forget last night ever happened.
“So now I have to deal with the follow-up, right?”
Mel grins and holds up my cell phone. “Your phone is dead, but I texted you his number. You going to use it later?”
This is the kind of stuff I’ve always watched my friends agonize over, going all the way back to middle school—deciding whether to text a guy, watching the clock to see how quickly he responds, trying to interpret the real meaning behind the shorthand and emoji—until they get bored and move on to someone else. With Mark, it was easy right from the beginning. We were together. We were in love. No games, no uncertainty. I loved knowing exactly where we stood—two halves of a team.
Adam said he would call me . . . but will he? And what will I say to him if he does?
I lie back down, squashing Mel’s legs again, and pull a pillow over my face. “I don’t think I can do this.”
Mel struggles out from underneath me and rustles through her backpack. “Do what?”
“Texting. Flirting. Dating.” My voice is muffled, and Mel pulls the pillow away.
“Who said anything about dating?”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Um, you did? You said I needed a guy this summer, and then you brought, like, a whole smorgasbord of them out for me to choose from last night. Remember?”
She shakes her head. “Oh no, Vee. Dating is the last thing you need. Did you think you were just going to jump right into another relationship, turn into Vee and Mark 2.0, insert Random Guy in the Mark slot?”
I make a face, confused. “I mean, that makes it sound kind of pathetic.”
Mel sighs dramatically. “Think about it. You’re not going to date one guy this summer. You’re going to hook up with a bunch of guys.” She heads across the hall to the bathroom. “Adam was a good start, but he was just an appetizer.”
Water runs in the sink, and I concentrate on breathing normally. A throbbing headache edges its way across my temples, and I clench my hands at my sides, trying not to freak out. Kiss more guys?
Mel bangs back into the room. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit. You’re overthinking—I can see it.” Her face is washed, her hair artfully tousled.
“No, I’m not.” I cross my arms and narrow my eyes, daring her to disagree with me.
Mel purses her lips. “Look, do you want to use this summer”—she pauses dramatically—“the last summer of our high school careers, to go a little wild? Or would you rather start wearing Adam’s letter jacket and plan your future children’s names together?”
“I think we’ve established I’m not into Adam,” I say, my voice sharp.
Mel doesn’t even flinch at my tone, and she stands there, hands on her hips, doing what she does best—daring me to come out of my comfort zone.
I hold her gaze, trying not to let the horrible morning-after feeling that is pressing down on me show. Last night was a mistake, and I’m going to deal with it and move on. But I’m not going to let it happen again.
“Okay, fine,” Mel says finally, holding her hands up in defeat. “Never mind. Just stop looking at me with that death face.”
I crack a smile, relief washing over me. I’ll work through the Adam fallout, and then things will go back to normal. I lean over and straighten the framed picture sitting on my desk, the one of me and Mark.
“What is that still doing here?” Mel asks, doing a double take. “In fact, what are all these still doing here?” She gestures around my room, to the homecoming pictures pinned to my bulletin board and the selfies taped to the wall. Mark is in all of them.
I shrug and hug the framed picture against my stomach, ignoring the voice inside me whispering that I’m never going to find someone else who makes me feel like Mark did if I don’t at least get out there and look. “Just haven’t gotten around to taking them down yet.” My voice catches and I clear my throat, hoping Mel doesn’t notice. But, being my best friend, of course she does.
“Hey.” Mel leans over and grabs my arm, her brown eyes wide. “Last night wasn’t a disaster. You’re fine.”
I nod reluctantly. I don’t feel fine. I feel weird and nervous and like things are moving way, way too fast. “Wouldn’t it be awesome if we could just be normal?” I say. It’s the question we ask each