way, it helps.
As I sit there next to him in class, I pay less attention to Mrs. Dowd and more attention to hammering home certain truths in my stubborn head.
Yes, I love Hunter. I think I have since we were in middle school. I think he stole my heart the night he first kissed me, and it’s been his ever since.
But it can’t be anymore. It’s not fair to either one of us. I don’t know how to stop loving him, and I don’t even want to; I want to believe it isn’t necessary. I think we could still be friends even if we can’t be more, but he must not want that. If he did, he’d at least be speaking to me.
If he wants to be done, then I need to get on the same page.
I leave class that day without looking back at him, that’s the first step.
At lunch, I don’t look at his table.
I have a shift from 4-8, so work keeps me busy and I can’t have my phone on me while I’m at work.
At the end of my shift, I take my meager tips and grab my purse. I head home without even thinking to check my phone.
I take a shower to wash the smell of the restaurant off me. I don’t even take out my phone until afterward, when I curl up on my bed in comfy pajamas and finally set about doing some homework.
I only even take my phone out of my purse to put it on charge, but when I finally do, I see I have a new text message.
My heart sinks.
It’s from Hunter.
It’s not a response to anything I sent him. It’s just one simple question: “Where do you work?”
I frown at the screen, wondering why he’s curious about that. I criss cross my legs and text back, “I wait tables at a restaurant in town. Deb’s Diner. Why?”
It has been a while since he sent that message, so I give him some time to text me back.
I feel a little less tense as I study, figuring he’ll respond when he gets a chance since he was the one to reach out this time. But, as the night wears on, I don’t hear back.