The Theater Girl and the Player

You Belong With Me - Part 4

   "Dylan..?", I whisper, my thoughts churning in a circular motion inside of my brain.

There is no way this is happening to me. I am aware that I reside in a small town, but this is a strange coincidence. 

I pull out my cellphone in a jittery manner and immediately text my red head confidante, Abigail.

          Peytonn🍿: The Labrador has been located working at the Techno Center. You knew about this? 👀

Then, I switch conversations, messaging my best friend Jane.

          Peytonn🍿: You remember Dylan? The hot senior guy I almost dated? Well, he is working in the shop IN FRONT OF MINE... I need to go talk to him... Well, wish me luck 😅

I breathe slowly, staring away from the device's screen and back to Dylan's relaxed face. This is my chance to interrogate him about why he ghosted me. Is it only because I am in the theater club? And if, theoretically, I would confess my love to him, would he take me back? 

Even though I don't love him and frankly just find him handsome... Having said that, he isn't obligated to know these facts.

My phone vibrates in my hand.

          Abi 🦊🌹: 😮 I swear I didnt no. i hope your not planning to go talk to him 

          Peytonn🍿: Well, of course I am?

          Abi 🦊🌹: Bad ideaaaa

          Peytonn🍿: 😒 Bye, I'm doing it anyway.

Putting away my phone in the tight pocket that is sewn on the side of my bottom piece of clothing, I exhale a dramatic sigh, as if I wasn't the one who was forcing myself to interact with the guy who quite possibly ghosted me. 

I don't know why I am putting myself through this. 

I can do it.

I make my way to the entrance of the 'Techno Center' and enter without hesitation. I march with confidence, my lilac sport skort swaying as I stroll past another employee. I hear him beginning to speak, most likely to me, but I pay no further attention to him. I am not here to purchase something and so, I keep up my walking rhythm until I reach Dylan. 

   "Hi.", I screech.

Yuck, what was that? I cough, attempting to get rid of the goblin-like voice I just spoke in. It sounded like I was communicating in a whole another dialect! One where it is standard to speak like a shrilly, nasally old miserable muffin stuck under Bug's 'puppy sandal'..!

Bug is Jane's bulldog's name. He is 9 months old and my best friend's true love. She didn't even need to argue with her parents to get a pet as they were the one who surprised her with Bug on her birthday last year. At first, she was not sure if she desired keeping this pet, but from the moment the tiny puppy gawked at her for the first time with his big bug eyes, she toppled in awe over her new buddy. 

Anyway, several canines in my neighbourhood wear the 'puppy sandals' for an undetermined reason.

I avoid his gaze, staring at his name tag instead. My hands feel clammy, my legs are undoubtedly shaking like two branches on a breezy day and I am truly praying that he doesn't notice that. Switching my coat for it to rest on my right forearm, my logic is imploring me to cease this nerve wracking situation. 

   "Peyton...", the hot senior boy greets me absentmindedly. 

Fiddling with my clothing item, I cease that annoying action. Instead, I lean my body on the rack Dylan is really concentrated on. Or maybe he is peering vigorously at the electronic devices he is plopping on the shelf just to brush me off...