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PAYTON
Thankfully, Trent turned on my phone because I need to call Heather and check-in. But I’m feeling less than thankful when a horde of messages and voicemails turn the device into a vibrator for a solid minute. There are dozens of missed messages from Erin, accompanied by voicemails I’d rather not listen to.
On the plus side, no phone meant no prank calls.
I wonder if those will start up again, or if like I suspected, they were the workings of Trent Aldridge.
Grabbing my phone, I fire off a text to my best friend.
I’m not up for talking today, but I need her to know I’m okay. So I tell her just that.
Me: A ton of shit went down today. I’m okay, but I’ll fill you in at school.
Heather: But you ARE okay?
I finger my hair, debating whether to tell the truth before settling with a quick answer that won’t worry her.
Me: Yes.
Heather: Does this have anything to do with why you showed up at my house?
Don’t get her involved with this, I warn myself.
I would never forgive myself if something happened to Heather.
Me: . . .
Heather: That’s not an answer.
Me: I promise I’ll talk to you, but I can’t get into it yet.
Heather: Okay, just promise if you need me before class, you’ll call.
Me: Promise.
The moment I stop typing, the phone rings again.
Erin.
Jeez.
The girl doesn’t get a hint.
I sigh, answering because I know it won’t stop until I do. “Hello?”
“Where are you?”
In Hell.
“It’s a long story.”
“I went to your house, and it’s boarded up. What did you do?”
It’s such an Erin thing to say, so laced with a venomous accusation that I can’t help but laugh.
“God, Erin, why do you think it’s always me?”
“Things go to shit when you are around,” she answers, and I need to bite my tongue to stop myself from unleashing my beast on her.
