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I enjoyed a chocolate dipped cone at DQ while I waited.
And wondered why he was even doing it. I mean, David made it pretty clear that he doesn’t think much of me, and yet (a) I called him for a ride, and (b) he agreed.
I don’t think it’s my charms. Obviously it’s not my charms. Or my looks—David seems pretty immune to both. I don’t think he’s the kind of guy who feels guilty, either, like he owes anyone anything—least of all me.
So why? And why did I even call him? It’s easy to say because I have no more friends. Or because I didn’t want to bother my mom at work or have her ask me questions like why Toomy didn’t drive me home. The one thing that sucks extra hard about having my leg in this brace is that all that freedom I had for a few months after my birthday, getting to drive mys
