“Aw, are you hungry too?” I beckon this one the same way I did before, but the gray cat hisses and scurries a few feet away. I straighten and scoot back a step. “It’s okay,” I say softly. “I don’t have to stay if I make you nervous. If the little piggy over here doesn’t leave anything for you, I’ll stop by tomorrow with more.”
I keep an eye on them as I head back to the picnic table and grab my things. The gray cat doesn’t come out, and I return inside.I check on my dad, and since he’s just finishing up, I hang out for a few minutes so we can put the bike on the back of his Jeep and I can ride home with him.
My parents and I eat pizza together, then watch a movie. Mom and Dad turn in around nine, and I go to my room and settle in bed with my laptop, ready to dig around Spotify for undiscovered music.
My phone buzzes from my bedside table, and I reach for it, wondering if Kat has finally remembered I exist. It’s not her, though, and I frown at the number I don’t recognize.
774-555-0135: hey kat, it’s myles. I saw amelia at work yesterday and was just thinking about how you two were always together. how’s new york?
9PLAYLIST:i was already confused
I STARE AT THEscreen, confused. Myles just texted me, but… he called me Kat.
What on earth?
Did he accidentally type the wrong name or something? But no, he mentioned me, too, by name. And he asked about New York.
I gave himmyphone number at the beach that night. Why does he think it’s Kat’s?
I drop my hands to my lap, phone still lit up and resting in my palm. I rack my brain for the exact events that happened that night. I was sitting by the fire, and we were talking about Pearl’s. He mentioned Kat’s departure, then asked for my number.
But—wait.
Didhe ask for my number? I was distracted, and when I looked over to find him holding out his phone, I just assumed thatwas what he wanted. Oh my God, was he asking for Kat’s number? Not mine?
I drop my head back with a groan.
No, no, no.
I didn’t put my name in or anything. I just typed my number and handed his phone back. Which, now, I’m kind of glad—because this is absolutely mortifying. How awkward would that have been if I’d put in my name and number, and when he took his phone back, he looked at it and had to say, “Oh, I… uh, actually wanted your best friend’s number, not yours”?
Let’s be honest, it’s still horribly awkward now, but at least I can fix it via text. I don’t have to watch disappointment dawn when he learns who he’s talking to. (Sidenote—Myles is interested in Kat? Since when? Second sidenote—why did Myles Ford feel the need to askmefor Kat’s number? Doesn’t he know any girl would be thrilled at the chance to talk to him?)
I push my laptop to the side and sit up, crossing my legs underneath my comforter. I think for a few minutes, running through different options in my head.
I finally decide to go with the truth and blame my mistake on being preoccupied with Kat leaving town the next day. It’s definitely less pathetic thanOops, I thought you wanted my number, haha.
With a deep breath I reopen the message and type out,Oh geez, this is actually Amelia. I was so mixed up that night, I gave you MY number. Kat’s number is 774-555-0177. So sorry!
My thumb hovers over the little arrow that would send the message.
What will Kat say when he texts her?
Will she make more time for him than she has for me?
And at what point would her talking to him be a pact violation? That pinky promise goes both ways… and if I’m really honest with myself, I always secretly felt like the pact served me better. I never expected either of us to have a chance with Myles, but if the stars aligned and he did take notice of one of us one day… Kat would be the more obvious choice for someone like Myles.
Outgoing, athletic, confident.
A long second goes by. Then two. Ten.
I stare at Kat’s number for an entire minute, wondering if she deserves this. She’s clearly moved on from everything to do with Kingfisher Cove and has made new friends in Pinecrest. She shouldn’t get a new lifeandMyles, too.
Slowly, letter by letter, I erase the text. I plug my phone in, put it on silent, and set it back on my bedside table. I roll onto my side and close my eyes, leaving Myles’s message unanswered.
I wake up feeling guilty. Not guilty enough to remedy my petty decision from last night, but enough to recognize that even after all these years of thinking I’m a decent human, it’s entirely possible I’m actually a terrible person.
I avoid looking at my phone and leave it by my bedside as I go downstairs in search of breakfast. I don’t want to know if Myles texted me (er, Kat) again, or if Kat finally decided to acknowledge I’m still alive.
