you actually…liked him?” Out of the corner of my eye, I can see her trying to get me to look at her. “I haven’t heard you talk about anyone in…a long time.”
I roll my eyes at my phone.
“C’mon.” She nudges me with her elbow as she pulls into the short, steep driveway of her house. “May. He’s a guy—a cute guy—not the devil. And you said he isn’t down with the fact that his mom took the case. I bet it really sucks for him, that everyone knows—”
I cut her off. “Could you please not tell me how much it sucks for him? Jesus.”
She shakes her head and puts the car in park. “You know, sometimes you’re impossible.”
I glare at her, and we sit there, silent for a minute. She sighs and unbuckles her seat belt. “Fine. Whatever, May. Don’t talk to him. Could you please just think about coming to my show, though? Please? You know how important it is to me. It’s my first one with these guys…and I’ve heard the venue is actually pretty decent. Like, a step up from the shitholes I played with my last band.”
I pretend like I can’t hear her and squint out the open window. The lawn that slopes down from her house to the street is full of tangled overgrown grass, brown and dead, like her dad hasn’t been home much to mow or water it. I realize I don’t know whether he has been home; it’s not like I’ve been here much in the past few months.
I glance over at Lucy; she has her eyes squeezed shut, head leaning back against her seat rest. I swallow. Fuck.
“Fine. I’ll go.”
Her eyes pop open. “You’ll go where?”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t make me say it.”
“Awww, May Day, you really do love me.” She throws her arms around my shoulders, and I squirm under her touch.
“This doesn’t mean I’m gonna talk to him, you know. I’m only going to support you.”
Lucy snorts. “Uh-huh. We’ll see about that.”
She gets out of the car, and I hold up both my middle fingers at her back.
It’s the night before Conor’s big show in downtown LA, and he won’t stop texting me. Earlier today in school, after Matt said yet another shitty thing to me, I told Conor sorry, I love him, but there’s no way I’m going to his show, but of course he hasn’t gotten the message through his thick skull. Conor can be terrible when he doesn’t get his way.
His latest text reads: Bro, don’t be so lame. Like wanting to avoid another awkward situation with Rosa and Matt is lame. I love him, I’d jump in front of a moving car to save him, he’s like the brother I never had, but sometimes he’s so annoying.
I’m in my room, which is fit for a ten-year-old boy—maybe the last time my mom took four seconds out of her day to notice something about one of her kids. Not that I care. She’s a jerk.
I lie on my back across a Transformers comforter that I’ve had since I was eight years old and respond to Conor’s text with one word—no.
He’s always doing this: peer pressuring me into shit I want to avoid. I shove my head under the pillow as my phone continues to buzz. I will ignore it.
I will ignore it.
Approximately one thousand buzzes later, I pull my head out. Twelve new text messages. Jesus Christ, Conor. He cannot take a hint.
I scroll through and am about to throw my phone back down when one of them catches my eye.
Lucy’s friend will be there.
My heart jumps. I write back a quick response.
Lucy’s friend…meaning May?
My phone buzzes again almost immediately.
HA! There you are. I knew that would get you to respond. Yes, duh. You ass.
I take a deep breath. May’s been avoiding me since the incident during drama class last week, and after a couple attempts to talk to