Page 30 of Heartstrings & Horseshoes

I pace back and forth in front of my bed. How long does it take him to get me some answers?

CJ: Don’t freak out, okay?

Me: CJ…

CJ: He stood her up.

Me: He stood her up? What the fuck! Is she okay?

CJ: I’m not telling you until you promise not to freak out.

Yea right.

Me: Fine. I promise I won’t freak out.

CJ: She’s crying.

Goddamn it. Mirowski’s dead. I don’t bother texting CJ back even though he’s blowing up my phone.

Shoes. Keys. Truck. Headlights. My tires screech around the corner and I throw the gearshift into park. My door hangs open—this won’t take long.

I pound on his front door.

“Hello?” Roger’s mom answers the door.

“Is Roger home?” No need for pleasantries.

“Yes. Roger! One of your friends is here to see you!” Mrs. Mirowski hollers. Feet stomp down the stairs and Roger’s ugly face comes into view. Mrs. Mirowski leaves Roger alone at the front door. Big mistake.

“Uh, hey Connor. What’s up man?” Roger asks, genuinely confused by my presence.

I gesture for him to follow me outside. He does, hesitantly, and we stand in his driveway in the shadows beyond his porch light.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be right now, Mirowski?” I seethe.

“Uh…”

“Did you forget something? You know, like picking up your date for homecoming?”

“Oh, haha. Yea. I didn’t feel like going. You know how those dances are.”

“Sure do. That’s why I didn’t ask some poor girl just to stand her up.” Fury blankets my consciousness.

“It’s not a big deal. Everyone meets up with their friends anyway. No one will miss me.”

“So, it didn’t occur to you Delilah might’ve been excited to go tonight, spent a ton of time getting ready, and waited for you to pick her up? Which you never did?” My voice raises with every way he let her down.

“It didn’t cross your dumb-as-fuck mind she would’ve been devastated when you never showed up?”

Roger flinches as I snap in his face. “Dude, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me. I’d say you need to apologize to her, but I don’t want you speaking to her ever again.” I back him against the brick of his house, my hands aching as I squeeze them into fists.

By the time I’ve finished, he’s slumped on the ground, and my knuckles are torn to shreds.

Me: How’s the dance, doll?

Dollface: It’s okay. I want to go home but my ride isn’t ready to leave yet.