Always Never Yours(39)



“How often do you guys even talk? What with her strict bedtime—”

“She doesn’t have a strict bedtime,” Owen cuts in. “It’s just the nine-hour time difference.”

“Whatever. It doesn’t look like cross-continent FaceTime is the easiest thing in the world, either.”

“We talk every weekend,” Owen says grandly, like this is something to be proud of.

I make sure to look aghast. “Every weekend? What about the other five days of the week? Already we’re only talking about phone sex here, I don’t know how you—”

“Oh my god, Megan.” He hangs his head in his hands.

“What?” I say, laughing. “I tell you everything about Will and me!” My face hurts from grinning. Which . . . is unexpected, after last night.

“Not because I ask about it!” Owen fires back, but he’s definitely on the verge of laughing himself.

“Wait, do you guys have phone sex?” I drop my voice seriously.

“You have no idea.” He quirks an eyebrow, and he’s almost got me convinced, until he doubles over laughing.

“You actually can act!” I say, enjoying the way his hair has gotten ruffled.

He catches his breath. “What were we doing here again?” he asks with a rhetorical air, pen to his lips. “Oh yeah, helping me on my play.”

“Fine . . .” I hold my hands up in surrender. “Ask away, Shakespeare.”



* * *





By Sunday night, I’ve surprised myself in two ways. I’ve memorized Juliet’s long scene with the Nurse, even the monologue and my cues from Romeo, and honestly . . . I’m proud. It’s the first time working on Romeo and Juliet that I feel like I’ve accomplished something. Even if I can’t pull off a convincing Juliet performance, at least I won’t lose my shit and forget my lines in front of a huge audience.

I’m in the kitchen, reading the balcony scene over a dinner of macaroni—which I remembered to return to the cupboard this time—when I hear my phone vibrate on the table.

I glance down at the screen. Anthony’s texted, NEXT FRIDAY NIGHT. YOU’RE COMING OVER.

I take a bite and type with one hand, anthony, if i didnt kno sum things id think u were propositioning me

CARNE ASADA. ERIC, he replies. Immediately, I drop my fork and snatch my phone off the table.

omg omg omg omg, I send back.

Either Anthony’s in a hurry or he expected my enthusiasm, because he replies simply, BRING A CASUAL DATE. WANT EVERYTHING TO BE CHILL.

roger, I confirm.

Anthony’s typing bubble reappears, and a second later I receive, UM WHO’S ROGER??

meant yes!! I send, then follow up with, ugh id never date a “roger,” def not a sexy name

BEG TO DIFFER, Anthony replies.

Smiling, I send him, what happened w eric??? call me

SORRY. SHIFT STARTING.

I open the NEW MESSAGE window, but before I type Will’s name, I hesitate. Inviting him to be my “chill date” would kind of implicitly dismiss the questions I still have concerning yesterday. If only Owen could’ve shed some light on things between my possibly-boyfriend-but-who-knows and me.

I just have to talk to Will in person, I decide. Tomorrow I’ll find him between classes.

I poke my fork into my macaroni container only to discover it’s empty, so I walk to the other side of the kitchen and drop it in the trash. The echo of plastic on plastic is surprisingly loud.

It’s stupid, but it makes me feel lonely. The house feels stiflingly empty. I thought I’d be relieved to have peace and quiet with Erin out of the house—I had epic plans for today of napping on the couch and blasting music in my room—but I’m surprised to find the solitude is starting to bother me. I even slept with my industrial-strength earplugs in because I felt weird without them.

I study Romeo and Juliet for two hours before I hear keys in the front door and my heart does an unfamiliar leap. Not bothering to play the cool, independent teenager, I jump up to meet my family at the door. The first face I find is Erin’s. She’s held over my dad’s shoulder, eye-level with me, and she breaks into a tiny-toothed smile when she sees me.

“Menan!” she squeals.

Rose, walking in behind my dad with a hand on her stomach, notices Erin’s delight. “Looks like somebody missed her sister.”

Somebodies, I think. I lift Erin off Dad’s shoulder, and he immediately turns back to get the luggage out of the car. Erin reaches for one of my earrings, and I coo to her uncomprehending grin, “Let’s try to go twenty-four hours without getting your food in my hair, okay?”

“How was your weekend?” Rose asks from the doorway.

“Good. Quiet,” I say. But she’s looking at me like she wants to hear more, and I feel unexpectedly grateful after a day of nothing but texting by way of social interaction. “It’s nice to have everyone home,” I add.

Dad walks back through the door, wheeling two suitcases behind him. He briefly smiles at the sight of me with Erin, but when his eyes land on Rose, a look of horror crosses his face. “You weren’t supposed to carry anything!”

“Oh, come on,” she says, smiling and shrugging the small diaper bag off her shoulder. “It’s nothing.”

Emily Wibberley & Au's Books