Flashbacks of my cheating ex broke me out of my senior project procrastination slump. I sat on top of the bleachers, sketchbook balanced on my lap, brainstorming an hour before practice. The boring stuff came first. Assembling a design proposal, complete with sketches, color schemes, dimensions, and an explanation of the artwork's intent, proved tough since my rage resisted expulsion onto the page. Each aimless flick matched the pounding behind my eyes. I cataloged every motion; how my fingers gripped the charcoal pencil, how my wrist adjusted with each sweep, and my cleats clacking on the bench below.

My phone buzzed in the background like an annoying bee that refused—to—quit. Carter spammed me with messages, calls and voicemails for five-days-straight. He only stayed because his line-by-line denial made my cringe behavior at the lake party almost worth it. He cheated, and I thought playing beer pong against him and his partner in crime was a goodidea? And that corporate styled breakup text? What was I thinking?

Each vibration made me sweep faster, so the charcoal created a smoky haze against the page. The dust fanned out like dragon fire, consuming everything in its path. That was it. Carter needed to be reduced to unrecognizable ash. That meant blocking him. And incinerating all his stuff left at my house with a blowtorch.

A tap on my shin pad snapped me out of my revenge fantasy.

Carter settled sideways on the bench below, nudging a pink Flamingos' coffee cup my way like nothing had changed between us. Note to self: ghosting didn't work when the ghosted had unfinished business with you (and when said ghostee shared your location.) How was this thoughtful guy, the same person who asked me what my love language was right after he kissed someone else?

He swept his shaggy hair from his face. "I know talking about feelings isn't your 'forte' but breaking up over text? And pulling a disappearing act? Really, Kate? That's a little much. Even for you."

"Exes do that," I said, voice calm.

"Can you look at me? Please?" He touched my knee, earnest gray eyes searching mine. "Tell me what's wrong. Did I say something? Do something? Maybe if we talk about it—whatever it is—we can work through it. Don't shut me out. Please."

I tucked my knee under my chin, away from his touch. Rosie had given the exact opposite advice. 'So, I guess what I'm saying is, don't be like me. Don't show him how much you care.' Yeah, well, easier said than done. He wanted to keep me in the dark? To spin a web of lies that made him look like a saint with an evil ex who ghosted him for no reason? Fine. I'd play the part to a tee. I'd kick him into the deepest pits of Tartarus. My revenge was simple: no closure. He'd never, ever know the true reason behind our break up.

"I don't see you in that way anymore," I said, poker-faced.

"Because of Rosie, right?" He clutched a fistful of his shirt, oblivious to my double-take. What did she have to do with us? "You tried to keep it on the down low to spare my feelings, but it was so obvious at the lake party. You couldn't keep your eyes off each other."

"What are you accusing me of?" I asked, holding back a scoff at the irony.

"You've been pulling away for weeks. I figured your social batteries ran low, and you'd resurface when you recharged. It clicked when I saw you together. You're not a 'touchy-feely' person with me, but you cuddled up with her like it was the most natural thing in the world?"

"That was out of context—"

"—I don't blame you. I always knew you'd meet someone better than me. I'm jinxed that way. Mom drowned her maternal instincts in a sea of narcotics. Dad got the hell out of dodge the second he put Mom's casket in the ground. He's remarried. Has a two-year-old kid. Penelope. Penny for short. He wants to 'reconnect.' Yeah, right. I've learned my lesson after seven foster homes in three years. There's something about me that makes people leave. I'm surprised Amrita hasn't kicked me to the curb yet."

"Well, that's..." Uncomfortably emotionally charged. "Would it be too on the nose if I left right now?"

He let out a forced laugh. "Listen first. I don't want you thinking that just because you don't see me as 'boyfriend material' that it'd be too awkward for us to be friends."

"Even though I 'cheated' on you?" I asked, confused.

"I want to be friends with the girl who broke up with me when she realized she caught feelings for someone else. Some people aren't that, uh, in tune with themselves."

"You have low friendship standards, Carter."

"Look, I'm not the type of guy who gets the girl, okay? I knew that the moment I asked you out. I want you in my life in whatever way you'll have me, even if that means seeing you date someone else. How about a trial friendship?"

"Recreating how you asked me out feels like a plot straight out of 50 First Dates," I pointed out, before muttering too low for him to hear, "Except I wish I could forget."

"I swear this isn't a romcom move to win you back. It only took a month to build your tolerance for me for you to agree to go out with me, right? We just need to build our way up to seeing each other as friends without old feelings getting in the way. Hmm. What's the most 'friend-zone-worthy' thing you can do with your ex?" He snapped his fingers. "I know! A double date? Let's get the beer pong squad back in action? What do you say?"

He'd the audacity to bring Hazel, of all people? Was I supposed to tell him I hadn't moved on? That I planned to stay single for the foreseeable future because he'd blindsided me? He didn't deserve the satisfaction.

"One trial run," I agreed.

He stood up, chest puffed-out. "I'm glad we're giving the whole 'friends' thing a try. I need you in my life, Kate."

He went for a hug, then withdrew, arms limp by his side. At least he remembered I didn't like hugs, even if he forgot to stay faithful.

Rosie's words echoed in my mind as Carter retreated down the bleacher's steps off the field. 'Look, the one thing I learned is you can't pretend you don't care until you break up, and even then, it's hard.'

Chances were, she never imagined this messed-up scenario. What was wrong with me? Why didn't I say no? How was I going to convince Rosie to not only go on a fake date with me, but with both of our cheating exes?

The tip of my pencil snapped against the page. I wiped a piece of charcoal away, hesitating at the smudged rounded shapes and sweeping curled arcs, eyes that belonged to... Oh. Memories hit me all at once. Rosie had looked pretty under the moonlight, I mean, pretty warm, so warm in fact, that I'd drunkenly huddled into her like a total weirdo. I whipped the sketchbook shut. Drunk me was a mess. She bore zero reflection on sober me. They were two separate people who couldn't be held accountable for the other's actions.

I'd be a senior citizen before finishing my senior project at this rate.