Call Out My Name

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Alexandre

Alexandré
I practically skip down the hallway.
“What are you so happy about?” snaps Anastasia.
“You’ll never guess,” I squeal, “I‘m almost 100% sure that Timothée and I had a sort of moment, but, y’know, kinda awkwardly.”
She gets this funny look on her face, and then doubles over in laughter, “Hah! You WISH! I’ve met Tim, and Timmy’s the straightest boy you will ever meet! Let me guess what happened; in your way of hopeless romantic thinking, you touched his hand, hoping he would blush and leave his hand there, instead he jerked his hand back and looked up surprised, you took that as your cue, and said ‘I’ll see you at dinner?’ And he said, ‘Sure…’ Trailed off, looked kind of embarrassed, which you took as a sign of being...not straight. Am I right?”
Wow, she literally just explained what happened. I feel the heavy cloud of depression return to my shoulders.
“Damn you.”
“Don’t get mad at me! I’m just saying: this is what goes down pretty much every time: You like the guy, he thinks you're cool as a friend, you take that as a cue for more than just a friend, and he freaks out once he figures out what situation he walked himself into.”
“Yeah, no shit Sherlock.”
“Ohhhh, ouch! That hurt my feelings SO much.” Tears prick my eyes and my breath hitches in my throat, “Come here you big baby,” she pulls me in for a hug, “You’ll be OK. I promise, you’ll find someone who’s right for you.”
Man, I wish.

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