Phone Calls > jariana (COMPLETED)

twelve

April 18, 4:45 p.m.

Ariana: You're late. Are you lost? Did you hit traffic in Burlington? Hmmm. Call me. Okay?

April 18, 5:10 p.m.

Ariana: If you don't get here soon, I'm going to think that you were in some sort of horrible accident. Seriously. Where are you? I'm totally ready. I even have your boutonniere in my refrigerator. I also put the carrot cake in there to thaw out. Okay. Maybe you thought we said five o'clock. Maybe you aren't that late.

April 18, 5:38 p.m.

Ariana: I just tried to find your home number in the phone book. Then I called the operator. It's unlisted, Justin. God, maybe you don't even exist or something. Or maybe you said you were Justin Bieber, but you're not really Justin Bieber. Maybe you're some creep named Neil or Alexander or Ted. What's going on? Where are you? It's totally messed up to be this late. I'm worried. I'm angry. God! The road conditions are perfect. I've checked NOAA six times. Just get here, okay?

April 18, sent 5:43 p.m.

Ariana: Are you okay? Are you coming? I'm worried about you. You said "exactly." So now you're late and you're a liar.

April 18, 6:21 p.m.

Ariana: So we're not going to the dance. Because it will be too late now. Or maybe we could go to the dance and skip dinner. I'll call Single Pebble and cancel our reservation. I really think you've been in an accident. I'm going to start calling hospitals. So if you got cold feet or you somehow patched things up with Nan and you're just standing me up, you need to suck it up right now and not be a coward and a jerkface and tell me that immediately. Because after hospitals, I might start calling morgues. Seriously. I'm breaking out in hives. All over. I'm so worried. Where are you?

April 19, 1:14 a.m.

Ariana: You're either the biggest asshole on the planet Earth, or you're dead. Either way, don't ever call me again.

April 21, 8:51 p.m.

Ariana: Your phone still works. So you can't be dead. You are just an asshole. I can't believe it. What was the point of all this? Just to make another person feel like shit? Mission accomplished. If you ever feel tempted to call me again, don't. Burn my number.

April 22

April 23, 4:46 p.m.

Justin: Ariana, I am so sorry. I know you don't want to talk to me. This isn't entirely my fault. There was a family emergency. My mom picked me up from school. I forgot my cell phone. I had to go to Canada. These aren't just lame excuses. I didn't have your phone number. But it wouldn't have mattered, because I didn't have cell phone reception in Montreal. When I was at the hospital, I tried to find your home number online. But I couldn't find a Butera anywhere in Vermont. I thought about calling one of your friends, but I didn't know CeCe's last name. I want to fix things. I'm so sorry that I worried you. I feel awful about your hives. I didn't mean to do this. I am so sorry. I'll take you for a nice dinner at Single Pebble. I'll take you to another dance. I'll take you anywhere. I like you. I didn't mean to hurt you. Please call me.

April 24, 6:21 p.m.

Justin: You might think that I sent the flowers because two days ago was Earth Day and tomorrow is Arbor Day. But I sent them because I still feel bad and I want to talk to you. We're friends, Ariana. Friends should forgive each other. This was beyond my control. It's like I was one of those guys bobbing in the sea in Crane's story. My fate was out of my hands. There was nothing I could do. Come on. Call me back.