I text-message -------. I try to squeeze in my thoughtful, laid-back persona in 160 characters, including spaces. I never thought that was fair.
I am not laid-back. I am at the pinnacle of Type A. Some people consider that a virtue; I want to commit suicide.
I always thought there was an entire alphabet of types, but there's only two, A and B. They can't make them Type Salt and Type Pepper. Nothing they do makes sense.
I meet up with him on the path to the library. I say hey once, and he nods. We walk in together. I'd been waiting to see him the entire week, but now I don't know what to say. We stay indoors, away from the heat. Tomorrow, he says, all twenty-four Pre-Cal/Trig assignments are due. I ask if he's done them. Of course he has. He always seems to have time. I struggle to finish Economics. I ask him for help, but he says I'm not being specific enough. All twenty-eight minutes I could spend with him I am wasting on Economics. If we had more time to ourselves, I still wouldn't know what to say.
He says he has to leave, and I walk out with him. Outside, under a dying tree, I look at him, expecting something to happen.
I love you, -------, I say.
He knows I'm lying.
Hi. I'm Angelica. I like Pokémon and complaining. I'm a youngster, but I freak out like a 42-year-old mother. This is just me worrying about getting into college.