Scottie
I don’t know. I’m not answering. I may just delete the thread entirely. Or block them all.
Lucas
Hey, I’m here for you. You know that, right?
Scottie
I know.
Lucas
Say the word, and I’ll do whatever you need. Scale the building and sneak into your room. Find Jake and punch his lights out. You name it.
Scottie
Don’t break curfew, don’t scale buildings, and don’t punch Jake’s lights out.
But thank you for being willing to do all of those things for me.
I look at my phone, wanting to say three more words, but I can’t. We haven’t said it out loud, and it’s not something I can say when the world thinks I’m with Jake.
Tomorrow, though, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop myself.
I send him a heart emoji. He sends me one back.
And then I stare at my family’s thread. And stare. I look at the four missed calls from my mom—no voicemails—and then go back to stare at the unopened thread.
I click on it.
Mom
Scottie, sweetie, please call me. I’m worried about you.
I thought you two had a plan. What happened? This is getting out of control, kids.
The room tilts, and I throw a hand down on the mattress to brace myself.
Does she actually think I did this?
My brothers are silent.
My dad and sister-in-law have put exclamation points on Mom’s message.
No chastisement of Jake.
No mention of howheswitched things up and basically said he’s going to propose to me, betraying his promises and our plan. No mention of the toll this is taking on me.
How could she think I wanted this? How can she not see that I’ve been holding it together with sheer willpower for months? How can she not know how many times I’ve stood between Jake and disaster? Why doesn’t she care how many lines I’ve drawn and redrawn, how many sacrifices I’ve made, all for him?
But, then, I signed on for this. I just never figured out how to sign off.
My sunburned shoulders sting against the pillow.
I stare at the ceiling. Look at my phone again. Stare at her question about what’s going on.
And my thumbs start moving.
