in just a few minutes,” she calls, but nobody pays attention. Mom keeps waving until we’re practically on top of her, then pulls her bag and her coat from the two seats beside her, shifting her knees to one side so we can get past her and take our seats.
“Perfect timing,” she says. My mother looks pretty today, her dark hair spilling around an autumn-toned scarf that makes her olive skin glow. The sight of it cheers me up, because it reminds me of what my mother was like when I went to Granger Middle School—always the best-dressed parent at every school event. Mom has a lot of natural style, but she hasn’t made much of an effort since Dad died. Working on Ashton and Eli’s wedding has definitely been good for her state of mind. She plucks lightly at Emma’s sleeve and adds, “I could use your help with a couple of wedding tasks.”
Emma and Mom put their heads together, and I surreptitiously take out my phone. Emma actually talked to me on the ride over, and I didn’t want to spoil our fragile truce by checking Instagram. But I need to know how much shit I’m getting.
Notifications flood my screen as soon as I pull up my account. So, a lot.
My last post was a work selfie that got twenty comments. Now it has more than a hundred. I read the first one—yes hi sign me up for threesomes 101 please—and immediately click away.
“Welcome, families, to Granger Middle School’s annual spelling bee!” My heart is already thudding against my rib cage, and the loud voice booming through a microphone ratchets it up another notch. It’s the same woman who spoke before, standing behind a lectern on one corner of the auditorium stage. Ten kids, Owen included, are arranged in a line beside her. “Let me introduce the scholars who will be dazzling you with their spelling prowess today. First up is our only sixth-grader in the contest, Owen Lawton!”
I clap loudly until the principal moves on to the next kid, then return my attention to my phone. It’s like I just yanked off a bandage, and now I can’t help but poke the wound beneath. I set my Instagram account to private, which I obviously should have done a week ago, and scroll to my message requests. They’re full of guys I don’t know begging me to “tutor” them. One of them just puts a phone number. Does that ever work? Has any girl in the history of the world texted a stranger because he slid his digits into her DMs? I’m about to hit Decline All and erase them from my account forever when a name at the bottom of the screen catches my eye.
Derekculpepper01 Hi, it’s Derek. I was
That’s all I can see without opening the message. Ugh, what does Emma’s ex want? We haven’t spoken since the night in Jules’s laundry room. We never exchanged numbers, obviously, or he wouldn’t be going through Instagram now. If he’s going to apologize for telling someone about us, I don’t care. Too late.
I eye Decline All again, but my curiosity gets the better of me. Hi, it’s Derek. I was hoping we could talk sometime. Can you text me? With a phone number.
Well, that raises more questions than it answers.
I cup my hand around my phone so it blocks the screen from Emma’s line of sight and navigate to Derek’s profile. He has literally no selfies. His entire Instagram feed is pictures of food or his dog. Who does that? It’s not as if he’s terrible-looking. Just sort of unmemorable.
Emma coughs lightly, and I sneak another look at her. I would rather chop my own arm off and beat myself senseless with it than talk to Derek Culpepper again, and I’m pretty sure Emma feels the same way. That leaves Derek as the only person in our twisted triangle who’s interested in reopening the channels of communication, and nobody cares about him.
“And now let’s begin with our first word of the day, for Owen Lawton. Owen, can you spell bizarre for us, please?”
I look up just in time to catch Owen’s eye as he grins and gives me what he thinks is a stealthy thumbs-up. I put my phone away and try to smile back.
* * *
—
A couple of hours later, Mom is at a Golden Rings wedding planner meeting and Emma and I are in our room. I’m stretched out on my bed with