Friday night...

Friday night approaches. You toy briefly with the idea of going down to surprise her at the theatre, but it’s pointless and you know it. Emma said she’d call you. If she doesn’t… well, maybe that’s proof you were never real to begin with.

Then your heart freezes as your phone suddenly buzzes on the bed.

You scramble for it – and your heart lights up as you read Emma –

But it’s not that Emma.

It’s Emma Stone.

Any other day of any other month of any other year, you find yourself thinking bitterly, you’d be fucking psyched to get a text from a girl even half as gorgeous as Emma Stone. You can’t believe you’re actually disappointed.

The message is short, but sweet:

hey you. ;) fancy grabbing a coffee or something later? I meant it when I said we should hang out :P

She really does remind you of those girls you used to know back in high school. You smile, about to type a reply, when your phone buzzes again…

also, I totally feel sorry for ya. ;) the L.A. scene is crazy enough if you’ve lived here forever. it’s impossible if you don’t know anyone! ;P x

You catch yourself smiling, for what feels like the first time in ages.

Then you pause in sudden indecision.

Emma – your Emma – wouldn’t exactly be happy about you hanging out with the girl who cheated on her, you realise with a heavy feeling of certainty. Even if it was accidental. Even if Emma Stone turns out to be as cool and funny and sweet as she seemed at the party. Maybe especially then.

At the very least, it’s the kind of thing you should probably warn her about in advance.

But… Emma’s not calling.

She’s not even texting. She’s been silent for days.

So why not hang out with Emma?