It was my turn to help Mom with dinner. While I chopped tomatoes for the salad, she looked at me casually. “Has Dahlia given you any more trouble?”
“Dahlia?” I repeated, knife frozen above the cutting board.
“Isn’t that the name of the girl who keeps throwing herself at you?”
Every single message Dahlia sent me that day flashed through my mind. “Yeah.” I resumed chopping. The knife clacked against the cutting board a little too fast and sent bits of tomatoes sliding across the counter like they were trying to escape. “She talks to me, but it’s not, you know, a problem.”
“It’s not a problem because you don’t mind talking to her?”
Crap. Had Mom seen Dahlia’s messages?
I avoided eye contact. “I talk to lots of people. If someone talks to you, it’s rude not to respond.”
Mom started setting the table, her movements methodical and calm as though she had all the time in the world to wait for me to slip up. “Yes, but you can encourage or discourage a girl.”
How long had she been able to snoop on my phone? What else had she read? I couldn’t even accuse her of it. I might be wrong, and then I’d have to admit I’d responded to Dahlia a bunch today and not in a discouraging way.
Madeline would never let me live it down if I blew our cover because I’d texted with Dahlia. I tossed the tomatoes in the bowl and shrugged. “I guess I should be more careful about talking to her.”
Mom nodded and eyed me. I couldn’t tell what her expression meant.
After dinner, I tried to remedy the situation by ignoring Dahlia’s last message and texting Madeline. I asked how her day had been.
She never wrote back. I checked often enough to see.
On Sunday, I texted her a few more times. I threatened to take her to McDonald’s on our first date. She didn’t even answer that message.
Honestly, I was beginning to feel some solidarity with Needy Cookie Boy.
On Monday morning, while I got ready for school, I wrote her.
Me:So sugar cookies this time? I’m partial to red hots on the frosting.
Madeline:Seriously?
I didn’t know whether she was protesting my demand for more cookies or questioning my taste for red hots and frosting.
Me:A devoted girlfriend would do it.
Madeline:You’re confusing girlfriends with bakers.
Her message brought a chuckle to my lips. That’s what I’d missed over the weekend, I realized. Madeline always made me laugh.
Madeline:I silenced my phone and forgot to turn notifications back on. Also, I think I need to ignore more than a few texts to merit sugar cookies.
Me:I have a longer list of things a devoted girlfriend would do. Can’t wait to see you and discuss them.
That response came far too quickly to my mind, and ought to worry my mother.
I really did want to discuss strategy with Madeline. We needed to up our game, and I had an idea of how to do it. She might veto my plan, but I was at least going to make a case for it.
Me:Meet me after school at the refreshment shack to talk about the list.
Madeline:The refreshment shack? Why there?
Because this wasn’t the sort of conversation we could have at her locker.
Me:It’s away from crowds, close to practice, and the football coach makes us do bleacher runsif we’re late. I’m guessing the drama teacher is more forgiving.
