She’s on her phone. “Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. Evan. Just. Messaged. Me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Through Instagram. Look.” She holds up her phone to my face and I have to let my eyes focus before I can really see what it is that she’s showing me. It’s a photo of the back of his hand with a phone number written on it. “His number,” she says. “He sent it to me privately.”
I sit up to look at her bedside clock. “Why is he sending you messages at six-thirty A.M.?”
“I just posted a pic from yesterday—my Marilyn photos, you know? I couldn’t think of a good caption, so I waited until just now to post—and then he messaged me right after.”
“Good! That’s great,” I say, but it’s not great. It’s weird and awkward, and I don’t know why I blurt that out.
I mean, he’s flirting with her. He responded to a half-naked photo of her with his phone number. It’s what she wanted. And I need to remember that as good as I felt in that crazy, wonderful moment yesterday, I don’t want him. Life is complicated enough as it is. And I want Sammie to be happy.
“He wants me to text him.”
“So, text him, then.”
“Okay. Yeah. Yeah? Okay. I’ll do it.”
She hovers over her phone and sends him a message. I don’t ask what it says. I lie back down.
She lies back next to me. “Okay. I sent it. Oh God. I can’t believe it.”
“Did he say anything else with the picture?”
“No. It’s just his number. I hope it was meant for me. Maybe it wasn’t meant for me?”
“It was meant for you.”
Her phone lights up. She reads the message and nearly wakes the whole building with her squeal. “HE WANTS TO COME OVER!”
“Wait. What? Here? Now?”
“Yes.” She ignores my questions while she types something back to him and then throws the cover off our legs. “He’s riding his bike over from campus. Come on. Get up. We’ve got to get ourselves together. Will you fix my hair? Maybe that cool braid again? I’ve got to put on some lipstick or something. He’s going to be here in ten minutes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. He says he needs us for something.”
“He knows I’m here?”
“Yes, I told him.” And then it hits me at the same time it hits her. “Maybe he just wants to see you.”
She’s right. She’s totally and completely right. This is the point where I should admit it all. I should tell her that he kissed me—that I kissed him.
But I don’t. Instead, I insist that’s not what it is, because I can’t let it go any further. “He messaged you,” I say. “He texted you.”
“Yeah, okay. You’re right.”
We get ourselves dressed quietly so as not to wake her mom, who probably came home around two, like usual. I braid Sammie’s hair and then sit on her bed while she works her makeup magic in her mirror: foundation, eyeliner, mascara, lipstick, the works.
I throw my hair in a ponytail and put on my bra.
Her phone buzzes, and she checks it. “He’s downstairs,” she says.
She tells the doorman to send him up. A few minutes later, there’s a soft, rhythmic knock at the door.
“He’s here.” She looks terrified.
“So answer it.”
“Yes. Okay. I’ll answer it.”
I follow her down the hallway and through the empty living room. She opens the door. Evan’s standing there, clearly upset.
He doesn’t say hi or anything—there are no formal greetings, no pleasantries or salutations. He walks past us and sits on the couch. “I need your help. Professor Cox needs your help. He’s in trouble. Deep trouble.” He’s breathless and upset.
“Shhh,” Sammie says. “My mom’s sleeping. Come on. Let’s go up to the roof.”
Sammie leads us out the door, and we follow her toward the elevator. Evan looks at me, and I have to look away, for fear of acknowledging what happened yesterday. He reaches for my hand to try to hold it, but I pull back and shake my head.
Sammie turns and asks, “What’s going on?”
“Nothing!” I say.
This confuses Sammie. “What? What are you talking about?”
“What? Oh, you mean with Professor Cox? Yeah—” I try to recover. “What’s going on, Evan?”
The elevator door opens. “I’ll tell you when we get upstairs,” Evan says. “I’ll explain everything. Or at least I’ll try to.”
Inside the elevator, the air between us is thick. We’re all facing one another, our backs against the mirrored wall, and it’s so incredibly awkward. Sammie looks at Evan, and then Evan looks at me. I try my best to keep my attention on the numbers that rise one by one as the elevator takes us up to the roof.
Finally, the elevator door opens. We follow Sammie out, and she uses her keys to unlock the fire door.