“Hey, Emma.” I waved a little, trying to smile as pleasantly as I could. She clearly wasn’t a fan of Kyle taking me to homecoming, but she’d been so nice that first day. The only person who had been, actually. It made me feel super guilty, suddenly, about the kiss. They weren’t together, right? I tried to focus on keeping the smile as normal as possible, even though my stomach suddenly felt snake-pitty.
She stared, recognition flitting across her face for just a second, then disappearing as her eyes narrowed and her dark eyebrows lowered, like thunderclouds coming down over a sunny day. She nodded at me once and kept walking toward the woods even faster, not looking back.
“See what I’m saying?” Mo pointed her foot a few times in the air, miming dance steps. “Mean.”
“This can’t be easy for her,” I murmured as we headed in for fifth hour.
Kyle slipped into his seat right before class started, and I couldn’t seem to catch his eye all period. He kept frowning at his handout like it was an incredibly difficult puzzle he wanted to murder. When Mr. Jenkins was writing on the board, I slipped my phone out.
(To Kyle): Everything okay? You seem . . . intense.
I pressed send and looked back at him. He pulled out his phone, frowned, glanced at me, then pasted on an obviously fake smile, pointing at the handout like it was the problem. He slipped the phone back into his pocket.
Okay, that was weird. I swallowed hard. My throat felt tight, like it was getting stuck on itself.
But he didn’t text anything back, so I tried not to worry about it too much.
I waited for about ten minutes after school, putting on eyeliner in the bathroom mirror, then rubbing it off, since I couldn’t seem to make it not look like some cartoon goth—how did other girls do this without looking like idiots?—before heading to my car. I didn’t want to seem too eager; it might make him realize that I was a ridiculous puppy dog, not a legitimate option. Plus, it would be super embarrassing to get to his house before he did.
The text came in just as I was pulling out of the school parking lot.
(From Kyle): Can we rain-check tonight? Something came up. I’ll text later.
I skidded the car to a stop, staring at my phone incredulously, before I realized that I was in the middle of the street in front of our school, and frankly lucky that no one had rear-ended me. I pulled off to the side.
Had he known before that he was going to cancel? He’d been so weird in Creative Writing, I should have known something was really wrong then. But why would he wait until now to tell me? Unless, of course, he didn’t give a rat’s ass how I felt about it. Stomach revolting, throat feeling like someone was sucking all the air out of it until it went flat, I forced my thumbs to type out:
(To Kyle): Sure, no worries. Talk to you soon.
Then I texted Mo to come over, SOS.
I left my phone out the entire drive home, the whole time Monique and I sat on the couch together watching me twirl in dresses—why had I been so embarrassed about this? It didn’t matter at all. I even left it on in my lap through dinner, clicking it to life occasionally, not even caring if my parents noticed.
He didn’t text back.
chapter forty-four
KYLE
WEDNESDAY, 3:40 P.M.
I pulled out my phone to stare at the text again.
(From Emma): My dad just told me he’s marrying Lindsay NEXT MONTH, and he wants me to be her fricking maid of honor. Can I come over after school? I need to be around someone sane.
I’d written out the “no” text a dozen different ways at lunch. I spent most of fifth hour trying to figure out how to make “I have plans” sound true. Even though it was, it looked like I was just trying to avoid her. Emma had said, in so many words, that she needed somebody now. Today. And she wasn’t the kind of person who had an easy time asking for that stuff. How could I say no when she was so clearly in a bad place? Wouldn’t that just be cruel?
But I tapped out “I have a thing tonight, what about tomorrow?” half hating myself, half relieved to not have to take on Emma’s problem. I didn’t want to let her down, but I didn’t want to be with her anymore, either. Wouldn’t it be confusing to do all the boyfriend legwork if I didn’t want the position?
Still, I felt like a piece of warmed-over crap all through sixth hour. Even Se?ora commented that I looked “muy irritado.”
I had to push it out of my mind. Rachel would be here any minute, and I didn’t want to be a drag, especially when this was almost like a first date. Or a second date? Was this a date? I could feel myself starting to smile, almost like a reflex. It reminded me, I needed to focus on Rachel now. She’d be able to tell if I was still turning this thing over in my head, and it might hurt her feelings. That was the last thing I wanted.
I threw my backpack in the front hall, then set the DVR to record the episode of Laura, in case we got busy doing . . . other things.