Coincidences

Act XLI

"You what?!" screeched Mr. Reed's voice from my phone. "Are you that idiotic?"

"No, I wasn't the one who insisted not to do that nonsense," I relayed to him. "I seriously want to punch Ty straight to the gutter, but two things come in mind. One, my good hand still stings a bit, and, two, Rocky."

"I get your thirst of violence, but don't." That's a weird way to say that.

I was home now, doodling on the front cover of my notebook, the one with the exhilarating list of coincidences. I was making a stick figure, until he said,

"I don't think you can, though. You could do for a stick figure."

Sighing, I flipped through the pages and wrote that down with permanent ink.

"So, Mr. Reed, what do you think I should do, if you know it all?" I challenged him, hoping to get an answer, although unlikely.

He responded, "Well, do what she says, let her do the decision making."

"That answer is so mediocre, Mr. Love Expert."

"I know, but it's for the best. You decided on your own without letting me know beforehand, so look where you are now."

My blood started to boil. "I didn't decide. It was them!"

"And you went along with it."

I stopped arguing, because there was no point on doing so. He was right, more or less. I leaned on the chair, now chewing on the tip of the pen and staring at the ceiling. The glow-in-the-dark star stickers were starting to illuminate. People may say it's childish, but I think it's a unique way of decorating the room.

"Mr. Reed, how do you think she's feeling, like, right now?" asked I.

"Lemme guess," he paused for a second. "She may be a bit angry, a bit sad, a bit shaken up."

"A bit of everything," sarcasm taking over my tongue.

"Sorta, but not in a positive way. She's dealing with fire now, and the only way to win is to fight fire with fire."

"What do you mean, Mr. Reed?"

"Let her be. She said she'll decide, she'll eventually decide on her own," he reminded. He does have a point, sometimes.

"Well, gotta go. My wife is calling me. She saying that I need to get in the car, if I don't want any more lectures about time management from her boss," he hurried to end the call. "Good luck with your 'problem', Martin." The phone beeped, signifying that he hung up.

I eradicated the phone app from the task manager and opened the messaging app to replace that. I haven't received any messages from Zoey, Tyrone, or Rocky, which is to be expected, or not. I don't know. Even I didn't have the courage to mention the topic, so let it be.

Let her be.

Is that what I really should be doing? Will it do me good? Should I trust my gut, or rely on Jonathan? Lots of questions, yet no answers.

I have to. Opening the app once again, I search for Zoey at the end of the contact list and started typing. I hovered my finger over "send" and let gravity do its work.