Flipping Coins

To say that I was running around like a chicken with its head cut off was a bit of an understatement. I was more like a spastic, ADHD, perfectionist mother hen in search of her lost chicks.

You could maybe blame it on the packages of Sour Gummy Worms and Ring Pops I had downed throughout the 2 hour and 6 minute showing of Star Trek--The Movie. You could blame it on the large soda I had drained, of which containing a countless number of tiny sugar rubbles.

But I think the most logical explanation for my hyperactive mode was the fact that Jordan would be on my doorstep in less than an hour.

I bustled about my already relatively clean residence, straightening cushions and wiping down dusty surfaces as though I were a twelve-armed, bionic maid. There wasn’t too much to straighten up, however, because these days it was rare to find my apartment out of shape, considering all the free time I obtained now that I had no friends.

How come I had reason to believe that my boyfriend would be here soon, you ask? Well, while watching the credits of Star Trek roll by, I had received a text message from Jordan that simply stated:

Hey! Guess who’s landing in Las Vegas in an hour and a half? Be ready, sister, cause I’ll be at your house soon.

There’s your proof, all you future lawyers out there.

On the other hand, I wasn’t surprised that I hadn’t received a text message or call from Ryan. He had made no other attempt to call me after I had spoken to Brendon, and although it hurt me beyond words, I wasn’t going to let it tear me down. It had been just about a month since they had left for tour, and I would say that I was managing really well.

I was taking my cake decorating classes every Tuesday and Thursday evening, and they were actually really fun. I had made a spunky friend in those classes named Kiarra, who wasn’t that much into feminine activities either. The classes also gave me something to do when I came home from work, although baking highly unhealthy dessert items wasn’t exactly the best way to lose weight.

But now back to the present.

I lit every candle in my apartment--a mixture of sweet aromas tainting the air, and then I realized how much of a Catholic church my house looked. I blew out half of the candles and stumbled into my room to change my outfit for the sixteenth time…and counting.

I wasn’t normally like this when it came to men. I would usually just wear whatever and wouldn’t care if they liked it or not. But I liked Jordan--a lot--and now every outfit seemed to make me look either extremely anorexic, or like I was the Las Vegas zoo’s missing killer whale.

At long last, I finally decided on plain blue jeans, a blue t-shirt that kinda-sorta-not-really brought out my eyes, and my Elmo house slippers. Just when I was beginning to fuss with my messy bun, the doorbell rang a repetitive, upbeat--while slightly impatient--tune.

I blocked out the shrill rings and casted my reflection one last hopeful glance. Then I raced to my living room--to my frontdoor--and slowly pulled the door open to reveal a grinning, handsome Jordan Hillman.

His bright red hair was shorter since I had last seen him, but it was still long on the bangs. His green eyes sparkled at the sight of me, almost making me blind in sight. His dimples deepened as he grinned wider at me, stepping forward to embrace me in a tight, welcoming hug.

“God, I’ve missed you,” I said into his shoulder, giggling afterwards for no real reason at all.

Jordan chuckled. “I’d say the same to you, but I think I’d be severely devaluing the statement. And I’m trying to keep the nose from growing any longer--you know--so I can be a real boy.”

I laughed and pulled away, grasping his hand and pulling him inside my apartment.

“I see you haven’t bothered to clean up at all for my visit,” Jordan mused sarcastically as he breathed in the heavily fruit-scented air.

I scratched my scalp sheepishly. “Yeah, I kinda went overboard, didn’t I?”

Jordan looked at me and smiled, revealing his perfect teeth. “It’s okay, babe. Trust me--this is like heaven compared to my last girlfriend’s house. She drove monster trucks for a living.” And then he suddenly frowned. “Well, that’s what I thought--at least--until I found out she was actually a full time exotic dancer for this one club called Ta-Ta Twenty-Four-Seven.”

I laughed again, trying to cover up the blush rising to my face from the cute nickname that he had referred to me as. I quickly asked my casual question before he could tease me about the sudden flush of my facial skin, “Well, what do you wanna do then?”

Jordan shrugged. “We could rent a movie or something.”

“Sure. Let me put on my dancing shoes and then Blockbuster here we come.”

Okay, so I get it: Jordan’s kick ass jokes<my lame attempt at humor.

X……….X

It was during the second movie of the night--Disturbia--that my cellphone came to life in my pocket. Jordan was already asleep, curled up on the couch behind me with his arm encircling my waist. I was this close to unconsciousness too, but the jolting of my phone was annoying enough to make me give up on sleep.

Jordan groaned and adjusted the other way when I pushed his arm off of me. As I sat up, I reached inside my pocket and tugged out the trembling gadget.

Not bothering to read the caller I.D, I flipped open the phone and called groggily, “Yeah?”

“Hey,” came a soft voice.

“What’s up?” I yawned, standing up and treading sleepily to my darkened kitchen.

“Nothing too serious. We’re on the road again. We just got through a show in Omaha, Nebraska,” answered the quiet voice in a seemingly eager tone.

Hopping on my counter, I pressed the heel of the hand that wasn't holding the phone to my eye and said confusedly, “Cool--um--who is this again?”

The voice laughed softly. “Does it really matter?”

“Yeah, actually. It really does,” I said back, reality hitting me in the back of the head for answering in the first place. Why, oh why, had I not checked the caller I.D?

“Oh, well…it’s Ryan,” answered the quiet voice hesitantly.

“Okay, Ryan. Give me one good fucking reason why I shouldn’t just hang up on you right now,” I snapped, now fully awake and not in the least bit sleepy.

“Look, Emie. I’m sorry, okay?” Ryan heartedly apologized. “I know it seems like I’ve been an asshole to you, but I swear it wasn’t my choice---“

“Then whose was it?” I asked impatiently.

Ryan sighed. “I can’t tell you. You just have to trust me.”

“Trust you?” I laughed.

“Yes--trust me. That’s what friends do.”

“And you even have the nerve to call me your friend,” I bitingly remarked. “Well guess what? At this point, Ryan, I think I have a total of two friends. And, although it doesn’t seem like much, I can tell you that they’re faithful and loving, and they actually don’t hurt me every other week. Now I’ve told Brendon this already, but try and get this through your head--I don’t want you guys to bother with me anymore. I’m moving on, and I’d appreciate it if you would just follow through on your plans and forget about me. I realize that you don’t want me in your lives, so just please don’t try and patch things up by calling me three weeks after you’ve made that clear.”

Ryan tried to interrupt my tirade, “But Emie. You’re making the mistake I always make! You’re assuming things so wrong---“

“Please don’t make me change my number, Ross.”

And then I hung up, not ending a dramatic moment with crying for once.