eight:
⠀⠀⠀I'm about to close the door and head back to reading, probably even going to forget this ever happened because really, again, what did?
⠀⠀⠀But Jacob went running back to the porch of my house. I look at him funnily but open the door wider, indicating that I allow him to speak.
⠀⠀⠀He does, and I probably should have shut the door to his face because his question practically scars this little friendship we had for, like, five minutes - my answer is going to ruin it, exterminate it, even.
⠀⠀⠀But no, I didn't close the door on time and now I have to answer the question I thought he'd never ask - or forgot to ask, or he chose not to.
⠀⠀⠀He looks at me and waits for an answer, and when I don't, he repeats himself. "Blaire, did you listen to the tapes?"
⠀⠀⠀The air in my lungs are being knocked away from me and I struggle to get my crap together. But because I'm stupid, and because everyone knows I'm a bad liar, I tell him, "Yes, I did."
⠀⠀⠀He looks to the floor and shakes his head, sighing. But then he smiles at me and it makes the situation even worse.
⠀⠀⠀"Do you want to head to that nearby café and talk about the subject at hand?"
⠀⠀⠀And for a couple of seconds, there was silence, and then there was a tiny little voice, my voice, that says, "Okay."
YOU ARE READING
Old Mixtapes
Teen FictionIn which a girl has a thing for old records so she buys a box of old mixtapes, which was accidentally put on their neighbor's garage sale, to find out that the boy who's making the tapes wants them back.
