Bryce stood outside of the theatre looking like an Abercrombie model, wearing dark jeans, a pale blue shirt, and a blackleather jacket. As we climbed out of the car and strode across the parking lot, I was privy to the Bryce Colton realityshow, where two girls, each as tall as he was, engaged in a hair-toss and giggle-flirt fest.
He laughed and talked with both of them, touching eachof them on the arm in
a subtle way. As we drew closer, he spotted us, or should I say, me. Do you think he
told those girls his date was here and graciously excused himself from the
conversation? Nope. He made eye contact with me, nodded in acknowledgement and then…he continued his conversation.
Real date or not, that was rude, and disrespectful,and I was ten seconds away
from telling those girls he was a post- op-transsexual and all his parts were not in
working order. Or maybe I should post that information on YouTube. It was a
satisfying fantasy. In reality, I stood off to theside with Jane and Nathan, and waited
for Bryce to wrap up whatever he was doing.
When he joined us, he said, “Hi.” And nothing more. Why did he have so much
to say to those girls while I was only worth a one-syllable greeting? Was there any
way I could realistically dump a cherry slushie in his lap during the show?