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I feel rotten.

I've felt pretty rotten in the past, but this seems much, much worse for some reason.

There's a Canadian kid that I'm pretty infatuated with, to say the least. We've chilled a few times, and they've all been around people that I am very comfortable with. I acted like a normal girl, around her favourite infatuation. Flirty, eager to learn about her new subject.
Last night, however, was much different.
I think it first went wrong when I was in a bad mood about my brother picking me up so late. Two hours late, to be exact. I had been sending dark thoughts towards him after he didn't reply to a text asking what was going on for about an hour and a half by the time he finally told me he was on his way to the house. I'm pissed, but a little giddy, because the Canadian is in the car and we're going to go chill.
Unfortunately, I couldn't seem to cheer up enough before we arrived at my brother's friends' appartment. Something imperative to the story is that I am never particularly comfortable around these select few people because they're quite a bit older than me, and I always get the sensation that they're silently judging me from their lazy boy chairs. Another key point is that I was the only female in a group of six, and then seven, males. Entirely uncomfortable.
Upon entering the appartment, I immediately bee-lined for my spot, a loveseat that only had room for one person, only because the other half was invaded by a large comforter. My scatterbrained self didn't even consider that I should sit next to the Canadian out of pure discomfort and habit.
The rest of the evening was a little awkward, to say the least.
For one, I wasn't comfortable around my brother's friends. Secondly, I was not sure if my brother was supportive of a relationship between myself and the Canadian.
The tension in the room was palpable.

The next morning, I found out that my brother had a plan, and all the other guys, except the Canadian, were in on this plan. It was a plan to get the Canadian and me together. If I had known, I would have been more apt to be my flirtacious self.
I sent the Canadian a message, apologising for the awkward tension from the night before, its contents hinting that I really like him. His reply was so nonchalant, I wanted to rip my hair out. Instead, screaming into a pillow sufficed.

I feel like a rotten apple because I have forever imprinted into his brain that night.

I'm a rotten, rotten apple.

Sucks for a Thanksgiving.