He stood outside the fence, strategically across her bedroom window; holding up a sign, speakers blaring (of course it had to be JB).
They’d been at war for over twelve hours, and he still didn’t understand why. They were just out on a morning stroll, and then she evolved into a manhater and refused to speak to him.
He’d initially turned a cold shoulder in response (what did he even do?), but her giggly band of girl friends advised otherwise. And rather persistently. No, he shouldn’t just stand there and let her walk away forever. He had to rush to her side and do something dramatic.
He figured they were testing him, emotionally dissecting him like they would a frog in biology class. She was probably waiting for it to rain and see if he was going to pack up and leave. And her friends were probably inside the house with her, in multicolored but matching pajamas, painting each other’s nails and smashing pillows into their faces.
But what else could he do but play along?
He did like her, tantrums and all.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.