Shane: Night, princess.
The next day, he smirks at me, waggling his phone, like there’s something really dirty on it. The blush nearly sets my face on fire. On the plus side, his new phone means I get the sweetest messages at random points in the day … and sometimes when he’s on break at work, too. He starts leaving Post-its on our locker, too—nothing embarrassing, little things I did that make him happy. Shane takes some shit for it, but I bet other girls wish their boyfriends were more like him. Mind you, I don’t stop leaving compliments for people having a crappy day, but not gonna lie, it’s easier to see the bright side with Shane shining just for me.
I have never, ever been this happy. I’m terrified. I’m on fire with joy. I’m … alive, for what feels like the first time, ever. I’m not pretending anymore, hoping nobody notices that I’m the freak who doesn’t fit, who has darkness graven down to the bone.
A week before my aunt’s big holiday in Chicago, as promised, I talk to Lila about sleeping over. She cocks her head. “Seriously? Your aunt is going away for the weekend and you want to waste one of those nights at my place?”
“Want is a strong word,” I mumble. “But it’s one of the conditions to my getting even one night on my own.”
“She’s protective of you, huh?”
“Do your parents leave you home alone that long?”
“Ha, never. Maybe not even when I’m thirty. But they don’t trust me. It seems like you and your aunt get along pretty well. And you’re not the type to throw a wild party the minute she leaves.”
Lila doesn’t have all the facts. The reason my aunt doesn’t want to leave me alone so long has nothing to do with rapport or trust. But I don’t go into that.
“Will your parents mind?”
She shakes her head. “Not at all, they love you. My dad thinks it’s awesome that you have a plan, even if it’s a hippie goal. Which night were you thinking?”
“Saturday.”
Shane works that night, so we’ll have more time together if he sleeps over on Friday, like he did before. And though I’m not positive, I might be ready to do more than kiss. How much more, I’m not sure, but I’m scared and excited, my heart trembling like a butterfly at the idea. I remember how it felt to curl up in his arms.
Finally the week I’ve been looking forward to arrives, when my aunt’s going away with Joe. School and work seem like distractions from my ultimate goal: Friday night. Shane will arrive at my house at eight, and he’s bringing clothes for work the next day. As I ride my bike home that afternoon, I’ve got a hundred questions swirling in my head: what I should wear, if we should cook or order from Pizza the Action, but pizza isn’t very romantic. It’s chill, for when you’re hanging out with a bunch of people, but you’d never be, like, Please, baby, take me out for a slice.
But when I get home, things are so not okay. My aunt is home from work early, which almost never happens. This makes me think she’s sick, and her depressed expression reinforces that impression. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Joe’s got strep,” she answers.
“Oh, shit.”
So obviously, the weekend she—and I—have been looking forward to isn’t going to happen. No trip to Chicago, no swanky hotel, no theater tickets, no champagne, and for me—worst of all—no overnight with Shane. This isn’t Joe’s fault, but I’m totally frustrated. Instead of a romantic weekend where I kinda planned to fool around with Shane, I get to cheer my aunt up.
“I need to call Lila and cancel our sleepover.”
“No, you don’t have to do that,” she protests.
“I want to. You shouldn’t sit around by yourself, feeling crappy. You need chocolate therapy and a bunch of girl movies. Strep is contagious, right? So you can’t even see Joe.”
“Don’t remind me.” She brightens. “Hey, maybe Lila wants to come over here instead?”