Zara: Just don’t call me anymore. Don’t text me, either.
My heart squeezes in pain. This can’t be happening? Is it some joke? Did someone steal her phone?
I call again, but she doesn’t answer. This time she doesn’t even let it ring—she ignores the call and I get the sound of her voicemail.
Me: I don’t understand. What happened?
I can’t even finish my burger now. Fear and worry are making my insides twist into knots. When she doesn’t reply after ten minutes, I text her again.
Me: Can you please just tell me why you’re mad at me? I’m halfway home. I’ll be there around 8, so can we talk then?
Zara: Right. I totally believe you. I’m sure you had a blast in “Tennessee”
My eyes widen. What does that mean? I was in Tennessee!
Me: Please call me. I wasn’t lying about TN. I wasn’t lying about anything?? I just want to talk.
Zara: Blocking your number now.
I sit here in this small restaurant on the border of Alabama and Mississippi and stare at my phone screen. My heart hurts. My mind is confused. Did I travel into some other dimension or something? Why is she mad at me?
The rest of the drive home is miserable. I wish I could talk to her and find out what happened to make her so mad at me, but I’m not about to call her again and see for sure if she actually did block my number. I’ve spent this past week being miserable without her, and the few times we got to talk, she was in a great mood and said she missed me too. What happened to change that?
Thanks to some road construction traffic, I don’t get home until nine. When I pull into my driveway, Zara’s house looks like it always does. I want so badly to walk over there and ring her doorbell but it’s too late to do that. I glance up at her bedroom window. The light is off, but I can see the faint flicker of the television. She’s probably awake. I wish she would talk to me.
* * *
It feels soweird walking out to my car the next morning. As much as I secretly hoped she’d be here waiting for me on her porch, she’s not. I barely slept all night, which sucks because I have football practice after school. We’re practicing every day this week so we’ll be in top shape to win our homecoming game.
Oh, crap. Homecoming. How did I forget about that?
If I can’t fix things with Zara by Friday, it’ll be really awkward getting crowned king when my queen wants nothing to do with me.
I park in my usual spot at the back of the parking lot at school. I grab my backpack and step out of my truck without really paying much attention to anything. My thoughts are elsewhere.
“Um, hello!”
Chills prickle over my neck at the sound of Andrea’s voice. I stop and turn, finding her leaning against her car, which is parked just two spots over. This is the first time I’ve seen her in the parking lot since I moved here. She doesn’t normally park there because this whole row is usually filled with football players.
I roll my eyes at her and keep walking.
“Rude!” she calls out. Her footsteps are heavy on the pavement as she jogs to catch up to me. She wraps her hand through my arm. “Why are you walking so fast? I wanted to talk to you.”
I pull my arm out of her grip and come to a stop. It’s still pretty early so not many people are in the parking lot yet. The last thing I want is someone to see me talking to my ex and make a big deal about it.
“What is it?” I say, giving her a look that says I’m in no mood to have this conversation.
“Chill out,” she says with a smile. “I just thought since I’m going to be homecoming queen and you’ll be king, that we should go to the game together.”
“Yeah, I’ll pass on that,” I say, starting to walk again. “And you’re not going to win queen.”
“Yes, yes, I will.” She reaches for my arm again and I pull away.
“What makes you think that?”
She grins, batting her long eyelashes at me. “Because I know the head nerd in student council. He… well, let’s say he’s made sure things work out in my favor.”
My jaw clenches. “You rigged a high school homecoming election?”
