I instantly wish I could unsend the message that regular friend Maggie would have said in reply. That’s something I’d tell Etta Jo and not the guy I’m coaching. I’m supposed to keep things professional.
The Declan Printz: My apologies for having gotten the phones mixed up. It was an accident.
My Oh Mags: I don’t believe in accidents.
The Declan Printz: I think you mean coincidences.
The speech bubble blinks for a long moment during which the face mask and the skin on my entire body suddenly feel too tight.
My Oh Mags: Actually, I think everything happens for a reason.
The Declan Printz: In that case, explain the reason you mooned a bunch of people.
He replies to my question with three laughing face emojis. Of course, that’s his response. Everything is a joke to him.
The Declan Printz: You did it for laughs?
My Oh Mags: What’s life without laughter?
With the phone in hand, I drop back onto the bed, but my feet remain planted on the floor.
When was the last time I laughed? I can hardly remember. Maybe when Etta Jo and I watched that romcom about the shy waitress who won a trip on a cruise ship and the captain who won her heart.
The Declan Printz: What’s life without laughter, you ask? My life.
A second wave of regret washes through me like winter slush. I don’t need Declan knowing that my life is one sad stop after another in struggle city.
But it’s hard not to bemearound him. All through dinner, while trying to be serious, I was at war with how we used to joke and laugh. Granted, he typically used a modicum of table manners. Being together again is like the best of old times, but I can’t quite seem to find my footing because we’ve both changed. Plus, I’m supposed to be coaching him while pretending we’ve never met.
I stomp on the floor a few times like a toddler having a tantrum, then abruptly stop because this is Blancbourg Academy and surely Cateline won’t tolerate that kind of behavior. The less attention I draw to myself, the better.
Except Declan wouldn’t stop looking at me earlier, and I’m not sure I’m okay with how it made me feel. I lift my feet to stomp away this frustration again and then stop myself when the phone buzzes. Great, it’s from someone named Brandi. My imagination paints a picture of who she is.
It’s easier to write the truth from behind the safety of the phone screen. The thought makes my heart sink because Declan is right. What’s life without laughter? Plenty of people laughed at me when I’d fallen into the fountain.
My Oh Mags: You don’t have much laughter in your life? I’ll have to do something about that.
For one confusing moment, I forget that he has my phone and I have his. But the intention behind his comment sends the bluebirds twittering around. I have to keep up these boundaries for thirty days. I can do this.
The Declan Printz: Please no, especially not if it involves mooning people and water guns. Also, Brandi texted.
Lessons in etiquette require seriousness, focus, and not a big football-playing clown to try to get under my skin or get me to crack a smile. Although he already accomplished the first one. That’s mostly because my body and mind are confused about where we stand.
Friends first.
Coach and client second.
The presence of the bluebirds suggests something else, third... No, I cannot entertain that notion.
“Bluebirds, back outside. Nope. You don’t belong here. This is complicated enough,” I whisper. “Go on, get,” I add before I realize a voice texting feature was activated and the message sends with a little swooshing sound.
“No, no, no.” I clap my hand over my mouth.
15
MAGGIE
My body tenses as the speech bubble blinks on Declan’s fancy phone, indicating he’s typing a reply to the accidental voice text. I didn’t even know that was a feature.
