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She scrunches up her nose. “Asshole.”
“Hello?” A Southern accent blares from the speaker phone.
“Faith?”
“Yes? Who’s this?”
“Phoebe Ry—Dalton. It’s Phoebe Dalton.”
“Phoebe?” the voice squeals. “Oh, my God, is that really you?”
“Yeah, it’s really me. How’s Tinseltown?”
“Fake-ass bitches on Prozac and vodka twenty-four seven. How’s home? I miss home.”
I can totally see how these two were friends.
Phoebe giggles like a co-ed. “I’m actually living in New York now.”
“No way!”
“Hey, I know this is strange, me calling you out of the blue after three years, but I was hoping I could ask you for a favor?”
“Pheebs, you could call me after ten years. What’s on your mind?”
Phoebe twirls the bed sheet around her fingers and chews her lip. “Can you still do that thing you used to do in school? The one that got you in trouble all the time?”
“You mean borrow some cyber?” There’s a sweet, diabolical pride in her tone.
I’m not even sure how that’s possible.
“Yeah.”
“Hit me up, sister, and make it snappy—I’m late for hot yoga class.”
Phoebe laughs while shooting me a triumphant look. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
Faith’s voice hits a serious note. “I’ve missed you, you know. I don’t mind doing anything for you, Pheebs. No matter how long it’s been. I just didn’t know how to talk to you after your father—”
“Stop!” Phoebe screeches, jumping away from the phone like it had bitten her. “Don’t say his name.”
“Yeah,” she sighs. “Right, I get it.”
“Thanks, Faith. I’ll owe you big.”
Those two together don’t make me feel any better about this. In fact, I think my anxiety just kicked up a few notches.
Thirty-Six
Phoebe
“I don’t know about this, Phoebe.” Julian paces the tight quarters of my bedroom the night after my big revelation to him.
“Relax.” I glance at him over my shoulder as I finish inputting the code Faith had given me to set up the blog page. “This is going to work, and you know it.”
“No, I don’t know it,” he says, pacing again.
The maniacal pacing is starting to make me a little crazy.
