15 | It's Not Weird to Say I Love You
I could tell from his expression that he wasn’t just flirting. He really wanted to know.
It’s Not Weird to Say I Love You is the story of a fragile new friendship determined to grow stronger in spite of the bullies and beliefs bent on its destruction. A tender, awkward, and at times heart-wrenching tale of first love, buried grief, and found family reminiscent of Eleanor & Park and The Perks of Being a Wallflower, It’s Not Weird… offers an emotional escape from our tech-centered lives to a time when DMs were sent as hand-written notes, scrawled onto napkins and slid into locker vents. When talking outside of school meant talking on the telephone and hoping no one in your house “picked up” and embarrassed you. When trolls had names and faces and sat beside you in home room. When making a connection required the courage to show up, speak up, and open up… just as you are.
New chapters of Annie and Merrick’s story will post every Wednesday morning.
Dive in anytime or join the journey from page one.
Chapter Fifteen
We spent the next two hours talking and laughing and pretending that our friendship was firmly grounded on the side of “not weird”, when the reality was, it had been creeping stealthily into “weird” territory for a while. But neither of us wanted to bring it up. Maybe because we didn’t want to talk ourselves out of having so much fun with each other. And when things became a little too flirtatious and our proximity a little too … proximal, I found the perfect way to cool things down.
“So, Danielle said she talked to Drake this weekend.”
He shifted his body so he was more upright and less leaning toward me. He crossed his arms and cleared his throat. Twice.
“And?” he said finally.
“And she thinks he’s going to stop giving you a hard time.”
He chuckled and shook his head.
“You don’t believe her?” I asked.
“Drake’s been on my case since fourth grade,” he said. “I just don’t know what Danielle could have said to make him want to give up his favorite pastime.”
“She said she’d stop kissing him if he didn’t back off.”
“Ugh,” he groaned. “The fact that someone like Drake gets to be kissed by anyone, ever, is so unfair.”
He was right. Merrick deserved to be kissed way more than Drake did. Way more.
“We’ll see how it goes, I guess.” He shrugged. “Maybe he’ll stop. Maybe he won’t. I’m not sure I even care. Because Drake’s not the only thing I have waiting for me at school anymore.”
My stomach danced as he wriggled back into his previous position. Relaxed. Open. And near. “I’m sick of talking about me all the time,” he said. “Let’s talk about you for a change.”
“Okay. What do you want to talk about?”
He looked me in the eye and smiled. “What do you like? … What do you want? … What makes you happy?”
A sudden warmth filled my chest. Like the tug I felt the night I wanted to hold his hand so badly. Only this was stronger. And deeper.
I blushed. I could tell from his expression that he wasn’t just flirting. He really wanted to know.
I could have answered all three of his questions with one word.
You.
His gaze drifted to my mouth, and the warmth in my chest turned to a steady drumming. I glanced between his lips and his eyes, trying to read them but coming up empty. I felt my body tilt forward unwittingly. Our faces drifted closer, until I could feel his breath on my cheek. Then his voice.
“If we kiss … we won’t be ‘just friends’ anymore,” he said quietly.
“I know,” I said. It wasn’t a reason not to kiss him. Not for me. “I don’t care.”
His eyes dropped and he leaned away. “I do,” he said.
“What do you mean?” I asked, a little impatiently.
“I’m not ready for us to be … together like that.” He stared at his hands, wringing them anxiously in his lap. “There’s more hurt on that side of things,” he said. “And I don’t want to have that with you.”
“Who says we have to hurt each other?” I managed over the lump growing in my throat.
“It’s just what happens,” he said sadly. “We’ll have more things to fight about and more things to feel sensitive about. And just … more hurt.” The longer he wouldn’t look at me, the more my eyes burned in frustration. “What I really need right now,” he said, “is a friend. I need you. To be my friend, Annie.”
I turned my head away to hide the tears threatening to roll down my cheeks.
“This is what I mean,” he said. “I’m hurting you. Already. And we haven't even crossed the line.”
I wiped my tears away, angrily. “I thought we were supposed to do what felt right. For us,” I said, throwing his own words back in his face. “This feels right to me.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “And it feels like … what I want, too. But it’s still not right. I’m too scared of what will happen to us.”
I finally looked him in the face, so he could see what he was doing to me. His mouth tightened and he turned away, guiltily. “I can leave if you want me to,” he said.
“It sounds like you want to. So maybe you should.”
“I don’t want to leave,” he said. “But I don’t know what else to do.”
I wanted to smack him. There was plenty else he could do. He just didn’t want to do it.
I stood up and started for the door. “I’ll let my dad know you want to go home. He’ll drive you.”
“That’s okay,” he said, getting up from the floor shakily. “I’ll walk.”
“It’s too far to walk,” I said gruffly. “My dad can take you.”
“No. I need to walk,” he said. He crossed to the doorway where I was standing. My eyes were on the floor. He stopped beside me and waited. For what? I don’t know. For me to look up. Or put my arms out to hug him. Or just to say goodbye. But I didn’t do any of that. “Are we still friends?” His voice broke and I knew he was crying. It made me want to look up, but I forced my eyes to stay down.
“Yes,” I said flatly. “We’re still friends.”
He sobbed once and put his hands over his face to stifle the next wave. He stayed there, next to me, until his breathing steadied and he was calm enough to go downstairs and say goodbye to my family. I watched him walk out the front door and then I hurried across the hall the bathroom.
I stood at the sink and splashed water over my face. I looked in the mirror and burst into tears. I was so ashamed. And so embarrassed. And just disgusted by how I looked. I’d let myself forget because he let me forget. That I was ugly. Because I was. And he would never want to kiss me as long as I looked the way I did. He couldn’t get passed it.
I opened the bottle of peppermint soap and poured the entire thing down the drain, breathing through my mouth so I wouldn’t have to smell his fragrance. I tossed the bottle in the trash and turned on the shower. I got in and rubbed the toxic medicine I hated so much into every pore of my face, scrubbing until I felt the skin break and sting under the salt from my tears.
I dried off and smeared the rest of the poison over my raw flesh, wincing as it burned.
I got in my pajamas and crawled into bed. When my mother came in later, I pretended to be asleep.
And I pretended to be asleep for the rest of the day and night. And I pretended I was fine with how I left things with Merrick. And I pretended that he was right about everything. And I pretended I didn’t really want him to kiss me. I didn’t. Not anymore.
Because I didn’t want us to hurt each other. Which meant we would only ever be ‘just friends’.
And I would pretend that was enough for me.
I WROTE ANOTHER YA NOVEL AND IT DEBUTS THIS FALL!!!
⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️
NOOOOO THE FRIEND ZONE! 😭 It's like looking into a time machine. 🥲
And I pre-ordered you book! Love to you.