Viral (2 page)

But she didn't stay to listen.

She turned and yanked open the door, one hand covering her mouth.

And then she was gone.

“Lindsay!” I shouted. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Scarlett slink away.

There was no way I'd ever be able to explain this.

Chapter Three

Lindsay and I were supposed to have spent the summer together. Watching movies and going on walks. Sitting by the lake late into the night. You know. Parking.

But after that night, she was as good as gone. She didn't give me a chance to explain. I tried texting her from the party to explain. I wrote it and erased it three times. The words wouldn't work. It just sounded like I was trying to cover something up. So I called, but she didn't answer.

I called a couple of more times that night. Straight to voicemail.

I had to admit, the optics were pretty crappy. I wasn't sure whether I could make her believe me.

After that night, she packed up and took off to her grandparents' resort on Chilver Lake. She'd spent summer vacations there before, helping out around the marina. Usually she went for a couple of weeks.

This time, she was gone for the entire summer.

I called a few times during those first days after the train wreck. I didn't want to try to explain anything in an email.

She didn't answer. I was hoping she'd come around and maybe call me, or ask me to come down and help out on the long weekend like I had in other years. But she never did.

My summer sucked. I spent my days slinging bundles of newspapers in the hot warehouse. Loading up the delivery vans. I didn't want to see anyone from school. I missed hanging out with Lindsay. And I felt terrible for hurting her. But I figured we'd work it out when school started up in September.

All I had to do was to get her alone. And explain.

But now that school's back in, talking to Lindsay seems more impossible than ever.

I hardly know who she is now. When she walked into homeroom at the start of the year, I barely recognized her. Last spring, she was this kick-ass athlete with a super soft side. She cried once when she forgot her grandpa's birthday. Another time it was because a dragonfly hit the windshield.

Now that she's back…I don't know. She's gone from lululemon and flipflops to short skirts and monster heels that could spear you with one kick. She's thinner and blonder. Wearing tiny clothes. Showing a lot of skin. She's smoking too. Hanging around with the popular girls outside at lunchtime.

Her new BFFs. Although you can hardly call them friends. It's a constant battle between them to see who's got the best labels, who's got the coolest nails, who ate the tiniest amount at their last meal. It's stupid. But ever since the start of school, Lindsay has been hanging with that group. She must see something in them. I don't know what though.

It's hard to imagine approaching this new version of Lindsay. I don't feel like trying to wade into her little group of frenemies. How intimidating is
that
?

It's weird that so much can change between two people so quickly. I mean, until a few months ago, Lindsay and I were pretty much inseparable. We spent countless Friday nights eating popcorn and watching movies. Talking about stuff. The guys she liked. The girls I dated. She used to tease me that I went through girls faster than a Super G racer through the slalom gates.

That was before I realized the only one I wanted was her.

We texted constantly. Nowadays, my mom is the person I text the most. It's depressing.

Lacrosse is back in full swing now too. Sometimes I see Scarlett sitting on the sidelines with a group of her friends. Watching. She's probably got her sleaze radar set on some other guy. Maybe I should make
her
explain to Lindsay what happened.

I consider this as Ms. Weston drones on about molarity. I hate chemistry. I hate pretty much everything these days.

Ms. Weston's back is turned and she's writing on the board. She's sporting one of her famous wedgies, her pants riding up between her big square bum cheeks. The Weston Wedgie, we call it. As if he can read my mind, Morgan nudges my foot with his sneaker. He nods toward Ms. Weston's butt. He winks and runs his tongue along his lips. I crack up.

“Somebody have something to share?” says Ms. Weston without turning around.

No one answers. The Wedgie goes on writing. “Get this all down in your books, folks,” she says. We dutifully copy formulas. Out of habit, I glance over to where Lindsay is sitting, two rows away. She's actually here today, which is rare. She's been blowing off classes lately. Probably smoking out by the dumpsters. Or maybe shopping.

My heart stops for a second. She's looking right at me. Before I can figure out whether I should smile, she looks away. Tosses her blond hair. Mad that I caught her expression.

But I caught it, all right. That was the old Lindsay looking at me. One side of her mouth turned up in the hint of a smile. She knew why I was laughing.

I look back at the board and sigh, picking up my pen. What the hell? That's not the first time I've caught Lindsay looking at me. I mean, I stare at
her
all the time, but that's because she's, like, the center of my universe. She's always frosty to me now, but I can't just erase seven years of liking someone. And one year of being in love with them.

I wonder whether she really hates me. When I catch her looking at me like that, it sure doesn't look like she hates me. But then when she sees me looking at her, she goes all Ice Queen again. Sometimes she'll turn and say something to her friends and they'll laugh. It bothers me. But I'd have to be an idiot to show it.

I decide to talk to her today. I don't care how scary it's going to be to break in on her little gaggle of girlfriends. I need to explain to her what happened.

Chapter Four

By lunchtime, I'm nervous again at the thought of barging in and stealing Lindsay away from the Perfect Girls. It's a warm September day, and they're all sitting on the grass outside. I pull my phone out of my pocket. Toss my sub wrapper into a garbage can near the window where I'm spying on them.

Morgan strolls by, singing. He's wearing a girl's field-hockey skirt. A blue bra stretches across his T-shirt. He must have lost a bet or something. Then again, this is Morgan we're talking about.

He pulls his earbuds out and comes to stand at the window. He looks out at the group of girls sprawled on the lawn. “Buncha hotties right there,” he says.

