“Really?” Lydia shrieked.

“Pipe down, Lyd, or my ears are going to bleed.” I said.

“Sorry, I just can’t help it!” She giggled, her voice sounding like a child’s. “Wait, how old is he?”

I fiddled with my fingers as I recalled that I haven’t figured that out yet.

“Well, he looks older than you. He must be in his 20’s?” Lydia guessed. “But who cares if he’s older than you, he’s hot anyway, so..”

“Lyd!” I laughed.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong. He’s all yours, Bree.” Lydia giggled as she uttered the words.

“Look, Lyd.. I’m not interested.”

“Liar!” Lydia teased.

“I’m really not.” I said, although I, too, couldn’t quite believe what I had just said. I had just met Harry the night before. We’re just strangers, right? But we knew each other’s names. Does that make us acquaintances? Wait, but we’ve talked about some things about each other and met twice. Does that make us “friends”? Or are we just somewhere in between those two? I’m confused.

“Did you two exchange numbers?”

“No..” And I don’t recall him asking for my number. Should we have? I was alien to this so I had no idea.

“But he’s your type, right?” Lydia quickly bombarded me with questions. It seemed as if I was in a talk show interview.

“Mm. Probably,” I bit on my lip, a habitual gesture of mine.

Yes, Harry was my type. A crush, probably? Oh. I finally found a more suitable word.

Lydia squealed for the nth time. “Congrats, Bree!”
“Huh? For what?” I asked, confused.

“For the past 5 years of us being best friends, you finally have a decent type.” She laughed. “Harry’s definitely a 10.” She added.

Lydia had always said that I had a bad taste in men. Honestly, I really don’t know how to differentiate the bad between the good in terms of taste in boys. When I liked a boy, I liked him, and that’s it. There wouldn’t be any confessions or commitments after that. And Harry was the closest I’ve been to the male species. (And when I mean close, I mean our bodies and skins barely touching each other) I never really interact with boys. Especially not with the way I had interacted with Harry. He was new to me.

Being able to experience something new, I was impelled to tell Lydia about it.

“Still, I can’t believe you actually snuck out of your house that night!” Lydia exclaimed. “And not to mention going to a club alone.. You finally let your rebellious side out, huh?” She giggled.

“Yeah, well.. ” I said.

“So about the party this Saturday..” She began. “Are you really going?”

I wanted to. I’ve already planned my escape. Escaping was the only answer to my dilemma. Although it would’ve been much better for if dad allowed me to go to the party. Dad allowing me to go would mean that he’s giving me the freedom.

“I am.. But you know, Lyd.. I’d want dad to actually allow me to go. This way, it’s like he’s finally giving me the freedom.” I admitted. “But I don’t think that would be possible.”

“Hm.” Lydia hummed. “Why don’t you try asking him again?” She suggested.

“Nah. I’m sure he’ll just get mad again.” I sighed.

“Who knows? He might change his mind this time.”

Knowing my dad? He wouldn’t.

After a few hours on the phone with Lydia, I went down to the kitchen to cook some dinner. Dad and I were both quiet as I passed by him in the dining table. His eyes were focused on the newspaper he was reading.

It took me around 15 minutes to cook dinner. I wasn’t really skillful in cooking, but I have been accustomed to this since I was always the one who cooks for our meals. Because of this, I learned how to love cooking.

“Dinner’s ready.” I said as I placed the dishes I had cooked on the table and sat down opposite to my dad. It was quiet as we ate our food. Only the sound of the utensils scraping the plates could be heard. The dead air was silenced when dad’s phone rang. He slammed the newspaper on the table, his facial expression evident to be annoyed by the call.

“Hello?” Dad said in a quite harsh tone.

“Oh, Mrs. Campbell!” His tone, a contrast to what I heard a few seconds ago. He then stood up, and went upstairs.

No wonder. It was Lydia’s mom. Ever since dad had helped Lydia’s mom during a crime incident a few months back, they’ve been having a good friendship. At least that’s what it seemed to be like.

Dad had come back a few minutes later, his facial expression unreadable as he sat back on the chair. Nevertheless, I continued to fix my gaze on the plate and ate.

“Bree,” Dad coughed.

“Yes, dad?” I looked back up to face him. He stopped eating and placed his utensils to the sides.

Oh boy. What’s happening? I gulped.

“I’m allowing you.” He uttered the words in a deep whisper.

“A-allowing me?” I asked. What does he mean?

“Yes. I’m allowing you to go that party.” He said firmly.
I nearly choked as I gulped some water from my mug. Dad is allowing me? This seems so surreal that I had the sudden urge to pinch myself just so I could confirm that this wasn't a dream.

“But just this once since Lydia’s mom mentioned she’d be on guard during the party.” He said.

I squealed as I heard dad’s rare approval. Who cares if Lydia’s mom is there? The more important thing is, dad finally allowed me. I felt free. Well not completely. But this was good enough. I was overjoyed.

“Thanks, dad!” I stood up and gave him a hug. He seemed uncomfortable with the sudden impulse of mine.

“Don’t get too overwhelmed. This doesn’t mean I’m allowing you to go out anywhere.” He reminds me.

I nodded. I was too happy. This was unbelievable. But wait, Lydia must have something to do with this. Gosh. I love her.

After washing the dishes, I squealed my way upstairs, unable to contain my happiness. I’ve waited for this for a very long time. I couldn’t help but feel the overwhelming excitement. Jumping onto my bed, I rolled under the duvet and squealed for the last time.

Calm down, Bree. Calm down, before dad changes his mind. No. I cannot let that happen. Due to my excessive joy and excitement, I eventually fell off of my bed and hit the floor.

“Ow.”

It was a good thing I landed on something soft. I took the fabric under me and realized it was my sweats.

Oh my god. I still haven’t washed it. I completely forgot. Before I could put it in the laundry basket, a familiar scent yet again overwhelmed my senses. Goodness gracious. Harry’s scent! Maybe I should keep it as is? Ha. What am I thinking? I’ll seem like an obsessed fan girl if I don’t wash this.

I need to wash this.

As I placed my sweats inside the laundry basket, I noticed a small piece of paper, popping out of the jeans I had used the night before.

“Gosh. I need to empty my pockets before I put them in here.” I said to myself, thinking it was trash.

Just before I could crumple the small paper, I saw that it had something written on it. It must be important. I flipped it to the other side and realized it had digits written on it.

What? I don’t remember—wait.. is this?

“Wha--” I squirmed as he wrapped his arms around my waist. He was grinding himself into me? What in the world? No. Wait. I felt his hand slip inside my back pocket. I winced. “See you.” He whispered. And he let go.

Now I remember completely. It’s been 2 days?

I tried compose myself from my late discovery. I have Harry’s number. I felt so helpless as I was clueless on what to do. Should I just ignore this? Analyze, Bree. Analyze. No wait, Harry gave me his number, forcefully for that matter. Why would he give it in the first place? So I should contact him?

I grabbed my phone from my bed and typed in his digits.

Text or call? Text.

To: Harry
Message: Hey, it’s me Bree.

I gulped as I pressed the send button.

I shifted restlessly on my bed as I checked my phone every now and then. What if he won’t reply? Jesus, why are you so worried, Bree. Calm down. Calm do—

I froze as I felt my phone vibrate. Harry was calling.