AJ: Hey Gracie
me: hey
AJ: Is the math test tomorrow?
me: no Friday
AJ: Phew
me: yah srsly
AJ: Well see you tomorrow
me: kk
AJ: That was so funny today what you said
me: which thing?
AJ:
And then nothing else.
He started to write a response and then I guess changed his mind and deleted it and nothing.
Ugh. Cut off my thumbs, because why does anybody let me have thumbs? All they end up doing is texting two words too much. Did I actually text him: which thing?
I checked my phone, and yes, indeed, I did.
Why is there no delete key in texting?
Why is there no backspace in time?
Okay. But the thing is? He is actually really into math. Almost as into math as I am. And math tests are always on Fridays. So . . .
No. Come on. It’s not like he was just making up an excuse to text me because of, like, liking me, or anything. Obviously there must have been another reason I’m not thinking of. I am clearly having a simple brain fart. Think, Gracie.
There are a thousand reasons AJ might have texted me. Like . . .
Math panic! Anybody could have a second of math panic. Or test panic. We’ve had so many tests this year that we’re all a little brain-fried. He probably was having a panic of some kind and tried Emmett and Ben and Harrison and maybe Sienna and nobody knew if the math test was tomorrow or on Friday, so he tried me.
Eh. Not convinced. AJ is not a panicky person. And everybody knows math tests are always on Fridays, so.
Okay, or maybe he just felt like texting me because we’re friends. I should just enjoy that. Let that be enough. Because, come on.
It is enough.
But just for one second: maybe he was thinking that I was so awesome today and he was noticing that for the first time. It’s obviously possible to notice something new about a person you’ve known forever. Ahem.
Right, so maybe he thought, Gracie is kind of interesting. She’s, like, fun. Maybe I’ll text her! But why? So he came up with the lame and obviously nothing of: Is the math test tomorrow?
Okay, that actually makes sense.
Well, more sense than that he was suddenly plowed into stupid by my blinding beauty and wit. Obviously.
Unless . . .
Unless nothing. Have I met me?
No. Nope, nope, nope. Not going there. That’s sexist and misogynistic and shallow. Besides, I mean, I actually am awesome. I love me. I’d like me. But obviously . . .
And I’m not saying that AJ is shallow or anything. At all.
Just . . . realism.
But that’s fine. I am completely fine with that. More than fine. I’m great.
I am. So what if I typed which thing? and AJ stopped responding? That’s nothing. I’m still good. I don’t care. I have so much to love in my life. Boys? Eh. I don’t need to love boys, or any boys in particular. I love lots of things. Generally. And specifically! Like, I love, well . . . I love the color yellow. That’s something. Also cookies. Post-it notes. I love that a croissant with one bite out of it looks like a comma, which means pause, which is the completely perfect thing for a croissant to mean. Especially a croissant in the midst of being eaten, slowly, on a warm spring Tuesday morning—because it is a comma, in another form. A bitten croissant is the pastry equivalent of a comma. I love that!
Who needs boys?
I love tortoises! Whoa, calm down, me.
I love tortoises. My parents say tortoises have diseases so I can’t get one. There is a reason against every pet because, I think, they are (understandably) phobic about dealing with death, and all pets die eventually.
I even love my parents, despite that.
And I love how I look. I do. I totally do.
Well, I’m trying.
No, I do. I look awesome. I have cute toes. It’s important— I read somewhere on the Internet, so it’s definitely true—to pick out a thing about yourself that looks nice and focus on that whenever you start thinking nasty stuff about how you look. My toes are pretty cute.
So, so what about my nose? It’s big? Oh, boohoo. Who cares about a nose?
Or my too-tall height, and probably I could lose a few pounds and . . .
Stop. Cute toes. I am beautiful. It doesn’t matter who else, if anyone, thinks so. I know I am beautiful.
I am.
Well, maybe. Maybe really not. Whatever. I don’t care. Doesn’t matter.
Smile time. Otherwise known as dinner.
What I actually am is my parents’ sunshine.