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Friend? Evie wilted. What the fuck am I doing? Nick’s never gonna fancy me. Why would he? He has Bree.

She stared woefully at Sam’s zombie slaughter for a good five minutes, then went to work, pressing the 9 key three times, the 2 key once, followed by the 9 key three more times to spell out Yay, then moved on to the next word and the next, pushing buttons multiple times until her message was ready. She hit send.

Evie:

Yay! How was the party?

His response arrived promptly. The joys of having a fancy phone with a proper keyboard.

Nick:

Dad ruined it

How? Her eyes widened.

Evie:

Deets pls

Within seconds, she received…

Nick:

How long ya got?

Evie paused. Texting would take forever and unlike most teens, Evie didn’t have instant messaging via MySpace or Bebo. Internet services in Orkney were basic at best, and teamed with her parents’ strict rules about going online, web-based profiles and messaging tools weren’t part of Evie’s social arsenal. The fact that she had her own phone was a miracle in itself.

But one option remained.

Pressing keys as fast as she could, she replied before any second thoughts swooped and stole her nerve.

Evie:

CALL ME?

Biting her nails, she relocated to her bedroom upstairs for privacy. Recently redecorated and painted a calming sage green, there was nary a poster of Nick in sight, but his Ba’ photo held pride of place, smiling from Evie’s bookshelf alongside nostalgic souvenirs from her young life: candy-colored My Little Pony toys, schoolgirl snaps with Sunita and Fiona, octopush ribbons, and an old birthday card from her beloved granny, dearly missed ten years and counting.

Evie waited five agonizing minutes…then another five, plus fifteen more. She hugged her plush orca. Threadbare and missing an eye, only Evie saw her whale’s true beauty. Where’d Nick go? She contemplated texting again, but an urgent twinge in her abdomen sent her scrambling phoneless to the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes later, she decamped to the kitchen table and traded her message-free phone for the sad, forgotten banana in a bowl of apples. She peeled away its squishy, mottled skin, hoping the fruit’s bland, stomach-soothing magic would curb future sprints to the toilet. “Maybe Bree called him,” she mumbled through a yawn. “Or maybe Nick doesn’t want to talk to me.” Taking a modest bite, she looked out the window, the negative talk in her head surrendering to the monotonous drum of rain pummeling the trampoline in their back garden.

Three bites in, her phone beeped. Evie dove toward the tiny screen.

Stuart:

How r u?

She smiled weakly. Typical Stuart, a man of few words. Nasty nachos and blow job anguish aside, their night out watching the Euro 2008 qualifiers had brought much-needed levity to her difficult week. He wasn’t Nick. He’d never be Nick, but he was local and available…and interested. Her thumbs hovered over the keypad. Maybe Stuart would be fine with the severity of her condition if given the chance?

Evie started texting but didn’t get far.

Nick:

Soz! Can’t ring you. Dad’s hovering—foul mood again. I know you & Sam don’t have IM, so what’s your email addy?

Eyes widening, a burst of adrenaline whisked Evie’s pulse on a familiar joyride. A half-eaten banana and five minutes of frustrating key pressing later and…

Evie: