by Rhys Everly
Work hard.
Raise money.
Get diploma.
Fuck right out of here.
It was only when I managed to calm down that I finally picked up my phone and saw the myriad of notifications from MrRomantic.
MrRomantic: How’s your day?
MrRomantic: What are you up to?
MrRomantic: Are you alive?
MrRomantic: Sweet_Peaches, do you copy?
MrRomantic: Did I do something wrong?
MrRomantic: I hope I didn’t say anything to offend you.
MrRomantic: Is this what kids are calling ghosting these days?
MrRomantic: I guess if you *are* ghosting me, I’ll never get a response.
I couldn’t believe he thought I was ghosting him. He was the last person I wanted to ghost.
Sweet_Peaches: I’m not ghosting you.
Sweet_Peaches: It’s just been a very busy very VERY crappy day.
Sweet_Peaches: But thanks for panicking.
Sweet_Peaches: You’re sweet.
MrRomantic: Me? Panicking? Pff…
MrRomantic: What gave you that idea?
MrRomantic: I was just…concerned for your safety?
MrRomantic: (is that convincing enough or should I go on?)
Sweet_Peaches: Please! Go on!
How a creature that lived solely on my phone could make me feel better with a few words, I did not know.
I’d never connected with anyone like that ever before.
Some days I thought someone was playing a prank on me and MrRomantic was nothing but a team of comedians messing with me.
But then again, who would waste their time pranking me?
MrRomantic: I thought I lost you for a second. I’m over it now.
MrRomantic: But I can find another Cinderfella friend.
MrRomantic: Although you are quite good.
Sweet_Peaches: I’m sorry for freaking you out. I’m back at your service.
MrRomantic: Are you sure?
Sweet_Peaches: Always at your service, MrRomantic.
MrRomantic: Now that’s what I like to hear.
Sweet_Peaches: Modest!
MrRomantic: Modesty is overrated.
Sweet_Peaches: Of course *you* would say so.
MrRomantic: Duh.
Sweet_Peaches: Duh.
MrRomantic: It feels good to have you back in my life. Virtually of course.
Sweet_Peaches: Stop it. You’re making me blush.
MrRomantic: Everyone loves a rosy peach.
Sweet_Peaches: True.
The dots danced on the screen for several minutes, then they stopped before starting all over again.
It happened twice before I got a new message from him.
MrRomantic: I have a date tonight. And for some reason I can’t stop feeling guilty about it.
Sweet_Peaches: Guilty why?
MrRomantic: I don’t know. I know we’re just friends. And Jesus, we haven’t even met.
MrRomantic was truly a romantic. I couldn’t believe he thought I’d be jealous.
We were just friends, weren’t we?
Could chat friends even be anything more without meeting, anyway?
Even if it was possible, my heart, foolishly, still belonged to someone else.
MrRomantic: Uh-oh. Did I lose you? I lost you, didn’t I? I know. I’m crazy.
Sweet_Peaches: No. Still here. Of course I don’t mind. But I expect a full report after.
MrRomantic: Yes sir. And what happens if I get a good grade?
Sweet_Peaches: I guess we’ll have to wait and see.
I told him even though the answer was nothing.
Nothing, because the only person I could ever think of in that way was Nathan.
And only Nathan.
Eleven
Nathan
After finishing my homework in Maya’s company, we separated to get back home and prepare for the party.
And my date.
I couldn’t believe I’d messaged Sweet_Peaches that I felt guilty. What a major facepalm moment.
I must have sounded really desperate.
We met again outside the dorms and headed to the frat party.
The house was lit up and the music was already blasting. This was going to be fun. If I could find a decent beer.
I texted Kyle as soon as we found an open spot to stand, but he was probably busy with Dad’s bar.
Honestly, both Dad and Kyle were workaholics, so I didn’t even know why I was surprised he’d become a mirage over the past week.
Shots? I asked Maya as soon as I fired off a message to Badboycollin to let him know I was here.
I left Maya to keep watch of our spot and walked over to the table where all the booze was stashed.
I picked up a can of Cola and two shot glasses, then ventured into the kitchen.
Not too long after, I returned to Maya with our shot mix. I handed her a shot glass and filled our glasses before we clinked them and downed them.
Through my cringed eyes I saw Maya wince, but then licked her lips.
I feel… awake, she said.
I laughed and refilled her glass. We finished the mix of Cola and instant coffee and then I headed back to the kitchen to create another mix.
We had to do something more gross this time. So, I got creative.
When I returned to Maya with my sickening mix, we almost threw up after the first shot.
But at least we were buzzed.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I retrieved it to find a message from Collin.
I looked around and found him, a five foot five, or maybe even six? He was definitely shorter than me with cute black-framed glasses and dark slick hair that looked stylistically unstyled.
He looked like a deer in headlights. I could definitely see how this date was going to end.
But I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. I hadn’t come all this way for nothing.
“Are you Nathan?” he asked when he came closer.
“Bad Boy Collin!” I exclaimed and embraced the man.
