𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐖 - Louis Partridge/ book 1, 2, & 3

23: Something...wrong?

"But how was that English Literature test of yours?" I ask Louis.

"I got a hundred." He sadly replied.

We're at the diner and as promised, I did treat him to a milkshake.

"It's okay. At least you got a role that would surely change your whole life."

"That's right." He chuckles.

All of a sudden, his phone rang and he muted it.

It rang again.

And again.

"Y-you should probably answer that," I suggest.

"It's just Millie—No! it's Issie...she needs new..."

"New...?"

"Tampons! She needs tampons." He continues.

"Ok...? I guess asking that question was a bit too personal―"

"It's fine. She's good." He stutters nervously.

"Who's good...?"

"Millie!―No, Issie."

I take a sip from my milkshake. "Ok..."

Louis walks me home to our now; "apartment". He started sleeping here a few weeks ago which is kinda' weird considering that he is not only my best friend but also, my fake boyfriend.

"We're here."

I kick a sidewalk pebble and turned to him, "Yes we are."

I paused, "Wait, are you gonna..."

"Sleep here...?" he continues.

"Wow. You must really miss me when I'm not around."

"Don't be so cheeky. I was just being nice."

"Right, 'nice'."

"You know what? You should sleep at home today."

In a French accent, I add, "Your family must miss you so badly."

He replies the same way and laughs. "And so do you?"

"I was just being nice. And I don't miss you."

Louis clutches his fist onto his chest pretending to be shot and blows a kiss.

I chuckle at his action. "Louis Partridge, you sure are something."

At our front door, there was a letter with a kiss mark on it. Of course, it was Aunt Julie.

I climb on my bed, nestling my laptop on my lap, and called Aunt Julie.

"A letter, seriously?"

"Oh please darling, we're not in the 18th century. I wouldn't do that."

"Open it." She demands.

"Ok..."

Unfolding the paper, I smiled at her hesitantly.

"It's a copy of my plane ticket! I'm coming home next weekend!"

"N-Next weekend?"

I realized that the school's Christmas trip starts next weekend. Which means, I wouldn't spend too much time with her.

"How long?"

"Oh, just for 3 or 5 days, maybe."

She pauses. "I forgot. It's your field trip."

"It's not a field trip." I correct.

"Your school should've made it a ski trip or something."

My phone buzzes so I check who it was.

Ms. Smith

"Who was that?"

"My math teacher. She's driving me crazy."

"Your math teacher?!" Aunt Julie exclaims.

"Please don't tell me you're failing math."

"I'm not...it's just getting hard," I explained.

I mean, you gotta admit, math is surely that hardest subject. Even if you're good at it. It's still hard. You may have memorized all the formulas for solving a math problem and as you do it, it feels easy. Too easy that you don't know how much it took for you to solve it.

"But you said you loved math!"

"Yeah, in preschool, when we studied about shapes and how many sides they had."

"Do good in school. I gotta go. Love you!"

I close my laptop down. "Love you!"