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“No. But I was sick of his BS.”
She walked me home that evening, and we commiserated over a tub of chocolate fudge and my pick of films.
Halfway through, there’s a knock at the door. I get up and open it to see Jeremy on the doorstep.
“What do you want?” I gruff at him.
“To talk?”
“Oh, you’ll acknowledge me now? How nice.” I do step back and let him in despite myself.
“Cut it out, Anna. You’re not a bitch.”
“I know. But you are. You treat me like shit, and I’m done with it.”
“Um, shall I pause the film!” Sammy calls from the other room.
Jeremy’s eyes narrow at me, and he takes my hand and all but drags me upstairs, his grip tight; I’m sure he could feel my pulse beating beneath his fingers.
If I were in a better mood, this would certainly be in one of my dreams about Jeremy — being dragged up to my room.
“You don’t understand, Anna,” he starts.
“No, I don’t.” I tear my wrist back. “I thought things would change, that you needed space or whatever. But you just seem to think it’s okay to treat me like I should be thankful for any attention you give me. That’s not friendship, Jeremy.” He paces around the room and shoves his hand through his hair, messing it up.
“Look, if I come out — if I say how I really feel about you, do you think things will stay the same? Do you think people will leave you alone?”
My heart starts beating at his words. Maybe I got this wrong?
“The guys will be hounding me and us. You’ll be a source of gossip at school, and that’s before my parents get involved. They’ll have expectations to come to family events and parade you around like a new toy. I don’t want that.”
The pounding in my chest is distracting, but I won’t just fall at his feet. “I don’t particularly want that either — but I’m not asking to be your girlfriend. I want you to acknowledge me as your friend instead of treating me like a dark little secret. You ignore me in front of your friends. You’re mean, and I don’t like that or deserve it. Plus, who said all of those things will happen? Surely, you’re overreacting. And, lastly,” I point at him. “That’s a shit excuse as to how you’ve been acting since summer.”
Our eyes storm at one another, the tension thick and suffocating.
“Fine. Think what you like.” He crosses his arms.
“You might be used to getting everything you want, but I’m done. You can’t pick and choose when we’re friends. You either treat me with the respect I deserve, or we can just pretend not to know each other at all like it was before the summer.”
“What about in science class? We have to talk to each other.”
“We can talk about science. We don’t have to be friends.”
“You’d go this far?” I can see the flinch on his face. He’s hurt. But tough. He’s been hurting me for months.
“You really think treating me the way you have been is okay?” I fire back at him.
He shakes his head. Moody and angry do look good on him. Annoyingly.
He leaves without another word, slamming the front door behind him.
My pulse is racing, and my emotions feel wobbly. It’s for the best. I deserve better than the scraps of friendship he gives.
“We’re going to need more ice cream,” I announce as I come downstairs.
“I heard. Sorry. I didn’t mean to listen in.”
“It’s okay,” I say, but tears are already misting in my eyes.
