Page 93 of Just Don't Call Me Yours

My thumbs hover over the keyboard, but I can’t bring myself to type anything.

Rae:

Margot, I’m your best friend, but I am done talking to you until you text him. DONE.

Rolling my eyes, I toss my phone back onto my bed and turn over to find Peanut watching me.

“Should I text him?”

The sleepy orange ball of fluff just winks one eye open.

“I know I should text him, but . . .” I stare down at my judgmental feline, but he offers me nothing. Letting out an aggravated sigh, I snatch my phone back and pull up Jackson’s name. Even seeing the letters on the screen makes my heart pound.

This is stupid.

The embarrassment of the last time I saw him creeps into the back of my mind, making my hands shake as I type out one word.

Margot:

Hey.

Before I can change my mind, I hastily hit send with my thumb and grit my teeth.

I should have said my name.

I should have said something.

But there’s no going back now, and if I send a second message, it will only look like I sat here overthinking the first.

Nothing happens.

No three dots appear to show that he’s typing.

He’s probably busy. He’s probably with his friends from high school, having a great time catching up. Or maybe he’s with his family, talking about important holiday plans, and I’m interrupting. They could be eating dinner . . . should I have waited until later? Who texts someone for the first time while they know they’re eating dinner?

Appalled at how unknowingly inconsiderate I was, I roll over to bury my face in the pillow, tempted to scream.

My phone chimes next to me, and I push up on my hands, my hair falling in my face as I scramble for the phone. There’s one unread message, and it’s only one word.

Jackson:

Margot?

58

jackson

My grip tightens around my phone as I stare at the screen with unblinking eyes.

It has to be her.

After three days, I was starting to think she wouldn’t reach out. I was starting to think I’d have to confront her the next time I visit Matt at school—whenever that is.

I look up at Matt playing Call of Duty. He’s sitting on the floor in front of me while I sit on his bed. We were playing together until I got the text. As soon as I saw a message from an unknown number, I put the controller down and walked away.

“What the hell, man?” Matt moves his headset off his ear and glances over his shoulder at me. “You disappeared.”

“I’m right here,” I answer without looking away from my phone. The three dots haven’t appeared yet, but I know she’s there. I know she’s staring at her phone screen the same way I’m looking at mine.

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