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AND THEN THE MESSAGES started to pop up.

My phone and laptop were the only innocent victims in this scheme. They were both set into a conundrum of noise, my laptop alerting me of every new Facebook message I got with a series of quick sounds, and my phone buzzing furiously at the same time due to Messenger.

I was still sitting in front of my laptop when this happened. As it turned out, Lily had only been the first one to contact me after seeing Robin Wick's post. About ten minutes had passed ever since I read it on the Berry High Group, and things already started to take a weird turn.

Chats with different people popped up onto the screen, a string of texts flooding the screen. I was both curious and anxious to see what they said. I could already picture the reactions everyone had. Confusion, mockery, more confusion...

Maybe they thought I had something to do with this. That I made Robin Wick post that message on the Facebook group so that I could automatically announce people of the fact that I was looking for someone to go out with on prom night, without actually saying that myself. That it was an indirect move to let the guys know I was available.

But there was something important Robin Wick hadn't considered.

The Berry High Group was far from being Tinder.

I stared at the names of the people that had messaged me and my stomach did a small twirl. Liz Blare. Charlie McConnell. Two more other people from school. Jenny Whitman.

Jenny Whitman.

I was both surprised and confused.

In my mind she had little red horns sticking out from underneath her blonde locks and a sharp tail wavering behind her. And despite realizing how irrational I was being by picturing her this way, it was something I did subconsciously. It was just the way my eyes started seeing her ever since she had become the reason for the break-up.

Even though she could be a really nice person for all I knew. But she left a bad taste in my mouth nonetheless.

I reluctantly read her texts first. I clicked on the chat box with her name on it and tried not to think about the fact that she could now see that I read her message. Which would make it harder for me to ignore her if needed.

Jenny Whitman: Hey, Cece, sorry to bother... I just wanted to check if you knew something about that post? The one from the group? It mentions your name, after all...

I frowned and typed back a response.

Me: I know just as much as you do, trust me.

I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. The first part of her message sounded good enough. But the last part held something I didn't particularly care for.

It mentions your name, after all...

Yes, it did mention my name, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Much less that I had something to do with it. Still, the way she wrote that made me believe the contrary.

Jenny Whitman: Oh, okay. That's good.

And after a few seconds, a new message popped up.

Jenny Whitman: you seriously looking for a prom date though?

I blinked. I didn't know whether that was intentional or not, but she had a way of getting on my nerves. And a good way, for that matter.

Me: If I find someone to go with, great. If not, also great.

She replied with a simple Okay. I let out a sigh of relief. I was glad she didn't take the questions to a further level. I didn't want to picture the kind of answers my mind would've managed to invent otherwise.

I could already picture her taking a screenshot of our conversation, for some reason. But I knew I was being paranoid. I always was when it came to virtual conversations. People could be very mean when it came to these things. I knew that first-hand.

I quickly skimmed through the other messages I received, but all of them bore the same resemblance so my answers were all along the same lines:  Yes, I just saw that post, but I have no idea who made it or why. And yes, I am looking for a date if I find one, and if not, I will go alone. Thank you for asking.

I knew I sounded snappy, but that was the way these messages made me feel. The way this situation made me feel. Somehow Robin Wick managed to activate my inner Hulk. And once awoken, it was hard to ignore his growls.

I heaved a sigh and put the cap on my laptop. I felt as if my stomach was alive - buzzing with dozens and dozens of bees, waking me up right from my insides.

I felt my heart jump inside my ribcage, pressing against its tiny box so hard that I could almost hear it. Hear it wail and plead to be let out, released. I hadn't heard my heart beat like that ever since that one night a couple of weeks before.

One of the only nights I had ever felt alive - truly alive. When Mac and I had become a couple.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, but it almost felt like swallowing a splinter. It scratched and ached and I didn't know how to feel anymore.

I was sweating and I was cold and I felt restless and tired. And I didn't know what to make of this situation. My brain was buzzing with ideas, high-wired and restless itself, trying to come up with reasons why someone would post something like that.

I gasped. Something clicked in my mind.

Yes... I could picture it now. I closed my eyes, let the black take over my sight so I could replace it with what I saw then. And it did make sense, except that -

"Cece, can you help me with something?"

It was Mom. She was calling from downstairs.

"In a minute," I yelled back, trying to gather back my previous thoughts.

"I don't have a minute," she said, her tone seemingly more irritated. "You either help me or not."

I rolled my eyes. I hated when she did that. Always impatient when it came to chores. "Coming!" I snapped back, hastily descending the stairs and going into the living room, where I found her stirring a white liquid in what looked like a plastic bowl.

I quirked an eyebrow at the sight. "What are you making?"

"Pancakes," she said it likes she was still irritated with me, but a tiny smile betrayed her.

I beamed. "Yay, thank you."

"Please pass me the frying pan. It's in the cupboard next to me. Down there," she pointed to the small door next to her feet. I bent down, retrieving the aforementioned kitchen utensil and leaving it on the counter next to the bowl she was stirring in. "Thanks."

"What else can I do?"

She tore her eyes away from the bowl and looked at me in thought. "You can help me finish these, but only if you want to."

Of course I did. I'd always loved play-pretending being a chef and tossing the pancakes high up in the air, watching them land on their other, uncooked side. It was a fun process which I hardly missed as a kid. Now was no different.

When the pancakes were done, I sat down at the table and quietly enjoyed their fresh taste in my mouth, the chocolate a sweet blessing upon my tastebuds.

After that I went back upstairs, pleased that my stomach was fuller and my mind more relaxed.

But that too had its downside because with a more relaxed mind, whichever realization I had before Mom calling me downstairs, was now lost into the depths of my mind - hidden in a pile among my other restless thoughts.

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