Page 34 of Another Day (Every Day 2)

“It’s huge.”

We’re being silly, but that’s nice. Even though we’ve been together for a while, it’s still nice to flirt, and to feel the lightness of flirting.

I don’t want to tell him I can’t stay long. I know that will make it less exciting than it was a minute ago.

So I don’t say anything. But I also don’t make a move to go inside. I kiss him here, on the bench. I kiss him here and feel awful because one of the reasons I am kissing him here is because I know it’ll be easier to leave if we’re already outside.

He doesn’t sense it, though. He is kissing me back. He is happy. He is sure to move the precious box of cookies out of our way as we crash into each other.

I begin to convince myself that this is what I want. This is where I am meant to be. I am only going to see A in order to get the explanation. But that is not my life. This is my life. Justin is my life.

—

I get there late. I’ve had an hour to straighten myself out, calm myself down, make myself appear to be a girl who has not just spent an hour making out with her boyfriend. I’ve also been thinking of questions to ask, ways to know whether what A is saying is true. I mean, it can’t be true. But I’m looking for ways to prove that.

When I get to the Starbucks, I’m expecting the girl from yesterday to be there. Or Nathan. Someone to tell me, ha ha, it was a joke. But neither of them is there. Instead, there’s this guy—a big football player of a guy. Not my type. Almost scary in his size. But he looks gentle when he waves to me.

Again, my perspective changes when I look into his eyes. All the assumptions fall away.

I take a deep breath. I know I need to settle this. I try to remember my plan.

“Okay,” I say as soon as I get to his table and sit down. “Before we say another word, I want to see your phone. I wa

nt to see every single call you’ve made in the past week, and every single call you received. If this isn’t some big joke, then you have nothing to hide.”

I can’t imagine that after being with me so sweetly, Justin would have set this up. But I want to make sure his number isn’t on the phone. I want to see if there are any texts or calls on there from yesterday.

I search around. I look at the contacts. I don’t find any phone calls from yesterday. The two texts are from friends of his. There’s nothing about me anywhere.

So there’s that.

I hand back the phone and tell him it’s time for me to quiz him. I start by asking what I was wearing that day on the beach.

Worry flashes in his eyes.

“I don’t know,” he says after half a minute. “Do you remember what Justin was wearing?”

I try to remember. But what I remember instead is the feeling, the wonder of it all. Not the clothes.

“Good point,” I say. “Did we make out?”

He shakes his head. “We used the make-out blanket, but we didn’t make out. We kissed. And that was enough.”

I note his use of the phrase make-out blanket. And the fact that he doesn’t make too much of a deal of it.

“And what did I say to you before I left the car?” I ask.

“?‘That’s the nice note.’?”

“Correct. Quick, what’s Steve’s girlfriend’s name?”

“Stephanie.”

“And what time did the party end?”

“Eleven-fifteen.”

“And when you were in the body of that girl who I took to all of my classes, what did the note you passed me say?”