Page 42 of Don't Let Me Go
Ever since he got back from St. Augustine, he’s been insanely slow to respond to my texts. Like molasses in winter slow. And when he does respond, his answers are always short and blunt. Without any warning,we went from texting nonstop every night to texting only a handful of times during the day. I was starting to get nervous again that I’d said or done something to offend him, but earlier tonight, a few minutes into the movie, he texted me to say that he and his friends have plans to go somewhere “really cool” tomorrow and asked if I wanted to tag along.
I’ve been pumping him for details, more to make sure he’s not mad at me than because of any real curiosity, but he’s being surprisingly cagey. He keeps insisting that if he tells me, I won’t come, and I keep telling him that I’m so bored, I’m down for anything. Even so, he won’t give me a hint, so I’ve been trying to bribe/cajole/weasel some clues out of him. Which is why I haven’t necessarily been giving this zombie flick my undivided attention.
“Well?” Aunt Rachel asks, still waiting for my answer.
“The last thing that happened was the zombie attack on the Empire State Building,” I tell her. I know that was early in the film, but I don’t think anything important has happened since then.
“The attack on the Empire State Building?” she repeats, her poker face giving nothing away. “Interesting. Is that your final answer?”
“Yep. Final answer.”
Aunt Rachel reaches for the remote and hits play. There’s a swell of orchestral music, and the movie’s end credits roll.
Holy crap. I missed the entire movie.
I turn back to my aunt, expecting her to look annoyed that I made her sit through a two-and-a-half-hour gorefest when she’d wanted to watch the newPride and Prejudiceremake. But she just grins a smug little grin.
“So...” she coos. “Who’s the girl?”
My cheeks flush with heat. “What?”
“Jackson, you’ve been texting nonstop fortwohours, and you haven’t stopped smilingonce.”
“I’m texting a friend,” I protest.
“Ooh, afriend.”
“Aboyfriend,” I clarify, then immediately realize what I said. “Not aboyfriend. A boyfriend. Fuck. A friend who’s a boy. Riley. One of the guys I went with to the carnival and Rink-O-Rama. You know, Duy’s friend.”
Aunt Rachel looks momentarily thrown. “Oh. Huh. Okay.”
“He’s been going through some personal stuff, trying to figure out what he wants to do with his life,” I hear myself explain in a voice that’s oddly defensive. “I’ve been helping him out.”
I’m not sure why I feel the need to volunteer that information or justify my friendship with Riley. It’s not like we’re doing anything wrong. Aunt Rachel’s the one who misread the situation and made it weird.
“Riley, huh? Well, that’s great, kiddo!” Her face breaks into a delighted smile. “You’ve made a friend. I’m proud of you.”
Aunt Rachel squeezes my knee, and the heat of my cheeks burns twice as hard. Eight-year-olds get complimented on their ability to make friends. I’m almost eighteen. Is the bar really so low for me that my family is now proud when I display basic social skills?
“Okay, you’re being weird,” I say just as my phone buzzes with an incoming text. “I’m gonna need you to stop.”
“I’m not being weird. I’m excited. You very wisely took my advice about making friends, and it’s clearly improved your life.”
My phone buzzes again, and Aunt Rachel’s smile grows ever smugger.
I roll my eyes and hop off the sofa. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Okay, kiddo. Have a good night,” she trills in a singsong tone as my phone buzzes for a third time. “Tell Riley good night for me!”
I don’t bother to dignify the remark with a response. Instead, I head to my room, shut the door, and flop down onto my bed, where I see that my last three messages aren’t, in fact, from Riley. They’re from Micaela.
MICAELA:Crushed the first week of cheer camp.
MICAELA:Pretty sure I’ve been elected their new queen.
The third text is a photo of a football field covered in a sea of mostly preteen girls and pom-poms. At the very center is Micaela. She’s flashing that thousand-megawatt smile that makes her stand out in any crowd.
I can’t help smiling back at her photo. And her texts. Despite the awkwardness of our last exchange (not to mention the awkwardness of the past six months), Micaela seems determined to be a part of my life. That means a lot.
