Page 25 of Crybaby

My phone buzzes.

Wyd?

A message appears, and I roll my eyes at how slack the world has become. How hard is it to write What. Are. You. Doing?

I stare at it. I don’t know who it’s from.

Another message appears.

?

Oh, get fucked. I respond with a thumbs-up.

Darcie…A third message appears.

Who is this?I respond, but I should’ve written WIT.

Your future husband, says the rogue texter.

Unlikely,I text back.

I’m so bored that I’m figuring this is probably the most fun I’m going to have tonight.

Come out. We’re at The Planet.

The Planet is a local diner where all the footballers go to celebrate their wins and drive all the patrons crazy with their sweaty bravado.

Carson…I type back. Strangely, my heart is starting to race, and I hate myself for it.

Yes, darling?

I’m in bed…I say, but I’m thinking about what I’m about to get dressed in and wondering if anyone would notice if I slipped out the window tonight.

Is that an invitation?

…

Seriously, come down and hang. Nothin’ weird, just wanna see your pretty face.

I shouldn’t go, but since when do I follow the rules?

I get out of bed, throw some clothes on, and open my bedroom door a crack to see if I can locate where my jailers are. Pots and pans are clanging in the kitchen, and I think that’s probably enough noise to conceal the sound of me hightailing it out the window.

I’m coming,I text to Carson, followed by,shut up.

Hahaha…cool.

Strangely, it’s a warmer night during this cold snap, and I’m grateful for it. Like maybe five degrees instead of below zero. I never liked the cold, yet somehow, I’m perpetually living in it. Everything here is constantly dark and wet, which is why I think most people in this town are in a bad mood.

Lifting my bedroom window, it shudders because the house was made before oil was invented. I try to force it up quickly and end up getting splinters in my fingers. Sucking my knuckles, I squeeze my way out of the small gap I’ve created and find myself standing in my aunt’s bed of roses outside.

I try to close the window again, but it’s not budging. I silently open my mouth and scream. Oh well, what can I do?

I check my phone maps to see how far The Planet is from my house. It’s a twenty-minute walk. Not too bad.

Pulling my hoodie over my head, I slip away into the night. I’m not dressing up for these clowns. I’d rather be seen as one of the boys because anything with boobs turns them into hyenas.

The diner is lit up like a pink flamingo bar in Tahiti. Their attempts to conceal the morbid culture of this town are kind of hilarious really. But like moths to flames, it seems to attract a big crowd. Through the windows, I can see a crew of footballers in their sports jackets crowding over booths and playing some kind of beer pong game.

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