Candy Gram ✓

chapter three

He - Secret Guy - texted me a few times after lunch before going completely silent. Probably because I ended up reverting to my whole "one-word answer" thing.

Edward sits with his feet propped up in my lap during study hall - just like David did earlier. Except, I'm used to it. There's literally nothing that bothers me about it. (Especially since Edward is in his usual sweatshirt and nylon-ish pants.) He won't stop messing with his hair, which is both bugging me and making me really jealous.

Because, here's the thing: Edward has some nice hair. It's dark and curly and flies up in every direction (like my own straight-from-bed, sandy flopdoodle, but his is hot).s It has so much freaking volume. It's insane. And is, honestly, the best part of him.

And we didn't stay a couple long. Imagine that.

His eyes are unfocused, hazy, and they keep catching on me. Which doesn't make me jealous like the hair does. Just annoyed. I don't enjoy being looked at. I don't enjoy being a focal point. Not of Edward, at least.

This time, when his eyes desperately try to grab mine - which, really, is more sad than exciting or endearing - I hold his gaze for a moment and raise my brows. He smiles, bites the inside of his lip, and looks away.

This has always been us. And, right now, I'm not in the mood.

My eyes drift shut as I pop in my ear-buds, the Hamilton soundtrack slowly building in my ears as I pump up the volume. Suddenly, the pressure on my legs is gone. My eyes flit open to see that Edward has retreated back to himself with this pouty, sour expression.

He always hated it when I didn't pay attention to him. Just more to add to my list, "Why I'm Glad Edward Is No Longer My 'Significant Other'".

Still, I can't just ignore him. He might revoke my present, whatever it is. (If he even has one, which, knowing him, he probably doesn't.)

So I tug one of my ear buds out and give him an unimpressed look. "What?" I ask him impatiently.

It sounds douchey when I say it, but Edward is really a horrible actor. That's why I usually ("usual" means "always") land lead roles in school productions. The dude couldn't even convince you people call him Ed. (Which they don't, thank God. He doesn't need something else to complain about – and he would complain about "Ed".)

He exhales softly; I can smell the apples from lunch on his warm breath as it softly wafts over to me. "Nothing."

"Seriously, dude. You're moping." He is.

The pout turns into a small, slight frown. "I'm not moping."

Now it's my turn to softly exhale. "You are. What's up?"

He just shakes his head and turns to stare at the wall. Edward may be a poor actor, but he sure makes one excellent drama queen.

It's here that the ear buds go back in. He can have it his way.

So what's my surprise? I text Secret Guy as I'm trudging off to my locker.

I'm almost worried I'll have to wait long - then the '. . .' appears, and I'm surprised to realize I can suddenly breathe again.

Do you even UNDERSTAND the meaning of "surprise" ;), he types.

Do you? I respond. Because I'm pretty sure it involves the person who is to be given said surprise knowledge of the surprise.

You've WOOD me once again, he says. Also I feel like you're asking for what some might call a hint....

You think? I'm smiling. He's making me smile. I don't know how to feel about that – smiley, maybe?