I make sure to take Chanyeol’s number after we finish our cafeteria lunch so that when he pulls stunts like the one he did just today, at least I’ll be able to call him and ring him about it, find out where he is and if he’s acting like the stupid moron that he really is. Of course, when I do secretly ask him about his number, he teases the out of me. He keeps shooting me looks with wiggling eyebrows, as if I promised to send him nudes instead of angry text messages wondering why we’re not working on our project. 

And of course he teases me about how shy I was when asking him, too. I never asked anyone for their numbers before. I’m certain I only have seven people’s cell phones numbers saved in my device, and that includes my mother’s number and my cheater father’s number, too. But this wasn’t even the actual problem! The asking part happened to be the easier part when the messages began arriving on my phone. 

For the next three days or so, he kept pampering me with text messages and missed calls, especially when he knows one hundred percent that I’m not going to answer them. Some of these text messages were about stupid questions and random notices about things that I’m not even interested in. For example:

“Wow I was walking home and I saw these bunch of daisies growing nearby and I gotta say, they’re beautiful. Reminds me of you, babygirl :’)”

“Did you know that the nearest way to a man’s heart is not actually through food, but to be his mother? Man, men are so attached to their own mothers it’s sometimes embarrassing. Baekhyun once cried because a man hit on his mom and thought she’d concede.”

“Hey, babygirl, I know you’re the smartest chick in this entire school and you’re the most beautiful, glamorous, gorgeous person I’ve ever seen in my life. Your harsh words and your strong personality pierce my heart so badly it’s bleeding. You’re so attractive, babygirl, so can I have answers for our math quiz? I’ll send you the paperwork.”

“BABYGIIIIIRRRRRRLLLLLLLLLL THIS PARTY SOOOOCKKS.”

“MEAN ROCKKS!!!!!?????!?”

Oh god. So many unnecessary messages. They were especially the worst when he sends them when he was drunk. I didn’t even know we were allowed to have alcohol in our age and I kept wondering how much trouble he’d be in if an authority figure knew about this. 

I ignore most of his messages but it only encourages him to send more, which is strange because how thick is his skin? I’m pretty sure that I wouldn’t bother people like this, especially when we’re not close, but even if I did, I’d at least have the decency to stop once I’m ignored. Perhaps Chanyeol doesn’t understand the concept of ignorance and rejection. 

I swipe on another text message from him while I sit on my bed, wearing my pajamas, and then go ahead to send him the first text message (aside the first one I send him to confirm it’s in fact me that he’s texting) to ask him about, of course, school work.

“Chanyeol, we need to meet up for our project.”

I wait for his text message and cross my legs. For a while, he doesn’t respond, which is weird because he literally just sent me a message. I still wait, and watching my old Samsung phone with squinted eyes and annoyance written all over my face. Thankfully, he answers after a few more minutes cheekily. 

“Ooh babygirl, you wanna meet with your favorite boy, don’t ya?”

I roll my eyes so hard they might as well stay stuck at the back of my head. I punch a new text so harshly I might as well break my damn phone. “Don’t be a . We have a project to work on and we have at least ten days to finish it and we’re still not past the introduction!”

His text comes immediately and I can practically hear his gasp. “A ? A ? Me? Aw Yuji-yah, you just hurt my massive man pride!”

“Chanyeol-ah,” I type first, just to catch his attention. “Do you know that my favorite weapon in cases of emergency is a sharp butcher knife? I hide it in my big red backpack and use it to stab large s who think they're funny!" 

Chanyeol doesn’t reply for a long while even though I see the green seen glowing under my text message. I break into a small yet dramatic sigh and then open up the bar for a new text.

"Too far?"

This time his text comes instantly, like he has been waiting for my admission. “Damn, you got a big heart, babygirl. Can I see your knife?”

“Chanyeeeeeooooool-“ I make sure to type out long e’s and o’s so he’d understand I’m practically whining for him. As if hearing my actual voice exiting my lips, Chanyeol responds in the only way I know he’s capable of responding in: flirting.

