“So why would he say that?”
“I don’t know! You tell me.”
His shrug is helpless. “You’re asking the wrong person.”
“No, there has to be a rational reason. Tell me! Tell me before I completely lose it!”
“Stop shouting.” Kurt pulls up his hoodie. “Is it possible that he broke up with you, and you didn’t realize it? People are confusing. They say one thing and mean the other.”
“I would definitely be aware of Josh breaking up with me.”
“Maybe…I don’t know. Maybe his dad wants to work this as a new angle for popularity. But he’s already won the election, so I doubt—”
“Of course!” I throw my arms around him. “Of course it’s his father’s idea.”
But Kurt isn’t convinced. I spend the next half-hour talking him through it, building my case, but by the time he leaves in fatigued irritation, even I don’t believe it. What if Josh panicked because this sudden influx of interest – Why the hell didn’t I know about this sudden influx of interest? – has him curious about other girls? And who are these other girls, anyway?
I type his name into a search engine, click on the most recent results, and discover him in the comments of several different websites, including the home page of that infuriating morning news programme. My spirit plummets even lower. They’re the typical boy-crazy, stalker-y comments that one usually finds online, but this time they’re different. This time they’re talking about my boyfriend.
At one a.m., my phone finally rings. My hands shake with anxiety and anger.
“I love you,” Josh says.
I’m thrown.
“Are you there? Isla?”
“Hi.” I say it cautiously.
“I thought we were starting every call with ‘I love you’ now.”
“I – I saw the interview.”
“Yeah.” He sighs. “I figured. My mom told me that you texted. She said I could call you to explain. I’m using her phone.”
There’s hope in my heart, but my voice cracks anyway. “Why did you say that?”
“I’m sorry.” His voice turns anguished. “I wanted to warn you, but I couldn’t. I said I was single, because I didn’t want to drag you into all of this.”
“I’m the girlfriend of a senator’s son. No one gives a crap about me.”
“You’d be surprised,” he says darkly. “I didn’t think anyone gave a crap about me, either.”
“So…it’s true? Girls are really calling for you?”
“Ugh. Yeah. Sort of. It’s weird. I wish they’d stop.”
Something glass, maybe a bottle, shatters on the pavement outside my window. A group of students drunkenly crack up. “So why wouldn’t you want to say you’re taken? It’s not like you had to give them my name and social security number.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He sounds pained. “That’s the last thing I want. I was trying to protect you, I was trying to keep you in the good part of my life.”
“But I want to be in all of it. Ugly parts included.”
“You sure about that? Because I have a lot of ugly parts.”
“Everyone does.”
“What are yours?”