Hello, everyone. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Well, I’m back and I bring tidings of a new story. But first, let me talk a little about the old one. “Take it Easy” was an experiment. One to test both what kinds of things would work in a story and how people would respond to them. I never really planned for it to be more than that. This story, however, should last a good bit longer and have a real plot. I actually have an ending planned for it, which is nice. The sex won’t be instantaneous, but I think it’ll be worth the wait when it does come. Thanks for reading. The story is also being posted on adultfanfiction and storiesonline, so check those sites if you feel the need.

Your feedback is most welcome. The best ways to reach me are at my email [email protected] and my Twitter @zxnoregretsxz69
Thanks for reading and hope you enjoy.

**

I shook my head. “No, all I’m saying is that Quicksilver wouldn’t be able to punch things at that kind of speed without breaking his arms and hands, so he must be invincible. That’s why it doesn’t make sense that he can get hurt.”

Eric threw up his hands in frustration. “Of all the plot holes and inconsistencies in Age of Ultron, that’s the one you care most about?”

I thought for a second. “Pretty much. Super speed without invincibility would suck, so yeah.”

“Hey, that’s our turn.” Eric pointed up ahead.

I flipped the signal on and tried to calm myself; I felt strangely nervous. “Ready for high school?” I grinned.

Eric puffed out his cheeks and let out a breath. “Guess so.”

Suddenly, a car flew through the stop sign on their side, turning in front of me and cutting me off. I had to slam on the brakes. Jeez, I’d only been driving for a few months and I’d already nearly gotten into two accidents. Maybe I should’ve waited to get my license, like everyone else. I’d had to stretch the truth quite a bit to the DMV people, saying how difficult it was to get to my soccer practices and to school on time without being able to drive myself, in order for them to grant me an early provisional license. Strictly speaking, I also wasn’t exactly supposed to be driving Eric around, as he wasn’t an adult, but what’s life without a little risk?

“Kinda looks like a prison after the renovation.” I noted as the school came into view. The Crofton Park school board had designated over a hundred million dollars for CPHS’s renovation, replacing all the old concrete walls with what looked like corrugated steel and adding miles of windows covered by fixed metal blinds.

“Bet it’s gonna feel like one too,” Eric groaned, “You sure it’s not too late to skip school and drive to Canada?”

Ignoring Eric, I found my designated parking spot and maneuvered my car into it with some difficulty. I had only recently started driving — I had been allowed to get my license early so I could drive myself to school and soccer practice — so I wasn’t very experienced at parking yet.

Getting out of the car, I stretched and yawned. The drive wasn’t too long: only 20 minutes or so from my house, including the stop to pick up Eric from his house. I craned down to check my reflection on the mirror and make sure I hadn’t gotten uglier during my commute.

Yup, my hazel eyes looked back at me while I straightened my shirt, a little small on my tall frame, and I pulled my belt tighter before checking the time on my phone. There was a text from my mom.

Have a great first day of school, honey! Tell Eric I said hi. Love, mom.

I typed out a quick reply and started walking toward the school.

“Yo, Chris!” Eric laughed. “Forgetting something?” He held out the duffel bag that contained all my soccer stuff. “You’d think that with your memory, you wouldn’t forget stuff like this.”

I snatched it from his hand, laughing. “You know it doesn’t work like that, dude. My mom says ‘hi’, by the way.”

He was referring to my near-perfect recall. For as long as I could remember, I’ve been able to remember everything I put my mind to and nearly everything else, too. Last year, Eric liked to test me by having me memorize twenty-digit strings of numbers, which got kind of annoying after a while. He also had a tendency to call me various obscenities in Spanish, something that I’d picked up from him over the years. Eric himself was from Crofton Park, but his dad was from Valencia and his mom was from Barcelona, so he’d had a very cultured upbringing. Both of his parents taught in the language department at the local University.

I don’t know where this ability to effortlessly remember things came from –my parents don’t have it and neither does my brother– but it’s really come in handy in school: I’ve never studied for a test. I don’t have to. I remember everything the teacher says. I mostly use my memory to remember stupid stuff, though, like the fact that hippo milk is pink, or that Will Ferrell is from Irvine, California, or that the speed of light is 299,792,458 meters per second. But hey, I kick ass at Trivial Pursuit!

