Instead, she wrote,
Hi, Ambreen! I got an email saying that you are going to be my roommate for the upcoming school year! I just wanted to say hi, and maybe get to know you before the school year starts. I hope your summer is going well!
She hit Enter, and the message sent. There, it was done. Whatever happened, she’d at least made the effort.
Jonas hadn’t texted her back. Don’t be stupid. He won’t. He’ll give up now, like any normal person would. Maybe you should have just taken his money. If it made him feel better about things—you had to go and be all noble. Then again, most normal people probably wouldn’t care that much about paying her back.
She tapped on the Facebook search bar. She wondered if she could find Jonas. Did that make her creepy? For some insane reason, she wanted to keep talking to him, even though he clearly didn’t seem to like her very much.
Jonas Avery, Brennan typed. She wasn’t a stalker (or maybe she was, since she was looking him up on Facebook); she just knew his mom’s last name since his mom was a frequent customer at the Kroger deli and had introduced herself one day in an attempt at friendly chatting with Brennan.
She found him. Right hometown, a high school name she recognized. She couldn’t match his face with the one from his profile picture, but the profile hadn’t been changed in a while, and the picture was taken from a far enough distance away that she couldn’t study it anyhow.
She turned her phone screen off. What is wrong with you? First messaging him, then sitting here looking at his Facebook page like a stalker.
Brennan stared at the black screen of her phone, feeling like an idiot. Every few hours, she’d kind of forget about the messages she’d sent Jonas, and other times they would come back to hit her with a load of self-deprecation. You’re an idiot, such an idiot. Why would he text you back? Why do you want him to? He barely knows you and probably doesn’t even like you anyway. It had been a few days and still no response. He was probably ignoring her. He’d heard what he needed—that the dent had popped out—and that was that.
And then there was her message: Is this fender bender Jonas?
God. Why had she even sent that? She groaned just thinking about it. She had been trying to be chill and carefree, like someone you might want to be friends with. It had failed. Epically failed. Now Brennan wanted to crawl into a hole (a deep one) and not come out for a long, long time (until the memory of this humiliation faded, which would probably be never, considering how often her past humiliations came back to haunt her).
She’d almost decided that she could never bear seeing Jonas again when, suddenly, her phone buzzed with a new message. Are you constantly going to remind me of that? Brennan stared stupidly at her phone. What did one do next, after having one’s weird message answered by a boy one hardly knew who somehow made one feel like talking?
She opened her messages and read his message again. Are you constantly going to remind me of that? Jonas sounded as irritated as he would have been in real life. Brennan almost laughed at the thought.
She tried to think of a witty reply, but couldn’t, so she settled for ignoring the question. I just wanted to let you know that the dent popped out.
Silence, and then the three dots that meant he was typing. He typed for a while, then stopped. Then just sent: So you said.
Well … I guess now you know.
It took a few moments before Jonas responded again. She had started to think he really was ignoring her now. Look, what do you want?
What did she want? She wanted to feel like she had the other day at the deli, when she’d talked to him about cheeses. Maybe she didn’t particularly want to talk about cheeses again, but the part where she had held a normal conversation in which she thought she might have been even one iota more witty than usual; she wanted that part.
I’m not really sure, she typed. Backspaced. I just wanted someone to talk to. Lame, right? Delete. She didn’t know what to type next. How’s your knee injury? she sent.
He didn’t respond for a while, and she wanted to curl into herself—shrink smaller and smaller until she just wasn’t there anymore. She read her text over and over a few times. It’s none of your business! her anxiety shouted.
Look, a new message from Jonas made her phone buzz. To be honest, why does it matter to you? You don’t actually know me. You don’t need to feel obligated to ask how I’m doing or anything.
Well, you kind of did rear-end my car. And we’ve talked a couple of times since then, so I would say we know each other a little bit. Actually, I’m Facebook friends with some people from my high school who I know less than that about.
Again with the car thing. I offered to pay. I’d love it if you’d stop throwing it back in my face.
She frowned. It was a joke. Send.
No response, but he’d definitely seen it—read Monday, 8:42 p.m. It was as if he was taking his time to think of a response. If he responded at all.
The dent came out, she sent, unable to sit there with the yawning digital silence.
From downstairs her mom yelled, “Brennan, are you on that computer again?”
“No, Mom!” Brennan yelled. “Talking to a friend!”
“Online again? You need to get out of the house more! The more you stay barricaded in your room, the worse that anxiety of yours will get.” Brennan squeezed her eyes shut.
Eventually, Jonas replied and her phone buzzed. So you said. Again.
Brennan sighed, unsure how to continue the conversation. From downstairs her mom yelled again. “Do you hear me, Brennan?”
“Yes, Mom!” Brennan’s mom didn’t yell again, so Brennan deemed it safe to send Jonas another message. What are you doing?
Jonas typed back quickly this time. Trying to ignore you so I can concentrate on Star Wars.
And then I guess that could be construed as rude. Sorry. Let me try again. I’m watching Star Wars. Brennan liked that he knew how to use construed in the proper context.
You enjoy Star Wars? she typed. I’ve never watched it. My dad and my brother, Ayden, are huge fans though.
You should watch it. You don’t know what you’re missing.
Just out of curiosity, how many times have you seen the Star Wars movies?
A few minutes later: Too many to count. Let’s just say that I’ve had a lot of spare time on my hands this past year.
Brennan was curious as to what that meant, but she shrugged and responded with I guess I’ll leave you to your Star Wars.
After she thought he’d stopped replying for good, she got a response. Thank you.
She liked the fact that she could picture him, his face completely deadpan, his tone flat and sarcastic. In-her-head Jonas was wearing the plaid pajama pants and Wash U sweatshirt he’d been wearing when they first met, and his feathery hair was sticking up in the back the same way it had been that day.
She closed out of her messages and just stared at her phone for a while.
It was weird, Brennan thought, how just talking to someone, outside of work or school, made her buzz. It made her feel normal. It made her feel like there was hope for her making friends in college.
It was also weird that she wanted to keep talking to Jonas, even though he came across as being rather uninterested and unimpressed with her attempts to converse. Why do you always do this? her brain chastised her. You can’t just let people alone. You’ll try to fix the way they think about you, and you’ll push and push and push—pursue their good opinion until they just see you as stubborn. Clingy. A-N-N-O-Y-I-N-G.