I pulled my hair out of my high ponytail as I whizzed through the campus courtyard, dodging rose bushes and sweet-smelling garden beds and students lounging on the grass. I'd woken up painfully early to get to the gym before it was swarmed by meatheads and CrossFit bros, and my head was pounding from a mixture of exhaustion and misplaced adrenaline after a battle with the treadmill that I was nowhere close to being prepared for.

As much as I would have loved a lazy Saturday morning lie-in, I was already slipping on rule one of my college resolutions—work out at least twice a week—and I couldn't afford to fall into bad habits so early on. Especially since my ability to stick to rule three was very much up for debate.

My thumbs raced over the screen, the keyboard a blur as I complied with Ivy's requests for an update on our project after the Art Club's mixer. I'd suggested that we meet up in person to discuss it, but I was quickly getting the impression that Ivy was the kind of person who didn't show up for anything unless she absolutely had to. If her habitual lateness to Devi's lectures was any indication, then Intro to Argumentation wasn't one of her priorities. She was a final year student, after all, one who'd only taken the class in order to satisfy her course load requirements. She definitely thought herself above the lessons being taught to us first years—us Jaffys. She regarded herself above us full stop.

So I wasn't surprised when she revealed to me that she hadn't even started the assignment yet. She'd said that leaving things until the last minute worked best for her, then laughed when I'd replied that the idea of putting off a project worth fifty percent of our final grade gave me heartburn.

First years, she'd muttered.

At least she hadn't called me Jaffy. It wasn't much, but it was progress.

I entered my building and was about to tuck my phone into my purse when the screen lit with an incoming call. A familiar ringtone pricked my pulse, a vile concoction of curse words flashing through my mind as realization flared.

Just as I'd presumed, a photo of my mother lit up the screen, dressed head-to-toe in her signature shade of hot pink. The image twisted the knot of dread that had quickly formed in the pit of my stomach, the only way to get rid of it being to either accept or reject the incoming call. I'd already done the latter three times in the past twenty-four hours alone.

I said a quick prayer—and another curse word—before pressing the green button. "Hey, mo—"

"Did you see my Facebook post yesterday?"

Oh. So it was going to be one of those calls.

"No." I gritted my teeth, painting my lips in a phony smile as though she could see it through the phone. "I haven't been online. I was studying all day yesterday—"

"The sweetest little memory came up! Of you and Eli, that time he came with us to the snow..."

My eyes rolled into the back of my skull, and I pulled my phone from my face to spare myself the pain of hearing whatever story she'd called to remind me of that time. It wasn't that my mother meant to be an awful, insensitive control freak. She was just super overbearing, and she really, truly believed that she knew what was best for me. Sticking with Eli, she thought, was what was best for me.

"It's nice to hear from you," I said as soon as she paused to breathe. "I have to go. I'm on my way back from the gym—"

"Remember to work hard, Madison," my mother nagged. As though I hadn't just told her I'd been studying non-stop the day prior. "No work and all play won't get you a graduate job."

My body nearly convulsed, and I drew the deepest of breaths to stop myself from biting her head off. "Goodbye, mother."

I practically assaulted the hang-up button before shoving my phone into my pocket, shaking my head as if that would help the memory of the call to fall from my mind. As if it could also rid me of the memories my mother's words had triggered of Eli and I, about how perfect he was and how sweet we used to be. About the life we'd planned together before I'd left it all behind—

A hand snaked around my wrist.

Someone tugged me from the bustle of the corridor.

Panic flared over my vision in bursts of red as I was encased in the heavy silence of a strange, unfamiliar room.

If there was any time that I was grateful for those self-defense classes I'd taken in high school, it was then.

I turned to land a punch right in my would-be assaulter's nose, resulting in a high-pitched shriek tumbling from their parted mouth. After taking a second to consider them more closely, I felt my heart steady inside of my panicked chest.

"Dex!" I bent over to catch my breath, dropping my balled fist to my side. "Holy shit! Don't ever grab a girl like that. I almost turned your nose into ground beef."

A low, male chuckle startled me from the corner of the room. Leaning back on his bedhead, a glossy textbook sprawled out in front of him, James regarded me with amusement. His hair was tousled. Like he'd just ran a hand through it.

"Sorry, Madison," Dex apologized, his hands still shielding his face.

"He's been like this all day," another voice informed me. I turned to see Noah sitting crossed-legged on Dex's bed, PlayStation controller in hand while his eyes darted between me and an enraged zombie on his screen.