He stayed stiff as a plank until I removed myself from him.
Not one for PDA then. Not that I was expecting anything more than a hug back, but…
“This is my sister,” I said, signing at the same time, “Maya.”
“Hi,” he said.
Maya slid one palm over the other and told him she was pleased to meet him.
“What are you drinking? Vodka orange?” he asked and looked at our bright orange mix.
“Nope. Even better. Have a shot with us,” I said and went in search of another shot glass.
I filled all our glasses as he gave a weird look at the liquid, and once his glass was filled, he sniffed it.
“That smells spicy,” he grimaced.
“Maya is allergic to alcohol, so we get creative when we are at a party,” I said and raised my glass. “So nothing that will fuck you up. But it will definitely give you a buzz.”
He hesitantly clinked glasses with us and downed his shot.
Badboycollin’s face turned bright red, and his mouth twitched.
“What the hell is that?” he gagged.
Maya laughed, and I patted his back.
“That, my friend, is orange, mustard, and cream soda. Quite the combo, isn’t it?”
“Why on earth would you drink that? What’s wrong with soda?”
He squinted and pursed his lips.
“I think I’m gonna be sick,” he shrieked and ran off in search of a bathroom. I hoped.
Maya winced.
Oops, she said and told me she was going to go find her girlfriends, grabbing the rest of the vile shot we’d been drinking.
I checked my phone and looked at Cinderfella, but Sweet_Peaches hadn’t messaged anything new.
MrRomantic: Question.
MrRomantic: Good or bad when you make your date throw up within 30 seconds of meeting you?
Sweet_Peaches: I’m afraid to ask.
MrRomantic: So… bad?
Sweet_Peaches: LoL. I’ll say.
Badboycollin, who was turning out less bad boy and tamer than a puppy, returned, his face wet.
“How are you feeling?” I asked with an apologetic grimace while putting my phone back in my pocket.
“I’m… okay,” he said, placing a fist over his mouth as if he was about to hurl again.
“Sorry. I thought it’d be fun. I guess my sister and I are used to drinking weird stuff that shouldn’t go together,” I said.
Badboycollin took a deep breath and forced a smile.
“It’s not the best way to start a date, but I forgive you.”
I almost rolled my eyes, but I held back.
No points for fun then.
“Would you get us a proper drink? Like a beer?” I asked, and he nodded, walking away to grab two cups off the table and fill them from the keg of beer next to it.
When he came back, he passed a cup to me and I took a gulp of the beer. It was super light, super warm, and tasted of carbonated rice water.
Badboycollin, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have an issue as he emptied half his glass in a few mouthfuls.
“I needed that,” he burped and grimaced again. “Although I can still taste the mustard.”
“That’s good, ‘coz this tastes of nothing,” I said, lifting my glass.
“Really?” he asked, the grimace now a permanent feature on his face.
No points for manners, either.
This date was going great.
Noted, I didn’t start it off on the right foot. But come on!
“So…” I drawled trying to find something, anything to talk about. “IT, huh? What exactly do you do?”
“I work in customer service. Helping people fix their machines and stuff,” he said.
That sounded… interesting. Not.
But not everyone could have fancy jobs. Right?
“And you? What do you study?” he asked. “You are still studying, right? Otherwise, this”—he turned to look around the room—“is weird.”
“Food science. Yeah,” I said.
Never mind that we spoke about it in one of our chats, but whatever.
No points for attentiveness.
“That’s very specific,” he said.
“I want to start my own brewery eventually. And I want to make craft beer people will drive miles to taste, so a degree in food science sounded good at the time.”
Frankly, it was probably a waste of time. But when you’re a “genius,” you’re expected to go to college and the scholarship helped, so who would turn down the offer?
“That’s cool. Weird, but cool,” he said in a completely uncool way.
No points for simpatico, either.
God, this was going worse than a train on a collision course.
I tasted the beer, more so I could fill in the silence than to actually indulge. I winced and almost spewed it back out.
“Take this beer for example. It’s literally colored water.”
“It’s cheap beer. What do you expect?”
“So? Why can’t cheap taste nice, too?” I asked.
“You wanted to come to a frat party. You must have seen this coming,” he chuckled.
Ha. Funny. Not.
“I-I think I need the restroom again,” Badboycollin said, stood up, and waded through the crowd.
When he reached the hallway, he turned left, set his beer down on one of the steps of the staircase, and disappeared.
I pulled my phone out and went straight on Cinderfella.
MrRomantic: Question.
MrRomantic: Is it bad when your date goes in search of the bathroom, then leaves you without a goodbye?
I let my message go through the motions so it could reach Sweet_Peaches and took a swig of the beer still in my hands.
“Can someone get me a decent beer? Please!” I shouted, but no one heard me.
Everyone was either too stoned, too drunk, or too cool to pay me any mind.
My phone buzzed.
Sweet_Peaches: Ouch!
MrRomantic: Ouch indeed.
Sweet_Peaches: Are you that terrible at dating?
