Cynda and the City Doctor: 50 Loving States, Missouri

After all the unreturned messages, August announced that he had decided to take someone else to virtual prom. Somebody who actually returned his calls. Someone who didn’t play games.

“Clara Reynolds,” E announces with an annoyed huff.

I huff right along with her. Clara Reynolds was the cheerleader who’d been perfectly happy accepting roles she didn’t deserve. But she’d acted a total fool when E finally got cast as Cinderella in Into the Woods. As opposed to admitting to herself that she just wasn’t talented enough to land the part of Cinderella in the spring musical, she’d claimed that she’d been edged out of the role because E had made such a stink about no actresses of color getting major roles in the school productions for three years straight.

It had been peak entitlement and the kind of microaggression you can’t really battle against. So hearing that she’d been replaced by Clara of all people had upset E to the point of wanting to “get the hell out of this stupid, backwater town!”

By the time E’s done with her story, we’re all sitting on the edge of her bed, with A and I on either side of her.

“Did you tell him you were grounded and didn’t have your phone?” A asks. “He’d understand if you told him that probably and uninvite Clara.”

E shakes her head mournfully. “That’s not how it works.”

“Why not?” A asks. “That’s what I would do if I could get a girl to like me.”

“Boys like August don’t care about what you have going on in real life. If you’re not available when they want you, they move on to the next girl,” E answers A like she’s explaining the simple concept of why you have to wash your hands to a six-year-old. “He’s probably hooking up with Clara as we speak. And if I try to get him to like me again, he’ll just make fun of me with all his friends. Like, look at that dumb, trashy girl. She’s so thirsty.”

“You’re not trashy,” I tell her.

“Yeah. You’re pretty and smart,” A insists. “And more talented than Clara will ever be. Forget that dude.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” E assures him. “I want to move to Pittsburgh and make new friends and forget that I ever spent time in this stupid small town.”

Usually, I would be in full agreement. But selfishly, I don’t want E to leave just yet. Also, a few of the things she’s saying just don’t add up.

“Hey, weren’t we just talking about how much we’re going to miss this town a few days ago?” I ask. “And maybe don’t write August off just yet. Can you walk us through exactly what happened to make him invite Clara to prom?”

“I just told you!” E answers.

“Yeah, well, tell me again. This time step-by-step. Like I gave you your phone back and what did you say when you answered all those texts he sent?”

“I said, ‘Hey,’” E replies, in a tone that insinuates her one-word answer should have been obvious.

“All you said was hey?” A asks, his innocent round face crinkling with confusion.

E rolls her eyes. “What else was I supposed to say? He left me, like, a wall of messages.”

I don’t know what’s cringier. That all E said after two weeks of total radio silence was ‘Hey,’ or that up until very recently, I would have responded the exact same way. If I responded at all.

“And what did he say?” A asks.

“Where the hell have you been?—sorry for cursing Cynda, but that’s what he said.”

“Got it,” I answer, letting it go this once. “And then, what did you say?”

“’Hanging with the fam. How you?’ And then it was like…dot, dot, dot for the longest time. And like two hours later he tells me he invited Clara, who he knows I hate to prom.”

“I know I’m not cool like you,” A says, his voice cautious. “But how you responded after two weeks feels kind of wrong.”

“So this is all my fault?” E demands, her voice immediately becoming defensive.

Apparently this is the one argument A’s not willing to have with his twin. He cuts his eyes at me, like, your turn.

I clear my throat. “No, it’s not your fault per se. I mean, I get it. When you’ve lost as many people as you have, it makes it hard to put yourself out there. Sometimes it feels easier to act like you don’t care about someone, even when you do. But the thing is, it only feels that way. When it comes right down to it, people who never risk looking stupid or making themselves vulnerable end up alone. It doesn’t matter whether you’re here or in Pittsburgh. If you can’t be honest with the boys you like and tell them how you really feel, then you’ll never get the kind of relationship you want—”