Chapter 4
Hes been really nice to me through text messages but it's different at school we just give each other glances and smiles sometimes he even asks me for food. Just like all the other grade 8 boys at my school. I don't know what i liked about him he cared about me alot i swear i memorized qll the text messages he give to me and i get really happy when i read them. We had a "thing" we liked eachother but we didnt want to date because we would get alot of hate and i knew that. But braedon took it in a good way.
We havent talked for like 2 weeks is it cause he got his phone taken away but i had a feeling it wasnt that. It was something else. Every two weeks on a saturday night where i live we host "laser dances" theres slow dances and everything its perfect when you are hving a thing with someone and you could dance with them, ovcourse thats only if they say yes. I was gonna got but then i had bad memories from that remember when i like the other guy? Yea well he danced with the girl he made out at that dance but it kinda scared me i don't know why.. Maybe i just really liked him. Well heres the day of the dance i was almost 100% sure i was going but then my mom calls to me "we are gonna have people over so you cant go anywhere" i was sad. I really wanted to go to the dance! I really did! All my friends were going so maybe i can get them to maybe take a couple glances or so.. And they did i bet ya they stared to. But they saw something. Something they didnt want to tell me about but they had to i made them! "He was holding a girls hand, he danced with her and" she stopped. Whats going on?! I exclaimed something was wrong. "He kissed her" they carefully said over the phone not to make me sad. Okay i say acting like i don't care. But they could tell something was wrong with me. My eyes started tearing up. I ran to my room and stuffed my head into a pillow trying to stop the tears coming from my eyes but it didnt help. I cried. He changed it all. Why would he do that? I thought he was better... But i guess not...
