‘There, now you’re saved.’ The contact form said,First name: Thomas, Last name: Sunset Estates. Then, in theCompanyfield, it said,General of the S.E. Allied Forces.
‘My last name is Dees,’ I said. ‘Not Sunset Estates.’
‘Too late, contacts are permanent. Wait, your mom’s name is SandraDees?’
‘Yes. Why not just put “Sunset Estates” in the company field and leave the last name blank?’
He smirked and his dimples returned. ‘I make up fake company names for everyone in my phone. Here, look.’
He started scrolling through his phone, clicking on names of people I didn’t know. Anthony Saltz’s company wasCEO of Salty Italian Meatballs Inc., German Branch.
I arched an eyebrow at him.
‘He’s a frequently short-tempered German Italian.’
‘Oh, so there’s alotof thought put into these.’ Kind of like James and his nicknames.
Gabe snorted and scrolled down to click onMommy. That was kind of cute. I had already seen his dad listed asFather. Under Mommy’s company – no last name, by the way – it said,Leader of the Free World.
‘You make these up for every person you meet?’
‘Yep, and then I laugh every time I see their name with whatever company I made up scrolling beneath.’
I tried to hide a smile and went to his contact in my phone. I quickly typed up something and saved it, turning it around to show him.
His smile dropped, and he rolled his eyes. ‘Ha ha.’
At eight forty-five p.m., my phone buzzed on the kitchen table. I wiped my hands on a dish towel and laughed at the name scrolling across the screen:Gabe De La WHORE-a, President and CEO of De La Whore-a Phone-Sex Hotline.
‘’Ello?’
‘Hi. What are you doing right now?’
‘Wondering why a phone-sex line is calling me. I mean, I support sex workers’ right to a living wage, but how much is this costing me?’
‘Your film education starts tonight. If you’re watching something, turn it off. If you’re not watching something, bring up Netflix.’
‘I’m in the middle of baking bread.’
Gabe groaned on the other end of the phone. ‘You canbuybread. This is more important.’
‘If you knew how my bread tasted, you wouldn’t be saying that.’
‘Well, you’ll just have to bring me some another time. Netflix, now!’
‘I don’t have Netflix.’
Dead silence on the other end.
‘Are you broken?’ I asked. ‘Did you have a stroke? Should I call nine-one-one?’
‘You’re watching something,’ he finally said. ‘I can hear it. So I know you have a computer or TV you can watch it on.’
‘Computer.’ I paused the Food Network episode that was up on my dad’s old laptop. It was just a cookie competition show.
‘Okay, then go to Netflix’s website. I’m sending you a text with my log-in info.’
I glanced at the bowl of bread dough I had just been stretching. I could probably put it in the fridge and pick up tomorrow right where I left off.
