I tell myself to be strong. I tell myself to delete the stupid voice message just like I deleted our texts, and to move on with my life. But, after an hour of thinking it over in my bedroom, I decide to listen to it.

I bite my lip and press play.

“Hey Jess, It’s Max. I just felt bad that we haven’t talked all day, so I thought I’d call because calls are more personal, you know? Anyhow, I hope you had a great Sunday. Text me tomorrow! Goodnight.”

Chills prickle over my arms. I press replay and listen to it again. Here he is, in voice form. He sounds so cute, it’s ridiculous. He also sounds…I don’t know.like he’s actually upset that we didn’t talk today.

Then I realize what’s going on. He didn’t know his girlfriend messaged me. He probably has no idea. This realization eases my pain a little. I mean, he’s still an ass, but at least he wasn’t sitting there laughing over my stupidity while she texted me. I have been imagining that all day long and it’s the worst sort of embarrassment.

No, instead, she probably sneakily did it, and he has on idea and he still plans on talking to me. What a pig. Maybe he also cheats on his girlfriend in real life, too. Ugh.

I delete the voice message and I go to sleep, promising myself that by the morning, I would have forgotten what his voice sounds like.

 

#

 

On Monday morning, I wake up to the sound of my brother whining that he doesn’t want to get dressed for school. Mom sounds exasperated as she tells him he can’t wear superhero pajamas to kindergarten. I snort to myself as I get dressed and brush my hair in front of my vanity mirror. Looks like things are back to normal at the Parker house.

Abigail picks me up in the shiny used-but-new-to-her SUV her parents bought her for her sixteenth birthday three months ago. We used to ride the bus together but now that she has wheels, we’re officially students who arrive in the student parking lot. One of these days, I hope to get my own car, but I’ll need to get a job to pay for the gas an insurance first.

“So,” she says, batting her eyelashes at me in this sarcastic way. “Anything new with your anonymous text boy?”

I roll my eyes. “Let’s not talk about that.”

“Okay, now we have to talk about it,” she says, studying my face for clues. “Oh my God. Did he send a picture? Is he ugly?”

“No,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“So he’s hot?” she squeals.

“Nope.”

She frowns. “I’m confused. Is he medium-looking?”

“I have no idea what he looks like, Ab. We didn’t get to the sending a picture phase of our friendship because his girlfriend decided to text me back on his phone and tell me to get lost.”

“Oh shit,” she breathes. “Are you serious?”

I nod as a lump forms in my throat. “So apparently he’s just another jerk guy who cheats on his girlfriend and has no moral values at all. So yeah, can we not talk about him?”

“Never speaking of him again,” she says, pulling her fingers over her mouth like there’s an imaginary zipper there.

I smile. “Thanks. You’re the best friend ever.”

“Actually, not really. I’m the idiot who dared you to text a random number.” She frowns. “I’m sorry, Jess.”

I shrug it off. “It’s not your fault. It was fun. The dare part, at least.”

“Maybe next time being dared to do something will actually pay off,” she says, offering me a hopeful smile.

We park and grab our backpacks and start heading into school.

“Maybe,” I say with a sigh.

In first period, I’m sneakily sending Snaps to Abigail and our other friend Natalie while my history teacher talks about the Civil War.

Mr. Hawkins is only twenty-six years old, and he’s totally hot. It’s embarrassing to admit that I’ve spent just about every day in history class staring dreamily at his sculpted features, five o’clock shadow, and charming blue eyes. But today I’m just not feeling it. Max had made me feel so special through our texts, and now I feel so unbelievably betrayed. It’s like I can’t even appreciate my hot teacher anymore.

I hate all boys now.

I’m staring at my phone, waiting for Abigail’s new message to come in, when another message lights up my phone screen.

It’s Max. Even though he’s no longer saved a as contact in my phone, I pretty much have his number memorized, no matter how much I hate that fact.

 

Max: Morning! How’s school?

 

I grit my teeth and delete the message.  But then a few minutes later, another one appears.

 

Max: I’m assuming you can text in class…because everyone else does, lol. If not, then text me during lunch or something.

Max: I miss talking to you! :)

 

Someone should give him an award for World’s Biggest Liar. He doesn’t miss me. And if for some reason he does, then maybe he should take a hard look at himself and stop being a cheating bastard. He has a girlfriend. He should miss her. And although I really loved talking to him before I discovered his secret love life, I’m not so pathetic of a girl to be taken advantage of like this. I am better than this.

I delete the rest of his messages.

In third period, his stupid number appears on my phone again.

 

Max: :( Where did you go?

 

I can’t take it anymore. I hit reply.

 

Me: Can you stop texting me?

Max: Did you get in trouble at school? My HS was pretty lenient with phones.

Me: This has nothing to do with texting in class. I don’t want to talk to you anymore.

Max: Oh… can I ask why?

Me: BECAUSE YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND. LEAVE ME ALONE.

 

I let out a sigh so loud it makes two people sitting in front of me turn around with quizzical expressions. I just shrug and look away. If Max was even a halfway decent human being, he’d stop texting me once I told him I knew about his girlfriend.

But he must be a terrible human being, because a few minutes later, I get another text.

And it’s even worse than the rest of them.

 

Max: Huh? I don’t have a girlfriend.