We're So Controversial
it doesn't go anywhere
You gave him your number. You programmed it into his phone yourself, so you know he has it. But he doesn't call. A week passes and the only calls you get are from your mom, asking when you'll come home for dinner. Your best friend, telling you about how annoying her boyfriend is being. Your dad, explaining how to fix the leaking kitchen sink.
This boy, the first boy in a long time who made you feel something must not have felt the same way. Because he never called.
You try to relax on that Thursday night. You have finals tomorrow, yet you can't bring yourself to study. Bringing the book onto your lap, you reposition yourself, highlighter in hand. The TV is playing an old episode of One Tree Hill. Keith is yelling at Lucas for getting a tattoo while he was drunk. And out with his girlfriend, Brooke. Because he probably called her. After she gave him her number. But you're just assuming, because that's usually what happens when a boy and a girl like each other.
You turn off the TV. The residents of Tree Hill aren't doing anything but rubbing your problems in your face.
The ceiling fan is on as it's hot for the end of April in Philadelphia. The whooshing sound fills your ears, the cool air cools your legs, and your arms, and then you drift to sleep, with your book on your lap, and your thoughts full of a boy who won't call.
You wake up to someone knocking on the door. The digital clock on the DVD player gleams 9:43. Wipe your eyes. Yawn. You forget your book is on your lap, so it goes crashing to the floor as you get up. Pulling down your shirt, you flick on the porch light. You open the door.
Sharp intake of breath.
"Before you ask why I haven't called, let me say that you look really, really cute tonight, you know, like girls do when they just wake up," he rushes to get it all out, a charming, sheepish smile on his face. "And believe me, I would've called, but" he reaches into his pocket, "my phone got ran over by a car."
He holds his hand out to reveal a smashed iPhone, shattered glass and all.
You smile.
"And I don't have a landline because, hey, I'm in college. What college kid has a home phone anyway, right? And I probably should've found a pay phone or something, but I have finals, and so many paintings to paint and I was busy, but I wanted to call you, should've called you." He takes a breath. "Did I mention that you look really cute?"
You roll your eyes.
"Wanna come in?" you hear yourself ask.
This boy, the first boy in a long time who made you feel something must not have felt the same way. Because he never called.
You try to relax on that Thursday night. You have finals tomorrow, yet you can't bring yourself to study. Bringing the book onto your lap, you reposition yourself, highlighter in hand. The TV is playing an old episode of One Tree Hill. Keith is yelling at Lucas for getting a tattoo while he was drunk. And out with his girlfriend, Brooke. Because he probably called her. After she gave him her number. But you're just assuming, because that's usually what happens when a boy and a girl like each other.
You turn off the TV. The residents of Tree Hill aren't doing anything but rubbing your problems in your face.
The ceiling fan is on as it's hot for the end of April in Philadelphia. The whooshing sound fills your ears, the cool air cools your legs, and your arms, and then you drift to sleep, with your book on your lap, and your thoughts full of a boy who won't call.
You wake up to someone knocking on the door. The digital clock on the DVD player gleams 9:43. Wipe your eyes. Yawn. You forget your book is on your lap, so it goes crashing to the floor as you get up. Pulling down your shirt, you flick on the porch light. You open the door.
Sharp intake of breath.
"Before you ask why I haven't called, let me say that you look really, really cute tonight, you know, like girls do when they just wake up," he rushes to get it all out, a charming, sheepish smile on his face. "And believe me, I would've called, but" he reaches into his pocket, "my phone got ran over by a car."
He holds his hand out to reveal a smashed iPhone, shattered glass and all.
You smile.
"And I don't have a landline because, hey, I'm in college. What college kid has a home phone anyway, right? And I probably should've found a pay phone or something, but I have finals, and so many paintings to paint and I was busy, but I wanted to call you, should've called you." He takes a breath. "Did I mention that you look really cute?"
You roll your eyes.
"Wanna come in?" you hear yourself ask.