Swee pushes his flat head into my hand, and I oblige him with a scratch. The pale morning light peeks under the bottom of my curtains, and I turn away from it, taking up a spooning position with my cat and tucking him under the blankets with me. I’ve been staring into the dark all night, and I’m not prepared for morning. I close my eyes.
After what might be a couple hours, my mom knocks on the door. “August, talk to me,” she says, and I can hear her lean against the wood.
But I don’t respond.
“I’m leaving you food, okay? I have to get to work.”
She lingers a minute, and then her footsteps fade in the hall. I put my head under my pillow.
The morning passes painfully slow. I half read at my desk, half stare at nothing. I eventually eat the food Mom left, but I barely taste it. Everything seems dull and lifeless.
I turn in my desk chair and frown at my pants on the floor, where I discarded them last night with my phone still in the pocket. I haven’t been able to bring myself to look at it—a thousand texts from Tiny and no texts from Ella.
Just thinking her name makes my chest ache.
As if my phone knows I’m thinking about it, it vibrates against the rug. And for a split second, I wonder—what if it’s Ella, what if she did text?
I grab my pants and stick my hand in the pocket, but to my surprise, I pull out not one but two black phones. I frown, trying to sort it out. The first is definitely mine, only when I touch the screen, it doesn’t notify me that I have endless texts from Tiny; in fact, I have none at all. Maybe she’s as lost for words as I am? The other is the same model with a similar black case, but worn at the edges, and this one does have texts from Tiny—only her name is listed as Valentine. And the realization hits me. How in the heck did I wind up with Bentley’s phone?
I think back to the party, to grabbing my phone off the table. I only grabbed one; I’m sure of it. But then I remember fervently trying to text Tiny in my pocket and failing.
I stare at Bentley’s phone, Valentine’s name at the top of his lock screen with the most recent message asking him if he’s getting her texts. Just below is a text from Charlie asking if Bentley got laid by a hot musician. I consider tossing it out the window and being done with it. But for some reason I keep scrolling. It’s not like I’m going through his conversations; it’s just the front screen—anyone would do that to figure out who the phone belonged to.
Just as I’m about to switch it off and send a message to Tiny that I have it, I spot a notification from Cassie, Bentley’s ex. She’s asking him if they’re still meeting up later, followed by heart eyes and a kiss emoji.
My grip tightens.
Of course he’s meeting up with his ex. Like I said—dick. And so I take a picture of the front of his phone. I feel a little conflicted about it; it’s not something I’d normally do, invade Tiny’s relationship, but now that I’ve seen it, I can’t ignore it, either.
I’ll just give her the phone, and if she doesn’t see the message herself or if their dating doesn’t peter out in the next few days naturally, I’ll show her the picture. My guess is that she’s in deep with her parents for the foreseeable future and that probably includes not going to parties or the beach. I can’t imagine Bentley waiting that out. I’d bet anything that after one week he’s making out with some girl in a bikini and posting it on his social. No need to upset Tiny if I don’t have to.
But as soon as I think it, I feel annoyed that my best friend is in this situation at all. Damn Bentley. I toss his phone onto my desk and unlock mine.
Me
But before I can even stand up, I have a response.
Tiny
She types something but erases it and starts again.
Tiny
Which is a pretty restrained communication for her, confirming my suspicion that she doesn’t know how to handle this blowup any better than I do.
Me
Tiny
Me
There’s a pause.
Tiny
I frown, realizing that if I do, she won’t see the Cassie text.
Me
Tiny
There is no pretty please, August of the house of good hair or any of the flowery language she usually uses. Is Tiny mad?
Me
I text her briefly that before the blowup at the party, Ella told me she was going to break up with Justin, but I have no idea if she followed through. I see her message bubble pop up and disappear, but in the end she doesn’t respond. I don’t text her again, knowing we’re both in off moods and there’s nothing to say anyway.
I stand up, ready to be done with the whole thing and Bentley in general. I reach for my jeans, but as I do, I reconsider and grab my swim trunks instead, hoping the water will distract me from my spiraling thoughts.