“I know the polite thing to do would be to look away and not intently stare at whatever’s on your phone screen, but I’m a rude motherfucker and I always snoop on your shit. Why are you hovering on the text screen with Lily’s number? Which begs the question—you have Lily’s number? And did you get that yourself like a big boy or did you simply piece it out of the group chat for parties? And—”
Before Cameron can utter another annoying fucking word I throw a half-empty water bottle at him, nicking him in the chin.
“Dude, what?”
I don’t grace him with a look in his direction. Instead, I let my hand make theCameron puppet,something I started doing to him last year when I realized it was effective.
“Dude, what?” I mock his voice while my hand forms a mouth.
“You’re just pissed that—"
“You’re just pissed that—” I keep up with him.
“You’re an asshole.”
“You’re an asshole,” I echo. Or rather, the Cameron puppet echoes.
Swinging his body around, his feet hit the floor with a heavy thud as he rises from his bed, half-dressed, and slaps my hand puppet,aka my hand, then gives me the middle finger.
“I’m hitting the shower. Have a nice day in sales.” Our door slams behind him and I flip him off in return, mostly because I fucking hate sales.
That’s not why I want to call in sick today, though. If I could take my sales penance from home, I’d make cold calls all day to avoid a face-to-face with Lily this morning. That’s what this is about. I’ve lost my ability to make good decisions. My head and guts and heart are all twisted into this grotesque knot. I barely slept. All I keep doing is replaying yesterday’s events. Every step of the way, I made choices that were wrong.
James asked me to stick around and spot him. I did, not because I wanted to be a friend but because I wanted to flirt with the idea of letting the bar fall on his teeth. Of course, I wouldn’t let that happen. But it was clear we both have thoughts on some unsaid shit. He packed on more weight, so I packed on more weight, and that futile routine went on and on. He only brought Lily up once.
“You and her, are you close?”
I met his stare as he looked up at me from the bench and a million different answers stirred in my head.
We’re tied.
We’re acquaintances.
We’re friends.
I hate her.
She pisses me off.
She’s cute.
We talked a little last year.
She and my sister were good friends.
We . . .almost . . .
“Nah.” That was my response. His pupils widened and his jaw ticked, and I knew that meant he called my bullshit.
And then we ran into her. All those other variables went away. Or maybe, rather, they morphed together into my actual feelings. It hit my stomach like an iron fist, and the only thing I could think of was self-preservation.
But I couldn’t let her swim alone.
My phone buzzes in my hand, startling me.
LILY:You coming? I brought you something.
My eyes flutter shut with guilt, and I swing my limp body around until my feet are on the floor and I’m standing. My shirt is wrinkled but there isn’t time to switch it out, so I stuff the ends into my pants and keep it pulled taut to manually stretch it into shape. I snag my jacket from the back of my chair and drop my phone and keys in my pocket, spinning my way through the door and out into the empty dorm hallway. Lily and I are going to have to haul ass to get to the station in time, but third through fifth forms are already in class so I (we?) don’t have to contend with people watching us until we get to the platform. My pulse is racing as my mind plays out the possibilities.