A
I have to excuse myself to go to the girls’ room because I can see Rebecca’s wondering who I’m emailing in the middle of lunch. The answer is so ridiculous that I can’t even think of a good lie to cover for it.
Safe in a stall, I type back:
A,
I’ll be there at 5. Can’t wait to see what you look like today.
(Still not believing this.)
Rhiannon
And then I am standing there, the girl in the stall with the phone out, staring at the screen that doesn’t even hold the message she typed, since it’s already flown away, into the hands of someone she doesn’t really know. There is nothing that can make you feel quite so dumb as wanting something good to be true. That’s the horrifying part—that I want this to be true. I want him—her? him?—to exist.
I promise myself I won’t think about it until five o’clock, and then I break that promise a thousand times.
Even Justin can tell I’m distracted. The moment when I least need him to pay attention, he finds me after school and is concerned.
“I missed you today,” he says. His hands move to my back and he starts to work the tension from the muscles there. It feels good. And he’s doing it in the middle of the hall, right by our lockers, which isn’t something he usually does.
“I missed you, too,” I say, even though it doesn’t feel entirely true.
“Let’s go find a Girl Scout and get some cookies,” he says.
I laugh, then realize he means it.
“And where will you find a Girl Scout?” I ask.
“Three doors down from me. I swear, she has a vault full of Thin Mints. Sometimes there are lines on her porch. She’s like a dealer.”
I have time for this. It’s not even three yet. If I get on the road by four, I should be fine to get to the Starbucks in Laurel by five.
“Does she have Samoas, too?”
“Are those the coconut ones or the peanut butter ones?”
“Coconut.”
“I’m sure she has them all. Seriously. She’s a cartel.”
I can tell he’s excited. Usually I can find complaints waiting in the corners of his words or gestures. But right now, they’re nowhere in sight.
He’s happy, and part of the reason he’s happy is because he’s happy to see me.
“Let’s go,” I say.
—
We park our cars in his driveway and then walk three doors down. He doesn’t hold my hand or anything, but it still feels like we’re together.
The girl who answers the door can’t be older than eleven, and she’s so small that I’m amazed her mom lets her answer the door at all.
“Have you placed a preorder?” she asks, pulling out an iPad.
This cracks Justin up. “No. This is more of a drive-by.”
“Then I can’t promise availability,” the girl states. “That’s why we encourage preorders.” She reaches for a table next to the door and hands us a cookie listing, as well as a business card with a website address on it. “But since you’re here, I am happy to see what I can do. Just note that the prerefrigerated Thin Mints are preorder only.”