He Says He's Just A Friend

Chapter 3 - Speak Now

- Emmett -

My phone rang, distracting me from my reading. I stuck my thumb in the middle of the pages to hold my place and picked up the phone. I stared at the unfamiliar number, furrowing my brows. The only people who called me were my grandparents and my dad. And my mom when she was angry. Everyone else I knew texted. I pressed the button to cease the vibrations, assuming it was a scam or a telemarketer.

If it was important, they would call back or leave a voicemail.

A moment later, a text popped up. I picked up the phone again to read it.

UNKNOWN: Guess u don't like talking on the phone either but I thought it was rude to just text out of the blue.

EMMETT: Who is this?

UNKNOWN: Clay.

I sucked in a breath at reading that singular word. Why would he want to talk to me? Sure, we had fun beating the pants off Carrie and Jackson, but I never expected to see him again, unless I happened to be at one of Jackson's parties that Carrie was always trying to drag me to.

CLAY: From bowling.

CLAY: Jackson's friend.

CLAY: The asshole.

I watched the dancing ellipsis as Clay typed something else. Apparently, he was one of those people who sent every thought as a separate text.

CLAY: I shoulda probly said tht to start. Sry.

EMMETT: Need more advice?

After it sent, I worried how that might come off. What if Clay misconstrued the joke as annoyance?

Before I could freak out too much, my phone dinged.

CLAY: 🤔

CLAY: Maybe some other time.

CLAY: I was just kinda bored.

CLAY: Thought mayb you'd wanna hang out or smth.

I read the message again to make sure I had comprehended it correctly. My pulse quickened a bit as I typed my answer.

EMMETT: Sure.

Clay sent an address, along with a message.

CLAY: Can u meet me here?

I clicked on the address, which opened in the Maps app. I saw nothing of much interest in the area, but I had nothing else to do. Too bad it was all the way across town. It was too far to ride my bike, and I didn't have my own car. Hell, my mother barely let me drive hers, despite me being almost eighteen.

I let out a disappointed sigh, relaying the bad news to Clay.

CLAY: Send me ur address I'll pick u up.

I sent my details.

CLAY: Holy shit!

CLAY: That's just down the street from me.

CLAY: B then n 5.

I assumed "then" was a typo, meant to be "there." Maybe he didn't notice. Maybe he didn't care. If I'd done that, I would have to send an immediate reply to clarify. He didn't seem to share that concern.

I looked down at my shirt that had a salsa stain from my breakfast burrito. I jumped up and stripped the shirt off, digging through my dresser for a clean t-shirt. I ignored my concert tees and some of my more colorful shirts—basically anything that even sort of implied my gayness. After finding something suitable, it occurred to me I should probably also find some pants.