Page 21 of Only Mostly Devastated

My first instinct was to text him back, begging him to meet me right this second.

The next was to delete this message thread so I wouldn’t be tempted to ever reply. I actually got halfway through doing that, then chickened out. I wasn’t quitethatstrong. Alas and alack and whatever.

I went with door number three. Don’t reply, for now. I’d wait until I came up with the perfect response. If experience was anything to go by, the perfect response was never the first one that came to mind. Let him think I was busy. I was, after all. Busy putting together a life here. A life that didn’t need to revolve around Will “Who?” Tavares.

As soon as I made that decision, a rush of power coursed through me. Finally, after all these weeks, I had the opportunity to be the one ignoringhim.I could get used to being on this side of the power balance.

I didn’t reply throughout the rest of the school day. Played it totally cool, if I do say so myself. I was 90 percent sure it was because of all Mom’s mindfulness training. When I realized that, I did some visualization. Of Will checking his phone every five minutes with his heart in his throat, like I’d been doing the whole last couple weeks of summer. And that felt so good, it wassureto manifest. It turned out I got most of my positive energy from the thought of karmic schadenfreude.

At home, Crista and Dylan were over. Aunt Linda had taken a “bad turn” during the day, according to Mom, and was back in the hospital overnight. The kids seemed pretty down—and so did the adults, to be perfectly honest—so we decided to go out for cheeseburgers. It was one of those places with entertainers wearing creepy, anthropomorphic costumes of chipmunks, ducks, and bears that have crazy eyes like they’ve taken a strong hit of something. The animals, I mean, not the entertainers. Although,theireyes were hidden, so it was hard to make that call either way, I guess.

Anyway, Crista and Dylan loved it, and spent more time following around one of the chipmunks than they did eating. It seemed ridiculous to me that they could be so scared of things like the dark, or trees rustling outside, and not the slightest bit terrified of the chipmunk costumes. Those wide, staring eyes and creepily stretched-out, half-open mouths… Nothing has ever said “I eat children” more than the face of Chipmunk Charlie, put it that way.

Even though I was still ignoring Will, I kept opening the message thread, like something would’ve somehow changed since I looked at it thirty seconds before. A part of me wondered if Will had noticed the seen receipt. If he was maybe even obsessing over it a little, internally rationalizing why I hadn’t replied.

Can we talk?

Talk about what, Will? About how you’ve ignored me since… well, sincethat night? Or about your reaction at the party? Or do you want to discuss why you were basically Jesus at the lake and are now in the running to be the Antichrist? Because as interesting as those conversation topics all sound, I’d rather invite Chipmunk Charlie intomy room to watch me sleep every night than hear you explain how little I mean to you.

Every time I took my phone out, my parents started talking in low voices, like I would somehow miss what they were saying from the other side of the rounded booth. I was distracted, but notthatdistracted. They were talking about Aunt Linda. The topic of the times, these days. I picked up enough snippets to get a feel for it.Not responding to treatment… Changing medication… Demand some better pain meds… Says she doesn’t want to be foggy, but…

My phone buzzed in my hand, and I jumped a full mile. Then I saw who was calling, and my parents’ conversation was officially tuned out.

Will. Will was calling me. Will was out there somewhere, right now, calling me. Thinking about me. Wanting me to pick up.

Maybe Mom was onto something with this “manifesting” theory after all.

I almost answered it, too. Almost. But there was that tingling power again. And honestly, it was more than that. The more I’d been thinking about his message, the more I suspected that he wanted to beg me not to out him. Or to tell me the summer meant nothing, and he’d see me around. Goddamnit, I didn’t want to hear him say that. It’d cheapen the whole thing. As if the second I heard him discount it, it’d erase all that happiness. With everything going on with Aunt Linda, and being away from my friends, and having to deal with Lara, those memories were all I had. I needed them for a little longer.

So I watched my phone in silence until the call ended.

Sorry, Will.

Too busy.

Just like you’ve been.

8

He ambushed me.

I was running more than ten minutes late the next morning. I’d finished up at my locker, mentally rehearsing my excuse to Ms. Hurstenwild, when I got that creepy, ominous feeling. The one that saysthere’s someone, possibly-slash-probably a serial killer, right behind you.I turned around to find Will all up in my personal space, staring me down like he was a freaking matador or something.

“Didn’t get my text, I guess?” he said in this airy way, like he couldn’t really care. Which would be believable if he wasn’t in the process of cornering me in an empty hallway about it.

I was rattled, but I did my best not to make it obvious. “Pot, kettle,” I said, even airier. So airy it was approaching helium. Okay, maybe it was obvious after all.

He shoved one hand into the pocket of his chinos and stuck one finger of the other in his mouth to chew a cuticle. I got déjàvu seeing that. It’s what he did whenever I caughthim off guard in the summer. Cuticle nibbling, faraway look, shifting his weight. He was so familiar. I knew him. Probably better than someone had any business knowing someone they’d only met a few months ago.

He removed his finger from his mouth. Here we go. Considered, thoughtful response time. “You’re right. I’m a total hypocrite.”

Again. Not what I’d expected. And there I’d been bracing myself for a gentle lecture about how he didn’t owe me anything, or how I’d been reading into the summer too much. It was a surprisingly mature response for someone who’d spent a solid two weeks refusing to look me in the eye.

It made me relax a little. “Yup. Do I get an explanation, or…?”

“That’s what I wanted to talk about.”

“Well, I’m here. So, let’s talk, I guess.”

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