Today's lunch period was spent, as usual, in the library. I wasn't so lonely today, since the school was sweltering hot and everybody had gathered to the air-conditioned locale that is "The Library".

Anyway, I picked up "Love Story", which I'm reading for fun, since I forgot my usual reading book. And I go to sit down at my usual spot, near the back, in the corner, where anyone I know who happens to come in has the chance to pretend they haven't seen me.

And he's sitting there. With his friend. Writing something.

Now, let me update you on HIM. I've been trying to ignore him, unsuccessfully. He passes right by when I wish he would say hi, he says hi when I'm mad and ignoring him, and he doesn't even NOTICE I'm ignoring him. Men.

So I sit at the table right ahead of them and whisper "Bitch, you took my spot."

"Bitch" seemed appropriate because, you know, he is a guy, and won't feel offended in any real sense, I just like saying bitch. He does call me "whore", after all.

"Sorry."

And then I turn around and ask "Whatcha doin'?" in the sappiest voice I can muster.

"I cut through the field in gym class, I have to write two pages of apologies.

At this point I snicker, remembering full well my own adventure with the bastard who crossed the field (see "hyperventilation" in an earlier entry), grab his sheet and start reading. (And correcting his spelling mistakes, but with both my parents being translators, that's just in my genes)

A tidge bit of an immature conversation went on between us, and then this came out.

"Hey, whore, come to the prom with me."

And a bazillion thoughts go wooshing through my head. This is a joke. We were kidding about shit a second ago, he must still be kidding. Ha ha. Ha ha. Ha ha. It's funny, right? I have to say something funny back. Say something funny, Cam, say something!

"No."

"Why?"

"Cause you're a whore."

He chuckles, goes on with his work. I blush wildly, but of course I'm not facing him, so he doesn't notice.

And all of a sudden this little teensy tiny shred of MADNESS infiltrates itself into my thoughts.

What if he was serious? What if he really was asking me, and he was just saying it in a joky tone cause he was nervous? Had I just missed my chance to possibly be one of THOSE girls, the ones who actually had dates to the prom? (Considering the guy/girl ratio at our school, this is a feat in itself) Did I actually WANT to go with him? I thought I did. Maybe I didn't. What if he wasn't going to ever ask again? What if that was my last chance?!?

I've been obsessing over this all day. What have I done? Do I want to go with this guy, or am I just so hopelessly lonely I'll go with anyone?

The original plan was to go with my sister, but we all know how that's gonna go.

"Aww, Cam, it's a stupid idea. Nevermind it."

"Too expensive."

"I'm going out with George that day."

So maybe I do want to go with him. Knowing me, I'm overreacting WAAAAAYYY too much, but still ...

I don't know ...