Page 43 of The Switched-Up Playbook
Maybe if I hide a little longer, I won’t have to deal with the knowledge that I kissed my best friend last night.
Of course it doesn’t work, because now that I’ve thought about it, the impressions won’t leave my mind. Pulling my blanket over my head doesn’t make me forget how I buried my fingers in Nate’s soft hair, and the way his lips felt pressed against mine.
Awareness of his presence across the room slowly sneaks its way into my brain. It’s not entirely unexpected, since I vaguely remember being woken up by someone stumbling around our room in the dark. Briefly I had contemplated flicking on the light, the idea like a hazy dream that I swatted away.
Bringing up the kiss in the middle of the night, when we were both tired and half-drunk, was not a move I wanted to make.
Also, I was pissed that I wasted two hours searching for Nate after he bolted, texting him several times, only to eventually callit quits when he didn’t answer. Not that I was in any mood to party after that, but since Nate had the keys to the car I had to find another ride.
Nate on the other hand doesn’t seem to share my turmoil at all. He’s peacefully sleeping, even snoring softly, unaware of the mental battles I’m fighting. Every soft breath Nate exhales somehow makes it far enough to tickle the hairs on the back of my neck.
Now that I’m fully awake, I wish that I had put this behind me last night.
But how exactly does one bring up a kiss to their best friend? Should I apologize again? Probably, right?
I groan and roll onto my back, rubbing my eyes and then my temples, keeping my fingers buried in my hair and pressing my palms over my eyes.
And he kissed me back! I can’t exactly apologize for that, can I?
This is getting me nowhere. Feeling the tentative tugs of curiosity, I glance across the room—and start when I catch Nate looking right at me.
Despite his ruffled hair, he appears far more awake than I feel, pushing off his blanket without a care in the world.
“Morning!” he chirps with a smile, all cheer, then swings his legs over the side of his bed, getting up with a hop.
I sit up fast enough to make my brain feel as scrambled as my stomach. By the time I’ve recovered, Nate is already on his way out the door, arms stretched over his head. His humming trails down the hallway and then echoes out of the bathroom.
“What the fuck?” I mutter to myself as I lean back against the wall, legs dangling over the edge of the bed. It feels like I’ve woken up in a different reality. Or maybe I went back in time,Groundhog Daystyle, and Nate will come back in and tell me that he has a good feeling about beating the Wildcats tonight.
But no, my phone tells me it’s quarter past nine on Saturday morning—and that I’m late for my morning workout.
I take a deep breath and slide out of my bed, stumbling when my feet hit the ground. I find a pair of sweatpants and do a sniff test on the shirt I’ve slept in, deciding that it’ll do.
I manage to evade Nate by slowly sipping a cup of coffee until he’s done brushing his teeth, rushing to hide away in the bathroom when he goes back to our room.
The shower feels good but doesn’t clear my head. I’m glad that, when I’m shuffling back into our room, I catch a glimpse of Nate making himself breakfast in the kitchen. I still hurry with getting dressed, suddenly worried about being walked in on with my pants around my ankles. I’m done in a minute, but then hover awkwardly around my side of the room, unsure what to do now.
I could just go and join my best friend in the kitchen, but my stomach is in knots, so I don’t feel like eating.
Also, I don’t want witnesses to my nervousness. Especially since the conversation I imagine I'm about to have with Nate feels like one to have in private. The whole ordeal of“sorry I kissed you last night, I don’t want to ruin our friendship so please don’t stop being my friend—but also why did you kiss me back?”is not something I want all of our dorm-mates to overhear.
Frustrated, I groan and sink down into my desk chair, only to jump right back up when the door opens.
“Whoa,” Nate laughs, raising his hands as he walks in. “Bad timing?”
“What– no?” I can’t help but feel like he’s mocking me somehow, with his good mood, his calmness; generally, with how unaffected he is. I guess he means well, putting on a front on my behalf? Or maybe he can’t even remember? He was drunk after all.
But drunk enough to forget I kissed him? To forget that he kissed me?
I lean against the edge of my desk, carefully crossing and then uncrossing my arms, pushing my hands into the pockets of my sweatpants. I’m unsure how to stand all of a sudden. I clear my throat but speak to the bookshelves rather than my roommate. “I, uh…I think we should talk.”
“Oh man, are you pregnant?”
“What?”
Nate just laughs again, reaching out to ruffle my still wet hair as he passes me on his way back to his own desk. I just stare as Nate hops up to sit on the tabletop, feet swinging.
Something is off about his face, but I can’t put my finger on it. I can’t muster up the strength to control my own features, causing his smile to slowly slip away.
