I know. This is something we’re not supposed to admit. I say “we” because you do it too.
Cyber stalking. Cyberstalking. Is it one word or two? I’m going with one from here on out because… um… regardless:
Cyberstalking: America’s pastime (like it was ever really baseball anyway).
I used to think the biggest consequence of cyberstalking was being thought of as weird or creepy, or, more rarely, having the person you’re cyberstalking catch you in the act and having them ask, “Why is my name in your Google search bar?” and you’re like, “Uhhhhh I was just testing my search engine to make sure it worked” and they’re like, “I don’t believe you” and you’re like, “Well you shouldn’t be looking at my computer screen anyway” and they’re like, “That’s my computer and this is my house and how the hell did you get in here?!”
Ahem. Anyway, since I openly admit I am both weird and creepy, the stigma of cyberstalking someone (usually someone I’m attracted to) rarely keeps me from doing it. Not anymore though. Never again.
Or maybe always again.
That probably doesn’t make sense to you. Allow me to explain: (more…)
I gulped so intensely I knew she could hear it. Stupid Adam’s apple.
“Hhhheh,” I croaked. That was loser for “hi”.
“Hi, Cavan,” she said. “I—”
“Shelby! What happened to your nose?” Emilio asked.
“Cavan punched her,” Andy said, French fries dropping out of his mouth.