Here by Denise Grover Swank Page A

you don’t do it. It sneaks up on you. Want me to come over and help?” He’s teasing, but I still hear the hopeful tone.
    “
Tempting, but somehow I don’t think I’ll get as much studying done.” I lie back on my bed and gather my courage. “Evan, why don’t you play football any more?”
    He pauses. “I pulled a hamstring.”
    “
But shouldn’t you still be going to practices and watching from the sidelines? Wearing your jersey on Fridays?”
    “
Why the sudden interest? I thought you weren’t into football?”
    “
I’m not. It’s just that…”
    “
Can I pick you up and take you to school tomorrow?”
    His question catches me off guard. “Uh, I don’t know.”
    “
If I can’t come over and help you with homework then at least let me drive you to school. I want to spend every minute with you that I can.”
    “
Why?”
    He groans in frustration. “Jules, this again? You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re beautiful. Why wouldn’t I want to be with you?”
    I stare at the ceiling, now blurry through my tears. “I used to be that person. Not any more.”
    “
No, you still are. You just have to find her again.”
    “
How do you know that Evan? You didn’t even know me before.”
    He clears his throat. “You have no idea how sorry I am about that. My only excuse is that I was an idiot. There’s no way I can change that, but I’m begging you to trust me when I say I know who you are. If it’s easier, just think of me as a completely different person than last week.”
    I want to trust him, but it’s too soon and there are too many questions. “I’ve got to go.”
    “
Okay.” He sounds hurt. “Can I pick you up tomorrow?”
    I hear Mom calling my name. I don’t want her to walk in and find me on the phone with him. I’ll only have to answer more questions. “Sure.”
    “
Great.”
    I hear her stop outside my door. “I have to go.”
    “
I’ll see you tomorrow at 7:15.”
    I hang up as the door swings open. I jam the phone under my notebook and look up to see Mom standing on the threshold.
    “
Thanks for cooking dinner,” she says with a smile.
    I grimace. It used to be expected of me. “It was nothing. It’s time I start doing my old chores again.”
    Tears fill her eyes. “Thanks,” she squeaks before shutting the door.
    Great, now I made her cry.
    I spend the rest of the night wallowing in guilt, but manage to get through my current homework assignments as well as several chemistry and trig assignments. I keep replaying the last week in my head. I can’t ignore the conversation I overheard in Chemistry. What if Evan’s sudden interest in me has something to do with his disappearance? I dismiss the thought as paranoia. This is real life not some cheesy movie. Still, the worry burrows deep, an insatiable itch.
    After I slip under the covers and start to doze, my phone vibrates with a text.
    Sweet dreams .
    The warm feeling is back, clouding all my dark thoughts. I drift off to sleep, not quite trusting my budding happiness.
    I dream of Monica, only her hair is shorter and darker. We sit at a table with Evan and a dark haired boy I don’t recognize. Our heads are bent over tablets that remind me of an iPad. The boy glances up and our gaze locks. The sadness lurking in his bright green eyes seeps into my marrow. His mouth lifts into a small smile before he breaks contact. As I look down, I see Monica studying the two of us. Her hatred is unmistakable.

    In the morning, I wake up earlier than usual to put on makeup after my shower. Instead of my usual jeans, I put on a tan sweater with a suede skirt and heeled boots, then stand in front of the full-length mirror hanging on my closet door.
    It looks like me , not the shell I’ve become.
    The clock reads 7:10. At the last moment, I grab my bracelet and put it on as I go out to face my mother.
    Let the questions commence.
    Mom sits at the kitchen table in front of her laptop, her steaming coffee next to her. She raises her gaze