My attention snapped back to Dex. I assessed his expression intently, for the first time noticing the worry swimming in his jaded eyes.

"Why?" I fired automatically. "What happened?" What did you do?

He pouted. "It's Holly. She messaged me on Facebook."

I stared at him.

He stared right back.

Rather pointedly, I asked, "And?"

Dex repeated, "And ... ?"

"Wait—that's it?" I frowned. "But that's a good thing."

"You'd think so." James' wicked grin was wide and bright, his eyes an impossible shade of blue in the light streaming through the open window. "And, at first, Dex did think so. But—"

"I don't know what to say!" Dex groaned, throwing his head back to stare up at the ceiling. "So I haven't opened it yet. I don't want her to see that I've read it, you know? Not until I know what to reply. But I can't see the whole message, because the preview cuts out at 'thanks for...'." He threw up his hands. "Thanks for what? What is she thanking me for?"

"It's been three hours of this," Noah muttered under his breath.

I gawked. "Three hours?" What had I gotten myself into?

"You won't know what it says until you open it," James declared. How insightful. "There's no point fussing over it. Just open the message, read it, and say the first thing that pops into your head. Simple."

"Maybe not the first thing," I muttered.

Dex exhaled loudly, throwing James an annoyed glare. "Not simple. Not for me, anyway. Maybe for you. You could tell a girl that she looks like a llama, for Pete's sake, and she'd probably still fawn over you like you're an Egyptian prince."

James only sighed in response, but he did look momentarily pleased with himself. "How about a little democracy? Everyone who thinks Dex is being ridiculous, raise your right hand."

"He's not being ridiculous," I disagreed, feeling slightly defensive when I stepped forward. James' brow furrowed, like I'd questioned the Constitution. "Texting is an art form," I told him, indignant. "It can be a make-or-break moment, the final test before a girl decides whether or not a guy is worth pursuing."

James lifted his head an inch, his unblinking eyes turning even more blue. How did they do that?

"It's not that big of a deal," he said, equally indignant.

"It's not?" I folded my arms, unabashedly meeting his challenge. "So, you're telling me that you've never been in that talking phase with a girl where, at some point, the conversation just ... died? Where getting anything remotely interesting out of her was like drawing blood from a stone? Maybe she said something weird or strange that made you question whether she was the type of person that you thought she was. Or maybe the conversation, the spark, it just... fizzled." I paused, feeling my eyes narrow slightly. Good. "That's never happened to you?"

From the corner of my eye, I saw Noah put down his controller. Dex, standing across from me, dropped his mouth into a little 'o'. But James—assured, opinionated, disagreeable James—continued to stare, silently maintaining his (wrong) opinion.

I released a gentle exhale, stringing my sentiment into more digestible—and less personal—words. "Holly reached out to Dex. That's a good sign, sure. But it's not infallible. Things can still go awry. She can still ghost him at any moment. And then there's nothing that any of us can do." More importantly, my project would be completely, utterly screwed.

Dex shook his head. "I can't get ghosted, Madi."

"Madison. And you won't." I opened my hand, laying my palm flat in his face with all of the confidence of a mediocre white man. "I won't let that happen."

Dex chewed on his lip nervously. I raised my eyebrows, trying to reassure him with my confidence as though it could pour through my eyes and into him. It did something, at least, because Dex reached into his back pocket and dropped his phone into my waiting hand.

"If we're going to do this," I told him as we sat down on his bed, "then there's no room for hesitation. Once we open this message, there's no backing out. We have to be quick on our feet, but we have to be smart, too."

"This is ridiculous," a chuckling James mumbled to himself, burying his head back in his book.

And, hell, maybe he was right. Not that I'd let him know that. Rather, every time he used that word—ridiculous—something fierce surged inside me. Something other than the nothingness I'd felt for weeks. I had to prove him wrong, even if I didn't know why. 

"Are we doing this?" I asked Dex.

Dex fidgeted with the sleeve of his new black sweater, his eyes darting between me and his best friend. After a second of internal deliberation, he turned to me, a beaming grin pulling at his lips. "Let's do this."

It took less than a second to locate Holly's message, and I quickly opened it before Dex could change his mind. Noah edged closer while we waited for the screen to load, his attention flashing between his game and the phone.

Hey hey, Holly had written. It was great seeing you last night! Thanks for buying me that drink! :)

"Two exclamation points and a smiley face!" Noah leaned over me to high-five his blushing friend. "Dude, you're so in!"

