Page 65 of Quarantine Crush
“Fuck.”
I’m silent as the full weight of the situation hits me.
Christian’s quiet now too.
“Say something,” I finally croak.
“When you fuck up, you fuck up big.”
“Nice. Really helpful stuff, Christian.” I drop my face into my hand. “What am I going to do?” I ask. Because somewhere along the way, he became the expert. The voice of reason. My love guru. And I can’t even be embarrassed by it because that’s what this is.
Love.
I can’t lose her.
“There’s only one thing you can do.”
“What is it? I’ll do anything.”
“You’ve gotta humiliate yourself. And you’ve gotta do it bigger than she ever did.”
A couple of minutes later, I hang up with Christian and lean back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling.
For once, the little shit is right. If I’m going to win Emy back, I need to go bigger than big. Because this isn’t just about our friendship anymore. She’s right. We can’t go back to what we had, and the truth is, I don’t want to. I want her. All of her. And I’m not giving up until I make her mine. Still, trying to decide how to next-level embarrass myself is the weirdest brainstorming session ever.
The dads are no help either.
When I finally speak to them a couple of hours later, my dad suggests streaking naked, and I start to wonder if maybe Christian is on to something with the whole high thing–not to mention I’m pretty sure that’ll get me arrested. Police are already patrolling the streets to make sure no one makes any non-essential trips anywhere. Running around naked would surely land me in jail, and that’s counterproductive to my goal.
My mother thinks I should rent a billboard and write her a love note. Joe suggested I buy a boombox and stand outside her window wearing a trench coat and blaring the Breakfast Club soundtrack.
It’s official. Our parents are hopeless romantics and also way too outdated in their wooing strategies. The fact that the dads even call it “wooing” is proof enough of that.
I can’t stop thinking about the shoot your shot challenge and how I totally shot her down that night. I even join the app itself to make sure she never actually posted it.
I hope not.
There are a few posts of her doing some weird-ass hip hop dances but nothing of our kiss.
I sigh in relief.
After another hour of poking around the app, I’ve watched way too many promposals, still, nothing feels right. I toss my phone aside and try to ignore the Lizzo song that’s blaring in Emy’s room. She’s had the album playing on repeat all afternoon. If she’s trying to make a point, it’s working.
I glance over, and my eyes catch on the guitar propped against the end of the couch, and an idea forms. It’s a risk, and I’m not even sure I can pull it off, but I have to try.
Relieved to have a direction, I grab my phone again and use it to search for the people who can help make this happen. I have no idea if I’ll find what I need, but Christian’s right. I have to make a grand gesture, and these days, there’s no grander place than the internet.
20
Embry
Two days later, I’m cursing myself for ever agreeing to drop off Knox. As far as I’m concerned, we’ve already said our goodbyes, except the possibility of getting a hug from my dad is too much to pass up. Especially right now.
As much as I hate to admit it, I kind of expected Knox to put up more of a fight. However, for the last three days, he’s kept to himself and given me my space. He accepted our friendship breakup like it was no big loss. And he’s sat around, watching me grieve it without a shred of sympathy. I’m kind of starting to hate him for that.
I pull the hem of my sweater dress down and take one last glance in the mirror, making sure that no signs of the sorrow weighing down my heart show on my face. When I’m satisfied, I slip from my room in search of Knox.
“Knox, it’s time,” I call as I make my way down the hall. It’s getting late, and the drive to the lake isn’t a short one. But I can’t wait until morning. The sooner he’s gone, the better. Besides, our fourteen-day quarantine officially ended twenty minutes ago. “Are you ready?”
