Chapter 4: Did It Have To Be Eggs?
As soon as we enter the bathroom, Evan locks the door.
"You know," I say hesitantly, "I think I will be traumatized. Can I leave now?"
Evan whips to me, no longer smiling.
"Or maybe not," I mumble under my breath.
I watch as the boy pulls out his phone from the pockets of his hoodie.
He types something and hands it to me.
Type in your phone number.
I furrow my brow in confusion.
Why?
He rolls his eyes.
We're wasting time. Just do it.
I still don't get it, but I comply nonetheless.
"Well this is a weird way to ask for a phone number," I mutter to myself.
As I put it in, I can't help but add:
Anyway, I don't understand what my number has to do with this dare.
I might sound dumb, but I mean, come on! An attractive (yes, I hate to admit he's attractive), guy asked (well, demanded), for my number!
After a few moments, I hear my phone chime. I quickly read it.
I need to talk to you, and I figure this is the best method.
"So... what do you want to talk about?" I ask.
He shoots me an annoyed look. "No talking," he mouths silently. "Just type!"
"Fine," I groan. "Just tell me already!"
For the first time, mischief shows in Evan's eyes.
As my phone chimes, I can't help but feel suspicious. What compelled him to 'talk' to me like this?
I feel my insides turn to ice at his answer.
I know your secret.
I try not to let any emotion cross my face.
Damn! What mistake did I make this time?
No matter. I need to make him believe my lie, and quick.
I fake a grin and I'm about to lie when Evan points at his phone, gesturing not to talk, but to type in my response.
I roll my eyes.
What secret? And why are we "conversing" like this?
I press send. His phone chimes, and when he reads my answer, he looks at me as if I'm the weird one.
We are talking like this because I bet you fifty bucks that everyone's trying to eavesdrop. And don't act like you're so clueless. You know what I'm talking about.
I scoff at his reply. If he thinks I'm going to confess, he's wrong. But he's not wrong about everyone trying to eavesdrop.
No, I have no idea what your talking about, Evan. Please, enlighten me.
The boy in question smirks at me.
Really, Elizabeth? Or should I say, Agatha?
My eyes meet him, wild and frantic. My fingers shakily type the response.
HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT?!?
Yes. I use capital letters for situations like these.
It was quite easy, believe me. Do you want to know how?
YOU ARE READING
Rejection Hurts On Both Sides
Humor((ON HOLD)) *NOTE: NOT A WEREWOLF BOOK.* What do you do when your life starts to become more complicated than ever? Agatha Perez is a sophomore in Crimson Glade Academy, a school for the intellectual OR the rich. And right now, Agatha has only one...
