Page 38 of The Beta Test

Jenna: Traffic?

Jenna: Food stop?

Jenna: Boyfriend drama?

Jenna: Averryyyyy. Answer me! It’s not like you to no-show and I’m worried. You said you’d come to my game. Remember?

”I think she wants you to answer her.”

I nearly jump out of my skin. Analiese apparently made it all the way across the couch and was reading the texts over my shoulder while my attention was laser-focused on the barrage of texts.

I tilt my phone away and give her a severe look. “Do you mind? It’s rude to read someone’s texts without permission.”

She shrugs and scoots back slightly. Her face turns thoughtful.

“I’m guessing you’re supposed to be somewhere with Jenna right now, but instead you’re here watching Wuthering Heights with me.”

My fingers unlock my phone screen and hover over Jenna’s messages, indecision warring within me. How do I explain this to Jenna? I do my best to tune out Analiese, but she continues. Annoyingly. It’s almost like she’s narrating the situation aloud to herself.

“I know you’re organized and not the type of person who forgets commitments. I’ve never even seen you tardy for class.”

Mercifully, my shaky fingers finally manage to send a brief text to Jenna, confirming that I’m alive and well. It’s not enough for her though. My phone immediately starts ringing with another incoming call which—to my surprise and horror—I decline. It’s like my fingers have gone rogue. This does not go unnoticed by Analiese.

She lets out a small gasp, or is it a scoff? It’s hard to tell because I’m caught between Jenna’s onslaught and whatever Analiese is going on about.

“You don’t want to tell her you’re with me.”

“That’s not⁠—“

“Yes, I can see it now. This is, what? A pity thing? Because of what I told you about my dad?”

She stands suddenly and starts shoving her things into her bag.

“What? No⁠—“

“Yes,” she says forcefully and spins away from me. Her dark hair swings over her shoulder. “I should have known better. I mean, it’s you.”

Ouch. I’m not even entirely sure what she means by that, but it sounds… bad.

My phone starts jumping around again like it’s possessed, throwing me into an impossible choice. Do I try explaining this situation to Analiese? Or do I answer Jenna’s call to beg for her forgiveness?

Talking to Analiese would involve admitting my weaknesses, and talking to Jenna would involve admitting my failure to remember her game. Both options sound terrible.

I rise to follow Analiese, ringing phone still in hand.

She stomps towards the front door and flings it open. With one final derisive glare, she jabs me with her barbed tongue one last time.

“You’re a coward, Avery James.” The door slams.

Coward.

The word hits like a slap. It echoes in the hallway and pricks my skin, like she shot the word at me with a dart gun and it landed somewhere deep—somewhere that already believed it.

A car door crashes shut, an engine roars to life, tires squeal… then nothing. The house goes still in that way it does right before you cry, when your body hasn’t decided if it’s allowed to let go yet. But I don’t want to cry.

My phone rings again and my thumb hovers, paralyzed, because answering means choosing who I’m disappointing first.

Coward.