Fake

I can't make it. Sorry.

I waited a whole hour at school before receiving this five word text from Brad. He didn't go on to explain why it was that he couldn't, but I was sure it was something basketball related. His teammates constantly came before me, not that I care-- okay, perhaps I cared a little, but at least I had come to terms with it. Brad was popular, so he naturally had a lot of friends that sometimes came before me in priority-- even if it was our first month anniversary.

That's alright, I texted back, sighing. I shut my phone, thinking about how I always let Brad have his way. I never thought it to be annoying, but it was certainly inconvenient.

I strolled into the school's courtyard, watching the leaves fall. I couldn't bring myself to leave school just yet, probably because I was hoping something would open up in Brad's ever-busy schedule. Finding an isolated bench under a tree, I sat down and fiddled with the heart pendant on my necklace. It had been a gift from Brad from when he first asked me out. I smiled at the memory.

"Can you believe it?" a girl said to her friend, sitting in the grass with a friend, rapid fingers texting on her phone while still maintaining a conversation. "She had Brad and Cole fighting over her, and she didn't even try to do anything. Brad even got yelled at by the teacher!"

The other girl clicked her tongue, she was also multitasking. Her face was glued to a magazine, flipping through the pages, so intently that her mouth hardly moved which made it hard to figure out if she was really talking or not.

I shifted on the bench so that they wouldn't see me. I had always accidentally heard girl's idle gossip, but this time it was about me. And although it wasn't the first time, it hurt all the same.

"Why is he even dating her?" the girl with the magazine said. It was hard to tell if she was talking about Brad and me or some celebrity couple in her magazine. "I don't get it."

The texting girl laughed. "Who knows."

They began laughing, both looking up from what they were doing to cackle like the witches they were, and I desperately held my tongue as I stooped low on the bench. Why was he dating me? I asked my self the same question all the time. Even I didn't feel like I belonged with Brad.

"Oi! Bitches!" a new voice called out. Both girls turned their heads

I turned too. Delilah, my ex-boyfriend John's girlfriend and my best friend, stood with her arms akimbo. She must of heard the girls' conversation because she did not look happy. Her eyes narrowed at them, not noticing me, still ducked behind the tree truck.

"That's my best friend you're gossiping about, so unless you jealous flies want to be squashed, quit it." Those were some bold words from a girl who was under five feet tall.

And yet, the girls seemed nervous. As Delilah walked up to them, they watched her, fidgeting. They scoffed and tried to casually walk away without looking too threatened.

Delilah huffed and shook her head.

"De," I said meekly to my friend.

Delilah turned and noticed me, peeking from behind the tree. She looked in the direction the snobs had gone and then back to me with a sheepish laugh. "Oh, did you hear all that?" she said, acting embarrassed.

"Thank you," I said.

Delilah ran up and hugged me. "God, you're so cute!" she said, squeezing me. "Don't let what those bitches said bother you, okay?"

I returned her squeeze and assured her that I was used to this and it didn't bother me. Somehow, it felt as if I was convincing us both. When she let go of me, she looked me over with a frown. Delilah was so gullible. I forced a half-assed smile that told her not to press the issue. She didn't.

"Are you supposed to be out with Brad by now?" she asked instead.

I didn't meet her eyes. "Erm, something came up."

"Came up?" Delilah repeated incredulously. "On your anniversary?"

I shrugged. "We'll celebrate next weekend."

Delilah seemed to find this funny, and she laughed, shaking her head and linking her arm with mine. "That Brad... He better know how lucky he is!"

I smiled as she guided us back inside. She must have realized that I was still secretly bothered by what those girls had said. She cracked some jokes and told me about her day as we walked, and she didn't bother leaving spaces for me to respond; she knew I was listening, and that was all that counted. The best thing about Delilah was she was always in a good mood, and it ha a tendency to rub off on others. Today, however, it didn't seem to be working on me.

Suddenly, a head appeared between us, resting on Delilah's shoulder. He tripped on the back of my heel, almost making us both almost fall. He was just as clumsy as he was when we were dating, and I was used to it by now.

"John!" Delilah said happily. "I was just looking for you."

"No you weren't," John replied, laughing as the two of us split apart to let him between us. He nudged me. "Thisbe is obviously trying to steal you away."

Delilah giggled. "Yup, we're going to run away together, right Be?"

I wasn't in the mood for joking, but I chuckled anyway. "Sorry, Johnny-Boy."

"And just before our date, too..."

Without really meaning to, we ended up at my locker, which was good because I needed to grab my keys and my jacket so I could finally get out of here. It was clear Brad was never going to text me back. I was about to turn the lock.

"You two are going out today?" I asked, realizing that I might be delaying their night out.

Delilah nodded while John leaned up against the locker next to mine.

I forced a smile. "You don't have to stay here with me, guys," I said.

"No, it's fine. We've got time," Delilah assured.

John frowned, looking closer at my face. "Wait. Did I miss something? Did something happen?"
locker door
I shook my head, twisting the lock on my locker. "No, it's nothing. Brad just--" I stopped, looking at the inside of my locker.

John stood up straight, peering over with Delilah. "What?"

On the inside of my locker door where my favorite picture of Brad and me used to hang now hung a torn up picture. My face had been completely torn out, hung separately above with the word SLUT written in sharpie. My mouth hung open.

"Those fucking jerks!" Delilah said.

"No, it's fine..." I muttered, trying to rub the sharpie off my locker door. It wasn't coming off.

"Fine?" John asked, giving it a shot himself. "How is this fine?"

I gave them both a stern look, telling them to drop it. They both frowned and looked each other, as if they weren't sure what to do. Delilah huffed and threw her hands up. She jabbed a finger in my face, not angry at me but she kept a stern look.

"We'll drop it, but you've better talk to Brad about this. If you don't, we will."

I nodded. "I will." But, I wouldn't dare. I didn't want to look like a bother to my boyfriend.

After more scolding, John and Delilah, who was still angrily muttering to herself that she'd find the culprit, left for their date upon my encouraging. When they were gone, my shoulders slumped, and I tried again to scrub the sharpie away, this time armed with hand sanitizer from my pocket.

I didn't mean to, but I started crying. I wanted to stop immediately, embarrassed by myself, but I couldn't help it. Instead, I hid my head in my locker so that anyone who might pass wouldn't see me. There was nothing I hated more than crying in front of people.

How much more of this could I take? I knew from the beginning dating Brad wouldn't be a walk in the park, but this was too much. I wished it would stop, and I wished that for once I could enjoy the one relationship that made me happy. If Brad was here, it would be better, I thought, and by impulse I pulled out my phone. To much at wits end to care about bothering him, I sent him a message.

It's not alright. Can you come to my locker, please?