He slung his backpack over his shoulder and frowned. “It doesn’t matter what I think, but you need to be careful,” he said before walking out of the room.
*
“Heaven, I had no idea.”
Justin was at my house after school when I pulled up. He leaned against his rusty Honda, all legs and long body. I’d been on the verge of a panic attack all afternoon and when he showed up, I lost it.
“I know. How did you find out?”
“Emily took the photos, but she swears it’s not her account.”
I twist my hands. Of course. Stupid Emily. She probably thought this was hilarious. Her family had been big on the “run the Reeves out of town train” back in the day.
“It seems a little detailed for Emily. I’m not sure she has the attention span to go full mean girl, you know.” He nodded in agreement. “I did a little research. The whole account is brand new. It’s some kind of Fakestagram. Apparently, it exists just to announce my exploits.”
Justin reached for me and pulled me into a hug. “What do you want to do?”
“Nothing.”
“What do you mean, ‘nothing’?” The anger was clear in his voice. He pushed me back to look me in the eye.
“I don’t want to change anything. We accomplished what we wanted. Right?”
Justin ran his hand over his head. “Not like this. Not with your reputation on the line. I don’t want this to trigger anything for you—you’ve been doing a lot better lately.”
I laughed. The idea of me having a “reputation” was still a foreign idea and he was right, I had been doing better lately. I should be able to handle this. “It’s no big deal. Gossip for the week. I’m sure it will pass. I’d rather you be happy.”
He eyed me warily. He knew about the anxiety and where it had led in the past. I’d worked hard to get better. Would the scrutiny make it flare up again? I shook it off and promised it would be fine.
“Are you sure? Because we can totally fake-couple it for a while. Make it real and they’ll get bored faster.”
I scrunched up my nose. “Eh, if this means more kissing, then no thanks.”
“You really know how to make a guy feel special.”
“It’s a gift,” I deadpanned. “I’m sure if we ignore it, everything will be fine.”
A girl could dream, right?
*
“Heaven, do you have a minute?”
I was at my locker when Eric Oswald came up behind me. His question set me on edge…I’d heard it over and over this week. It wasn’t the first time the joke had been made, but post-Fakestagram the ribbing increased, and two minutes didn’t pass without some jackass making a hilarious play on my name and their desire for Seven Minutes With Heaven.
Seriously, what was my mother thinking naming me after a psychological horror novel from her teens? Honestly, it explained so much about her.
It just didn’t say much about me.
I turned to the smallish boy with his thick mop of overly-styled hair and impeccable clothing standing next to me and prayed, pleasedontaskmeout. I didn’t feel like I had Jesus on my side, but it was worth a shot.
“Sure. What’s up?”
He cast a glance around the hall. “In private?”
I eyed him skeptically, but Eric hadn’t approached me all week and was notoriously well-liked and not a jerk. I nodded and followed him to the Student Government office. His name was listed under “President” on the small sign by the door. He closed the door behind me with a soft click.
I sighed. “What’s going on, Eric?”