Anyway, Eric and I ambled up the hill to school, falling in rank with the rest of the students dragging themselves onward. CPHS has about 2000 students, which may seem like a lot for a college town of about 75,000 people, but it’s the only high school in town. I guess Crofton Park was just short of having enough people to warrant building another high school. It would probably feel more crowded if the school weren’t massive: its three floors on each of three buildings took took up over half a million square feet.

“Holy shit!” I exclaimed a little too loudly. “Is that Sara Ingram?” I pointed ahead, slightly to our right, at an attractive buxom girl with dirty-blonde hair who was standing near the doors to the school.

“Yeah,” Eric said.

“She looks, um, different.” I remarked, surprised.

“Tetas grandes.” Eric confirmed, extending his hands in to fondle imaginary tits and closing his eyes for a moment.

I laughed. “Man, I expected that she would’ve changed, but not that much.” I had gone to a private school called Redwood Preparatory School from preschool up to this year, and Sara had gone to the same school until seventh grade, when she left to go to public middle school. Eric had done the same, but I managed to keep in touch with him, unlike with Sara.

We walked to homeroom and sat through announcements and then Mrs. Armstrong reading a long list of school rules before we were dismissed to go to first period. Eric and I grabbed our stuff and checked our complimentary first-week maps to find out where Ms. Myers’s classroom was before stepping out into the hall.

Then, a voice came from behind us. “Chris! Eric!”

We turned to find the Gray brothers waving at us. For identical twins, they couldn’t have been more different. Marty was laid-back, the closest person you could find to a surfer dude in Crofton Park, his wild hair held in place by a skinny white headband, his usual combo of a worn t-shirt and longboard shorts both loose-fitting. Daniel had a very professional-looking crew cut that matched his slightly anal attitude about school. He wore khaki shorts and a button-down shirt, both neatly pressed. For all their differences, the two did have some similarities: they were both cross country fanatics and loved outdoor activities like hunting and fishing. Being from the deep south, they had gotten a lot of time outdoors before moving here.

“Where y’all headed?” Marty drawled, greeting Eric and I with high fives.

“History with Myers.” I answered, cringing at the prospect. Cynthia Myers was well-known around Crofton Park for being one of the toughest, but most effective teachers at CPHS.

“Hey, same.” Daniel smiled. “Looks like we can all cheat off of Chris this year!”

“Whatever.” I retorted lazily, marching off to class.

We arrived a minute or two before the bell rang for the beginning of first period. There were post-it notes with our names on them on the desks, and as I looked for mine, Eric motioned toward the front. “Edwards should be up there, Chris.” He sat down at “Rivera” and took out a pencil.

“Edwards?” Ms. Myers asked. “As in Andrew Edwards?”

“Um, yeah.” I said. “He’s my brother.”

“Mm.” She nodded knowingly. “You look like him. Is he still playing baseball?”

“Yeah, he’s at UCLA now.” I answered.

“Well, let’s hope you pay closer attention in class than he did.” She said sternly, but with a tinge of humor.

“Yes, ma’am.” I agreed seriously. Andrew had been captain of the baseball team and prom king, but hadn’t had the same success in academics, probably due to his penchant for partying.

When the bell rang, Ms. Myers walked to the front of her room, where she had a beat-up wooden podium.

“I assume you all did the summer assignment,” she began. We certainly had. That damn thing took me a whole week to finish: we had to take notes on everything that happened in the U.S. from the migration of ancient peoples across the Bering Strait to the beginning of the colonial period. The actual course material started at the end of that period, but apparently Myers wanted us to know a lot of background information. “So,” she continued, “take out a piece of paper and number it from one to twenty.”

A quiz. She was giving a quiz on the first day. The rumors were true: she was a bitch.

The room echoed with the groans of about thirty students (Myers’s classes were always packed for some reason that no one had been able to explain to me) and backpacks being unzipped. I slammed a piece of paper on my desk and dropped a pencil on top of it. I wasn’t actually worried about the quiz, as I remembered all the material, but I was still incensed that she would put all the other students through this.

“Question one: what is the oldest continuously inhabited settlement in the U.S.?”

I scrawled “St. Augustine” on my paper and waited for the next question. While I waited, I looked around the room. As I had suspected, my fellow students were in varying states of distress, particularly Sara, who was sitting two seats to my right and twisting her hair tensely. I met Eric’s eyes as he looked forward from the back of the room and he raised his eyebrows, mouthing “Help me!” and clutching at his heart. I grinned and looked back at my paper before Ms. Myers noticed me.

