Our parents were right.
It was really that phone that caused all our problems because why was I acting like a crackhead going through withdrawals without it?
Richard had my phone with him all day; it was my longest day.
Every ping, every vibration I imagined, sent my heart racing. I paced my room like a caged animal, glaring at the walls as if they could hand my phone back.
By the time evening rolled around, I was a twitching mess, pacing and muttering to myself like a lunatic. And there he was again, leaning against my window with that infuriating grin, my phone in his hand.
“Are you going to open this?” he asked, referring to my window.
I froze mid-step, my heart hammering so hard I was sure he could hear it from where he stood.
“W-what?” I stammered, trying to act calm, but m
