Eleven Things I Promised by Catherine Clark Page B

realized I didn’t have it and—I guess I was tired—”
    â€œYou lost your phone. Seriously, Frances?”
    â€œI know, I know.”
    â€œYou can be spacey. Speaking of. What was up with you last night?”
    â€œUp with me? Nothing, actually.”
    â€œAre you sure? You didn’t sound like yourself.”
    â€œWho did I sound like?” I joked.
    â€œYou sounded delirious.”
    â€œOh.” How embarrassing. I’d drunk-dialed my best friend’s brother. But I also knew it was no accident. I was getting more attached to Mason by the day. “I was super tired, just like you said. So, they’re looking for my phone. Right now,” I said. “It might be in our tent or my sleeping bag. I’m sure I’ll find it when we unpack tonight. But if I don’t . . . oh, never mind, I just hate not having it.”
    â€œWhat do you need one for?” he asked.
    â€œCalling you, for example? I just feel so cut off from everything. And everyone.”
    â€œIt’s been, like, a few hours.” He laughed. “What do you think you’re missing? Anyway, you’ll be home soon.”
    â€œI know, and I know you’re going to think I’m ‘just being Frances,’ but do you think there’s any way you could help me get a phone?”
    â€œMe? Frances, I don’t even know where you
are
,” Mason said.
    â€œYou have the itinerary!” I protested. “We’re at Sebago Lake right now and tonight we’re going to be in Waterville, Watertown, something like that.”
    â€œWaterboro? That’s like an hour and a half drive,” Mason said. “Each way!”
    â€œI know, I know, but—”
    â€œCan’t you just borrow someone’s phone, like you’re doing right now?”
    â€œBut what if . . . you know. Something important happens,” I said. “Or an emergency.”
    â€œSorry, but we’re done with emergencies. I just—I don’t need this right now.” Mason sounded exasperated with me. “I mean, I don’t know what you expect me to do. Drive there? With a new phone and everything? God, Franny. Sometimes you’re so selfish.”
    I felt ridiculous all of a sudden. He was right. Why was I asking
him
? My mom would be here in a heartbeat if I asked her—after giving me a lecture on how much phones cost. But I didn’t want to see her. I wanted to see him, I guess.
    â€œIt’s okay,” I said. “Sorry.”
    â€œI need to be here. I’m taking Stella to appointments, and doing stuff at the house. So I’m going to hang up now, and when Stella’s done with her appointment, I’ll tell her you called to say hi and you’re doing fine. You’ll call again to check on her. End of story.” He ended the call abruptly, leaving me feeling about an inch tall.
    When I looked up, I caught Margo’s eye. It wasn’t hard to do because she was standing there, apparently just waiting for me to get off the phone.
    â€œEverything okay?” she asked.
    â€œSure,” I said quickly.
    â€œHow’s Stella?”
    I’m not sure, actually.
“She’s doing well,” I said.
    I didn’t give Margo a chance to ask any follow-up questions. I found Cameron over by the rest of the team and returned his phone, then stretched out on the ground to catch a few minutes of relaxation. When I closed my eyes, facing up, the sun made my eyelids orange-red. I thought about the time Stella and I went to a beach near Portland two summers ago, when we were fifteen, and how we’d insisted my mom sit somewhere else so we could look like we were on our own.
    We’d lain faceup in the sun for so long that we’d both been sunburned to a crisp at the end of the day. Being on ourown had meant forgetting to wear sunblock.
    That was the summer Stella had a crush on Laird Offutt, who I insisted on calling Layered Outfit. He