BACK AT THE house, Claire headed straight for her room. She grabbed her phone to send Matthew a text, and found a half-dozen unread messages. They were all from Emily. The first four were all variations of RU OK??? The first one sounded irritated, but the other two were pure worry. Claire wondered exactly what Matthew had told Emily.
The next one said, WHAT HAPPENED BTWN U AND MATTHEW? Claire's fingertips went tingly. Holding her breath, she clicked through the next two messages.
TEXT ME BACK AS SOON AS U CAN.
ARE YOU DEAD OR WHAT??? CALL ME ASAP!
The three messages went through Claire like an electric shock. What had Matthew said to Emily that could make her freak out like that? She stood, rooted to the spot, staring down at the phone.
She could feel her fingers twitching toward Emily's number, desperate to know. It was just a little after two—Emily might still be awake, surveying the mess . . . but probably not. And Claire was supposed to be so sick that she'd had to miss the party. If she called, it might look suspicious.
She knew she'd have to wait until tomorrow. There was no other way.
Damn.
Unable to stop herself, Claire opened a new message.
To Matthew.
I think we need 2 talk. Call me tomorrow.
She flipped the phone shut and buried her head in her hands. She'd been looking forward to the dance and the naming for so long, and the night had turned into a total disaster.
Well, not a total disaster. The naming had been amazing. Trying to hold on to that one bright spot, Claire did the only thing she could think to do. She headed for the bathroom and a hot shower. Claire spent the night tossing and turning, alternately too hot and too cold, slipping in and out of anxious dreams. When morning finally came, she dragged herself out of bed. It was a little after nine thirty. It was too early to call Emily, but she picked up the phone anyway. After the messages Emily had left her last night, it wasn't like she could be mad at Claire for waking her up at the crack of dawn.
It went to voice mail.
Claire hesitated. All sorts of horrible things were running through her mind, most of them involving Emily realizing that Claire had never been sick—that there was some other reason she'd skipped the party.
She got dressed and threw her hair into a ponytail, trying to find a way to make the time pass. She made her bed. She flipped through the channels on the TV. Eventually, she sat on the edge of the bed and watched the clock crawl toward eleven o'clock. She got more and more tense with each minute that passed.
At two minutes past eleven, she couldn't stand it anymore. She dialed Emily again. This time, Emily answered it.
"Hello?" Her rough, pained voice reminded Claire that she was supposed to be sick.
"Sorry," she said, trying to sound as pathetic as possible. It wasn't that hard. She just pretended that the ache in her chest was really in her stomach. "I know it's early. But I woke up and saw your texts and I'm freaking out. What happened?"
"Oh, God," Emily groaned. "It was—wait. Are you okay? Why didn't you call?"
"I think it was dinner," Claire lied. "I started feeling bad at the dance, and it got so awful that I had Matthew take me home. I was—it was gross." Even Emily was likely to let her off the hook when it came to details about throwing up. "Eventually, I just sort of passed out. I'm sorry I wasn't there. I really, really am."
"Me too," said Emily. Claire could hear her rustling around. "It was really fun, except . . ."
Claire's heart started thudding in her chest. "Except what?" she prompted.
"Matthew was—I don't know exactly what happened. He was drunk and talking about how the two of you had a fight. A couple of times Amy tried to pull him aside and talk to him, but I think he sort of brushed her off. She was really worried the rest of the night, but she wouldn't tell me why. She said it was private. Which pissed me off a little, 'cause it's not like I'm some stranger to her, but whatever. Anyway, long story short, there was definitely drama, and you probably want to sort that crap out with Matthew before the rumor mill grinds you to a pulp."
Claire doubled over, feeling like she'd been punched. What had Matthew told Amy that would make her so upset? If he'd let on that she wasn't really sick and Amy told Emily, it would shatter their friendship from the inside out.
In the background a door clicked and a voice—a guy's voice—rumbled.
"Okay, I'll be there in a second," Emily said to him. "Who's that?" Claire demanded.
"Randy," Emily admitted. "He was really sweet last night. A bunch of people stayed over, and even though he could have driven home, he slept on the couch so that he could help clean up this morning."
Claire had heard that same, wistful-excited sound in Emily's voice before. The one that meant she really, really liked a guy.
"Listen, I'm sorry, Claire. I've gotta go deal with things here. Just . . . talk to Matthew and then call me back."