Page 95 of Another Day (Every Day 2)

—

I check my phone as soon as I get reception. I expect an email. I expect some explanation.

Nothing. A’s told me nothing.

He could have woken up paralyzed. He might be somewhere without a computer. He might not have a car.

I grasp for excuses. But I feel desperate doing it.

The worse answer is that A got what he wanted, and now it’s over. Just like every other guy. And I am just like every other girl who’s been stupid enough to think her guy would be different.

A isn’t a guy, I remind myself.

But really, it doesn’t matter.

I still feel stood up.

I still feel alone.

Chapter Twenty-Four

I wake up early, assuming A will wake up early, too, dying to explain to me what happened. I’ll learn what was wrong with yesterday’s body, why he couldn’t make it.

But there’s nothing in my inbox. No word.

The littler fears are giving up. The worse fears are coming closer.

—

I try to avoid Justin. Not because I’ve done something wrong (which I have), but because I’m afraid he’ll smell it on me.

Rebecca asks me how my grandmother is doing. I tell her my grandmother is fine.

I keep checking my email. I keep finding it empty.

—

I think about ditching lunch, but then I figure there have been so many questions about my behavior lately that it’s probably better to go along with the day as it usually is.

Luckily, Lindsay Craig threw a party on Saturday night, which is all anyone at our table can talk about. Stephanie thought she saw Steve kissing a girl from another high school, but Steve swears that was all in Stephanie’s drunk eye.

“I don’t know, Steve,” Justin says. “That girl was pretty smokin’.”

I can’t tell if he’s trying to wind up Steve, wind up Stephanie, or get a reaction from me.

“You went to the party?” I ask stupidly.

“That okay with you?” Justin scoffs.

“Of course,” I say quietly.

Rebecca notices this. I can sense her noticing. I also know that if she asks me if anything is wrong, I will start to scream. So I make sure to leave the table early.

—

I am lost in my own anger. I am angry at A. And I am angry at myself for getting into a position where A could mean enough to me to make me this angry.

I go to all my classes. We’re doing softball in gym. I change into my gym clothes, and don’t protest when I’m assigned to third base. I try to focus on the game, try to avoid embarrassing myself. I don’t notice at first that there’s someone waving. But then I realize he’