Me:
So I’m on my bed later that night checking statuses of all my friends and discover in Nikki’s photos the girl who left the bathroom when I came in. Her name is Alexis. Almost all the photos of Nikki are pictures other people have taken and tagged her in. I’m looking through them on my laptop when Megan likes a photo I posted of Libby. Why would she do that? You can’t like my sister if you don’t like me—that’s not how it works. I go to her profile, sort through her pictures, and spot one of her and her family hugging Mickey Mouse at the Magic Kingdom. I like it. See how she likes that!
Pleased with myself, I move on to Tanner Law. Tanner on his skateboard. Tanner catching a fly ball. Tanner and Amanda sitting at lunch. I click on this one, making it larger. I can tell by the angle that Tanner took this one himself. Me and Mandy, the caption reads. Mandy? I’ve never called her that. I narrow suspicious eyes, examine the slit of space between them, and notice that Tanner and Mandy are leaning toward each other. Just a little—you might not notice it unless you study it like I’m doing, but there it is.
Keeping that photo up on my laptop, I grab my phone and text Amanda.
Me: I saw a picture of you and Tanner on Facebook.
Her response comes back in seconds.
Amanda: Yeah, we sit at the same table.
I stare at the picture. The space between them is shaped like a triangle. My thumbs create more words.
Me: Does he still like me?
Moments pass. My phone doesn’t tweedle with her reply. Electronic minutes are worse than dog years or grown-up time, because when someone is online and doesn’t respond right away, time melts you like an ice cube on the sidewalk and your molecules change from one form of matter to another. My molecules change from curious to impatient. I examine the Amanda and Tanner picture on my laptop. Tweedle!
Amanda: Don’t be mad at me, but …
“What are you doing still up?”
“Mom!” I slam down the lid of my laptop. “You should knock!”
She gives me the eyebrow and crosses her arms.
“Sorry!” I say immediately. My hand creeps like a daddy longlegs, covering my phone.
Tweedle!
Amanda: I think I like Tanner.
I whip the phone under my covers.
Nothing escapes Mom, not even the red-shouldered hawk. She takes the laptop off my bed and sneaks her hand under my blanket for the phone. Her movements are as crisp as the corners of my sheets. “I’m sorry, too, but you’re supposed to be sleeping, not …” She shakes the phone in the air.
I rise like a puppet drawn up by strings. “Where’re you going with my stuff?”
“I’m keeping it in our room so you can sleep.” Her voice walks down the hall with my phone and laptop. “You’ll get it back in the morning.”
Leaping out of bed, I zing down the hallway after her. “I said I was sorry.” No response. “Can I at least text Amanda back? Could I just let her know I have to get off the phone? You don’t want me to be rude, do you?”
Mom stops so suddenly, I almost bump into her. Slowly, she turns.
Mom:
Me:
My shadow dives into bed before I do. It’s barely midnight. My cheery maple scritches its leaves against each other, throwing sharp patterns of moonlight and shade against my wall. Crickets warble short blasts that sound like my coach’s gym whistle. Frogs bleat from the woods. It’s weird how they suddenly stop, all at the same time. Then one frog solos a few bars and the rest join in again. A tiny little freeway with froggy drivers, all blaring their horns—that’s what they sound like. They don’t sound like ribbit.
Speaking of which, Amanda and Tanner. I purse my lips. I lie flat on my stomach with one leg hooked up. I try my side, my back, and my other side, but I can’t get comfortable. Alexis tagging Nikki. Megan likes my photo. Amanda likes Tanner. Why? “Ugh! Science.” “Got new shoes—like them if you like them.” “My new skimboard!” “Chocolate or strawberry?” “‘Dr. Who’ is my new favorite show.” All this stuff is happening without me.
I think I like Tanner.
I need my phone.