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Hi Sean,
Thanks for friending me. As for my name, personally, I don’t have a problem with Elizabeth, but if you are spelling or typing challenged, feel free to nickname me. But it had better be good.
Yes, I’m at class. I’m taking Freshman English 1A this semester and 1B next semester. Probably Freshman Math next year so I’ll have two classes done by the time I start college. My mom is really, really concerned about me getting into a good college.
I sit and stare at the message. It’s already longer than his original note, which makes me want to edit myself. But instead of overthinking things, I just hit Reply. Minutes later, another message from him comes in.
Sean Kelly
2 minutes ago
I won’t keep bugging you. I don’t want to get you kicked out of class. But I’ll think of a wicked nickname for sure. See you in writing tomorrow.
It’s nice… but disappointing. I want to write back that he’s not bugging me, that I want to talk all night. But he thinks I’m in class, and besides, that would sound desperate. Instead, I just write back “See you tomorrow” and leave it at that.
I get up and brush my teeth, thinking that the exchange left me happy and sad at the same time, like a ball of protons and electrons, and I can’t believe I just thought of that analogy, maybe I’m not so stupid after all, Mom.
When I go back to turn off the computer, I notice that Ella’s done with class and has updated her status again. I happen to be looking at her comment when another one comes in.
Sean Kelly How about Astro Girl, you know, cause you like the moon? No, that’s just as long as Elizabeth. I’ll keep thinking.
>“His name is Sean and I sit behind him in creative writing,” I report. Bet’s eyes are wide and sparkling like a little girl’s. “He’s adorable, but in an unexpected way. And tall, but he doesn’t hunch over or anything. And he’s super nice and funny and he waited for me after class to walk me to cheer.”
“Ohmygod, what else?”
“Let’s see… he’s a little obsessed with his iPhone, but he’s into creative stuff like obviously writing but photography, too, and did I mention he looks like a superhero?”
“Like Superman?”
“More like a less nerdy Clark Kent,” I say. “No, wait, he’s like Clark Kent’s less nerdy son who fronts an indie rock band.”
“Is he in a band?” Betsey asks, her voice high-pitched.
“No, I don’t think so,” I say. “But he’s super cool.”
“And you like him,” Betsey says in a dreamlike voice, as if she’s caught up in a particularly great movie love scene instead of talking about my life.
“I do,” I agree, admitting it to myself and to Betsey at the same time.
“Wow.”
We sit, staring at nothing for a moment, both of us probably wondering what it would be like to actually date someone. Betsey’s the one who mentions it.
“We should ask again,” she says. “I think it’s time. Elizabeth Best is the only girl in school who doesn’t date. It’s weird.”
“She’ll say no,” I say, remembering the last time. At South, a guy named Shane Williams asked Betsey to Homecoming after their social studies class one day (Betsey did second half last year). Mom said no before the question was even out of Bet’s mouth.
“Yeah, but we were only fifteen then, and you know how overprotective she is,” Bet says. “Plus she was freaked out because she thought our next-door neighbor was spying on us. I get it. I mean, she could go to jail if anyone knew about us. But it’s different now. We’re more careful. We’re seventeen.”
“Not until January,” I say, giving her a funny look, then refocusing on the TV. “And I don’t know, Bet. I don’t think she’ll go for it.”
“I’m doing it,” Betsey says. “I’m bringing it up.”
After not even ibuprofen works, Betsey goes to bed early. I turn off the TV and lazily drag myself to my room with the cozy throw blanket still wrapped around my shoulders. I decide to check our Facebook—the Facebook that we had to beg Mom to let us have, the Facebook that she only consented to because one of our teachers at South posted extra-credit assignments there sometimes.
Of course, it’s only one account.
I log on and check the notifications, knowing well that I can’t reply to any of the comments since Ella’s the one “on” tonight, but at least I can troll the pages and kill some time before bed. I make sure that I’m hidden from view in case people know that Elizabeth Best takes a college course right now, then I scan the updates. Ella posted to the page five minutes before class.
