Hands shaky, I pick up my phone, my enemy and my friend. I type the simple phrase “Hey what’s up?” in the text box. I hit the send button on my Blackberry and wait to make sure that the message has been fully sent before I set my phone back down on my white antique bedside table. I turn on my T.V to divert myself from my phone. A million thoughts race through my mind like racecars in high gear. What if he’s ignoring me? It’s been five minutes and thirty-two seconds and he still hasn’t texted me back. What is he doing right now? Is he so busy that he doesn’t have time to answer me back? Great, now I feel like an annoyance. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to text him. He probably doesn’t even want to talk to me. I mean, if he wanted to talk to me he would have texted me first, right? God, I hate him. I hate how he makes me feel so vulnerable. I hate how I feel like our relationship is one big game. The unwritten rules of the game were simple: whoever acted like they cared less about the other person won.

Okay. Breathe. Steady breaths in and out. In and out, in and out. Be calm. Focus on something else. How about…homework! Come to think of it I do have some unfinished Advanced Math homework that I kept putting off. I dig out my ancient Advanced Math textbook that probably looks like it was last used during the 18th century and turn to page 332. Now where did I leave off? Problem number twelve: “What is the identity of”- was that a beep? I quickly turn around and check my phone. False alarm. The text message alert light isn’t blinking which means I have no new messages. The unblinking light on my phone reminds me of my lonely and pathetic life. I give my phone an evil glare. It is my enemy right now.

Fifteen minutes and fifty-two seconds have gone by and still no response. My silent phone makes me hate him even more. Why do I care about him so much? I wish I didn’t. He’s just a stupid boy. In school they teach us that men aren’t worth stressing over; there will be plenty of time for them after high school. The purpose of an all-girls school is, after all, to form us into independent women. I wish I could be like that, someone who didn’t rely on a guy to make her happy. I seem to fail every time I try. I just hate how I let him get to me. I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him.

‘Beeeep!” a sound that resembles my phone chimes out. I don’t dare to look, but I turn and check my phone anyway. Curiosity has overpowered me once again. I turn around cautiously, and from the corner of my eye, catch a red light blinking; the sign of a text message. My phone has finally decided to be my friend. My heart jumps into my throat as I reach for my phone. I scroll to the message icon and click on it. Relief washes over me when I see that the message is from him. “Nothin much babe. What about you?” is his reply. Happy thoughts of him swarm into my head. He is a great guy; after all he took time out of his busy life to return my text, so maybe this means I am important to him. How could I have ever doubted him? He was going to text me back the whole time, I was just being impatient. See, he really does care about me. He could have texted anyone but he chose to text me. Guilt sweeps through my body and I start to feel like a bad person for all of my previous evil thoughts about him.

A smile slowly starts to spread across my face as I text back my unhealthy obsession.