Watch out you don't push me any further

My phone buzzes - a new text.

Assie

Want to know why I missed the first 2 periods?

I let the tears subside and pick the phone up. Peter. Peter. Peter. He's torn out my heart and thrown it into a river, drowned it. Drowned my heart and ruined me. But still, still, I like him.

Sure

I took a deep breath as the ... came on the screen.

A surprise for you!

Show you tomorrow

I read the texts and tilt my head, confused. I was ready to send the texts to Adrian with a question mark, to see what he thought, when another text came through.

Don't tell anyone!

I read it twice, deliberating.

Not even Adrian???

As the ... flashes on the screen, I check my other text messages. I have one from Monica. Intrigued, I select her text.

Check out my Instagram story <3

I flick back to Peter.

No.

Not even Adrian

I sent back 👍 then asked for Monica's Instagram.

Awww

I'm so happy you're willing to be friends with her

I love you Assie

@monicalol

I wince at the reply, but sent off a 😊❤. Then I search for her. She's a public account, so I don't follow but click on her story.

I see a picture of her and Peter, him kissing her cheek. On it, she has text saying, "New boyfriend peeps". I cringe. Peter has bad taste. . .

A new message - from Monica. You've seen it. Don't you just love it? We're such a cute couple right 💖💖💖

I stare at the message. My throat bunches up, tying itself into a knot. The lump is big - I can't breathe. I slowly keel over, my face purple.

Haha. So cute. I type back. She reads it, but doesn't respond. Good. Maybe I've irritated her and she'll never text me again.

Maybe.

--

At school the next day Peter keeps glancing at me. Monica clings to him, her arm forever entangled with his. She doesn't let go of him until lessons, and she sends me a fierce glare as she parts us.

During Maths Peter inches closer to me. He scrawls on my notebook, Meet me at lunch?

I smile. Maybe he's ditching Monica for me.

Lunchtime can't come quick enough. I step out of the classroom and two hands clamp over my eyes. "Hey!" I squeal, and Peter's voice responds with a "Shh!".

He leads me, not letting go of me until we have turned about seventeen corners. I have no clue where I am. His hands are firm and I can't help thinking what Monica would think if she knew that Peter was walking me around the school, his palms pressed over my eyes.

The thought makes me laugh, but Peter once again shushes me.

And then he releases his hands.