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“Why can’t you like me like this?”
“It’s too much. You’re too perfect right now. I can’t imagine being with someone like…you.”
“But don’t look at her—look at me.”
I am. I am looking at her.
“I can’t see beyond her, okay?” I say. “And there’s also Justin. I have to think of Justin.”
“No, you don’t.”
This makes me angry. Whatever Justin and I have, it can’t be dismissed in a single sentence.
“You don’t know, okay? How many waking hours were you in there? Fourteen? Fifteen? Did you really get to know everything about him while you were in there? Everything about me?”
“You like him because he’s a lost boy. Believe me, I’ve seen it happen before. But do you know what happens to girls who love lost boys? They become lost themselves. Without fail.”
I don’t want to hear this. “You don’t know me—”
“But I know how this works!” Her voice is loud, certain. “I know what he’s like. He doesn’t care about you nearly as much as you care about him. He doesn’t care about you nearly as much as I care about you.”
I can’t hear this. What good is hearing this?
“Stop! Just stop.”
But she won’t. “What do you think would happen if he met me in this body? What if the three of us we
nt out? How much attention do you think he’d pay you? Because he doesn’t care about who you are. I happen to think you are about a thousand times more attractive than Ashley is. But do you really think he’d be able to keep his hands to himself if he had a chance?”
“He’s not like that,” I say. Because he’s not.
“Are you sure? Are you really sure?”
“Fine,” I say. “Let me call him.”
I don’t know why I’m doing this, but I’m doing it. I take out my phone. Turn it on. Call him.
“Hullo,” he answers.
“Hi!” I’m too cheery. I take it down a notch. “I don’t know what you’re up to tonight, but I have this friend in town I’d love for you to meet. Maybe we could all get dinner?”
“Dinner? What time is it?”
“It’s only two now. Maybe at six? At the Clam Casino? I’ll treat.”
“Okay. Sounds good.”
“Great! I’ll see you then!”
I hang up before he can ask me who my friend is. I’ll have to think of a story.
“Happy?” I ask A.
“I have no idea,” she replies.
“Me either.” Because now that I’m thinking about it, I’m wondering what I’ve just done.
“When are we meeting him?”
