5.00PM, Tuesday, Dec. 2th
400 West 37th Street, New York
I sat in front of my laptop, trying to type. My phone binged. I checked it, smiling. It was from Jake.
What you doing?
I bit my lip, wondering how I should reply. I clicked on the internet and typed in, “texts to send to your boyfriend”…Whoa. Half a million results.
I clicked the first result and scrolled down the list of possible text messages.
831 = I Love You…8 letters, 3 words, 1 meaning.
How adorable…yet icky. Definitely not me. I picked up my phone, about to text something non-committal and boring like, “Nothing much. You?”, when it rang. It was Blane.
I picked up, my chest constricting almost painfully. I’d completely forgotten about him.
“Hey, Summer?”
“Yep.” Realizing I sounded quite unenthusiastic, I tried to pass it off as a cough. I spluttered down the phone for a while, for realism. “Hi, Blane!” I said, shrilly, as I tried to sound cheeful. “What’s up?!”
“Uh…Nothing…Are you okay? Your voice…”
“…Yeah, Blane, I’m fine,” I said, hating myself. “Why did you call?”
“I just wanted to know how you were.”
Just then, my front door rang. With a sigh, I got out of my comfortable position in the chair and walked to the door. All I could see was a waist-height mop of brown hair and a pair of green eyes, before I was almost knocked off feet by Sammy. I’d just picked him up from preschool, because Mom was “busy”.
“Merry!”
“Get off, Sam!” I yelled, trying to push him off, while desperately trying to keep my grip on my phone – Blane was still on the line.
Sammy was clinging to my waist and believe me, this boy is strong. “Merry has to get the door now!” I cried, trying to pry his hands from me.
“Merry!” he sang out again. Merry was his nickname for me, and I totally hated it.
“Let go!”
When he wouldn’t, as he seemed to enjoy immobilizing me, the guy at the door started pummelling repeatedly on the doorbell. Gritting my teeth, I attempted to drag Sammy with me, as I made my way towards the door. I swung it open.
“Oscar!” I said, smiling as best as I could, with a small toddler attached to my waist. “What are you doing here?”
He didn’t reply, and just lifted up a vase, his eyes fixed on the phone in my hand. I looked at it and realized the screen read “Blane”. Hastily, I muttered, “I’ll talk to you later,” down the phone and snapped it shut.
“Do you want to come in?” I offered, trying to step back to give him room to enter. Sammy didn’t like this at all and started punching the back of my knees, forcing my legs to jerk forwards. It probably looked like I was doing some kind of crazy dance.
Oscar tossed me the vase, and leaned down, picking up Sammy. He swooped upwards into the air, spinning Sammy like he was an airplane. Sammy giggled, and I tried my best to cheer as I slowly regained feeling in my kneecaps.
“Now, you’re going to go to your room and do some coloring,” Oscar said, hanging Sammy upside down. “Or I’ll tickle you again.” He demonstrated, making Sammy laugh, before Oscar dropped him, and he plodded away to his room.
