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“If you’re anything like me, you’ll have a handful of new heartaches in college.” Mom shakes her head as nostalgia fills her voice. “But you’ll survive and move on. You’ll find the right man someday, just like I did with your dad. Of course, he was in love with me for years before I finally settled down with him.”
“Okay I think we’ve reached our sappy conversation threshold for the day,” I say. I know if I let her keep talking, she’ll divulge entirely too many details about her intimacy with my dad. Mom laughs and focuses back on the half-time show, which is now a performance by the opposing school’s drill dream. They don’t hold a candle to the Warriors, and the Warriors suck in comparison to the Star Cats drill team from Granite Hills High.
It’s weird that I’m starting to consider Granite Hills my school now, after seventeen years of being a Warrior. Just before the third quarter begins, Mom digs out some cash from her pocket and holds it out to me. “Would you mind getting me a Coke?”
“No problem,” I say, taking the money. I’ve been wanting to send a text message ever since we saw Nate and that girl, but I didn’t want to take out my phone since I’m sitting close enough for Mom to look at what I type.
I jog down the bleachers and enter the safety of the concession stand line before I take out my phone and, grinning like an idiot, type up a text to Bastian.
Isla: So I’m at a football game and just saw Nate with his new girlfriend. And guess what? I didn’t feel a thing. I think my heart is healed. :) :) :) :)
I stare at the text as this weird feeling of elation and pride swells up inside my chest. It’s not even an exaggeration. I am fine with seeing Nate move on. Now I just need to do the same thing, find some kind of new beginning and new life experiences. I send the message and slide the phone back into my pocket as I picture Bastian’s super excited smile when he reads the message. He’ll probably show it to his therapist parents and brag about how well he’s doing as the leader of the Break Up Support Group.
He deserves all of the praise, too. Without that crazy sophomore and his desire to help other people, I’d probably still be a pathetic crying mess. I order Mom’s Coke and get a water for me and head back to the bleachers when my phone beeps again.
It’s a group message. Bastian has forwarded my text to me and five others, along with the words: Isla has made a huge breakthrough in her healing! Can’t wait to celebrate with everyone on Monday! –B
The only recipient in the group text that registers in my phone is Ciara. My heartbeat quickens as I stare at the four foreign numbers, knowing that one of them is Emory’s number. I wonder how many other girls in my high school have his number saved into their phone, or how many girls have saved text messages from him. Who else gets that fluttery feeling in their stomach when he smiles at them?
An influx of messages hit the group chat as I walk back to the bleachers.
Ciara’s reply is first: Damn straight! Love you, Isla!
The next text is from an unknown number: Congrats!
Followed by: I’m sure you’re prettier than that new girl anyway. –Xavi
I smile. It feels good to have a group of people cheering me on, supporting me and celebrating my accomplishments. I kind of wish there was a support group for every aspect of my life. Things are just easier with friends who genuinely care.
Mom holds out two grabby hands as I climb the stairs toward our seats, the desperation for caffeine probably driving her crazy. “Here you go, you addict,” I say, handing her the bottle.
“Thanks, baby,” she says, cracking off the lid and taking a huge sip.
My phone vibrates another time, but now it’s a new message, not a reply to the group text.
Nine random numbers fill the text’s sender box. The message sends a chill up my spine. Emory has my number now.
Emory: I’m proud of you, snowflake. :)
And he’s using it.
Chapter Twenty-One
I try unsuccessfully to hold back a yawn while I walk through the Macy’s parking lot with my mom, who is practically skipping next to me. She’d woken me up fifteen minutes before the mall opened and told me I had ten minutes to get dressed. Today we are shopping for a homecoming dress. In a moment of spontaneous insanity last night at the football game, I’d accidentally told her that not only was I going to Granite Hill’s homecoming but that I had a date.
A just friends date, of course, but a date nonetheless. And now after stopping for coffee, we’re shopping for dresses, although I’d way rather be doing this with Ciara. My mom has always been known as the cool mom out of my group of friends, so it’s fine that she comes along, but I also need a real friend here to keep Mom’s nosy questions at bay. I take another sip of my coffee and text Ciara asking her to please please please hurry up.
“Is that Ciara?” Mom asks, glancing over my shoulder as she pulls open the door for me. “I’m excited to meet her.”
I nod. “She should be here soon. And, Mom?”
“I know that look,” she says, eyeing me as we step into the shoe section. “I promise I won’t embarrass you.”
“Thanks,” I say, stopping to admire a pair of sparkly flats.
“Hmm,” Mom murmurs, picking up the other shoe.
“I am instantly in love with these,” I say, turning over the shoe to check the price. “I think we should pick a dress based on these shoes.”
