It’s just the kind of compliment Danielle needs, and I wonder if Ava is just trying to be a good friend or if it’s something she truly believes.
“That doesn’t narrow it down,” Danielle says. “Everyone loves Chase.”
I can tell she’s a little proud when she says it.
“Maybe Chase wrote it,” Ava says, and it’s like her compliment has been revoked. Sometimes I think it must be hard for Ava to have a best friend who will always be slightly meaner, braver, and better at getting in the last word. I understand the temptation to poke the bear, but I never would. Maybe my survival instincts are stronger. Or maybe I’m just scared.
“The winky face is the worst part,” I say, trying to deflect. “It’s kinda . . . sinister.”
Ava cracks open a bottle of nail polish and Danielle wrinkles her nose. “Are you seriously painting your nails right now? We’re eating.”
“I’m done.” Ava shrugs, beginning to paint her thumb green, the same color as her faded Saint Patrick’s Day hair.
“Your hands are covered in chicken, and that nail polish smell makes me want to gag.” Danielle closes the box of broccoli and sets it aside a little too forcefully, letting her anger out on the takeout instead of Ava. But we all know Ava’s getting off easy—Danielle can bite much harder than this.
Just then, my phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out. There’s a text from an unknown number.
Hey work buddy
I feel my face flush, hope flooding through my chest. I never gave Dean my number, but maybe he got it from my paperwork.
Who is this?
I type back slowly, then set my phone down on the rug in front of me so I can see the screen, my heart thudding so loud I’m surprised the other girls can’t hear it. I put aside the carton of orange chicken I’ve been picking through, my hunger gone. An answer comes back almost immediately.
Who do you want it to be?
My cheeks redden and I feel my breath quicken. I pick up the phone and wait, unsure what to say. He writes again.
So how does Keely spend her Saturday nights?
There’s a pause and I stare at the “. . .” on the screen that means he’s still typing, trying to calm my racing heart. I save his number into my contacts as James Dean, grinning stupidly. He texts again.
I bet you’re on a date
“Who are you texting?” Hannah asks from next to me. “You’re so red right now.” She reaches over and grabs the phone from my hands, which are too sweaty to hold on. “Oh my god, James Dean. He finally texted you? This is amazing!” She sits up, folding her legs under her and tucking a lock of black hair behind her ear.
Danielle and Ava sit up too.
“Wait, who is that?” Ava asks. “A guy from your work?”
Hannah shows them the texts.
“Dude, he’s really into you.” Danielle reaches over to take the phone.
“No he isn’t,” I answer automatically, shoving the idea away before I can latch on to it. I can’t let my hopes rise like that. It’s easier not to care.
“No, seriously,” she says, scrolling up. “He texted you three times in a row.”
“What do I say?” I ask, my face somehow getting even redder.
“What guy is this?” Ava asks. “There are rules to these things. You have to wait at least ten minutes. And no exclamation points. Ever. Enthusiasm is way too desperate.”
“You know who he is, actually,” Hannah answers. “We saw him at Dunkin’ Donuts. The morning after, well.” She clears her throat and looks at Danielle before continuing. “After Andrew’s party.”
“I REMEMBER HIM!” Ava shrieks, almost spilling the bottle of nail polish in her hand. “Cheekbones for days.”
“He went to EVmU, right?” Danielle asks.
“Yeah, he’s a junior,” I answer.
“Oh,” she says. “Interesting.” She hands the phone back to me with a blank expression.
“What?” I grab for it, relieved to have his messages back in my possession. “Do you know him or something?” I think about how she almost approached him but then changed her mind at the last second.
“No, it’s nothing.” She shrugs and rummages through the box of nail polish.
“What?” I ask again. “Just say it.”
She grabs a little bottle of black nail polish and then looks up at me.
“It’s just . . . well . . . he’s in college and he’s probably been with his fair share of girls. I mean, he looks like a model.”
“What, are you saying I’m not good enough for him?”
“Keely, you’re beautif—” Hannah begins to say, but Danielle speaks over her.
“You’re a virgin. That matters.” She shrugs. “He doesn’t know, obviously, so he’s probably trying to sleep with you and turn you into a steady hookup. But if you tell him you’re a virgin, it could only go two ways: he’ll be weirded out and lose interest, or he’ll take your virginity and never speak to you again. Neither of those are good scenarios.” It’s blunt, but it sounds true, and it’s completely discouraging. “I just doubt he wants to teach you how to have sex. He’s got too many options to be interested in that.”
“You don’t know him,” I say sharply. “What if he actually likes me? What if he wants to do things the old-fashioned way?” Three faces stare back at me blankly. Danielle begins to laugh.
“You’re saying this hot college guy, who probably has his pick of every girl on campus, suddenly starts texting you, and wants to take you out for a nice steak dinner? Do you want him to give you a promise ring? Maybe you guys can hold hands and then after you can write about it in your diary.” She’s still holding the unopened bottle of black nail polish in her hands and she shakes it as she speaks, the click click click emphasizing every word. “Sorry, Collins, it has nothing to do with you. You’re totally datable. It’s just—a guy like James Dean doesn’t want to date anyone.”