Page 139 of The Fake Out

“I think I made a mistake,” I whispered.

Slowly, Ali set her fork down and turned toward me. “About?”

“Chris. I miss him.”

Ali wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “I know you do, honey.”

“I’ve been texting him. Every night. Just little things about what’s going on around here. A photo of Iris at graduation. Keeping him up to date on Mrs. Katz and Horace’s love life.” I straightened and tried on a small smile. “He’s never written back. Not once. He told me that he’d wait for me. Do you think maybe he’s finally figured out we aren’t meant to be?”

Eyes narrowed, Ali flattened her mouth into a thin line. When she finally spoke, it was not with her inside voice. “Are you kidding me right now?”

“Why are you yelling at me?”

“Maebell Sampson, you sent him a text? A text to tell him you missed him? Come on. That man has not given up on you. No way. You’ve read how many romance novels?”

My mouth dropped. “How do you know about that?”

She rolled her eyes. “Hello, dummy. We’ve known each other since we were ten. You’re good at keeping secrets but not that good. You should know from reading them that you’re going to have to put a lot more effort into making things right. Way more than a text.”

“You think?”

“Uh, no. I know.” She picked her fork up and resumed eating. “You better make it good too. He deserves it.”

“Excuse me,” I sputtered. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”

“Chris’s side,” she pointed her knife at me, “and your side. Because you’re both on the same side. We all know that. We’re just waiting for you to figure that out too.”

Later that night, when I couldn’t sleep, I texted Chris:

Me: I sent the check back AGAIN yesterday. Please stop. I don’t want it.

Me: Ollie told me a story today.

Me: The most words I’ve ever heard him say.

Me: Do you really think everyone gets a happily ever after?

SIXTY-THREE

Our love is like diarrhea,

I just can’t hold it in.

—ELENA S.

I found a woman sleeping in the library.

She was in the children’s section with a little boy of about three who was also asleep. I didn’t recognize her, although it was hard to see her face the way she was curled around the child. It didn’t feel right to wake her.

Two hours later, the little boy wandered over, his big blue eyes sleepy and confused. Something about him seemed so familiar, but I couldn’t place him.

“Haffa go potty.” He rubbed a hand through his dark hair.

“Let’s go wake up your mommy.”

He took my hand and we walked to his mother.

“Miss,” I said quietly, hoping not to startle her. “Miss.”