The Cold Hard Truth
by Tricia S.
Oh my God. He’s dumping me.
“You don’t think deeply about things,” I hear him say. My body temperature plummets.
Wait. Did he just call me shallow?
I watch Derek’s gorgeous mouth form the horrible words. “You’re simple, Reese. Uncomplicated.” Yes, he did just call me shallow. Three times. “It’s like you have an unexamined mind.” Okay, four times. And did he just misquote Socrates to me? “And you’re not a good listener.”
Oh. My. God. This is beyond terrible. Didn’t anyone teach him the “it’s not you, it’s me” break-up speech?
I tune back in to hear him say, “I hope we can still be friends.” His lips finally stop moving. Soft, full lips I’ll never kiss again. Air. I need air. I clutch at the pendent pressing against my throat. The thin gold chain snaps free.
What should I say? Screw you, you pompous ass. Just because you got into Princeton, you think you can insult and dump me? Or how about, Shallow? You’re calling me shallow, you water polo playing bobble-head? Or maybe, Friends? With simple, uncomplicated me? Wow, how big of you. Dickface. Of course, I say none of these things. I nod and say, “Uh, sure. Great.”
Truth is, I’m afraid he might be right.
I stand up tall, take Derek’s hand, and press the broken necklace into his palm.
“Keep it,” he says.
I curl his fingers around the cool metal. “No. Thank you.”
And for once, I mean what I say.
(Tricia likes: books, ChapStick, and The Black Eyed Peas; dislikes: soft mattresses, wet hair, and wind chimes; and can take or leave: ice cream, hot tubs, and convertible cars.)