I should have known. I should have not let myself get caught up in this, should not have let myself think that any of this was consistent or even real. I should not have expected Ilya to show up to something as banal as a ballet recital for my best friend after I asked him to. That's my own fault.

My feet create a different symphony from that flowing through the speakers to guide the dancers. Their song is of elegance, while mine is of anxiety. Ilya still isn't here, and it's been about three minutes since the start time of 7:30, which I made clear to him, because I don't think he's one to be very particular about time. Obviously not.

I bade Madeline farewell when we arrived here together and stood in the lobby as she disappeared to her dressing room. Being very early to accommodate the schedule of my dancer friend, I was not nervously anticipating Ilya's showing up. I did, however, continue wondering if he would ever show at all, even though it would be unusual for him to come this early. As always, he is unpredictable, and that leaves me in constant distress.

Fifteen minutes before the show, the audience members began to file in and claim their seats in the luxurious theater. I asked myself if Ilya would be among them, but he was not. Each person who entered through the door became subject to my visual investigation, and none of them matched the suspect, if I don't count the boy who gave me false hope for a minute until I registered his face completely. Five minutes before the show, I finally gave up and went inside so as to secure a spot for myself and my guest. Various people asked me if the seat next to me was taken, and I had to say yes, although I didn't fully believe it.

I then found out I had a right not to, as the performance started, and the red velvet seat next to me was still vacant. My heart sank.

I try to focus on the spectacular dancing on the stage, but Ilya occupies my thoughts as usual. I also try to remind myself that he doesn't matter that much, and that Madeline has been through everything with me and will continue to be by my side in it, meanwhile Ilya will disintegrate after high school. It doesn't help much to soothe my nerves.

I eventually can't take it anymore, and have to excuse myself to figure the situation out in the lobby. I need someone to talk to, so I go on social media, which sounds dumb, but it's probably the only thing that will work right now. I then see something that clears up the whole thing and simultaneously ruins any chance Ilya had with me.

There is a party going on tonight, and I know well that Ilya would never attend a dance recital over a party where there's drugs and sex and a plethora of bad decisions to make. It's unlikely that he would be anywhere else, I think to myself, and right as I say it, I see a video of him doing body shots off of a guy in my math class.

I feel a sharp knife of some inexplicable emotion in my stomach. He inspires so many feelings in me that I can't distinguish them anymore. All emotional intelligence out the window. The one feeling I understand at the moment is that I feel obligated to do something about this. I don't want to be walked over, especially when I thought I held just a little bit more importance in his eyes now. How foolish.

I decide call the girl who posted the video of Ilya and ask her to connect me to him.

"What's up, Isaac? Need the address to the party?" she asks in that typical sorority girl getting tipsy at a party voice.

"Thanks for the offer, but could you actually get Ilya Turner on the line? With him not having a phone and all, I had to use you as a middleman if that's alright with you."

"Are you two in love or something?" she inquires, giggling profusely. I don't answer her, knowing this is just drunk babble.

"Haha, can you hand the phone to Ilya please?" I don't have time for small talk, so I push it a little bit, although I don't think someone as intoxicated as herself cares much for politeness tonight.

"Sure thing."

I detect some noises muffled by the roar of the music and screaming, but eventually the phone is at Ilya's ear and he can deliver clear sentences.

"Isaac." This is a statement, not a greeting.

"Do you remember what tonight is?" I say passive aggressively.

"A Friday probably."

How dense can he be? I shake my head in disbelief, which he cannot see but it still feels necessary. "It's Madeline's dance recital."

"Oh, yeah," he replies, unfazed. This constant nonchalance has gone from charming to infuriating now that I see just how much he doesn't care.

"Did you forget about it or something?" I want to know why he is at this party and why he doesn't sound so panicked that he isn't at the recital instead. He's just too enigmatic, and just when I thought I had him somewhat figured out, he goes and pulls something that I cannot explain. What compels him to be this much of an asshole to a friend?

"No, I'm just not one for dance recitals."

I have no words to describe the sheer stupidity of what he has just said to me. What kind of brain does he have where he thinks this is how people act? We should disregard studying Einstein's brain for now and focus on Ilya's instead, because there are a lot more mysteries that even Einstein's enlarged brain fold cannot decipher.

"Couldn't you have told me that when I invited you?" That's what any rational person would have done when they discovered a conflict (this dance recital should have been a conflict with his party and therefore he should have come to the performance, but I already know that's not what transpired), but I guess Ilya is more insane than I previously thought him to be, and not the kind of insane that people romanticize. He's not the manic pixie dream boy archetype. He's cruel.

"Yeah, I could've."

"But you didn't," I deadpan.

"You catch on quick." I imagine the inevitable smirk on his face, the smirk I thought was captivating before it was used against me.

"You are too much for me, Ilya, seriously." I start to tremble, both with rage and surprise, and Ilya's voice begins to mirror the former.

"No one's asking you to follow me around like a puppy," he spits.

This hits me the hardest out of everything he has said during this phone call. Even if he is rude, I didn't expect him to just completely disregard the relationship we have been developing since the start of school. I thought the reason he invited me places wasn't because he pitied me. I thought we were real. By skipping the recital, he has made an indication that he is not a true friend, but hearing it out loud is what knocks the air out of me.

Tears accumulate in my eyes. My jaw shakes. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"You may have not considered this, but my world doesn't revolve around you. With the extensive amount of thinking you do, you should have realized that I hate commitment."

For someone who hates commitment, he sure does commit to being an asshole.

"You could have at least told me you weren't coming," I murmur, defeated.

Callously he responds, "You found out soon enough," and that's the last I hear from him before he hangs up and returns to partying, leaving me alone in the lobby to wonder why I didn't listen to the rational part of myself.