Hot n Cold

I am not proud of myself.

I had my weekly night out. I snuck out from work a few minutes early so I could go to the cobbler and pick up my summer shoes that I had re-heeled. I found the last of my date outfits and slipped into skinny jeans and ballet flats. I pulled my hair into low pigtails, smacked on lip gloss and fled out the door.

I've been curious about the whole Clemson scenario. I'd rather not sound like a Katy Perry song, but he was hot and then cold. Something had to happen. I just don't understand. And of course because it's my life and my decision-making skills, I didn't decide to like him until the exact moment he went from yes to no. (He also went from in to out, from up to down, from wrong to right and from black to white.)

I walked out on the patio and met up with the group.

"Hey! How's the face?" they cheered.

I posed: arm akimbo, head angled and flashy smile. "Swelling went down on Tuesday!"

The umpire from the game swallowed his beer. "I was umpping a game last night and told them what happened to you. Still haven't seen anyone take a ball like that."

"Could you please re-enact my fall? I have no remembrance of the incident."

"You crumpled like a sack of potatoes."

"Oh good! That's the exact word I used!" I said excitedly. "I didn't know if I went ass over teakettle or something."

"No, you were dead weight."

And then there were a lot of inappropriate jokes about me being brought to my knees by balls to the face. I believe the guys called it "a typical Saturday."

I looked around the tables. Several people were missing, including Clemson.

"Where's the Leader?" I asked Clemson's friend.

"He's umpping a game. He'll be here in a few hours."

"And Clemson?"

"He had to work."

And then I made the first bad decision of the night. I picked up my phone and I typed, You're not here. Sad face. and sent it to Clemson.

In the rules of my life, my number one rule is Never Be the Drunkest Person in the Room. Rule number two is If You're Going to Be a Man at Night, Be a Man in the Morning. Rule number three is now Never Initiate Contact with a Boy. It's just not something I do, but I did it anyway. It was so out of character for me, but I believed that the Clemson situation was fixable; I just needed to talk to him.

No response.

And then more people showed up and the flip-cup game started and I forgot all about Clemson.

Schmoozer made an appearance, which is unusual for him. He hasn't shown up since January. A mutual girlfriend invited him.

He walked out on the patio. "There you are! I was afraid to come out here. I figured you were working your game," he said, referrencing my flirting.

"I'm always working my game," I winked at him. We clinked beer bottles.

He tugged at my pigtail. "You don't want to know what I call these," he laughed.

"Reins?" We laughed again. "Hey, I'm about to ask you something and it's going to get all uncomfortable up in here," I began.

"Shoot."

"The Great Coffee Fiasco of 2011. Did Katie ever talk to you?"

"Yeah she did."

"She called me too. The more I think about it, the angrier I get with Jenna. I can't believe she would think so little of me."

"Yeah, well I'm not really feeling it with Katie anymore," he admitted.

My mouth dropped open. This is not good. Not good at all.

"I'm trying to do the phase out with her so I can still be in the group. I haven't seen her in a week, but she called and asked to do something on Friday so I agreed."

I flashbacked to New Years Eve. Schmoozer and I were standing in front of Harvey's Christmas tree, pulling off the candy canes and eating them. Harvey walked in the foyer.

"You're eating my Christmas decorations! You know those things are five years old, right?!" she hollered.

"I feel like you're pushing me to date Katie," he said after she left.

"That's because you should," I retorted.

"But when I date people from a group, I have to leave the group in three to four months when relationship is over. That's why I had to join kickball to meet new people. And I like you guys and I want to be friends with you guys."

"I'll still be your friend after the relationship blows up," I said. "It may be in secret, but I'll still be your friend."

Commence relationship blowing up. Schmoozer had called it right down to the timeline: four months.

"I just don't think I'll be with her in the long run," he finished.

"Well I could have told you that. I knew y'all were never getting married."

"Then why did you let me date her?!" he exclaimed.

"It's just she's Stop and you're Go." (She's in and he's out, she's up and he's down, she's wrong and he's right and she's black and he's white. Damn you, Katy Perry.)

He nodded.

The timing of this is impeccably bad for me. I know one way or another, this is somehow going to be my fault according to Government Mule and Jenna. To be honest, I don't know if Schmoozer will be able to stay in the group. He came in officially at Thanksgiving and was dating Katie by the end of January. He's spent more time being a boyfriend than a friend. But I was serious when I told him I'd still be his friend.

"Schmoozer, she's only met your best friend once. I've hung out with him at least three times. What does that say?"

He nodded again.

It was the melding of the two groups. Schmoozer met all the players he's been hearing stories about all these months—minus Clemson.

Clemson. I just know that if I got the chance to speak to him, I know I could clear up whatever is making him act icily towards me. I checked my phone. No response. And I thought it was a good text.

We left the bar. I looked at the clock. It was late, but it was still early in terms of how late Clemson and I usually stay out on these nights. If I could just get ahold of him...

My thumb pressed the call button. It was that easy.

No response. Oh my god, that just happened. I just drunk dialed a boy. I can't remember the last time I acted so stalker-y.

It was like ripping off a Band-Aid. Now that I drunk dialed once, it would be easy to do it again. I could text him and he'd know what I had to say! I typed out a text and saved it in drafts. I then revised it and saved it in drafts again.

I flopped down on my bed. Oh god, I'm behaving like a terrorist. Sense got a hold of me and I knew if I had to press the damn call button repeatedly, it better be to my girlfriend. She abandoned me earlier at the bar and went to a guy's house to party more.

I called. No answer. I called her again. No answer. Answer! Argh!

I laid on top of my bed, phone firmly in my hand. I was dying. I was using every ounce of strength I had, willing myself not to call Clemson.

And that's how I woke up in the morning. Lights still on, sprawled on top of the bed, clutching the phone. I looked like an strung-out addict.

I checked to see if I contacted him again. I hadn't. I then deleted him out of my address book. It was the most pathetic I've felt in years.