If You're Out There(24)
Logan leans into me. “Whoa, seriously?”
For a moment I’m too scared to look. Then I read it and something drops out from beneath me.
From: Priya Patel <[email protected]>
To: Alexandra Martini <[email protected]>
Date: Sat, Sep 8, 11:56 pm
Subject: Re: Really?
How did you know? It wasn’t working out. Nothing’s going on. All good. I’ve just been busy, and to be honest I need a little space right now. It’s hard to explain, but I do miss you. Really.
I can feel the blood pump straight up to my face. “She needs space?” I hold the phone to my face and shout at it. “Fuck! You!” I can feel Nick and Logan watching worriedly as I let my fingers fly:
From: Alexandra Martini <[email protected]>
To: Priya Patel <[email protected]>
Date: Sat, Sep 8, 11:57 pm
Subject: Re: Really?
Fuck space, Priya. That’s fucking bullshit and you know it. I want to talk to you. On the phone. Now. After all these years I think I deserve an explanation. One call and I’ll never bother you again. I’m dialing. So pick the fuck up.
I dial her number. Voice mail. “Hey, it’s Priya. You know what to do.”
“Dammit!” I spike the phone into the couch cushion. It bounces and flops onto the floor.
“Whoa,” says Logan. He touches my shoulder lightly. “Deep breaths.”
The lump in my throat grows thicker. “Why won’t she give me a fucking explanation? Is that really too much to ask?” Logan stares helplessly into my filling eyes.
The phone chirps on the ground and Logan strains to pick it up. Nick’s gaze is kind, but I can’t bear it. I’m embarrassed by the tears streaking my face.
“She wrote back,” says Logan.
I wipe my eyes. “What?” But he just hands me the phone.
From: Priya Patel <[email protected]>
To: Alexandra Martini <[email protected]>
Date: Sat, Sep 8, 11:58 pm
Subject: Re: Really?
Sorry Zan. I can’t. Maybe it’s time to move on.
Four
Wednesday, September 12
When the last class lets out, Lacey and I converge in the crowd beneath the Exit sign.
“Where are you off to?” she asks brightly.
“To my dad’s,” I say as people talk around and over us. Everywhere I go, people seem to be jostling one another and making spectacles of their happy teenage lives. I kind of hate them for it.
“Nice,” says Lacey. “What are you guys up to tonight?”
The stairwell is nearly gridlocked, but I push ahead. “I might talk him into a game of soccer. It’s been forever since we played, but I think I need to kick the crap out of something right now.”
“Wow,” she says, squeezing through to follow me. “When did you get so intense?”
Since Sunday, Mom has been referring to me as Hurricane Zan, which is fair, I guess. I snapped at dinner when Harrison wouldn’t stop telling knock-knock jokes. Kids are never funny when they try to be, and sometimes it’s excruciating. I may have asked him to please shut up (GASP! the other other S-word!), and then Mom glanced meaningfully across the table and suddenly Whit was whisking Harr outside for a walk.
Mom and I had a standoff then, and I could feel her resisting the urge to go all “Let’s talk while we do this puzzle” clinical therapist on me. I kept quiet, and she was careful to explain that she was more disappointed than angry. I think she was hoping the sudden presence of Logan in my life would turn me all gushy and fluttery until I magically forgot all my problems. I would like to point out that this Disneyesque narrative should theoretically horrify my mother, but I guess now we know what she’s really made of.
I blast through the main entrance and out into the day. “Zan!” After a few paces, Lacey catches my arm. “Hey! What’s the matter?”
I stop along the dusty path. “Sorry. I’m in a shitty mood.”
Lacey stands there a moment. “Do you . . . want to talk about it?”
“I really don’t.”
She leans in like we’re about to share a scintillating secret. “Okay, but does it have something to do with the new kid, Logan? I’ve seen you two together. He’s super-cute. But be careful. I think he’s trouble.”
I look at her, reluctantly taking the bait. “What do you mean?”
“Okay,” she says, her voice dropping low with excitement. “So I did a little online stalking with Skye and Ying when he first got here—as one does. He has like five pictures on his whole Instagram from forever ago but whatever. The point is, Skye recognized a bunch of his followers. Apparently he used to go to the same school as her cousin. Turns out? They had to kick him out of school.”
“Yeah, I know,” I say coolly.
“Well, do you know he was arrested?”
I frown. “Honestly, I didn’t ask him for the details, but he seems harmless to me. Not that it matters. We’re friends.”
Lacey’s expression calls bullshit. “I’ve seen how he looks at you.”
“More like acquaintances, actually.”
“Liar.”
The truth is I’ve been avoiding him since he saw me cry on Saturday. We took the “L” back together but didn’t talk much. I told him not to walk me home. He escorted me anyway, from a few paces behind. I guess because it was late, or because he’d left his bike at my house. Whatever the reason, he didn’t try to pull me from my mood.