Misfits Like Us (Like Us #11)(20)

I bite the inside of my lip, holding back a grin.

Eliot continues to read over my shoulder. “Someone agrees with you.”

“StaleBread89 has taste,” I say into a hearty nod. “I’m going to message them.” I’m already clicking their username to send a DM.

Concern is radiating off Eliot almost instantly. “Just be careful.” He rises from the nook behind me. “With a name like StaleBread89, he sounds like some creepy old guy in a rancid basement.”

“Or it could be a metaphor,” I say while typing. “Stale bread goes unloved. It’s not moldy, so it’s not immediately discarded. And you never know bread is stale unless you eat it, and that’s when you usually toss it away.”

“Unless it’s your only piece of bread,” Eliot says thoughtfully. “Then you’d eat it no matter what.”

The sadness of that statement surges through me. “Unless it’s your only piece of bread,” I agree into a nod.

Eliot laughs. “This guy’s not thinking that hard about his username. Believe me, Luna.” He saunters across the room to his bookshelf. “He’s probably been told his breath is stale.”

Maybe.

Or maybe it’s not even a guy.

I don’t know. I don’t care. And I usually don’t message people on Fanaticon, but today has been unusually off. With Charlie’s edits, a looming triple date, and now my downvoted comment, I just want to put positivity out into the world in the hopes that maybe I can feel it too.

So I type: Hey, thanks for the comment about Callie. Glad you like her too ??

Send.





6





PAUL DONNELLY





High school. Never thought I’d be back here, but I’m in the empty hallway posted outside Xander’s British Lit classroom. Nothing much to see here.

Dust bunnies could be rolling through the pristinely clean hall, the row of lockers a Dalton blue. My eye catches a banner hanging closer to the rotunda. Seahorse drawings and glittery pearls decorate the aqua paper. It says, Homecoming: Under the Sea, September 28th

It’s the week after my triple date, but Xander is still on the fence about going to Homecoming. So I’m not sure if I’ll be working or not yet.

“Seven days to find a girl,” I mutter to myself, unpocketing my phone. “Already wasted a whole week, Paul.” Procrastinating is a colleague of mine. Say hello to him every now and again. Shoot the shit. About everything but the things I need to do.

I could scroll through my TikTok DMs, see if anyone has slid into mine for a hookup. Not that I’ve hooked up with anyone lately. It’s been…a while.

A year?

Longer, I think.

Expelling a heavy breath, I unlock my phone and instantly see a notification from Fanaticon.

Illyana_Dallas222: Hey, thanks for the comment about Callie. Glad you like her too ??





Smiling, I click into the Bass forum. Girl made a good point about Callie, and I don’t like when fandoms pile on characters like they’re worth less than dog shit. Unloved ones get more love from me.

With my attention half on the hall, I respond to Illyana_Dallas222.

Don’t know why everyone is so heated over Callie. Season isn’t even halfway over yet. You’d think we were on the finale but the pitchforks have already come out.





She’s quick. Within a couple seconds, my phone pings with a Fanaticon notification.

Illyana_Dallas222: I guess the upside is that there is a lot of interaction with the show. Season 2 is prob guaranteed.





I send: Better be. So many cool directions the show could go and its top-tier atm

Illyana_Dallas222: I hope they stick the season landing ???? I like your username btw





I reread the last bit, about to type out a lengthy response, but the classroom door cracks open. So I send a quick thx. No time to be on the internet, I slip my phone in my back pocket.

It’s not Xander.

I try to wash away my annoyance when I see the short senior cheerleader in a Dalton Cheer outfit. Delilah. Bathroom hall pass in her hand, she gently shuts the door and flashes her blue eyes over at me.

I act like I’m scoping out the empty hallway.

“Hey,” she whispers, lingering around me.

This is the fifth bathroom break Delilah has taken this week. Her cheer friends have taken just as many during their Calc class with Xander.

“There’s a football game tonight, you know.” Delilah shifts against the blue lockers next to me, and I tense, uncomfortable at her closeness.

I touch my earpiece, as though comms are coming through.

“Are you going to go?” she wonders, twirling a piece of strawberry-blonde hair. “Maybe I’ll see you there?”

I click my mic. “Donnelly to SFO, I gotta offload some freight. Over and out.”

Oscar responds, “You hear that, gang? Donnelly has to take a shit at high school.”

“You sound like you want to watch, Oliveira,” Farrow chimes in. “Go drive over there and hold his hand.”

“He’s a big boy, Redford. You, on the other hand.”

“You’re not holding my hand.”