“Yeah.”

“Lindsay's smokin' now, eh?” he says. “She's turned into a real goodtime girl. Totally different than she was last year.”

I clear my throat and look down at my phone. “Yep.” I don't feel like talking about this with Morgan. What does he know about Lindsay? I start punching in my message.

“So did you guys ever, uh…you know?” Morgan wiggles his eyebrows at me and nods his head in Lindsay's direction. “Last summer?”

I jerk my head up and look at him. “What's it to you?” It comes out harder than I mean it to.

Morgan raises his palms to me in mock surrender. “Hey, homes, I'm just asking.” He glances out the window and lowers his voice. “I hear she's good.”

I stare at him. This conversation, like his outfit, has just turned surreal. Is he saying Lindsay has a rep? As far as I know, Lindsay has never been with a guy in her life.

“Is that what you hear.” I don't say it as a question. I force my expression to stay neutral.

Morgan lifts one eyebrow. “You should know, man.”

But I don't know, that's the thing. Much as I wish I might, I don't.

“Who's talking?” I ask.

“Benson,” he answers. “Says they hooked up at the dance last Friday.”

Mark Benson. One of the senior football thugs. Charming guy. Popular, but who the hell knows why. He looks like Shrek. As far as I know, Lindsay doesn't even know him. So what the hell's she going after him for? This can't be right. Morgan's talking crazy.

It's like he's reading my mind. “You didn't know? They're all into it.” He jerks his head toward the girls on the lawn. “It's, like, this contest they've got going. To see which of them can get the most guys. You know.” He shrugs. “Oral.”

All the air leaves my body. He's wrong. He's got to be wrong. This Mark guy is going around spreading rumors about Lindsay. She would never in a million years be in on something like that.

“And you know about this how?”

I ask.

“Renata,” Morgan says simply. A wicked grin spreads across his face. “Now that one…
she
's a live wire.”

Suddenly I want to punch him. I turn to the window so I don't have to look at him. How have I not known about this? I look at Lindsay sitting on the lawn, next to Renata and Erin. The sun shines on her carefully styled hair. I remember how soft it felt when I was holding her on the swing at Sara's place. When it was just loose and natural, tumbling over her shoulders.

It feels like that was ten years ago.

I close my eyes. I feel sick at the game she's playing. I mean, I'm not stupid: I know it happens. I even know other girls who do that kind of thing at this school. Jesus, some of them have even asked
me
. The Lindsay I know would never have made a game out of it, never given it away like that to someone who didn't mean anything to her. Christ, before the summer she never even
did
that stuff. I know it for a fact, just like I knew pretty much everything about her.

I wonder what else I don't know now. How did she change so much in just one summer?

Morgan's words pull me out of my thoughts. There's a question in his voice, and I hate it. “So, you know, uh, if you and Lindsay aren't actually together, is she—?”

I open my eyes and look at him. “You should shut up,” I say.

Morgan takes a little step backward. His hands come up again. He looks at me warily. “Hey, Mike,” he says. “No hard feelings, man. It's cool. I don't need—it's not a big thing.” He shrugs. “It's cool.”

Slowly, I release the breath I've been holding. “Right,” I say. “It's cool.”

Morgan nods. “Okay.” He gives me a light punch on the shoulder. Puts his earbuds back in and straightens his bra. “I'll see you at practice.”

As soon as he's gone, I type in my message to Lindsay. Until a few minutes ago, I was nervous about this. But what I've just learned skips me right over any feelings of awkwardness. I need to talk to Lindsay. Now.

U busy? Can u talk?

I duck my head a bit, watching through the window. She takes out her phone and looks at it. She stares at the screen for a moment and then puts the phone down. Damn. She's going to ignore me.

I feel stupid. Now I'm glad I didn't take a chance on trying to talk with her in person. I would have had to suffer being rejected in front of all those… rejects she calls her friends.

I see Morgan come out the main doors and saunter over to the group of girls on the grass. They laugh and catcall at his skirt. He grabs the bra in his hands and massages his chest. The girls giggle again. I watch as he grabs Sareena's leg, tickling her until she squeals and moves over so he can sit down. It's something I would have done, before all this. Now I'm way too edgy. Too self-conscious around Lindsay and the little posse that's adopted her.

Maybe I shouldn't care so much. Maybe I should just…get over it. There are plenty of other fish in the ocean. Right?

Right.

Except no one else really interests me. Just Lindsay.

But now I know she obviously isn't interested. Not in me, at least.

Yeah, maybe I should just…let it go.

I straighten up and look out the window again. Lindsay looks away from the group. I see her draw a big breath in. She picks up her phone and my heart does a crazy little double-skip.
Let it
go?
I almost laugh. What am I thinking? I can't let this thing go. This girl has my heart in her hands. She always has.

She bends her head over her phone and types. Renata leans in and says something. Lindsay smiles faintly. Then she looks up and sighs. God, I feel like a stalker. Spying on her through the window. My phone vibrates and I jump. I look at the screen.

Busy now. Hanging with the girls.
What's up?

What's up?
Two words. So casual.

But they're the first words I've had from her in months.

Seeing her message hits me like a bolt of lightning. My face goes hot. My ears start to burn.

I didn't know what I was expecting. But apparently I wasn't expecting her to answer me. I look at my phone again.

What's up?

What's up? Jesus, Lindsay. I miss
you and I'm worried about you and
I want to talk to you. And I love you.
That's what's up.