The remaining questions weren’t much harder and we were done before too long. Foolishly, I thought that that might be the end of serious work for the day, but Ms. Myers made us take out our notebooks before launching into a lecture about early Americans.

My pencil was a blur for the next thirty minutes as I furiously took notes. I ordinarily wouldn’t bother, but I’d heard that Ms. Myers checked notebooks to make sure students were keeping up with work.

Eventually, the bell rang –well, I say rang: it was an electronic bell that sounded like the “fasten your seat belts” alert on an airplane– and everyone eagerly left. Mutters of indignance and frustration about the quiz filled the air, growing louder as people distanced themselves from the classroom.

“Hey, see you guys at lunch.” I said as Marty and I split off from the group to begin our short walk to Spanish. “How was that hunting trip, Marty?” I asked.

“Pretty good,” he answered, “It was offseason, so we were going for feral pigs. I got a six-foot male.”

“Six feet!?” I exclaimed. “Jesus Christ, that’s huge!”

“It’s about average,” he dismissed modestly. “Hey, isn’t there a new Spanish teacher?”

“That’s what I heard,” I confirmed, “Ms. Soto. She’s from Colombia.”

“Is that her?” Marty asked incredulously, stopping in the doorway of the classroom.

“I hope so.” I said fervently.

The woman in question was a gorgeous twenty-something Latina in an above-the-knee pencil skirt, sitting on her desk with her long legs crossed and talking quietly to some students in the front row.

“Bienvenidos!” She greeted us with a slight accent. “Come, sit.” She waved a hand at some empty seats.

We scanned the room for people we knew and found no one; like some of our friends, Marty and I had started Spanish a year earlier than most students do, so our class was made up mostly of sophomores and a few juniors.

I took a seat next to a frat boy wannabe, who acknowledged me with a subtle upward nod of his head and turned back to talk to the girl next to him.

As soon as the bell rang, Ms. Soto walked to the front of the room and introduced herself in Spanish that she had clearly dumbed down for us. “Hola, estudiantes, me llamo Señorita Soto. Soy de Colombia y este año es mi primer año de la enseñanza, así que estoy muy emocionado!”

For the rest of the class, Ms. Soto reviewed what we should’ve learned last year while Marty stared dreamily at her. She was definitely pretty hot –she looked like a fitness model or something– but Marty was really starting to look weird. I hit him discreetly, and when he realized what he had been doing for the past forty minutes, he sat back in his chair in an attempt to look chill and blasé. To be fair, he wasn’t the only one staring: most of the boys and even a couple girls had their eyes trained almost unblinkingly on Ms. Soto.

I mean, I was still thinking lewd thoughts about Sara, but at least I hid it well. That outfit she was wearing was amazing: short Nike shorts that showed off her long legs with a tank top and sweatshirt combo that revealed way too much cleavage to be school-appropriate. I shook my head as if that would clear my mind of my obscene thoughts and tried my best to focus on Spanish.

The next periods, English and my shop class, took up the time until lunch. Not much happened in either class, except for me finding out that I didn’t know anyone in either.

I walked over to the picnic tables in a courtyard just outside the school to meet my friends. At CPHS, only seniors were allowed to leave campus for lunch, so I had brought one. They used to allow everyone to leave for lunch, but I’m pretty sure that they ended that as soon as possible after realizing that people were just leaving campus to smoke weed.

I spotted my recently-made friends –Eric had introduced me to his friends last year, gregarious guy that he was, so that I would know some people when I came to CPHS– sitting at a large square purple picnic table. Eric, Marty, and Daniel were already there, and with them were the other members of our group: Jonathan, a tough but friendly kid from inner-city Chicago, and Alex, a huge sports fan, nerd, and party animal. A smile lit up my face when I saw everyone; it had only been about a week since we last hung out, but it was nice seeing everyone at school.

“What’s up, fuckers?” I grinned.

There was a chorus of greetings and profanity in response as I sat at the table. After some discussion of our classes and the events of the day, Alex remembered that he wanted to tell us something.

“Sho…” He swallowed a gigantic bite of ham sandwich and continued, “so, there’s a party this Friday at Theresa Butler’s house for freshmen only, and I think we should all go.”

