Doesn't it always seem like the times that you want to be alone the most the phone rings? Maybe it just happens to me. I always have been unlucky.

The night the phone rang at the exact wrong time I was just about to go watch TV. I had had a horrible day. I found out I failed the three tests I had the day before, and in one class I was now failing was no chance of pulling it up above a D before report cards. Plus, since that wasn't bad enough, my best friend found out that her boyfriend was cheating on her with our other best friend. And, because the day was going so well that something bad had to happen, right when I pulled out of the parking lot, my car broke down. It had to get towed, and, since it's a piece of crap, the mechanic found about five million things that needed to be fixed in my car. When I saw the bill, I had to call my parents to ask for the money, and my mom screamed so loud that I went deaf for a few minutes. Now, I had to give my paycheck to them for two months to help pay.

After that day, I went home, took a shower, grabbed some junk food, and was about to start my TV marathon. Just as I set down my bowl of Cheetos was when the phone rang. Needless to say, I was in a pretty bitchy mood, so without even looking at the caller ID I snatched up the phone.

"What?" I barked.

"Um, hi." The person on the other end sounded a little taken aback. I didn't recognize the guy's voice that I had just heard, but at that moment that didn't matter to me.

"Um, hi," I mocked, "who the fuck is this?"

The guy started laughing. "Are you kidding?"

"Do I sound like I'm kidding?"

"Mariana, I've called this number every day since I was five. I would hope you're joking."

"Last time I checked my name wasn't Mariana. Now who are you?"

"Right. Good try, Mariana. Can't you hear me laughing?" he asked sarcastically.

I sighed and ran a hand through my wet hair. I wanted to be alone. "Look, my name is not Mariana. I think you have the wrong number."


"No, I'm lying, genius."

"Wow, you sound exactly like Mariana. Sorry about this."

Normal, sweet me would say 'Oh, it's no problem. Sorry for the misunderstanding. Bye.' But normal me wasn't home tonight. Bitchy Ansley was running the show, and she was mad. "Apology not accepted. Did you not believe me when I said I wasn't Mariana the first time? Did you think I was lying? Why weren't you just a normal person and said, 'oh, really, you're not Mariana? Sorry.' Then I would have accepted your apology. But now, after being on the phone for you for five minutes when all I really want to do is watch TV and forget about this horrible day, I am fucking pissed!"

I had forgotten to breath during my last long sentence, so I took a few deep breaths as I listened to the silence on the other end of the phone. Maybe he had hung up.

I had no such luck. After about ten seconds of silence, I heard his voice again, and it had a flirty tone in it I hadn't heard before, "Wow, that was a nice speech. It turned me on."

"Getting bitched at by an angry girl turns you on?" I asked in disbelief.

"Well, Mariana is pretty hot, even though I don't like her or anything; she's almost like my sister since we've been best friend since we were in diapers. She's just one of those people you can't help but notice how beautiful they are, even if you feel no attraction to them."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"Since you and Mariana have almost exactly the same voice, so similar that me, her best friend since birth, couldn't tell the difference, then you have to be pretty hot too."

I was glad then that you couldn't see people over the phone, because my face was the epitome of surprise then. "Are you asking me out?"

"If you want to."

Was this person completely insane? I decided to ask him. "Are you completely insane?"

"No, just completely turned on."

"You don't know anything about me besides my phone number. For all you know, I could be a sixty-year-old living in the middle of the forest with fifty cats. Or I could be a six-year-old and I could go to my mommy and say, 'mommy, some guy wants to go out with me. What does that mean?' So why the fuck are you asking me out?"

"Well, you definitely sound like a teenager, and I'm guessing somewhere between fifteen and seventeen. Since I'm seventeen, a year or two difference between us won't be that big a deal. And I also know you're at least interested."

"Why's that?"

"You haven't hung up yet."

For an answer I hung up. I decided to just forget about that whole incident until tomorrow, when I would recount it to Jess, my friend who got cheated on, to make her laugh. God knows that poor girl needs a laugh after what her boyfriend did to her.

I walked out of the kitchen where the phone was located and to the living room. Right before I sat down the phone rang again. With a sigh, I headed back into the kitchen. I looked at the caller ID. It said Chad Ollern. Since I didn't recognize the name, I assumed it was the boy who just called. I was going to kill him.

I snatched the phone off its cradle and said, "Why are you calling again?"

"To prove a theory, and you just proved it right," Chad answered.

"What's that?" I asked.

"And now you have completely confirmed it. I called to see if you really were interested, and since you picked up I know for sure you are."

I hung up again. I turned to walk away yet again, but before I could even go a step the phone rang again. Sure enough, the caller ID said Chad Ollern.

"What do you want, Chad?" I questioned when I picked up the phone.

"Well, I was going to tell you my name and then say it was only fair you told me yours in return, but since you seem to know mine then just tell me yours," Chad explained.

Ok, that was definitely proved he was crazy. "Why would I do that?"

"Because, since you've picked up the phone three times despite the fact that you said you don't like me, there is no way you are not interested in me."

"Well, sorry Mr. Psychology Major, but I am not interested."

"I'm not a psychology major; I told you, I'm seventeen. How old are you?"

"I'm Fifty five million years old."

"How funny," he said completely seriously, "come on, just tell me your age, and then I'll stop bugging you."

That was too tempting to resist. "You promise?"

"Sure," he said.

"Fine. I'm seventeen too."

"Great. Now that I know your age, what's your name?"

"You just promised to stop bugging me if I told you my age!" I screamed. You could find out addresses if you knew a person's phone number, right? If that was true, then if I was him I wouldn't sleep tonight.

"No, I promised to nothing. You said, 'you promise?' and I said, 'sure.' You never said what I was promising to, so for all I know I was promising to not eat the gum off the back of a school desk."

Well, at least I knew he was smart. I'm not sure what that was good for, but I couldn't stand idiots. He was now up one point since he had intelligence; so he was now a -1265434 on my hate scale.

"So, tell me your name," he continued.

"If I tell you my name do you promise to stop bugging me?" I bargained.

"I promise to stop bugging you if you tell me your name and will go out on a date with me."

Wow, that was a tough deal. I wanted him to leave me alone, but I could tell he was going to be persistent until I agreed. Besides, it was only one date. After the first five minutes I could pretend to get sick and that would be that. It was decided. I would agree to it.

Before I had time to stop myself, I blurted out, "My name is Ansley. Pick me up at seven tomorrow. Bye."

Who would have guessed that that one wrong call would result in me being here, five years later, writing this story with an engagement ring from Chad on my finger.