Page 66 of Joey

He’s into this.

Me. He’s into me.

I like him. I like Huck too.

But there’s something about Joey that goes deeper than that.

Maybe it’s the secrets his family keeps. They did warn me. But I like a good secret. I have plenty of juicy ones of my own.

But I’m not going to tell them. And Joey Boston didn’t even tell his best friends his secret, so he’s sure as hell not gonna tell me.

I turn over and get out of bed. I’m wearing a t-shirt and shorts and even though the AC is on, the sun is blazing through the large window with the promise of a hot summer day.

When I enter the living room I think I’m alone. But then I see Huck out on the terrace through the sheer curtains.

I walk over to the door and open it. “Hey. You’re up early.”

He turns, texting on his phone. “Yeah. I like to get up with the sun.”

“What are you doing?”

“Texting someone.”

“Obviously,” I say, walking out onto the terrace. The warm morning feels good and I take a seat on the lounge chair next to Huck.

“The social stuff,” Huck clarifies, sitting down next to me. “She’s got some of it loaded. Wanna look at your profile?”

“Sure,” I say, taking his phone. And wow. It’s a little bit weird to see myself up on Facebook. When I was younger all socials were strictly forbidden. But even when I got older and I knew I could get them if I really wanted to, I didn’t.

It’s so counterintuitive to put personal details up in public for me now that my heart begins to beat fast as I scroll down my fake timeline.

There’s my profile pic. Taken yesterday, of course. It’s me, out here on this terrace, backlit by the city lights. I look happy. I think. My dark blonde hair looks less like dishwater and more like the golden mane of a wild girl I do not know.

I’m smiling and my light brown eyes are bright with the reflection of the city inside them.

I glance at Huck and find him grinning. “It’s a nice pic, don’t you think?”

I nod. “It is.”

There are more pics on my timeline. Lots more. Dozens and dozens of posts. All backdated.

“She put one up for you every month. Because you didn’t have any old pics on your phone.”

“No,” I say. Because I don’t take pics. Of anything, actually. But here I am for everyone to see. Brooke and her three best friends doing all kinds of exciting best-friend things.

“So I guess you’re the antisocial one,” Huck continues. “I’ve got one up every few days, so far. But that’s because I had thousands of pics in my phone.”

“Where’s your profile?” I ask.

He takes the phone from me, makes a few taps, then hands it back.

“Oh, I love that pic,” I say. His profile is not one we took yesterday. His hair is light from months in the sun. And he’s on a beach. Not a Photoshopped beach, either. A real one. I can tell because his body is tan and has the glow of the tropics. “Where was this?” I ask. “And when?”

“About six months ago,” he says. “We were all in Bora Bora. You ever been there?”

“A few times,” I say, scrolling down his timeline.

“Really?” he asks. Like that makes no sense. “When?”