Theresa Butler was one of the popular girls in our grade, maybe the most popular. CPHS wasn’t like any high school I’d ever read about or seen on TV or in movies: according to Eric, there was no girl who was cheer captain and dated the quarterback. We had popular girls and hot girls, but no particular girl stood out as the most popular or prettiest. However, if I had to guess as to who was the most popular girl, my money would be on Theresa. Other than that, I didn’t know much about her.

Jonathan spoke, “I don’t know… We don’t really know the popular kids that well…”

He was right: our little group were sort of in-betweeners. With me coming from private school and everyone else being on the edge of the “in” crowd, we weren’t exactly “cool kid” material, but we weren’t bottom-feeders, either.

“I think it’s a good idea.” Eric spoke up. “Jonathan just doesn’t want to go because he has a crush on Theresa.”

Jonathan protested indignantly. “I do not! Besides, everyone thinks she’s hot.”

“It’s settled, then.” I said. “We’re going to the party and Jonathan can stare at Theresa while we have fun.”

More arguments broke out over who had crushes on whom and who was the hottest girl while I sat back and ate my sandwich. It was a good group of guys, and they made me glad that my parents had let me go to public high school instead of continuing at Redwood, like they did for Andrew. My friends from Redwood were mostly either entitled assholes or druggies now, so it felt good to get away from them. I felt a mixture of nervousness and excitement about the party: it would be a chance to meet some new people, but I didn’t want to ruin my chances of being social by doing something weird.

After lunch, math and science flew by, leaving only soccer. I had elected to participate in first-semester off-season soccer in addition to the actual season in the second semester, so it took up my seventh period along with an hour and a half of practice time after school. Eric and I walked to the indoor soccer facility and got dressed.

Practice went by without a hitch; I met some upperclassmen when we scrimmaged and they seemed cool. After practice, Coach Gordon came up to me while I pulled my normal shoes on. He was a fiery Scot who had been in a gang as a youth, but turned his life around to help support his family. Everyone liked him.

“Chris,” He said, “good work today.”

“Thanks, coach.” I tried to keep a grin off of my face; it would be unprofessional.

He went on. “I’m thinking that, based on your performance at tryouts and today, we’re going to start you on the junior varsity squad. You could be on varsity, but you wouldn’t get much playing time.”

That was fair. I was pretty good, but I wasn’t good enough to start on varsity as a freshman.

“Thanks, coach.” I replied. I was a little disappointed that I didn’t make varsity, but that’s highly unlikely for a freshman, anyway. “Whatever gets me the most on-the-field time is fine with me.” I did genuinely love to play, so I was pretty happy that I’d be starting, even if it was only junior varsity.

“That’s what I like to hear.” He clapped me on the shoulder with an approving nod and meandered off to talk to other players.

I found Eric waiting by my car. He had a big grin on his face.

“Guess what!”

“What?” I asked, pretty sure I knew what he was going to say.

“Coach said I’m gonna be starting junior varsity!”

“Me too, dude!” I slapped his outstretched hand enthusiastically. “We’re gonna be goal-scoring machines.”

Eric and I both played as forwards –and had since we were little kids– so we would be the ones getting the most scoring opportunities, which was exciting. The soccer season didn’t start until Spring, though, so there would be a lot of conditioning and weightlifting before any games.

I took Eric to his house and went home, politely declining his request to hang out. My dad was getting back in town from a week-long business trip and I wanted to be there when he got home.

When I got home, neither my mom’s car nor my dad’s were in the garage, but some stranger’s was in the driveway. Andrew probably had a friend over; his car was at the airport in California, so he had to rely on rides from people when he was back home.

Pulling into the garage, I shut off my car and grabbed my stuff. I sneaked into the house, but was stopped suddenly when a large black object collided with me.

“Oof!” I grunted, falling backwards as the object, which was actually a huge two-year-old Great Dane, crushed me with his weight. “Hey, Ralph, how’s it going, buddy?” I whispered. I had picked the name Ralph when we got him a few months ago from a local shelter because I thought it was funny to name a dog a “people” name. Still cracks me up. Ralph licked my face profusely, but didn’t bark, so my quest to sneak up on Andrew hadn’t been foiled.

Forcing Ralph off of me as gently as possible, I dropped my backpack and soccer bag at the foot of the stairs and crept up to the second floor. As I neared Andrew’s room, I began to hear muffled voices through his door, which was ajar.

