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I grip the steering wheel as I drive myself home. It’s probably a stupid idea, I mean, hell, it’s the stupidest plan I’ve ever had, I’m totally wasted and high, but shit, I can’t stand staying there any longer. Watching Jeremy drape himself all over all those girls. Brooke, Chloe (how did he even get these popular girls? Is it that fucking SQUIP?), and Christine. Christine . Why does the girl that he is in love with have to be one of the sweetest people in the world? It would be so much easier to hate her if she was mean, stuck-up, bitchy, but she’s not. She’s perfect. No wonder Jeremy loves her.
I knew he could never feel that way, I knew . But god, god did I hope. I hoped every night that one day he would wake up and realise I would always be there for him, through thick and thin, go beyond best friends. But as much as you can’t convert someone queer to straight, you can’t convert a straight person into a queer one. I could be his ‘favourite person’, but never his favourite person. Because Christine held that title. Well, now, who knows. It could just as easily be Brooke or Chloe. Or any other hot girl that fucking pill helps him have sex with.
My foot slams the breaks as I approach a red light, my eyes turning everything into a coloured blur from my tears. “Fuck you, Jeremy!” I scream into the night, screaming over the radio softly playing some pop song about a boy and a girl. They’re always about a boy and a girl . I switch it off.
I shouldn’t even be that upset that I’m never going to be loved by him, at this point, I mean, I guess I don’t really care that much, I’m used to it. But pushing me away as a friend ? That hurts. Trading me for her. Or, sorry, all the girls.
One Michael equals one Christine plus one Brooke plus one Chloe. One geeky loser gay boy who smokes too much weed equals three beautiful and popular girls. That can’t even be right. Maybe ten beautiful girls. A hundred. A thousand . A thousand popular girls versus one me. That’s an equal amount right there.
I ease slowly back into driving as the light changes back to green. “Loser. Loser. Loser.” I chant to myself quietly, like a mantra. “I’m a loser.” Not just to everyone else, but to him. I’m a fucking loser that he’s done with, tossed out like garbage. Disposable. Replaceable.
I’ve been replaced with a supercomputer pill and a bunch of hot girls.
So much for ‘never gonna not be a team.’ Fuck you, Jeremy. Fuck you.