Free Diary of a Crush: Kiss and Make Up by Sarra Manning Page B

morning: ‘Edie? God, I shouldn’t be calling you… it’s late… I’m drunk. I just… you know… I’m not a bad person but I’m treating you like shit and I just want you to know if I could get out of this thing with Veronique I would. It’s complicated. Well, she’s complicated. Just wanna be with you, kiss you, get naked with you… God, I’m so drunk. So sorry to be such a bastard to you, you don’t deserve it and I’m terrified that you’re going to get so pissed off with me that you just give up and start seeing someone else. But not Carter ’cause he’s a piece of work, he’s a wanker, he is. Him and Veronique, both of them, Jesus, you wouldn’t believe the half of it. I shouldn’t… I miss you so much… wish you were here right now… Oh, hell… why am I doing this?…’
    I don’t know what it means, apart from giving me a certain validation that all my bad Dylan decisions were made with the belief that he did still want me. Which turns out to be true. Er, yay? And I don’t understand the Veronique/Carter thing. The best I can come up with is that they’re having some sort of incestuous affair, which ewwwww!
     
15th March (later)
    I just got this text from Dylan: ‘V drunk lst nite. Ignore ne clls frm me.’
    You know, if he keeps yanking me back and forth like a freakin’ yoyo, eventually my string is just going to snap.
     
21st March
    Nat’s got a date. And I’m pleased for him, really I am. Especially as the date is this cute boy he’s been lusting over for weeks. But it’s late Saturday afternoon and I should be getting ready to go out and have fun and instead I’m preparing to go to Blockbuster to pick up some chick flicks for me and Mum to watch. And you know what else? It’s my birthday today. I’m eighteen; it’s meant to be a big bloody deal and Nat was going to cancel his date so we could go out to dinner but all he’s talked about for the last two months is how dreamy Joe is, so I was really mature about it. Shona called me this morning but she’s going to a rave in Blackpool tonight with ‘the others’ and there was no invitation forthcoming. And it’s not like we’re good friends any more so why should she be obliged to spend my birthday with me? But the thing that really hurts (we’re talking about the same level of pain that you might get from having a limb amputated) is that Dylan hasn’t sent me a card or phoned me or even texted me. I’m eighteen and I’ve got no-one to do anything with on my birthday. Am I such an awful person?
     
21st March (later)
    Oh God! I bumped into Carter in the DVD rental shop. Luckily, I’d picked up
Amelie
and not something really girly and tragic, though I’d just been about to snatch up the last copy of
He’s Just Not That Into You
, when I heard a cough behind me. ‘So this is what you get up to on a Saturday night?’ It was Carter.
    Of course, he was returning some arty foreign film on his way out to do something incredibly exciting with all his incredibly exciting friends.
    ‘Oh, it’s you,’ I brushed past him so I could get some ice cream.
    ‘So, I hear you’ve been managing to stay away from Dylan,’ Carter continued, following me. ‘Or vice versa.’
    ‘Go away,’ I said between gritted teeth.
    He leant against the freezer door, even though most boys know that you should never come between a girl and her Rocky Road. ‘You were a bit more talkative last time I saw you,’ he continued. ‘When you weren’t trying to shove your tongue down my throat.’
    ‘Look, about that… I was upset, I didn’t know what I was doing,’ I mumbled.
    ‘Whatever.’
    That was it, time to go!
    Carter trailed me to the back of the queue, while I stared ahead and willed everyone in front of me to hurry up.
    ‘You always disappear when things get interesting,’ he smirked.
    ‘Or when you insult me,’ I pointed out.
    ‘Look I’ll see you around, sweetheart,’ Carter said, bending down to give me a kiss on