When I got close enough, it was clear that Andrew had a girl in his room. For some reason, I felt compelled to look in the gap between the door and the doorjamb, though I knew what I would find in there.

There was a girl on her knees on the bed, face in the mattress, wailing annoyingly while Andrew pounded her from behind. In spite of my disgust at seeing my brother naked and irritation at how inconsiderate he was being, I felt a stirring down there as I watched her tits flailing around, mesmerizing me.

Suddenly, her wailing shot up to porn star levels while she grabbed fistfuls of the sheets. Her neck craned upward and I finally got a glimpse of her pretty, but sweat-covered face. She had been my brother’s “friend” in high school, though it was obvious now that she had been more of a friend-with-benefits. I guess he wanted to see her one more time before he went back to school in two days.

She practically shouted about how she was coming. Andrew lasted for a few more moments before pulling out of her, flipping her over, and shooting a load all over her face and tits.

They moved toward the bathroom door near the back of Andrew’s room, and I used that as my opportunity to escape. I flew down the stairs and dropped onto the couch in the living room. Within a minute, I heard the faint sound of water running upstairs.

After a few minutes, I got up to grab a snack. At the same time, Andrew and the girl came downstairs, their hair wet and clothes slightly disheveled as he followed her toward the door.

I grabbed some goldfish and tossed Andrew a Gatorade. “Here you go, champ.” I grinned.

He rolled his eyes from behind the girl, who cringed in embarrassment. He walked her to the door and opened it.

Before she could leave, I called out “Have a nice day!” and waved obnoxiously.

She hurried to her car and Andrew closed the door. “Dick.” he said, smiling slightly in spite of himself.

“Slut.” I shot back, taking a sip of my Gatorade and leaning on the kitchen counter. “You’ll excuse me if I don’t greet you with a hug.”

“Whatever.” He waved a hand and opened his own Gatorade, chugging a fourth of it in a few seconds.

“Damn.” My eyes widened at his prodigious thirst. “That must have been a marathon or something.”

“Half-marathon. But I sprinted the whole time.” He joked.

I mimed throwing up and went back to my spot on the couch.

“By the way, I walked Ralph a couple hours ago, so don’t worry about it. How was school?” He called from the kitchen, searching the pantry and fridge for calories to make up for what he had burned in his “marathon”.

“Fine.” I replied. “Ms. Myers mentioned you and your study habits.”

“Oh, you have the Bitch, too?” He asked. “Did she give you a first-day quiz over the summer assignment?

“Yup.” I confirmed, perusing my phone absentmindedly. My friends and I have a group message, which they were using at the moment to bitch about school and how much homework they had.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, “I forgot to tell you; I reached twenty thousand followers on Twitter yesterday.”

“Whoa.” I looked up. “Really?”

“Yeah. After that SportsCenter top ten, a bunch of strangers started following me and, like, doubled my followers.” He was coming into the living room, struggling to balance a couple Dagwood sandwiches on a plate.

“That’s awesome, man!” I high-fived him before he flopped down on the couch across from mine. In June, during the College World Series, he had almost singlehandedly made a triple play from shortstop, a play which earned him first place in SportsCenter’s Top Ten and a lot of attention from MLB scouts.

He flipped on the TV and started watching Law and Order or some other generic cop show. I finished my Gatorade and got up to throw it away. When I did, I heard the garage door. I went into the garage and saw my mom’s big SUV coming in. Waving, I stood out of the way and waited for her to get out.

“Hey, honey.” She smiled.

“Hi, mom. How was class?” I hugged her.

“Good.” She replied, brushing her blonde hair out of her face and kissing me on the cheek. She was close to getting her PhD in psychology while teaching Pilates and yoga part-time at a fancy gym nearby. We certainly didn’t need the money, what with my dad’s investment banking job, but she was a workaholic. “I’ve got some groceries in the back, would you help me?”

“Sure.” I answered, managing to grab all of the bags by filling both arms and hands.

My mom shook her head, laughing. “Why do you boys always insist on taking all of the groceries at once?”

“Efficiency.” I grunted. “Plus, if I have the same amount of stuff in both arms, it’s easier to stay balanced.”

“Well, thank you.” She smiled, opening the door for me. I grunted again and stumbled into the kitchen, where I dumped all of the groceries on the counter.

