Page 99 of Until the Ribbon Breaks

“You can friend request me and we can keep in touch that way.”

Her lips pull into a smile as she looks at me, and I already feel guilty because I haven’t accessed my online accounts since freshman year. I never get on them because, just like her, I don’t have any friends. There are probably fewer than twenty people who follow me, and one of those is my mother. She made it a rule that if I created an account, she would follow me to make sure I didn’t post anything inappropriate.

Before we get into trouble for not participating, we go back to our poses and finish out the class. After we get back inside, I find Marcus.

“Hey, can I make a call?”

He eyes me suspiciously, suspecting I’m up to something since I’ve gone all summer without using the phone to constantly asking to use it.

“Come on.”

“All right,” he responds wearily, and while everyone goes to grab a snack from the cafeteria, I go to call Sebastian.

“Can you call Ryan?” I ask Greg, who’s sitting behind the desk, and after he verifies my fake cousin in the authorized number notebook, he dials and then hands me the phone.

“Thanks.” I pull the cord over to my usual spot against the wall and sit in the chair.

“Hey, you,” he says groggily when he answers, and I smile like I do every time we get to talk.

“Hey, yourself. Were you sleeping?”

“Uh, no, just ... just lying low.” He soundsoff. “You never called me back yesterday.”

“I tried but everyone wanted to use the phones, and when it was my turn, it was time to go to group.”

“That sucks. How did your session go with your mom?”

“It went well,” I tell him. “She was even here a little while ago for another one.”

“Two days in a row? That’s weird.”

“It’s good news though.” I smile. “I’m getting out of here.”

“No shit? Are you serious?” There’s excitement in his scratchy voice.

“Yeah. Dr. Amberg wants me to start the school year with everyone else.”

“When’s your last day?”

“Friday,” I answer before asking, “Are you feeling okay? You sound tired.”

“I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Is everything all right?”

He breathes heavily, stalling for a beat before saying, “It’s just my mom.”

“What happened?”

“I really don’t feel like talking about it.”

Something is definitely off, but I don’t pry. Shifting the conversation, I ask, “How did yesterday go at school? Did you get your schedule?”

“Yeah. What about you? I didn’t see your mom.”

“She was there.”

“Do you know what classes you have?”

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