I remember Johnny’s face when we were up on stage. It made we wish I was blind because for the first time in our entire relationship, he wasn’t smiling at me.
He was looking at her. After my initial double-take, and the recovery of my forgotten line, I suddenly came to grasp at the painful realization that maybe Johnny was just as big a whore as I was, and with a far bigger palette to choose from. I also realized that the song we were singing was, yet again, another slice of fate’s cruel irony.
That boy is mine. I shot her a look as the same words passed through my lips. Michigan was way too drunk to notice, evident by the sixties-style sunglasses that were hanging halfway down her nose like if John Lennon had been a librarian. I realized even then that it wasn’t her fault. She had no interest in Johnny- at least not in that way. But even still, it killed me to know from just a single look that he might have been interested in someone else, and I immediately began to hate the girl.
Which is exactly why I knew that we had to be friends.
Johnny was a willful bastard and I knew that even if I had tried to convince him not to hang around her he was going to anyway. So, I had to make sure that if Michigan had started to question her sexuality in any sense that maybe she would feel just a little too guilty to try anything with him. Thus began the start of an amiable relationship based entirely around my ability to manipulate my boyfriend.