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Me: call me
My heart picks up a few beats. Will she do it or will she leave me hanging? Since our breakup, when we play the text game, I call her.
My cell rings and I smile. On the third ring, I answer. “Gwen. ”
“Stone,” she says without much emotion.
“What’s going on?” It’s an awkward dance.
One I despise. We used to spend hours on the phone talking and now we overanalyze every word and pause.
“You knew who she was the entire time. ”
There’s a hint of accusation in her voice.
I work at staying nonchalant. “And if I did?”
“You could have told me. ”
I stare at the posters of my favorite teams.
Why would I have told her that Beth is Scott Risk’s niece? They share classes together.
They went to the same elementary school. She could have talked to Beth herself.
“Why did you nominate her?” she asks.
I hear ruffling. The sound is Gwen lying back onto her pillows. She has five of them on her bed and she sleeps with every last one. I can picture her golden hair fanning out.
“You know how much homecoming queen means to me,” she says.
I do. I used to listen as she rattled on about her dream of winning that sparkly tiara.
Actually, I faked interest, then pretended to listen. “You seconded the nomination. ”
“Because I’d look like a sore loser if I didn’t, and now I have to scramble for votes.
This would have been a lot easier if you told me sooner she was Scott Risk’s niece. Really, Ryan, I thought we were friends. ”
“What do you care? No one knows her and she doesn’t want friends. ”
Her frustrated sigh sets my muscles on edge.
“She’s an instant celebrity and for some insane reason certain people think she’s cool. You nominated her and everyone at school knows you’ve asked her out, so you give her credibility. If you had told me who she was from the beginning, I could have done some damage control. Befriended her or something. Because of you, she has a shot at winning. ”
We broke up and I shouldn’t have to deal with this. I go with the old standby answer:
“I’m sorry for ruining your life, Gwen. The next time I do anything I’ll be sure to get your permission. ”
Gwen blurts out, “She’s not your type. ”
I blink. “What?”
“Beth’s a little, I don’t know, freakish. I mean, she is kind of pretty if you like the weird my-life-is-a-dark-room sort of pretty. I guess I’m saying you won’t be able to give her the attention she needs. You know, because of baseball. I guess I’m just saying… not her. ”
Not her. Anger strangles my gut. And we’re back to the conversation from the dugout—
baseball ruined our relationship. “We broke up and now you’re with Mike. ”
