“I’m sorry, Lucy,” I say. “I’m sorry this happened.” Because of me.
Lucy wipes at her red eyes with the edge of her black T-shirt. “You know what pisses me off the most?” she asks, and without waiting for my answer, she keeps going. “In Houston I never got in trouble. Ever. I was, like, a super nerd in my school. I was a kickass student and in, like, twenty clubs. I was even on the student advisory board. Teachers liked me. The principal fucking loved me!” Lucy moves her hands in the air as she talks, emphasizing her points.
“They had a student advisory board?” I ask, my eyes widening at the idea.
“Yes!” Lucy says, half-wistful, half-angry. And with that she slumps down and curls up in the corner of her bed. “I know I come off like some tough girl here or whatever because I actually care about social issues and stuff,” she continues, “but honestly, I really just want to do well in school and go to college. I can’t get into serious trouble because that could affect stuff like admissions and scholarships and everything.”
“I know,” I say, nodding. “I really know. And I’m really, really sorry you had to deal with all this.” I reach out tentatively and stroke the top of Lucy’s dark curls. She looks up and manages a half smile and the two of us sit there, quiet except for Lucy’s occasional sniffles. I lean my head against the cool glass of the tiny bedroom window and peer down at the front yard. Lucy’s little brother is racing his scooter up and down the sidewalk, his dark hair flying out behind him, not a care in the world. At last Lucy says, “You’re a good friend, Viv. I’m really glad I met you.”
“I’m really glad I met you, too,” I say. But my stomach churns. A good friend would tell Lucy the truth right now. A good friend wouldn’t let her carry the weight of everything.
I open my mouth. Then I shut it.
Maybe I’m not a good friend. Just a chicken.
“You know, Moxie has been a total saving grace for me,” she says, taking a deep breath, “but I kind of hope it takes a break for a bit. Until shit calms down.”
It stings to hear those words, and it hurts to see Lucy so defeated. If I had the guts to admit I started Moxie, maybe Lucy would want to keep the fight going. The only trouble is, I think part of Moxie’s power is that it is a secret who started it. Would it be as powerful if everyone knew it was my idea?
“I wonder if whoever started it got freaked out enough by Principal Wilson to stop,” I wonder out loud, to see what Lucy will say.
“Whoever started Moxie doesn’t seem like they’d get too frightened too easily,” she answers. “But I’m scared. I definitely think the administration is going to be keeping a super close eye on all us girls. I don’t know. I hate to say it, but I really do think Moxie should take a hiatus.” She frowns.
“Yeah, probably,” I say, trying to shake the empty feeling that’s come over me. Did I really just decide to stop Moxie?
Just then my phone buzzes, and I slide it out of my pocket.
Hey how’s Lucy doing?
“Ooh, is that your guy?” Lucy says, kicking me gently in the shin.
I shoot her a look. “Maybe.”
“Well, if it isn’t, he better not know about whoever it is whose texts make your face go all goofy like that.”
“Look, he just wants to know how you are,” I tell her, showing her the screen.
“Wow, an East Rockport guy who isn’t a dick,” Lucy says. “He should be, like, bronzed or something.”
I laugh out loud and text Seth back.
She’s doing okay considering but we’re still hanging out … can I call you later?
A second later Seth writes back.
Yeah sure … just don’t forget your pathetic lonely boyfriend over here
I blush briefly. Boyfriend. It’s the first time Seth’s used that word with me.
I won’t forget you … I promise
“Okay, enough, lover,” says Lucy. “Let’s go downstairs and see if we can raid my grandmother’s Klondike bar collection in the freezer.” At that she pulls herself off the bed and heads for the door of her bedroom. I slide my phone back into my pocket, my head spinning at the idea of a cute boy who calls himself my boyfriend and my heart aching at the feeling that all of a sudden Moxie has stepped on the brakes. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to make sense of it, but I guess it would be asking too much for 100 percent of my life to be 100 percent awesome 100 percent of the time.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I’m making out with my boyfriend.
Even though Seth and I have been going out for almost two months—since Christmas, really—sometimes I have to stop (briefly) in the middle of a make-out session and consciously recognize that yes, Seth Acosta is my boyfriend. And I get to make out whenever I want.
The way he kisses that place right behind my ear.
The way he can’t stop touching my hair, running his fingers through it over and over until I get goose bumps.
The way he looks at me with his dark eyes, his cheeks flushed, before he collapses into me and we kiss again.
Only normally this happens in his car or by the beach or in my living room before my mother gets home from work. Tonight it’s happening in his house—in his house decorated full of strange paintings and sleek, shiny furniture—the total opposite of Meemaw’s country kitchen vibe. (There’s not a damn rooster knickknack in sight, that’s for sure.) Making out in this house makes the making out seem more grown-up somehow. Or at least more sophisticated.
Finally, we pull apart, catching our breaths.
“My parents are going to be here soon,” he says, blinking. Trying to steady himself.
I peer at him from my end of the couch. I really want to attack him again.
“Yeah,” I say, “I don’t want my face to look all, like, make out-ey when they get here.”
“I didn’t realize make out-ey was a word,” Seth says, grinning.
“It totally is.” A smile breaks out on my face, and I lean in and kiss him again.
It’s a testament to how super crazy I am about Seth that I would even risk making out with him in his house so soon before his mom and dad are set to arrive with dinner. I’ve never even seen them before, but Seth’s mom insisted I come over today, Friday—the weekend before Valentine’s Day—so we could meet in person.
“She’s just, like, into knowing who you are, since we’ve been hanging out,” Seth explained to me a few days ago when he asked me if I would mind coming over.
“Are you blushing?” I’d asked him.
“No,” Seth had answered, even though he totally had been.