Jason
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I utter as I stare at the screen on my laptop.
“What’s the problem?” Colton asks. I’m on the couch, and he’s sitting on the floor in front of me, playing video games.
I should be doing fun shit, too, rather than reading online insults from a peer in my advanced poetry class. I only took the course to be near Laurel. Speaking of the sexy librarian, why hasn’t she texted me yet?
It’s been a long-ass three days of waiting, and I know for a fact that Sabrina and Angie are moving out this weekend.
They’ve already asked me to help, and now I have to recruit Colton, too. He has a truck, and that’s the only thing he hates about owning one; everyone asks for his help with moving.
He’s not going to like it, and neither is Summer, but she’ll have to get over it. It already sucks because Laurel’s going to assume I’m still sleeping with the girls when I never plan on touching them again.
Now that I’ve gotten Laurel’s attention, I’m not screwing it up. Needing to put some pressure on her, I pick up my cell phone to send a text.
“Hey, I asked what’s wrong,” Colton says.
I glance up at the back of his head.
“Oh, nothing, man. Just an issue with homework.” I can’t tell him I’m in a fucking poetry class. It’s been hard as hell to hide, but he’d never let me hear the end of it if he knew, and then I’d have to explain why I took the course.
I’m not disclosing shit about Laurel unless something comes of it. It would suck if she rejected me and I had to tell him.
Me: Hey, chick. What’s the verdict on letting me move in?
Laurel: I’m waiting to see if you can refrain from banging my roommates at the same time on my living room floor.
Me: It won’t happen again, and I only banged one of your roommates on your living room floor. They serviced each other first.
Laurel: Thank you for planting that disgusting image in my head. It’s not the way to win me over.
Me: Sorry, just being honest. Please say yes and soon.
I wait, but she doesn’t reply. Why do I continue to say stupid shit?
Needing to get my mind off Laurel, I glare at the screen on my laptop. Two weeks ago, the professor of my poetry class matched students into pairs, and we’re required to anonymously critique each other’s poems.
My stuck-up peer said the first two poems I submitted had no depth to them. No shit. I don’t want to write poetry. Nor do I wish to share my feelings.
That shit’s for chicks, and this one better stop insulting me. I guarantee it’s a girl. I read her last email again.
To: IHopeLiteratureIsNotYourMajor,
I hope you intend to put more effort into your future poems since reading the last two was as boring as watching golf on a Sunday.
I’m not trying to be mean. I only want to see more of an effort. If you love poetry, which I assume you do since you’re in an advanced poetry class, it seems like you’d want to dig deeper.
The first two poems were just … lazy. Yes, that’s the word, which really isn’t an insult to your ability. It’s only an insult to your behavior.
I look forward to reading your next one.
Sincerely,
ElizabethBennetThe2nd
Who the hell does this bitch think she is?
To: YouMustBeAJudgmentalGIRL,
Lazy?? I haven’t been lazy a day in my life. My parents are highly successful, and they raised me to excel.
I put one hundred percent into everything I do, and I accept any challenge. Maybe I CHOSE not to dig deeper because everything in this world doesn’t have to entail expressing FEELINGS.
I can’t help but wonder if you lack the ability to see the simplicity in everyday life, which leads me to your poem about snakes.
Why couldn’t you just write about a damn snake? Instead, you had to make it all about you and imply that this snake-of-a-person ruined your life, except we don’t get to hear HOW.
You’re all ambiguous when it comes to that part. Where the hell did expressing YOUR FEELINGS go? Seems we have a case of the pot calling the kettle black here.
Oh, and Elizabeth Bennet?? Really? That’s what you want to be called? For the record, reading Pride and Prejudice is way more boring than golf. More like torturous.
Sincerely,
KeepingItReal69
I showed her.
As I stare at my phone, waiting for a reply from Laurel, my laptop dings with another email.
To: YouMustBeAPerverseGUY,
Your 69 reference wasn’t lost on me. And this is fucking poetry class, not a Dear Diary reading, hence why you don’t need to know shit more about the snake!
Sincerely,
PROUDElizabethBennetThe2nd
Well, seems I have a dirty girl on my hands. Who in my class seems naughty? Not a soul, even Laurel. There’s nothing but a bunch of romantics and nerds in there.
To: DirtyPoet,
How your mind went straight to the gutter was not lost on me. If you didn’t seem like the type who’d slap me with a sexual harassment suit, I’d gladly visit that dirty place with you.
Instead, I’ll tell you how the 69 was a reference to the 1969 Chevrolet Camaro I’d like to own one day.
Sip on that, Gutter Girl.
I slam the lid closed on my laptop, and Colton jerks his head back.
“Something sure has you pissed off today.”
“It’s a someone. I’m going for a run.”