“Hi, Andrew.” She called out.

“Hi, mom.” Came his response.

She turned to me. “Dad’s flight was delayed, so he should be here in an hour or so.”

“Alright.” I answered, walking away. “I’m gonna go upstairs.”

“No homework?” She asked.

“Nope.” I replied, already at the stairs.

I bounded up the stairs and turned on my PC. I looked through the list of games on my Steam account and eventually decided on a classic: Team Fortress 2. I wiled away about an hour on TF2 before my mom called from downstairs to announce both dinner and my dad’s arrival.

When I got to the bottom of the stairs, my dad was pulling a massive suitcase through the door to the garage. “Hi, honey.” He said kissing mom briefly and turning to face Andrew and I. “Hey, guys.” He smiled, then sniffed the air. “Smells delicious, Nat.”

My mom smiled tiredly but proudly. “I think it should be. It’s lasagna, Chris.”

I pumped my fist in the air and charged over to the table; my mom’s lasagna was awesome.

“How was the trip, dad?” I asked in between forkfuls of tomatoey noodles.

He swallowed a bite. “Good. We’re going to be taking over a tech company that has a lot of potential for growth. They invented some part that improves computer chip speed. Sounded like something you’d be interested in, Chris.”

I nodded.

“How was the first day of school, by the way?” He wondered.

“Alright. I got Andrew’s favorite teacher.”

Both Andrew and my dad grimaced. “That Myers woman?” My dad went on. “Ugh. She came off as a real–” he stopped at my mom’s glare, “nasty woman in the parent-teacher conferences.”

I nodded again.

“Anyway, how’s the dissertation coming, Nat?” He asked mom.

“Awesome.” She breathed excitedly. “My defense is coming up soon, so I have to prepare for that, but my teachers think I have it in the bag.”

“That’s great.” He smiled broadly. “And Andrew, are you ready to go back to school?”

“Yup.” He answered. “Mom took me to get all of the books and stuff, so I’m good to go. Can’t wait to get back to baseball, too.”

“Do you guys play anyone near here? I’d love to get to more games than just the Series.”

“Not really.” Andrew said. “The closest schools to Crofton Park that we play are Ohio State, Southern Florida, and Boise State.”

“Damn.” My dad frowned. “I guess we’ll have to fly out to watch a home game, then.”

“That’d be great.” Andrew smiled.

When we finished dinner, everyone put away their plates and sat down in the living room to watch a nice family film: Pulp Fiction. We had already seen it a few times, but hey, you can’t go wrong with gunshots and Samuel Jackson. Plus, we all knew it so well that, with the exception of my mom –she wasn’t a big fan of violence, but watched anyways just to hang out with us– we could quote all the best parts from heart, so the relative quiet of the house was occasionally broken by shouts of things like “A royale with cheese!” or “Say ‘what’ again!”

After the movie, my dad walked Ralph, claiming that he needed to stretch his legs after the flight and drive, and my mom walked with him. I showered and changed into some basketball shorts and a t-shirt, but came downstairs to say goodnight to my mom and dad, whose bedroom was on the first floor.

When I went back upstairs, I saw that I had gotten a text a couple hours ago from a number I didn’t recognize. Confused, I sat down on the bed and opened the text.

Chris. It’s Sara. I need ur help.

She had always been direct. It sounded like she was in danger or something, but Sara had also always been dramatic, so I had no idea what she meant.

With what?

A little bubble came up to indicate that she was replying, but went away as quickly as it had come. Sighing, I stripped off my shirt and put my phone down, about to turn it off. Then, the bubble came back. I sat on the bed and waited to see if it would go away again, creating a contact for her while I waited.

I’ll explain tomorrow before history. Get there early.

What was I supposed to make of that?

What?

After she didn’t reply for a few minutes, I turned off my phone and got into bed. “Who does she think she is, texting some bullshit like that?” I asked no one in particular. We hadn’t been super close at Redwood –she had sort of considered me below her, but I’d made her laugh a few times– so it was weird for her to contact me out of the blue. She’d completely ignored me at school today, so that made it even weirder. What could be so important that she had to find my number and text me at night about it, only to inform me that she had to tell me in person the next day? Also, why did she feel the need to involve me in her problems? And why should I care? Oh well; I’d find out soon enough.

---