MrRomantic: Hell no.
MrRomantic: I’ve got standards, bitch.
Sweet_Peaches: First you make him puke, and then he finds an excuse to go? Do you treat all your dates like that?
MrRomantic: Maybe you should ask me out and find out.
There. If he didn’t take this as another clue that I was interested, then I didn’t know what a clue was.
Sweet_Peaches: Or…
Sweet_Peaches: You can tell me.
Sweet_Peaches: Are your standards too high?
MrRomantic: Ha. Puh-lease. They couldn’t be more basic.
Sweet_Peaches: Are you sure?
MrRomantic: Yes!
No. Definitely not. But I wasn’t going to tell him that.
Sweet_Peaches: Maybe he had an emergency?
MrRomantic: Trust me. He didn’t.
MrRomantic: Also, I’ve done this enough times to know when it won’t work.
Sweet_Peaches: Like how many times?
Did I tell him?
Did I tell him I was a serial dater? Did I tell him about my list?
He didn’t seem the least bit interested in meeting me, so what was the harm?
That he’d think I was crazy and ghost me for real this time.
MrRomantic: Too many.
Sweet_Peaches: Cinderfella probably has the total number somewhere.
MrRomantic: Good point. Hold on.
MrRomantic: Damn!
Sweet_Peaches: That bad?
That was one way to put it. I didn’t even want to give him the number; it was that bad.
MrRomantic: 84.
Sweet_Peaches: Someone’s having a good time.
Crap. Why didn’t I think that I’d sound like a slut with that number and no explanation?
MrRomantic: Hardly. I only do dates.
Sweet_Peaches: Okay…
MrRomantic: It means I don’t sleep with the guys. Especially if they don’t tick my boxes.
Sweet_Peaches: Oh *wiggles eyebrow*
Shit.
It was better if I stopped. The mustard shot had probably gotten way into my head.
MrRomantic: Let’s rewind.
Why couldn’t I stop talking to him, though? And telling him more about how fucking weird I was.
MrRomantic: I’m a serial dater. Not a hookup queen.
MrRomantic: My dates end in one of two ways.
MrRomantic: 1. Never speaking to the guy again (Most often)
MrRomantic: 2. With a second date request. (Almost extinct)
Sweet_Peaches: So… no fun under the covers?
MrRomantic: Nope.
God, did I sound more pathetic with each message.
Sweet_Peaches: Are you sure your standards aren’t too high? That’s a lot of dates for no sex. Do you at least make out?
MrRomantic: No *sad face* I’m pathetic. I’m gonna shut up now.
Sweet_Peaches: Please don’t. You’re keeping me entertained.
MrRomantic: I’m glad my misery entertains you.
I got up, giving up on this party and the prospects of my having fun.
Today had turned worse than expected. I hadn’t only had a crap date walk out on me. I also overshared with one of the two guys haunting me every day and put a big fat dump in our online friendship.
Where was Kyle when I needed him to lie with me in bed and tell me how many ways I was right and good and worthy of love and how all men were pigs and asses?
I only checked my phone again when I got to my room. Martin and Robin were asleep in each other’s arms.
They were definitely not my type, but they seemed to be each other’s.
Why couldn’t I have someone like that? Was I too irrational? Was Sweet_Peaches right? Were my standards too high?
What good would lowering them do me? It’d only open up my heart for mor
e hurt, more abandonment, more loneliness.
I collapsed in bed and unlocked my phone to check the app.
Sweet_Peaches: I’m only kidding.
Sweet_Peaches: I’m sorry your date walked out on you.
Sweet_Peaches: Are you okay?
Sweet_Peaches: I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.
Sweet_Peaches: Having standards is actually good. Less chance of getting hurt.
Sweet_Peaches: Not that I’d know. I’ve never been on a date.
Sweet_Peaches: Still there?
I was tempted to respond. To ask him why he’d never dated if he was twenty-one.
Did that mean he was a virgin? What was stopping him from meeting people?
But I’d already said enough, gave enough of myself. And continuing this chat…
Well, I didn’t want to fuck it up any further.
Sweet_Peaches ticked so many of my boxes it was unreal. But maybe he was married or fictional. Or asexual and aromantic.
What if whatever I said next pushed him away? Then I’d definitely not have a chance with him.
Not that my chances were good now.
I closed the app and instinctively opened my notes app to find my list.
I didn’t tick any of the boxes physically. I didn’t want to jinx anything. But I did it in my head.
Funny? Check.
Romantic? Maybe.
Healthy and fit? I had no idea. I’d probably never find out.
Smart? Check.
Kind? Check.
Thoughtful? Check.
Fun? Check.
It was no good. I threw my phone on my bedside table giving up on everything to do with my love life tonight.
And that was when I smelled it.
The mustard breath. The copper cheap beer on my clothes. The sweat—and desperation, probably.
I got out of bed and made my way to the shower. But as much as I scrubbed myself clean, my thoughts wouldn’t obey.
My mind wandered back to the list and how many boxes he ticked.
