What is going on here? Does this Ben guy work for Hank Hollywood too? Is any of this actually happening, or am I just going crazy? That’s what I was thinking as I walked out of school.
“Finally.” Brianna was standing there.
“Hi.”
“We’re going to Buzz’s.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t right now.”
“Yes you can.”
“He still hasn’t answered your text?”
“Texts.”
“How many?”
She pulled out her phone and looked at it for a little while. “37.”
“Wow.”
If I texted someone 37 times and they didn’t answer, I definitely would not want to go to their house and try to talk to them, but I’m not Brianna. She grabbed my arm and started walking toward Buzz’s.
“What are you gonna do when we get there?”
“Ask him what’s going on.”
“I don’t want to be there for that.”
“Too bad, Sean. You got me into this.”
“No I didn’t!”
“He’s your friend, right?”
“Yeah, but . . .”
“We’re going there.”
She started walking faster.
“Let go of my arm.”
She did. I stopped walking.
“Brianna . . . are you sure you want to do this?”
“I’m sure I don’t want to wait one more minute to see if some boy is ever going to text me back.”
“Do you want me to find out?”
“Oh! Look who’s finally ready to help a friend.”
“I’m here with you, aren’t I?”
“Only because I dragged you. Is there something you know that you haven’t told me?”
“Well, actually . . .”
“I am so mad at you right now.”
“It isn’t much. Buzz . . . hated Le Bistro.”
“Duh. Anyone with a brain hated Le Bistro.”
“But you made him come see it.”
“Because I was in it.”
“I know, but did you say, ‘The show is really bad, but I want you to see me’?”
“No.”
“Then he probably thinks you thought it was good.”
She thought about that.
“He said he wanted to come.”
“Because you made him think it was going to be good. Anyway, even if he wanted to come, he didn’t want to stay.”
“He left?”
“Yes. You don’t know. You never see the show. It’s bad. Really bad.”
“My dad liked it.”
“Buzz isn’t your dad. Seriously . . . did you really think he’d like it?”
“Seriously . . . I just wanted him to see me in it.”
I stopped walking and just looked at her for a second.
“What do you like about Buzz?”
“What do you like about him?”
“I asked you first.” I said that in a little-kid voice. We started walking again, but not as fast. I thought about it. Then I answered the question. “He’s my friend. We’ve been friends since we were little. We see each other like once a month. We play Wii baseball. I don’t know. I like him. I like his music.”
“I like his music. Sort of.”
“Sort of? What else do you like?”
“I like the way we look together.” She showed me a picture of her and Buzz on her phone.
“When was that?”
“That first night at band practice.”
“What else?”
“I like kissing him.”
“Oh.” I didn’t know what to say.
“Did you ever kiss anyone, Sean?”
“Actually . . . no.”
“Well, it’s nice.”
“Good. So . . . what are you going to say to him when we get there?”
“I don’t know. That I’m mad at him for ignoring me.”
“Show me the last text you sent him.”
WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU???
“I think he already knows you’re mad at him. Do you just want to know if it’s over?”
She didn’t say anything. This time she stopped walking. “Why does he spell like that?”
I laughed. “He just does.”
“He’s not being clever or creative, is he?”
“No.”
She looked at me for a second, then said, “I could show you what it’s like.”
“What what’s like?”
“Kissing someone.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s nice of you, but . . .”
“You don’t want to.”
“No. It’s just . . .”
“There’s someone you like.”
“No. There isn’t. I just . . . really have to pee.”
She laughed. I laughed.
“Okay, Sean. You can go home.”
“What are you gonna do?”
“Go home.”
“You’re not going to Buzz’s?”
“No. I don’t feel like playing Wii baseball. Whatever that is. I’m going to stop texting him too.”
“Really?”
“Really. Thanks.”