Page 4 of Burn Bright
Flush tries to reach my cheeks.
Especially as he adds, “But you are my friend.”
Right.I wonder how many times he’s used this line on girls.
I glance over at him. “And we have a lengthy text thread to prove it.”
Ben pulls out his phone at this. The last encounter I had with him, we exchanged numbers, but we never texted, never called, never did anything other than exist in each other’s cellphones. I considered sending him a casual message about a cool grunge band I like, but I figured he has a thousand randoms spamming him with memes and invites, and he didn’t need one more.
To sum it up, I would be absolutelydelusionalto consider a Cobalt a real friendoff a five-minute interaction at Penn.
His thumbs fly over the screen.
My phone suddenly buzzes on a clip at my hip, resembling an old school pager. I see his text.
Ben
I like what you did with your hair.
I let my buttery-blonde bangs grow out a little this summer, and they touch my eyelashes as I stare at his message. I remove my phone from my hip and text back.
Harriet
Thanks, Friend.
He’s fast.
Ben
I knew we’d get there again.
He’s slipping me coy glances, and I chew on the inside of my cheek to keep this strange feeling at bay.
Harriet
Were we ever here before?
I anticipate his response more than I should. I watch his fingers dance across his phone with precision. There is no hitting the delete button. He’s not overcomplicating his response. He just pressessend.
I look.
Ben
Yeah. We have been here before. This isn’t the first time you’ve called me Friend.
Harriet
That’s right. It was your birthday.
Ben
Happy you could remember.
His side glance at me steals my breath, and I have to look at the tiny hole patched in my checkered pants.
It was March. His birthday. That was our last encounter. He ran into me in a science lab at Penn. This isn’t the first time Ben has been in the right spot, the right time, and helped me.
I don’t respond, and my phone vibrates in my palm.
