“For some reason, I get the feeling that I’m better off without having constant access to ... all of that.”
Nelle feels a buzz. A notification covers the beach photograph.
“I believe Midi is trying to contact you,” she says, holding the phone out to James.
“I can’t answer while I’m driving. Can you open it?”
“Open the phone? Like a box?”
“No, no, no,” he says. “Tap the button at the bottom. See?”
She presses a smooth circle at the bottom of the phone, and the screen turns on. A keypad pops up.
“Now press one, one, one, one.”
“Cool password.”
He glares. “Click the green icon that saysMessages.”
“What’s an icon?”
“You’re like a little old lady,” he says. “Those floating squares. Click that green one there.”
Nelle taps it, and words stream across the screen. “What is this?”
He glances down. “Those are my messages. Click on the top one, and read the last message in the gray bubble.”
Nelle squints and reads out loud, “‘Hey, dickhead, did you take my clothes?’”
“Huh,” James says. “Yeah, don’t respond to that.”
Nelle tucks the phone back in the cupholder, her baby-blue sweater sleeve sliding up an inch.Midi’ssweater. Guilt bubbles up in her at the realization of everything James abandoned in Lincoln. His job, his family, his savings. And didn’tshecon him into it all?
No, he made his own choice. To write for her. To free her.
James started the timer that blew up their lives. Nelle just planted the bomb.
Yet she is the one who told Quill toburn it.
“Did you steal her clothes for me?”
James’s dimple creases. “Maybe.”
Nelle eats a yellow candy, her tongue raw from the sour powder. For a while, they sit in silence, listening to the rumble of tires on unkept roads.
Then James says, “You know what? I’ll take you to see the ocean. And when we get there, I’m gonna throw my phone in it.”
“What?” Nelle chokes on a sip of soda.
“You’ve convinced me,” James says. “Life without a phone is better. I’m getting rid of it.”
She imagines the ocean, what it will smell like, whether the sand will be soft or rough under her toes, whether there will be seagulls.
“That’s very brave of you,” she says. “But is this just a ploy to avoid responding to your sister?”
“You know what?” James sits higher in his seat, boyishly energetic. “I can’t wait. I kind of want to chuck it out the window right now.”
Nelle grabs his arm. He shoots her a worried look, then relaxes his grip on the wheel.
