"carson: wel i'd say were friendds"

Carson is typing...

My phone beeped, a Snapchat notification popping up on my lock screen.

As I had planned earlier at lunch, I did end up going home and accepting Carson on Snapchat. At first, I wavered slightly, remembering his popular status and how it could influence him. Then I remembered his words 'You're beautiful.' and all the hesitation washed away.

I can't help it though, no one's ever called me beautiful, aside from my parents but we all know parents lie to make you feel better. My father only called me beautiful when I was a five-year-old dressed in a Tinkerbell costume and my mother announced that I was 'Her beautiful child' when I accompanied her to a party or something. Again, I was probably only six or seven.

Carson: Hey Iris

The phone beeped again.

I didn't know whether to reply or not but I was leaning to the 'run away and hide' option. At least through my phone, he wouldn't know if I actually read the message or not and he wouldn't see me blush. That's good, right?

I let out an airy breath.

"Breathe, Iris. Breathe," I mumbled to myself, biting my bottom lip and pacing around the room with my phone in my left hand. "Answer or no answer..."

I'll just list out the pros and cons. That should give me enough time to reply because from what I've heard about it in rom-coms and books. If you reply too early, you'll sound desperate. Is that true? It's better if I assume that it is right?

Pro--

What's a pro and con again? Which one's the good one? And the bad?

"Stuff this," I murmured, biting on my lip harder and bringing my fingers to unlock the phone screen. I hadn't clicked onto the actual app yet but was in the home screen. "Hey, Carson. No. I can't repeat what he just said," I grumbled, trying to think of what to say. "Hi, Carson. No. Hi. No. Hello. No. Argh."

I sighed, pressing onto the yellow app.

Me: Hi

I typed before sending it.

A few seconds later, Carson's bitmoji popped up.

Carson: r we friends??

Out of all the questions, he could've asked me, he chose this one. I mean I don't know! He's the one who suggested we be friends in the first place. I started panicking. Since I was already in the app, he could see if I was typing or not and at the moment I wasn't. Then I would take too long and he would think I was overthinking. But I am.

I quickly typed, I think so and waited for his reply.

Carson: U think?

I nodded, before tapping my forehead lightly. I didn't want to slap myself, one, it would hurt and two, it would hurt. "Stupid Iris, he can't see you nodding."

Me: yes

Carson: wel i'd say were friendds.

He typed, clearly misspelling a few words but because he was presumably rushing.

ok, I answered before shutting my phone off. I didn't know how to say goodbye.

I don't like messaging boys. It's so nervewracking. My hands are creating a waterfall of sweat and my teeth marks are likely to be permanently etched into my lips. My heart was beating so fast, my legs actually felt like they were made of the wobbliest jelly because I couldn't stand.

Oh, God. Is it always going to be like this?

What was I talking about? This will never happen again. The prank should be over soon. After all, he only needed my reaction when he talked to me and maybe a few screenshots?

Carson: Iris?

Carson: Hello?

Carson: Anyone?

It kept vibrating but I ignored it.

"Dinner's ready!" I heard my mother shout from downstairs. "Made your favourite!"

Thank you, mother! Perfect timing. If he asks, I'll just say I had to eat dinner. It's not a lie so the guilt won't pile up and bury me alive. It's a win-win situation. I walk over to my bedside and plug my phone into the charger.

I dashed downstairs, already smelling the Lasagne from the oven. I didn't want to run to fast because when I was younger, I tripped down the stairs, fracturing my right wrist. It was the longest days--months actually-- of my life.

I was right-handed and even at that young age, I was in love with drawing so when I was told I couldn't and wasn't allowed to move my wrist for the next two months, I practically felt like I was drowning in my own tears. It was hard for me to do everything else. I had trouble eating by myself, bathing, writing; everything.

Thankfully my parents were wondrous and sympathetic people, they let me stay home for a month and a half, but not fully two months since my wrist was starting to heal and I could move a little bit more with ease so I could participate in school activities again.

It was horrible and I never intend on making that same mistake again.

"Hey, mum," I greeted her as I walked into the kitchen. I planted a soft kiss on her cheek before grabbing cutlery and napkins to set up the table after that, I settled down on the dining chair.

Mother came in and placed a white ceramic plate down in front of me, then for herself.

"Dad not coming tonight?" I asked, picking up my fork and greedily taking a huge chunk of beefy goodness into my mouth.

"Careful, it's--"

I ungraciously spat it back out onto the plate.

"--hot," she finished incredulously.

I smiled sheepishly. "Oops."

Mother shook her head, clearly used to my poor dining manners and continued eating her lasagne, only in smaller bites. "Your dad's visiting your uncle tonight. Some business to discuss."

"Right." I nodded, taking a smaller piece of lasagne and carefully taking it into my mouth. Father rarely came home late so I was okay with it. He only came home late once a month, unlike most people who never see their parents.

"His loss. He misses out on my delicious lasagne. He said he would be back by ten though. He better keeps his promise," Mother joked, using the napkin to wipe her not-even messy mouth. If we were at a restaurant, people would think I was adopted. Mother and I look different and act completely opposite. She's extremely outgoing and I, not so much.

It was a tragic love story. Not really. My parents' story was pretty cliche if you ask me.

Mother's name was well known during high school, she was dubbed, Charlotte the Cheerleader and my father, Anthony the Antisocial nerd. Poor old Charlotte didn't do very well in school and her parents requested a tutor.

This was where smart Anthony came in. Obviously, you can see how that went. But in the end, my father eventually popped the question and you could hear the wedding bells chime.

My mother barely passed her exams, so you can see why she was so hard on me now. She had half the school as her friends and although she smiled, she really hated them. They always followed her around, gossiping about her next date or boyfriend, therefore when it came to me having no friends, she wasn't as concerned as a normal mother should be.

So father was the only parent working since he actually went to university to get a degree. My mother started working as soon as she left high school but now works as a stay home mother.

"I don't think he likes your lasagne though," I said, taking in another bite.

Mother glared at me. "Why? He prefers his frog's legs and croissants?"

I paused, pretending to think about it before saying, "Yeah, pretty much."

Mother chuckled. "Him and his French ways."

I nodded in agreement, smiling.

Anthony Martin came from a rich French family, although that didn't really boost his high school popularity since no one knew about it. They owned some large company over in France, apparently, he was supposed to take over but he declined because of mother.

Charlotte Moretti was just one of the three daughters of the average Italian family. She was the youngest and the standards had been set extremely high for her so she never even bothered since she claimed all her parent's attention were situated on her very successful older sisters.

My mother had many boyfriends, while I haven't even had a friend that was a boy.

Then my mind raced to Carson.

I haven't told mother yet. Call me a good girl or whatever but I've never kept a secret from mother for this long before; like this big secret. Because I've never really had any secrets to keep. And mothers are supposed to give good advice right?

a/n: vote and comment x