By Valentine's Day, Miles and Haven are in love-though not with each other. And even though we sit together at lunch, I may as well have been on my own. They were too busy hovering over their Sidekicks to notice my existence, while my iPhone sat beside me, silent and ignored.
"Omigod, this is hilarious! You can't believe how brilliant he is!" Miles says, for the gazillionth time, gazing up from his text, his face flushed with laughter, as he thinks of the perfect reply.
"Omigod, Josh just gifted me like, a ton of songs! I am so not worthy," Haven mumbles, thumbs tapping a response.
And even though I'm happy for them, happy that they're happy and all that, my mind is on sixth-period art, and I'm wondering if I should ditch. Because here at Bay View High, today is not only Valentine's Day, it's also Secret Heart Day. Which means that those big, red, heart-shaped lollipops, the ones with the little pink love notes they've been pushing all week, are finally distributed. And while Miles and Haven are fully expecting to receive theirs even though their boyfriends don't go here, I'm just hoping to get through the day, somewhat sane, and mostly unscathed.
And even though I fully admit that ditching the iPod, hoodie, dark sunglasses combo has allowed for a considerable amount of renewed male interest, it's not like I'm interested in any of them. Because the truth is, there's not one guy in this school (on this planet!), who could ever compare to Damen. No one. Nada. Just not possible. And it's not like I'm in a hurry to lower my standards.
But by the time the Sixth-period bell rings, I know I can't ditch. My ditching days, like my drinking days, are pretty much over. So I suck it up and head to class, immersed in my latest, ill fated assignment-to mimic one of the isms. And I happened to choose cubism-making the mistake of thinking it would be easy. But it's not. In fact, it's far from it.
And when I sense someone standing behind me, I turn and say, "Yeah?" Peering at the lollipop he holds in his hand, then focusing back on my work, assuming it's a case of mistaken identity. But when he taps me again, this time I don't bother looking, I just shake my head and say, "Sorry, wrong girl."
He mumbles something under his breath, then clears his throat and says, "You're that Ever chick, right?"
I nod.
"Then take it already." He shakes his head. "I gotta get through this entire box before the bell rings."
He tosses me the lollipop and makes for the door, and I set down my charcoal, flip the card open, and read:
Thinking of you Always. Damen
Thirty-Five
I race through the door, anxious to get upstairs so I can show Riley my lollipop valentine, the one that made the sun shine, the birds sing, and turned my whole day around, even though I refuse to have anything to do with the sender.
But when I see her sitting alone on the couch, seconds before she turns and sees me, something about the way she looks, so small and alone, reminds me of what Ava said that I've said good-bye to the wrong person. And the air rushes right out of me.
"Hey," she says, grinning at me. "You can't believe what I just saw on Oprah. There's this dog who's missing his two front legs, and yet he can still-"
I drop my bag on the floor and sit down beside her, grabbing the remote and pushing mute.
"What's up?" she says, scowling at me for silencing Oprah. "What are you doing here?" I ask.
"Um, hanging on the couch, waiting for you to come home… " She crosses her eyes and sticks out her tongue. "Duh."
"No, I mean, why are you here? Why aren't you-someplace else?"
She twists her mouth to the side and turns back to the TV, her body stiff, face immobile, preferring a silent Oprah to me.
"Why aren't you with Mom and Dad and Buttercup?" I ask, watching as her bottom lip starts to quiver, at first only slightly, but soon, a full-blown tremble, making me feel so awful, I have to force the words to continue. "Riley." I pause, swallowing hard. "Riley, I don't think you should come here anymore."
"You're evicting me?" She springs to her feet, eyes wide with outrage.
"No, It's nothing like that, I just-"
"You can't stop me from visiting, Ever! I can do anything I want! Anything! And there's nothing you can do about it!" she says, shaking her head and pacing the room.
"I'm aware of that." I nod. "But I don't think I should encourage you either."
She crosses her arms and mashes her lips together, then plops back down on the couch, kicking her leg back and forth like she does when she's mad, upset, frustrated, or all three.
"It's just, well, for a while there it seemed like you were busy with something else, somewhere else, and you seemed perfectly happy and okay with it. But now it's like you're here all the time again and I'm wondering if it's because of me. Because even though I can't bear the thought of not having you around, it's more important for you to be happy. And spying on neighbors and celebrities, watching Oprah, and waiting for me, well, I don't think it's the best way to go." I stop, taking a deep breath, wishing I didn't have to continue, but knowing I do. "Because even though seeing you is the undisputed best part of my day, I can't help but think there's another-better-place for you to be."