now things were worse. I couldn’t say no to her because I was basically begging her, but if God made miracles and James showed up to walk me home, I couldn’t actually say yes to her either.
So I said, “Maybe?”
“Whatever, okay.”
“So…I’ll just be at the store.”
“Right. And I’ll be here if you want to hang out.”
“Okay, well, I get off at eleven. Like always.” This was a mess.
“Like you said.” I heard Naomi turn the shower on.
Now my inner monologue ordered: Hang up the phone, Quinn. Hang it. Up.
“And Morgan’s not taking me home either.”
Wow.
“Be safe then?” The sound of running water was getting louder.
Something was seriously wrong with me, because I literally said, “Safe isn’t always the best way to be.”
“What?”
“Bye, Naomi. Bye.”
Surprisingly painful, actually.
This second phone call would be easy breezy as long as I didn’t start crying. But then again, if I was going to cry, I’d better do it now.
Stella answered on the third ring, sounding totally out of it. She said Libby wasn’t home, that she’d spent the night at Stiles’s and was probably still there now. Okay, no big deal, I’d just call Stiles…at his underground lair, where he most likely had Libby chained to a radiator and she was loving it. Stella gave me the number, which contained not even one six, let alone the three in a row I’d expected. His answering machine beeped a single beep with no outgoing message.
“Oh. Okay. Hi, this is Quinn Lacey, I’m looking for Libby. I know she’s with you, so just go get her.” I waited a second. “Libby, listen, sorry about last night.Whatever my friend James told you, it’s not how I feel. I still want to see you, so please come by the store tonight and we’ll talk about whatever’s going on. Or we can talk about other stuff, doesn’t matter. I just want to see you and make sure you’re okay. I’m going to guess for both of our sakes you were just having a rough night. Okay, so come by. Love you, bye.”
The phone beeped back at me while I rushed to get the last words out. I contemplated calling again, just to make sure my message hadn’t gotten erased or cut off, but I could only stand to be so much of a weirdo. Even if Stiles ignored me, Stella knew I was looking for Libby. I’d covered my bases and done my best. Psychic powers were out, meal was in, best dress was on, and I’d gotten more done in one hour than I had in three days.
I ran to Morgan when I saw him behind the front counter. He wanted to be moody and dismissive, I could tell, but once I was bounding toward him he opened his arms for me with only the smallest reluctance. I babbled about whatever, not allowing for a single moment of awkwardness or self-reflection from either of us. We put The Basketball Diaries on. During one particularly intimate scene, Morgan turned to me and yanked on one of my tiny braids.
“Hey, aren’t you going to marry Leo? Once you get to Paris?”
“Oh, Morgan, you’re so smart.” I wasn’t being sarcastic either; he remembered everything.
We were back in full swing. Okay, maybe more like semi-swing, but it felt great. I didn’t care if it was denial or repression or just teenage madness, but pretending like he didn’t love me and I didn’t not love him was a refreshing change. We weren’t talking about anything that wasn’t directly in front of us: an annoying customer trying to return a busted copy of Beetlejuice , how the Jim Carroll book was way more disturbing than the movie, my new silver nail polish, licorice whips. Morgan even mentioned the recent heat wave; we were talking weather! I waited for things to turn, braced myself for the total bitch-out I deserved, but Morgan kept it light and pleasant. Until a certain point.
“Hey, so you remember at Libby’s party the other night?” He sounded composed, but I still pretended to stare at a copy of Terminator 2 like it was a Dead Sea
So I said, “Maybe?”
“Whatever, okay.”
“So…I’ll just be at the store.”
“Right. And I’ll be here if you want to hang out.”
“Okay, well, I get off at eleven. Like always.” This was a mess.
“Like you said.” I heard Naomi turn the shower on.
Now my inner monologue ordered: Hang up the phone, Quinn. Hang it. Up.
“And Morgan’s not taking me home either.”
Wow.
“Be safe then?” The sound of running water was getting louder.
Something was seriously wrong with me, because I literally said, “Safe isn’t always the best way to be.”
“What?”
“Bye, Naomi. Bye.”
Surprisingly painful, actually.
This second phone call would be easy breezy as long as I didn’t start crying. But then again, if I was going to cry, I’d better do it now.
Stella answered on the third ring, sounding totally out of it. She said Libby wasn’t home, that she’d spent the night at Stiles’s and was probably still there now. Okay, no big deal, I’d just call Stiles…at his underground lair, where he most likely had Libby chained to a radiator and she was loving it. Stella gave me the number, which contained not even one six, let alone the three in a row I’d expected. His answering machine beeped a single beep with no outgoing message.
“Oh. Okay. Hi, this is Quinn Lacey, I’m looking for Libby. I know she’s with you, so just go get her.” I waited a second. “Libby, listen, sorry about last night.Whatever my friend James told you, it’s not how I feel. I still want to see you, so please come by the store tonight and we’ll talk about whatever’s going on. Or we can talk about other stuff, doesn’t matter. I just want to see you and make sure you’re okay. I’m going to guess for both of our sakes you were just having a rough night. Okay, so come by. Love you, bye.”
The phone beeped back at me while I rushed to get the last words out. I contemplated calling again, just to make sure my message hadn’t gotten erased or cut off, but I could only stand to be so much of a weirdo. Even if Stiles ignored me, Stella knew I was looking for Libby. I’d covered my bases and done my best. Psychic powers were out, meal was in, best dress was on, and I’d gotten more done in one hour than I had in three days.
I ran to Morgan when I saw him behind the front counter. He wanted to be moody and dismissive, I could tell, but once I was bounding toward him he opened his arms for me with only the smallest reluctance. I babbled about whatever, not allowing for a single moment of awkwardness or self-reflection from either of us. We put The Basketball Diaries on. During one particularly intimate scene, Morgan turned to me and yanked on one of my tiny braids.
“Hey, aren’t you going to marry Leo? Once you get to Paris?”
“Oh, Morgan, you’re so smart.” I wasn’t being sarcastic either; he remembered everything.
We were back in full swing. Okay, maybe more like semi-swing, but it felt great. I didn’t care if it was denial or repression or just teenage madness, but pretending like he didn’t love me and I didn’t not love him was a refreshing change. We weren’t talking about anything that wasn’t directly in front of us: an annoying customer trying to return a busted copy of Beetlejuice , how the Jim Carroll book was way more disturbing than the movie, my new silver nail polish, licorice whips. Morgan even mentioned the recent heat wave; we were talking weather! I waited for things to turn, braced myself for the total bitch-out I deserved, but Morgan kept it light and pleasant. Until a certain point.
“Hey, so you remember at Libby’s party the other night?” He sounded composed, but I still pretended to stare at a copy of Terminator 2 like it was a Dead Sea
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