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Nuns and ABBA Tunes
I plopped onto the chair in front of the computer desk, frustrated. He was so...so...
Even in my disappointment-induced fury, I couldn't think of an appropriate word to describe how...how...clueless he was.
I almost allowed my forehead to meet my desk. I couldn't even call him clueless without entirely meaning it.
Logging online, I testily typed out a message to one of my closest friends. She would somehow make this seem all better. Really. She would.
To: Jonelle Peters
From: Vanessa di Luca
I don't know if I can't deal with him anymore. Honestly. He's so...so...I can't DO this anymore, Jonelle. Some days, everything's okay—we joke around, we flirt, we do everything that we would be expected to, everything that would cause people to ask the question, “Why aren't they together already?”, and other days he's just so...so...
ARG. He acts like he barely knows me, he practically ignores me...I know that, yeah, most of the time he acts like a man on a mission, but can't he stop to say “hi”?!
Bajeezus. I don't want to deal with this anymore. I'm becoming a nun.
(Are nuns allowed to listen to ABBA tunes?)
Jonelle's response was prompt, like it always seemed to be when I was going through something like this. I could count on her.
To: Vanessa di Luca
From: Jonelle Peters
Subject: Re: ARG.
I know. It hurts. Boys can never seem to make up their minds, can they? But don't become a nun. It will all work out. I know it will. You just have to have faith that it will all work out. Trust me. It's going to be hard, maybe even harder than this. But there is a bright side to this.
(And no. I don't think that nuns are allowed to listen to ABBA tunes.)
I inhaled deeply, typing a quick thank you and logging off. That was what I had needed. The reassurance that everything was going to be alright.
I needed that too often nowadays.
I saw him two days later, at a youth gathering. There was that initial glance, and then no hesitation as he walked over to me. “Hey, Nessa.”
I couldn't help but smile. The grin he had plastered on his face was at least one hundred watts. “Hey, Greg. You excited?” Tonight was paintball night. He and the rest of the guys had been looking forward to it for weeks. He nodded quickly, head bobbing up and down at least four times. I couldn't get an exact number. The sudden, quick movement was disorienting.
“Totally. Gonna get out there. Snipe some girls. Ultimately win.” His grin turned borderline cheeky, self-assurance radiating from you. I raised an eyebrow, slightly taken aback by this sudden confidence. On top of his initial, completely natural confidence.
“Oh really? Really? I'll bet, Mr. McGuire, I can get you out before you even get a shot off.”
He appeared to choke on his confidence. Either that, or some of the water he had been swallowing went down the wrong tube. “Really?” he sputtered, managing to smile amidst the coughing and eyes wide at the comment. “And what makes you so sure?”
“Just a notion,” I replied playfully, rather enjoying the way he became suddenly guarded. He cleared his throat, straightening up slightly.
“Well, Peters...if that's how you want to play...” He put on his helmet and started to back away. “I'll be watching you.”
I smirked at his retreating back. Maybe I wasn't ready to give up my ABBA tunes just yet. This was worth it.