Checked Again by Jennifer Jamelli Page A

guilty and
reminding myself just how lengthy my confession list will be tomorrow. Then,
after all of these minutes, all of these mental activities, Melanie comes back
into the living room in a cloud of shower gel and Herbal Essences. She sits
beside me and grabs my phone before I can even think to stop her. She reads my
text, his text, aloud.
    “ Are
you really going to go? From…Unknown Number. Who’s that?”
    “Oh,
just a girl from class.” Honestly, I didn’t always lie as much as I seem to
now.
    Melanie
hands me back my phone. “And where are you going?”
    I
decide not to lie again (for now, anyway). “Um…this conference thing in Florida
next week.”
    Melanie
looks over at me, her eyes all kinds of scrunched together. She seems to be
speechless for a moment. Then she gets out a few words. “And how is that going
to work exactly?”
    I
just shake my head. “I don’t know, Mel. Still trying to figure that out.”
    Melanie
is still looking at me with scrunchy eyes as Mandy comes back into the room and
joins us on the couch. Melanie fills her in and now they both want to talk
about the conference.
    I
don’t want to. But I kind of have to—they won’t let the subject drop otherwise.
    I
quickly spit out some details about how this all came about, how I have to go
to write some articles, and how I’m going to have to live through both a plane
ride AND a hotel stay…
    Both
of them offer to come with me. But they can’t—that would look ridiculous…me
taking babysitters to a graduate conference…
    And
what if there is a plane crash? Then one of them might die just because of me
and—
    Nope.
It’s not going to work. Not going to work.
    Before
I tell them both that I don’t want to talk about the conference anymore,
Melanie brings up alcohol—she suggests that I have a few drinks on the plane
and hopefully pass out.
    Not
a bad idea.
    Ew—unless
I fall asleep in my plane seat and somehow end up with my head on Dr. Gabriel’s
shoulder. Gross.
    Somehow,
I eventually manage to end the conversation about the conference. I know
they’ll bring it up tomorrow…and then they’ll tell Mom, who will also bring it
up with me…but I’m going to just enjoy my little reprieve for now.
    I
even put my phone away, back in my pajama pocket, deciding to just not respond
to his text. Because I don’t want to talk about the conference…or type about
the conference…or think about it…at all right now.
    So
I focus instead on Teen Mom for another hour or so . After another
couple of episodes, Melanie and Mandy go to bed and I get to work.
    I
crawl into bed three hours later, wearing now quite old pajamas. A guy who
doesn’t look like he’s possibly old enough to be a chef lulls me to sleep as he
makes some sort of layer cake.
     
     
    SATURDAY
MORNING. MY PHONE BUZZES thirty seconds before my alarm is set to go off. I
shut off my alarm before it makes any noise, and I go to grab my phone, already
suspecting who might be texting me right now…who might know that I am just
getting up.
    And
I’m right.
    Unknown
Number.
    Sigh.
Count. Open.
     
    Check
your email. Please.
     
    Ugh. No point in
trying to fight it. If I don’t go check it now, I’ll just keep wondering what
he has written. And I won’t get anything else done. I get up and head over to
my laptop, waiting for my inbox to open, for my message from DA Blake to
appear.
    And
here it is.
    One.
Two. Three. Click.
    No
“Hello” or “Dear Callie” or anything. Just three questions.
     
    1.) How are you
getting to the conference?
    2.) Who is making
you go?
    3.) Do you want me
to come?
     
    {Quietly,
Damien R—}
    No,
Callie. He left.
    He
left.
    He
left.
    I
count, click reply, and ask my stomach to stop jumping all over the place.
    {Damien
is still singing softly. I try to pretend that he isn’t.}
    I
type quickly.
     
    1.)
Plane
    2.)
Dr. Gabriel and my advisor
    3.)
No
     
    Count,
oh so fast. Send.
    For
a few minutes, I sit and stare at my computer screen, at