“Good God, babygirl, can you whine my name one more time.”

“I really have a big knife in my bag, Chanyeol-ah.” I type. I feel like these text messages between us are playful and loose, which is not something I’d typically feel. Subconsciously, I smile, my lips curling sideways and revealing the two wells in between. Chanyeol’s a lot of adjectives but the most prominent qualities that he posses are playfulness and stupidity. I’m supposed to be repelled by such tactics but I’m oddly not. They actually make him look fonder, attractive in a sense; and I’m actually willing to admit of that right now. 

He sends a lot of laughter emojis, and my eyes go crossed when I try to count them. Next, he gives his consent. 

“Okay, alright, I’ll stop. Do you know the big library in the central town?”

“You mean Liberty library?” That’s the only library I know that’s big and resides in the center of this remote town. Chanyeol’s new text messages sends a bing! through my phone.

“Yeah. I’ll be there forty minutes from now, so go get your out of your bed and catch me there.”

“I’m not sitting on my bed.” I type furiously, just for the case of denial, even though I am sitting on my bed. 

“Yeah right, babygirl,” I can practically sense him shooting me an unamused look. “I know you’re on your bed right now.”

“Are you a stalker?” I do a whole act of standing up from my bed and rushing to my window, my squinted, furrowed eyes looking down at every corner outside my house, checking for any sign of a long guy watching me. “Are you actually standing in front of my window or something?”

“Nope,” I wonder if he knows that I’m getting all stupidly flustered and suspicious of the possibility that he, indeed, is spying on me. “Besides my incredible good looks I’m actually intelligent too and could tell your position from the sound of your voice!”

“You’re so stupid sometimes, and we’re texting.”

“Hey, no badmouthing generous people like moi. You coming to the library or not? I’ll bring snacks.”

“You’re not allowed to bring in food in the library.”

He doesn’t send back anything after that statement of mine, which I already know he knows as well. I realize almost immediately that I’ve been ignored, the same way I’ve ignored him, and in a slip of slight anger and annoyance at being treated this way, I shoot an onslaught of text messages to him demanding I be replied to, but I only receive the stupid green seen in my lock screen. I sigh, drop myself on my bed with a huff, and stare at my ceiling with narrowed eyes.

.

Weirdly, there’s a ringing pulse in my ears, and I realize with a startle that it’s the beating of my heart. It’s so harshly inducing that it echoes like reoccurring melody in the shells of my ears, my skull reverberating a similar response, almost like it’s reacting to the beat of my heart. I don’t know why I feel so flustered all of a sudden, but I know it has something to do with Park Chanyeol. I haven’t realized before that we became so close already, but the texts we just exchanged tell me with an ugly red mark on my forehead that we are, indeed, past the colleague standards, and that we’re considered friends now.

It feels slightly jarring to be friends with anyone. I’m so awkwardly cold that I never had friends, not even in middle school when I’ve just began to cherish the concept. Friendship has always been an odd concept to digest, considering my personality, but I guess being friends with someone is not that hard. Or maybe it’s just Chanyeol; he makes things so easy to swallow.

I find my lips twitch again, and an emotion of ease explode out of me. I feel that I’m not minding that at all. 

-

I put on a jean skirt that its blue is so faded it’s a little bit embarrassing, but I like to wear it so much — thus the fadedness — that I can’t say no to it. It stands just above my knees and I put on black sport shorts under it in cases of accidents that always go after skirts. I paired it with a flowery white blouse that actually has less flower pattern on it than it’s needed, thank God. I put on minimal makeup to cover all those insecurities and raise my hair in a nice updo. I haven’t been outside my home for reasons besides work that I had forgotten which shoes comfortable enough to wear, so I just settle with my tattered white sneakers that I use for work. They’re the most comfortable between my two other pairs. 

I gather my old laptop and shove it inside my backpack, next to all those large preference books that I have there just in cases of emergencies.