Cuddle Application

14 - Cheater Cheater, Pumpkin Eater

"All good is hard. All evil is easy. Dying, losing, cheating, and mediocrity is easy. Stay away from easy."
~Scott Alexander

➳♀♁➳

"And the matchbox in the story represents... what, class?"

My English teacher, Mrs. Seamore, stands at the front of the room, a bored look on her face. I shift in my desk, turning my phone around in my fingers.

"Yes, that's right," she continues when no one answers. "It stands for oppression."

I click my phone on. No messages. I flip it around some more.

The kid behind me kicks my desk. A few noisy students yell from the hallway. Mrs. Seamore glares at the door. The clock ticks the time away.

I check my phone. Still no messages.

My fingernail chips away at a deep scratch in the wooden top of the desk I'm sitting at. Someone carved an eloquent "your mom sucks shlongs" into it in sharp, pointed letters.

Oh, high school.

The sun is shining, bright and warm, through the windows lining the far wall, and the students nearest to them stare, daydreaming.

A few random scribbles are noted on the whiteboard in the front of the classroom. I bite my lip. Class has to be almost over, I think, checking the time on my phone. When I click it on, disappointment seeps in when I see that there are - still - no new messages.

I click it open and read.

Oliver: I had fun at the fair. Thanks for an awesome day, Sorry.

Me: Eh, it was okay.

Oliver: Shoot... I thought for sure you had felt the magic too.

Me: I mean... it was okay. Your personality is a bit mediocre.

Oliver: Hmm. I knew I should have shown you my driving skills in the bumper cars

Me: I'm sure that really would have wowed me.

Oliver: Alas, it is too late. I missed my shot. You probably already deleted me from your memory.

Me: You'll find someone some day - someone who appreciates your bleak exterior

Oliver: I'm so hurt. Most girls love my exterior.

Me: That is truly shocking. What are they thinking??

Oliver: Go on another date with me.

Me: My mom taught me to say "please" when requesting something.

And he hadn't yet responded.

Why are you so nervous? I ask myself.

Before I can even think of answering, the bell rings, a shrill acoustic belting from the sound system.

I shove my notebook and pencil back into my backpack and follow the crowd of teenagers out the door. This close to summer, no one's paying any attention at all to the homework assigned, or the monotone voices of the teachers. Even the freshmen have senioritis.