Adrian Gonzalez knows the painful truth about liking someone you have no chance with-they never like you back and you're left heartbroken. Ever wonder why it's called a 'crush?'
But when the hopeless crush he has is on Parker Thompson-nonbinary scho...
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My crutches had barely hit the ground before Sam pulled away, the tires of the car skidding loudly on the concrete.
I had no trouble with pretending. I’d lived a great chunk of my life behind a mask of what they expected me to be, so it wasn’t a hard feat.
But as I watched her speed away from me, my resolve to be nonchalant crumbled.
I couldn’t pretend it didn’t hurt when she drove out of the parking lot without as much as a wave. Or a glance, even as an afterthought. I felt powerless in that moment, leaning on crutches and watching one support system abandon me.
The burning in my chest hurt twice as much, knowing the last thing she’d said to me was to get out—something she denied me, in the end. She hadn’t even allowed me to walk out on her. She’d taken that power away from me. Maybe if I had been the one to leave her behind, I could have convinced myself that I was in control, and I'd have made that choice on my own. But it wasn’t so.
I turned towards the school building, moving with slow, calculated steps with my head held high—either to prevent gravity from letting tears stream down my face, or to appear unbothered and composed. I wasn’t sure which it was.
My phone weighed heavy in my pocket, and I had to adjust it every few steps, just so it didn’t dig into my thigh. That was when I realised the device was the only key to getting that high I desperately needed.
Once I got to the main entrance, I leaned against the wall and plucked out my phone, opening my messages with Sam. Her last text to me had been after my date, when she was being dramatic about my safety. How ironic that she didn’t seem to care now.
Above those, our texts had been about Adrián and my date, lighthearted and cute, with underlying tones of threat if anything bad happened.
One particular text stood out to me, and I read it over and over until my eyes blurred and the words blended into each other.
Sammy: You’re telling me you snuck out to go see this boy at 3am? Are you crazy? And you really thought to tell me NOW??? As a friend who’s excited that you’ve met someone you like I say: Yesssss. GET IT! As your sister: you’re out of your fucking mind. I’m happy for you, but I also need to tell you that was the stupidest thing you could do for a guy you weren’t even sure of. Seriously.
Sammy: Sounds harsh, but I’m letting you know because I love you, and I’d rather have you hate me than regret the shit you do.
Well, she said it, not me.
I typed out ‘I hate you’, contemplated sending it, and ultimately deleted the text. I didn’t hate Sam, despite how angry I was with her. And I couldn’t bring myself to send it, even in a wave of raging emotions.
Finally, I settled on using the last bit of control I had. I deleted all our texts, blocked her number and told myself it was what I wanted.
I headed towards the newsroom, hoping to surround myself with the expected light chatter that always came as the editorial team prepared for morning announcements, and making sure all the articles on the Northwood Journal were up-to-date and accounted for.
