Mrs. Fletcher(82)

The coats were in a big pile, and half of them were black ski jackets, just like mine.

“Whatever,” I said, tossing aside a girl’s red parka. “I guess you weren’t as busy as you expected.”

I had tried to start things back up with her in early December, a few weeks after I came home from BSU, but she claimed she was swamped with schoolwork and college applications, and didn’t have time for a relationship.

“I’ve been meaning to text you,” she said.

It was hard to look at her just then, not only because I’d kinda forgotten how hot she was, but also because she was wearing a paper heart that said the exact same thing as Jason’s: Somebody Loves Me!

“How do you guys even know each other?” I asked.

“Instagram,” she said. “He’s a really nice guy.”

I found my coat. I knew it was mine because my mom had written my initials on the inside label before I left for college.

“I know,” I said. “I talked to him before.”

I tried to slip past her on my way out, but she grabbed my arm.

“Brendan?” she asked. “Are you really joining the Marines?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

She stared at me for a few seconds, like she was trying to picture me in my dress blues.

“You know what?” she said. “I think that would be really good for you.”

*

I didn’t feel like going home, so I drove around for a while. When that got boring, I went to the high school and sat on the top row of the bleachers, looking down on the football field. Wade and Troy and I had done that a few times over the summer. It was kind of a nostalgia thing, a way to remember our glory days.

It wasn’t very cold for February, I guess because of climate change, though maybe it was just a weather pattern, the Gulf Stream or whatever. I didn’t know as much about that stuff as I should have. I’d read a chapter for my Comp class that made it sound like the end of the world, but it didn’t feel like that in real life. It just felt like a pretty nice night.

Now that the shock had worn off, I realized that I wasn’t that upset about Becca. I wanted to be mad at her for lying to me back in December, but I knew she was just trying to be nice, letting me down easy with that bullshit about being too busy for a relationship. And I couldn’t blame her for hooking up with Jason, though I did wish she’d found someone a little more ordinary, who didn’t make me feel like such a loser by comparison.

The only girl I was really upset about was Amber. I’d sent her a bunch of texts in December and January, just checking in, trying to start a dialogue, but she threatened to block me if I kept bothering her. I hadn’t tried to contact her since then, so I figured maybe she’d calmed down a little. I thought about telling her I was joining the Marines—that would at least get her attention—but there was no way I was actually going to enlist. I had zero interest in shaving my head, and even less in going to Afghanistan.

I had a hard time thinking of what to say. I’d already apologized to her a bunch of times, and it hadn’t gotten me anywhere. I couldn’t think of anything funny or charming or even interesting, so I just wished her a Happy Valentine’s Day and left it at that. She didn’t reply, but my phone said she’d looked at the message, which I figured was better than nothing.

*

Eve was fast asleep when her phone dinged, shocking her back into consciousness. She sat up and threw off the covers, her groggy brain sorting through disaster scenarios as she tapped in her security code.

The text came from a number she didn’t recognize. It was three words long, a sad little joke from the universe.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

She took a moment to breathe, and get her heart rate under control.

Who is this?

There was a brief pause, and then a pleasant bloop!

Its me Julian

The glow from the screen was painfully bright. Eve’s fingers felt fat and clumsy as she typed.

How did you get this number?

Class list . . . last semester

Was that possible? Eve couldn’t remember putting her cell number on a class list. But maybe she had. In any case, another text had already arrived.

Am I bothering you?

She wasn’t sure how to answer that. It was sweet of him to remember her on Valentine’s Day. But not in the middle of the night. That wasn’t okay. Except it wasn’t the middle of the night, according to her bedside clock, just a few minutes after eleven. In any case, Julian had already moved on to the next question: R u in bed?

And the next:

R u naked?

Eve tugged on the blankets, covering her bare legs. She wasn’t naked, but she was pretty close. Just underwear and a T-shirt, not that it was any of his business.

Julian . . . please don’t do this.

There was a longish pause.

Dont you miss me?

This was an easier question. Of course, she missed him, just like she missed all her new friends from the fall—Amanda, Margo, Dumell, the whole short-lived gang. And she owed him an apology, too, for everything that happened on that night in November, and for ignoring the emails he’d sent her in the days that followed. But this wasn’t the time or place for either of those conversations.

Have you been drinking? she asked.

Im kinda wasted

Where are you?