Ella's Twisted Senior Year(40)

My face feels numb. I wish I could smash the phone to pieces, erasing her post forever. I’d gladly spend all of my T-shirt money buying the whole school new phones. Of course, that’s not how the internet works.

Now everyone has seen this epically embarrassing mistake of a conversation.

My heart thunders in my chest as I read over the words I’d written weeks ago. It was after our first date and subsequently our first make out session. She’d taken off her shirt and I’d rejected her advances, mostly because it felt like the gentleman thing to do.



Kennedy: Goodnight.

Me: Look, I’m sorry if tonight felt weird. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I just think if I’m going to be with someone sexually, it should be someone I really care about, maybe even love.

Kennedy: So you don’t care about me? Wow.

Me: It’s not like that. I’m just not a fast moving guy. I’m not going to meet someone and then have sex, I just can’t.

Kennedy: Feels more like a rejection to me. Goodnight.

Me: Don’t feel rejected. We’ll get there.?



Ugh. My own words, thrown in my face. By my own admission, I wouldn’t hook up with a girl just after a few days of dating. Isn’t that exactly what’s happening now with Ella and me? No one cares that I’ve known her my whole life. They’re only going to side with Kennedy’s broken heart on this one.

I can feel everyone’s eyes on me. If this is what Ella went through, she’s a hell of a lot stronger than I am. I raise my hand and ask to get a drink of water.

Every eye in the classroom follows me as I slink out of the room as quickly as my legs will take me. Once out in the hallway, I am alone and finally able to breathe.

According to Kennedy’s page, the pictures have been shared over a hundred times now and she has dozens of comments, all slamming me and praising her for being “so strong, girl”. Ugh.

When I broke up with her it wasn’t for Ella. I didn’t leave Kennedy to hook up with another girl. I left her because she was a horrible person. So why do I feel like my heart has been squashed in a vise grip as guilt consumes me more with each passing second? Kennedy can be vicious, but she’s also really hurt from losing me. I don’t want to be the cause of anyone’s heartache, even someone like Kennedy.

I get to the water fountain and don’t feel like taking a drink. Instead, I lean against a row of lockers and take out my phone again. I guess I’m hoping to see someone comment anything that might be sticking up for me. Funny how as much as I hate the internet, here I am looking to it for consolation.

Someone calls me a * in the comments. Other people say they didn’t know jocks could have feelings when it came to sex. I guess that’s supposed to be good but it sure sounds like an insult.

Some guy commented, “I’d hit it” and Kennedy replied to him with a winky face emoji.

Uh okay.

As I’m scrolling through the comments, feeling more and more like a heartless douche (their words, not mine) with each passing second, the page refreshes with a new post from Kennedy.

This one makes my blood boil.

“Thx for the love guys. But I’m over it now. He had a pretty small thing if you know what I mean. On to better and BIGGER things! Xoxo!”

Okay, all of that shit I said earlier about not wanting to hurt her? Forget all of it. It takes all of my willpower not to comment back and tell her that my thing both A) isn’t small and B) it’s not like she ever saw it so how would she know?

But an online argument with my ex would be stupid so I swallow my pride and keep walking, hoping a loop around the school hallways might help me calm down before I have to face my second period class again.

Voices sound around the corner and I stop short, not wanting to face anyone. But then I recognize the voice—or the giggle rather. “Oh my god we’re totally gonna fail!”

I poke my head around the corner and find Ella and April sitting cross-legged in the hallway, a poster board between them and a dozen different colored markers lying around.

“Do you two ladies have a hall pass?” I ask in my deepest, most authoritative voice.

Ella’s head snaps around, and then her expression softens when she sees me. “Hey there, handsome.”

Every muscle in my body is drawn to her and I nearly forget why I’d been so pissed off.

April waves. “Listen, Ethan. Is this the worst poster you’ve ever seen or can it be salvaged?”

I pretend to consider it for a moment. They’ve made a political poster as if the WCHS Sharks mascot was running for president and the gray thing in the middle of the poster is, I guess, supposed to be a shark.

“Looks okay to me,” I say.

They both roll their eyes. “No, it looks terrible,” April says, hanging her head. “Ugh, this sucks.”

“What class is this for?” I ask. Ella pats the carpeted floor next to her and I take a seat, letting my back rest against the wall. “Economics. We’re doing a faux presidential election campaign. Other groups all chose celebrities to run for president but we picked the mascot.” Ella leans her head against my shoulder, capping her marker. “Babe, we suck at drawing.”

The pet name was quick and harmless but it sends a shiver of desire through my bones. She called me babe. I grin and reach for the gray marker.