"Hold on," I urged, even while my insides were doing happy little somersaults. Honestly, everything was going... better than I'd expected. Especially since I, Madison Watson, was no expert at love or relationships.

Clearly.

"Quick and smart," I said again, pursing my lips thoughtfully. "We have to return the greeting, of course, and throw in an obligatory 'no problem!'. But we need to keep this conversation alive."

"We need to give her a reason to respond," Noah summarized.

"Exactly."

I typed out the first part of my message, drafting the second part a couple of times before landing on the final product: Hi! It was great seeing you, too. And no problem :) How was the rest of your night?

"Happy?" I asked Dex.

He swallowed nervously, then nodded. I turned to Noah to consult him, too, and he gave me an encouraging thumbs-up before pulling away to start a new game. I made myself look at James—who was, surprisingly, paying attention.

I took the upward tilt of his lips as acquiescence.

And sent the text.

"Crap," Dex cried instantly, throwing himself back on the bed and covering his face with his hands. "Crap, crap, crap. What if she doesn't respond?"

"She'll respond," I said, reassuring myself just as much as him. "You'll see."

She did not, in fact, respond.

Not in the thirty-two minutes after I'd sent my masterful message, at least. Dex's phone lay completely silent on the bed, its black screen taunting him, Noah, and I with its lack of stimulation.

At least James was happily distracted, the typing of his laptop filling the heavy silence as he leafed through a textbook thicker than two of mine combined.

"I'm so stupid." Dex groaned, his face contorting into a defeated pout. "Why did I think she was into me?"

Just as the last word rolled off of his tongue, his phone pinged loudly. The three of us lurched forward in perfect synchronization.

It was an automated message from Dex's phone provider.

Noah grimaced. I groaned. Dex slapped a hand over his eyes.

"So ..." James beamed, peering at us over his laptop as if he was watching a dramatic telenovela. "This is going well."

I sensed that even Noah's optimism was starting to wear thin, while an anxious Dex once again fell onto his back, moaning about life and injustice.

"Can everyone calm down?" I said. Again, more to myself than to them. "This is normal," I insisted. "This is to be expected."

"You're just being nice," Dex murmured solemnly. "She hates me. It's official."

"Oh my gosh." I whacked him gently in the arm. "This is a good sign, you morons."

"Hey!" James yelped at the same time that Dex and Noah asked, "It is?"

"Yes," I assured the latter two. "It means that she's playing the game, which means that she cares."

Dex's face crinkled up adorably. "The game?"

"Don't tell me that you don't know about 'the game'?" I flashed him a tight-lipped smile, narrowing my eyes suggestively. "The texting game?"

James sighed from across the room, closing his textbook and rising from his bed. "What are you on about now?"

I felt my pulse stutter when he joined us on the bed, just like it did every time he challenged me. Which was often. And annoying.

"You know," I asserted matter-of-factly, crossing my right leg over my left and leaning back onto my palms. "The whole 'they waited ten minutes to text me, so I'll wait twenty-one minutes before I text them'. You can't look too eager, can you? You can't reply to someone immediately after they've taken an hour"—I eyed Dex pointedly—"or three to respond to you."

Dex blushed, while James cocked his head. "I've never thought about it like that before."

"But you do it," I boldly assumed.

He shrugged. "I don't text girls all that much."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Bleh. Liar.

But before I could open my mouth to unintentionally offend James like I had the night before, Dex's phone buzzed in my hands.

"It's from Holly," I announced, relieved.

James and Noah were beside me in an instant. Dex grabbed a pillow from behind him—and smothered his face with it.

"Don't tell me what it says," he cried. Then, "Actually, tell me." Then, "No, don't—"

"We gotta get this kid some meds," Noah mumbled to a smirking James.

"My night was okay," I read aloud, "Where did you and your friends wander off to? I was hoping to chat!"

Before I'd even finished my sentence, though, Dex had emerged from his pillow-fort and torn the phone from my hands, reading and re-reading the message for himself.

Then, he grinned. "We're totally getting married."

Did all men think about marriage that much?

I almost laughed out loud at my lapse in common sense. Men? Commitment? Not a chance in hell.

My sardonic musing was interrupted when I realized that Dex—his giddy grin plastered from ear to ear—had already started typing.

