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In hindsight, I should have just left a note saying BRB. At the very least. But hey, I’m impulsive, what can I say? I didn’t think of it at the time, and if he’s that cold to ghost me, then maybe it’s all as it should be.

Except it’s not.

I see the girls chat with Savannah’s name on my screen and flick open her message. She cuts right to the chase because she knows what I’ve been going through.

Savannah: Any word?

Me: Nope.

Savannah: *sad face* What are you doing tonight? Wanna go out?

If Savannah’s looking for a reason to go out, it’s because things aren’t great with her husband. I hate that those are the facts, but they are.

Me: Maybe.

That’s when Baylor must catch up with the messages because she chimes in.

Baylor: You should call him.

Me: Not gonna happen.

Savannah: Why not?

Me: He ghosted me.

Holly: He thought you ghosted him. You should probably hear him out. He doesn’t seem the kind of guy to just ignore you.

Me: He’s cold like that. I knew that before we slept together. I can’t believe I thought I’d discovered something magically hidden below the surface.

Dakota: I think you did. You just need to talk to him.

All my girls are saying the same thing. I should talk to him. But I’m dragging my feet. Maybe it’s time Mr. Cold makes the first move.

Before I can think more on it, the door opens and my next class ambles in. Last class of the day. I take a deep breath and get ready to start my spiel. This time I’ll remember not to assign anything with a due date of tomorrow.

“Good afternoon, everyone.” I try to make my voice as cheerful as possible and turn my back to the board where I have my easel set up.

A few throats clear and at first I just let it go. That is, until a bunch of students start fake coughing.

I swivel on my heel to investigate only to find a tall male by the door. My heart stutters. For a split second I think it’s Daughtry. But it’s not.

“Cal, what are you doing here?” It’s my ex. My heart thumps to the floor. Ugh. Worst almost start to a weekend ever.

“You weren’t answering my calls.”

“I’m working, Cal.” I gesture to the students as if he needs that extra proof.

“Just hear me out.”

“No. We’re done.” Before he can say anything more, I add, “And we don’t need to talk more about this later.”

“But—”

“Please go. This is where I work, Cal. And I’m not the drama teacher.” The kids all go oooooh as he quits the room and lets the door click behind him.

I jump into explaining the project I want them to work on, letting them choose the medium they want.

When I turn my back to them I hear the door open again and a whole slew of students rack up the fake coughing again.