The Breakup Support Group

I know Bastian wouldn’t approve, and he’d say something like healing comes from within, not from another guy’s approval, but I don’t care. I have a date. I am over Emory. And he needs to know that.

“Thanks,” I say, taking the coffee and wrapping both hands around it as if I’m incredibly grateful for the caffeine boost today.

“You’re welcome,” he says, pulling out the plastic stirrer from his own coffee and licking it clean. “It’s so cold outside, the frigid air is starting to take over the school.”

I nod, taking a sip. It is unusually cold for Texas weather, but that’s not why I’m pretending to be grateful for the coffee. “Didn’t get much sleep. David was texting me all freaking night.” I roll my eyes and shake my head like it’s just so annoying but what can you do?

Emory nods quickly, his gorgeous features remaining serene until Mr. Wang flips off the lights and makes everyone’s morning by saying we’re watching a movie today. I let out my breath in a huff of air and try not to pout. It was a total lie—David hadn’t texted me at all this weekend—but the deception was supposed to entice Emory into asking who David was.

And then I’d describe him as being a college guy who’s taking me out to a movie on Friday.

And then he’d make some kind of gesture of relief, and he could rest easy knowing that I’m no longer the stupid love-struck idiot who’d fallen for the siren song that is Emory Underwood. He wouldn’t have to feel bad anymore. I was trying to do him a favor.

But no matter how orchestrated the exchange was in my head, he didn’t fall for it. And although winter has come early to Granite Hills, the morning conversations for the next three days should have progressed into something more than Emory getting a weather alert on his phone and saying, “Wow, it’s going to be freezing temperatures tonight.”

I am dying for an opening to tell him about my date without making it seem like I’m bragging. In the other part of my life, the one where I spend lunches in room 114, I go through twice the effort to keep my mouth shut. Ciara and I had discussed it at length, and we both agree that I shouldn’t tell Bastian and the gang about my date with the guy I just met and, let’s face it, don’t know well at all.

Although they’d all been onboard with my fake homecoming date, Ciara and I were pretty sure they’d frown upon me jumping back into dating so soon, just like they had when she started gushing about Trey.

On Thursday night I’m plucked out of a blissful dream by the sound of my phone ringing. I sit up on my elbows, grab the phone from my nightstand and squint to make out the name on the bright screen. It’s Ciara, and it’s ten forty-five, and I’ve been asleep for half an hour.

“Hello?” I ask, clearing my throat so I’ll stop sounding like a frog. “Is everything okay?”

“Girl, everything is more than okay.” Her voice

is hushed and a little echoing, like she’s covering her mouth with her hand as she talks. “You’ll never believe what I just did.”

“I’m betting it has something to do with Trey?”

“Mmhmm.”

“It must have been something good if it has you speechless,” I say, blinking as my eyes adjust to the darkness of my bedroom.

“Mmmmmhmmm,” she hums, her tone getting all flirty.

“Did you and Trey hook up?”

She just giggles.

“Oh my God, are you doing it right now?”

“You wish, pervert!” We both laugh and then she launches into the story of how she finally had sex with the guy she’s been gaga over for months now.

“It was so romantic,” she says, her voice still low, probably so her mom won’t hear. “He turned off both of our phones and locked them away in the other room, saying he didn’t want anything to take his attention off me.”

“That is cute,” I say, feeling a pang of longing for someone to say the same thing to me.

“So your date’s tomorrow,” she says after half an hour of telling me every intimate and TMI detail about their lovemaking affair. “Did you ever get around to letting Emory know?”

I sigh, throw my head back onto my pillow. “No.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she says, a hint of devilish intent to her voice. “I told him in homeroom today. Well, yesterday. Whenever Thursday was since I’m pretty sure it’s past midnight now. Which means tonight is your date night!” She squeals excitedly but I’m too focused on the first thing she said to care about the second one.

“You told him about my date?”

“Hell yeah. He needs to know you’re no longer pining over him. So I casually mentioned that you’re going to see The End at Star Cinema with a hot quarterback from SHSU.”

“David plays football?” I ask, suddenly feeling a thousand times more desirable that a quarterback is into me.