We were kissing on the other side of the truck,
with trees bending over the bed as a dark shadow
in the hours after midnight.
You had your hands up my shirt and my beer can
was in the one hand I had wrapped around your neck.
We were pulling on each other from different ends.
You were telling me you had to leave between separate kisses,
whispering how you wanted me and even though
your body was walking away your hands decided to stay.
I was begging you to come back with tiny pleading and the trace of my fingers
in the spaces of yours
when a name floated from your lips and landed on mine
it tasted bad and wasn't right because it didn't fit
she wasn't me
"Jodi!"
I'm Sophie.

Your invisible fist came like a sucker punch to my chest,
all the breath gone and the steam reaching my tongue
until I was cross eyed with anger and tearing up
with my back against your body trying to apologize
for getting it wrong
when I felt hands on my face and suddenly your mouth
against mine in a deep, regretful silent message
that you were sorry for saying her name,
and I believed that kiss because it took the pressure off
of finally admitting I actually had feelings for you or actually cared
about you.
I believed you were sorry for calling me someone else,
but really you were just sorry you got caught and let it slip.

This was uncharted and I knew from the beginning that it wouldn't last,
but I haven't been telling anybody how mean you are to me
about that incident behind the truck
or how you back hand my writing and won't let me speak
about it because you give me that weird look and just start
touching me to shut me up.
I tell everyone you're busy when I show up without you,
but really you just found someone better to do.
I tell everyone it's no big deal when they hear you were somewhere
I said you weren't,
but it's just as a surprise to me and it stings just as much
as it did that night you called me her when I'm me.
I don't tell anyone how awful you are to me
because it would make me the fool
and it would justify every "I told you so"
that would come my way from the fair warnings I was given
when I said you were almost mine and we were sort of together
in a casual, "I'd still like to *******," way.

I don't tell anyone because I'm still waiting for you to fall in love with me,
and I'm dangerously surrounding myself with thoughts of you
when I can't sleep at night and I find myself
smiling when your name comes up on my phone
or blushing when I hear your voice
which isn't good, because it's not just a physical thing
where I have my fun and make my own breakfast in the morning.
It's a stupid romance that has me actually falling for you,
and I don't tell anyone how much damage I take from your
nonchalant words or your false commitment
because I want you to turn out right after all the mistaken ways.
I want to prove everyone, mostly myself, wrong
about how you don't really want me and how all you ever actually wanted
was a pretty body to pass the summer time
until you went to school.
I don't want to be the fool.
So I don't tell anyone the truth about you.
I don't tell anyone about you.