"Wait!" I practically screeched, prying the device out of his hands. It was like tackling candy from a sugar-deprived toddler. "You can't reply yet!"

His nose scrunched up like a bunny's. "What? Why?"

I released a long, frustrated breath, resisting the urge to massage my throbbing temples. Was this what it was like to raise kids? "Because, Dex. Remember what I said? About the texting game? Holly waited"—I consulted my watch-"thirty-four minutes to text you back. So we need to wait—"

"Thirty-four minutes." Dex nodded, pleased with himself.

I blinked at him, sheer disbelief challenging my patience. Did I have to explain everything to those guys? How had they even survived for so long without me? Although I supposed that they were single for a reason.

Was James single?

I pushed my totally dumb and completely irrelevant question aside to answer Dex's far more relevant one instead.

"No," I uttered dryly. "Not thirty-four minutes. That's too obvious, Dex. Too purposeful—"

"But she's playing 'the game', too, right?" James pressed. His voice was calm, his tone reasoned, but his eyes gleamed like they always did when he contradicted me. "So why does it matter that it's obvious?"

Why did he say it like that? Like he was mocking me?

Oh, right. Because he was mocking me.

"Because," I stammered. "Because we don't want her to know that he's playing the game."

James lifted an eyebrow, tilting his head curiously. "Why?"

I heard my pulse in my ears, a strange heat rising to my cheeks. I didn't know whether it was due to his obnoxious, incessant questioning, or his equally obnoxious and skeptical stare, but I suddenly felt very, very nervous.

Furthermore, I didn't have an answer.

Keeping my voice firm and steady, I ground out, "Because."

Excellent reasoning, Madison. Way to back up your hypothesis.

I expected James to play on my momentary loss of intelligence. His eyes continued to pierce mine—so smug, so assured. So blue. But ... he didn't say a word.

He only ran his tongue over the inside of his mouth, grinned to himself, then lounged back on the bed.

God, he was smug.

"How about now?" Dex asked loudly, staring down at his phone. Anguish and impatience cloaked his face—as though I was depriving him of oxygen and not just a girl on the other side of the phone line.

"Alright, mister. You need to distract yourself," I told him. "You need to do something to help pass the time. Maybe some homework—"

"Madison, it's Saturday!"

I furrowed my brow at his remark, a reminder of the very different worlds that Dex and I—hell, that all three of those guys and I—came from. There they were, likely getting a free ride to college on daddy's money. And there I was, totally reliant on maintaining my scholarship and good grades. Reliant on building the perfect resume if I had any hope of a life after university. I'd vowed to secure a first-year internship with that exact goal in mind.

I was not about to let a privileged little rich boy mess up my shot.

I walked over to Dex's bedside table, popping his phone into one of the drawers and standing in front of it, arms folded tenaciously. "I don't care what you do, Dex. But you are not pining over this thing until I've decided on a suitable time for us to reply."

He opened his mouth to bargain with me, but I shook my head before the words even rolled off his tongue.

"What about some Call of Duty?" Noah suggested, waving the controller in his hands. "You verse me?"

Dex considered the challenge. "That could work."

Of course it could. Video games were the real-life equivalent of a memory charm; within a mere three seconds of staring at the loading screen, all traces of women fell from men's pea-sized minds.

Needless to say, I didn't hide my displeasure at Dex and Noah's activity of choice. In fact, it was rather triggering; sitting around watching guys play PlayStation was practically a skill of mine at that point. It was what most of my weekends with Eli had consisted of.

Eagle-eyed James caught my look of disapproval as he retreated to his bed. Of course he did. James wasn't just disagreeable, I realized, he was also incredibly observant. Annoyingly so. I wondered how long it would take him to figure out the truth.

The truth being that while I might have been Dex's wingwoman, I was totally, completely winging it.

Thanks for making it to chapter eight! I can't give you an actual present, so here's a virtual cake that I prepared earlier:

We met (through the phone) Madi's mother this chapter! What did you think of her? They definitely have an interesting relationship.

Which side of the infamous Texting Game debate do you land on? Do you think the game exists, like Madi, or do you think that it's baloney, like James?

I need to lay off the GIFs 😅

I have to say, exploring the ins and outs of dating in the twenty-first century is hilarious. You're not allowed to double-text, you can't use certain emojis (or sometimes any at ALL, can you believe it?), you can only respond after a given amount of time... 😂 Whatever happened to making your crush a mixtape and going for a date at the local drive-in?!

Until the next one,
- D