she sent you nudes by accident

Delaney stared at the screen. The words 'um u ok' stared back at her, so casual, so fucking unbothered, that she felt a sudden, violent urge to throw her phone through the window.

"UM U OK?!" she shrieked, her voice cracking in the empty room. She threw her head back against the headboard, her messy black hair splaying out like a dark web. "I just sent you a goddamn visual tour of my entire anatomy and you're asking if I'm OK? Like a fucking therapist?!"

She paced the small strip of carpet between her bed and her desk, her bare feet slapping the floor. Her skin felt too tight. Her heart was doing that frantic, hummingbird thing again. She was a lesbian. She was a lesbian who liked goth girls with heavy eyeliner and attitude. She was supposed to be sending these to Lucy. She was supposed to be getting a 'damn, baby' or a command to 'get ready' from a girl who actually knew what to do with her.

Instead, she had sent them to Max. Her best friend. The guy who knew her favorite flavor of chips and exactly how much she hated math. The guy who...

She stopped pacing, her eyes narrowing at the phone.

She sat back on the edge of the bed, her fingers trembling as she gripped the phone. She had to fix this. She had to lie. It was the only way to save the friendship and her own goddamn dignity.

Delaney: UGH. YES. OKAY.

Delaney: LITERALLY SO OKAY.

Delaney: You know what? It was a mistake. A total, massive, fucking idiot mistake.

Delaney: They were for Lucy. Obviously.

Delaney: I was trying to send them to her and my thumbs just... slipped. Like a glitch in the matrix or some shit.

She bit her lip so hard she tasted a hint of copper. It was a lie. A blatant, pathetic, **** lie. She hadn't even texted Lucy in three days. She had been sitting here, staring at his hoodie, thinking about nothing but him.

Delaney: It's so embarrassing, dude. Like, actually soul crushing.

Delaney: Just... pretend you never saw them. Like a digital fever dream.

Delaney: Please. For the sake of my entire existence.

She stared at the 'read' receipt, her breath hitched in her throat. She was waiting for the laughter. She was waiting for the 'lol' that would seal her fate as the weirdest girl in the eleventh grade.