“Yes,” I softly squeal, pulling it out and waking up the screen.
I’ve got 20 percent battery left, which will totally give me enough time to check my messages and maybe send a kissy face to Curry.
Is that too forward?
I am his valentine, right?
I can totally do that.
Unlocking my phone, I notice I have a few notifications from my friends and quickly start checking them with a smile… that immediately fades.
Abs: I’m so sorry.
Bex: What a dickbiscuit. Sorry, sweets. You deserve better.
I have no idea what they’re talking about until I scroll down our group chat and spot the photos.
Curry making out with a girl. Camila Rossi. I recognize her because she has the best hair. It’s long and black and shiny, and she always braids it in really artistic ways. She’s one of the coolest girls in school, and she knows it.
Curry’s tongue looks to be impressively far inside her mouth, his hand squeezing her ass as she grips his shoulders.
And my insides start to curdle.
Abs: My brother took these at the mall today. Curry must have gone there after dropping you off.
I want to reply, asking why her brother would take photos of him, but then I remember that he was standing there, frowning at me when I jumped into Curry’s car after school.
Forcing myself to look at the picture again, I can see that yep… Mr. Valentine was wearing those clothes today, so the chances of this being true are probably quite high.
Flicking my thumb, I get to the bottom of Abby’s and Bex’s ranting comments and spot another image. Curry’s smilingdown at the girl, and she’s holding a Valentine’s Day card. It’s exactly the same as the one he gave me.
Shit! How many of those did he have?
I want to believe this image was from last year.
Maybe I can talk myself into believing that this is just a big misunderstanding.
But Camila’s in the same clothes she wore to school today, as well.
He must have dropped me off, taken his cousins home—if they even were his cousins—then met up with Camila at the mall to get his Valentine’s kiss from her.
I thought he liked me.
I thought I was special.
The phone slips out of my hand as I blink at the wall, my eyes burning, my chest feeling all tight and prickly.
“Coo-wee. Coo-wee!” I hear a soft shout from the door and quickly scramble to hide the phone back in Dad’s bag.
I can’t remember which pocket I got it out of. Shit!
“Coo-wee. Coo-wee!”
“I’m coming,” I whisper-bark over my shoulder, shoving the phone into the front compartment and jumping to my feet.
My throat is swelling with emotion, but I clamp it down, about to reach for the door handle, then press myself against the wall when I hear Uncle Wily’s voice.
“What are you guys doing?”
