Judd Birch

D.A.R.E.

It's been about a week since the night of the party and you haven't visited the Birch's since. You would like to say that you aren't purposefully avoiding the home, but part of you believes that might be a lie. When Lea invites you over, you make excuses. When she asks if you're alright, you casually say you're fine. When she wants to spend time with you, you do it outside the confines of a home.

All because of some stupid boy.

You're not avoiding Judd because you hate him, you're avoiding him because he makes you nervous- the good kind of nervous.

So, just as you haven't been to the Birch's, you haven't spoken to Judd either.

You hear your phone buzz once and slip the device out of your pocket without a second thought.

Bitch.

You make a face as you read the contact name, repeating it in your mind in hopes that it will jog your memory before opening the message.

did i slap your ass too hard

You know exactly who this is.

not hard enough
why r u asking?

You quickly send back, but once the tiny delivered symbol fades onto the screen, you start to have some doubts.

Maybe you shouldn't have responded so fast- what does he even want from you? What if he thinks that text is strange and he leaves you on read and you see him at Lea's house before he even respo-

its friday
are you free

You take a moment to think. You are free - in fact, you can already feel boredom fogging the back of your mind - but are you free for him? Lea is busy with some theater friends for the weekend, so her walking in on her best friend and her brother isn't something to worry about, but, then again, you'd rather not have to hide anything from her at all. You need to choose wisely.

what do u have in mind

You text back a minute or so later, swinging your feet aimlessly beneath the desk of your last class. While you wait for a response, your eyes flicker between your phone and the clock as some sort of neurotic habit.

Your phone buzzes lightly in your hands and you quickly look down.

ill pick you up at 7

While that didn't answer your question, you text back a quick "kk" and gather your things while you wait through the longest 5 minutes of your life.

Your eyes are glued to the prison-esque clock pasted above the whiteboard, hoping desperately that somehow, someway time will speed up- it never does, and these new Friday night plans don't help you escape the present much at all either.

You think about him for the rest of the day- during your trek through the stampede of teenagers, the long walk to your car, the drive home, the brief encounter with your parents- even while you're doing some of the most mundane activities, like pressing down the small black lever of your toaster.

I burnt his toast.

You think to yourself before snapping out of your girlish, nervous daze. You look at the small clock on the oven beside you.

7:04

The numbers almost strike a bit of fear in you, the same kind of fear you can feel building in the bit of your stomach as you climb to the peak of a rollercoaster or look off the edge of a cliff. He'll be here any second now and once he does arrive, you're not sure what you'll say or do or even think- and his mysterious text isn't helping at all.