DeAndre

Last Saturday, my friends pulled up outside my house to tell me there wasn’t room for me on the trip I’d organized. My bag was beside the door. I’d spent weeks finding discounted tickets for a weekend music festival. Bought seven before the offer expired, then waited for my six friends to pay me back. I’d worked out the route, found somewhere to stay, and booked the parking. One friend had a seven-seat SUV. We’d agreed to split the gas. Then his girlfriend decided she wanted to come. Apparently, everyone had discussed this except me. He stood in my driveway and explained that I’d need to follow in my own car. “It’s only three hours. We’ll all be together once we get there.” I asked why the person joining at the last minute couldn’t arrange her own transport. He said she wouldn’t know the way. Neither did half the people in his car. That was why I’d sent everyone the directions. Another friend leaned out and told me not to make it awkward. They wanted to leave before traffic got bad. I said I wasn’t driving six hours alone for a group trip. I’d stay home and sell my ticket. Nobody answered immediately. Then the friend standing beside me said they’d already given it to his girlfriend. “We thought you’d understand.”