ALLIE

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Nope.” I gesture to the article pulled up on the screen of Aimee’s phone. “It’s real, and I was on my way to remove it from the face of the earth when you called.”

“I’m glad I called when I did,” Aimee says, holding the phone closer. “Did you see that one hundred and three people have left comments on your post? It’s hard for big time bloggers to get that response.”

I roll my eyes as we stroll at a snail’s pace around the school track. Aimee had called during my drive home from Jack’s house to see how things had ended up last night, and I’d confessed everything to her. The rejection, the blog post, the awkward morning...and my attempt to scale the side of Jack Darcy’s building.

“Seriously,” Aimee said. “I don’t think you should take it down. It doesn’t say Jack’s name or give away any of your personal information. Your audience is just interested in reading something that’s funny and honest.”

“Too honest, and I hadn’t meant it to be funny.” I hang my head, sullen. “I’d meant it seriously.”

“What’s gotten into you? There’s nothing here saying it’s you. You’re some anonymous blogger on the internet. It could be anyone. The Allie I know would shake this off! What else is bothering you?”

“Nothing,” I snap, and then immediately apologize. After a breath, I continue. “I guess it’s just everything else. The whole business with Jack—we left things okay this morning, but it was still weird.”

“Probably because you chose a suicidal mission down the side of Jack’s building instead of joining him for breakfast like a normal person.”

I wince. “Yeah, I see that now. Also, there’s someone besides you who knows this blog post came from me.”

Aimee’s eyes flash up at mine. “You didn’t tell me? Who did you tell about the blog before you told me, your most trusted friend?”

“Long story. Remember the girl named Caroline I was telling you about? The one who I thought would be perfect for Jack?”

“The one who turned out to be a lesbian?”

“Yeah, her. Apparently, she saw the article last night and recognized me. We’d talked about books and blogs, so I guess she had a hint.”

“So?” Aimee shrugs. “Do you trust her?”

“I suppose. But what if Jack somehow sees it?”

“I don’t know that it’d be so terrible.” Aimee frowns, glancing at the list. “There’s nothing mean here. It’s pretty complimentary toward him if you ask me.”

“You think?”

Aimee stares at me like my brain contains rocks. “Uh, yeah, girlfriend. Have you read it?”

“Fine!” I throw my hands up. “But I made the list last night while I was emotional. I don’t think it stands true today.”

Aimee scans it over and lets me peek at the screen over her shoulder. “Looks good to me,” she says. “If the worst you have on him is that his super sexy motorcycle hair is annoying, it’s fine.”

“I get it, I get it.” I cradle my face in my hands. “I’m so pathetic.”

“Hey. You are not pathetic. This is cute, and it wouldn’t be so popular if women everywhere couldn’t relate to it. The comments you’re getting? They’re really nice. And supportive. Except the one which asks about the size of Jack’s—”

“Yeah, yeah,” I wave her off. “I saw that one. What are the others saying?”

“Let’s see here, I’ll read them to you.” She clears her throat, then speaks in a loud and clear voice. “Go for it, girl. Sounds like he’ll be lucky to have you. You’re cute.”

I raise my eyebrows. “An anonymous reader got that from the article?”

“You have a unique style,” Aimee says. “It is cute. Oh, then there’s this one: Sounds like you already know what you have to do! Your answer is clear, now go get him. And don’t forget to come back and tell us all about it.”

“Mm-hmm,” I murmur. “That’d go well. You know, if I did go after Jack, and if I did write about it. I’m sure he’d love that.”

“Don’t identify either of you. Don’t go into all the details. You can’t start a story like this and not finish it.”

“I can’t go after Jack now. He ignored my note and didn’t offer any explanation this morning. It’s best if we just pretend it never happened.”

Aimee shifts uncomfortably. “I’ll admit that part sends mixed signals.”

“Right? I was waiting in his bed for him. He must have slept on the couch.”

“What if he didn’t see the note?”

“He did. He came into the room, presumably to check on me, and walked all the way across to close the window. The Post-It note was bright orange and half the size of his pillow. If he so much as glanced in my direction, he couldn’t have missed it. Then, this morning, it had disappeared without a trace.”

“Fine.” Aimee grits her teeth. “Well, how do you feel about it?”

“I feel fine!” My voice is a bit false in the cheeriness, but it’s the best I can do for today. “I feel fine. I got into this stupid game with him to try and teach him to date. We both got a little confused.”

“Which is understandable, seeing as you’re both super hot, super smart people with smoking chemistry.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t thinking that.”

“It’s true.”

“Jack wants to find a woman he can marry. I’m not that woman. So, there’s no sense going further. It’ll just end in heartbreak.”

“Why can’t you be that woman?”

I hesitate in my response, picturing for a moment what that might look like. Me and Jack living under the same roof, maybe a couple of kids. His condo, or maybe a house somewhere way, way down the line. We both like dogs, so maybe throw in a dog.

Then, the truth of everything hits me. Jack’s job interview in Florida. The way his mother looks at me as their dog sitter, and not even as their son’s friend. The way Jack asked for my help to find him a woman suitable for himself.

“If Jack wanted to date me, he should’ve just asked me,” I tell Aimee. “He asked me to help him find other women. That’s what I’m going to do.”

Aimee must sense the determination in my voice because she doesn’t argue. Pointing toward the bleachers, we leave the track and climb up the metal stands to stretch out and catch some of the last summer rays.

“You know,” Aimee says after a few minutes. “I think you should go for the blog. It’s something to do for you to keep your mind off this. It’s like therapy, but cheaper.”

I tilt my head, pondering on it for a moment. “Maybe.”

“If you write a blog on romance, though, you’re going to have to go on some dates.”

“I don’t want to go out on dates.”

“Why not? For fun, for research, or whatever. Maybe you’ll meet someone.”

“I don’t need to meet anyone. I have you, and now I have Caroline, too.”

“Jack,” Aimee adds pointedly. “Don’t forget Jack.”

“My friend,” I confirm. “Yes, I have Jack as a friend.”

“So? If you’re not interested in Jack, let me set you up. I know just the man.”

“Why are you so prepared to set me up?”

“Come on, this isn’t a surprise. We were talking about him the other day!”

“Mr. Cooper?”

“The one and only. I know you said you don’t date co-workers, but a coffee date isn’t committing to life together, is it?”

“Aimee—”

“He’s hot, you’re hot. He’s good at math, you like to read. You both love kids. Come on! It’s a match made in heaven.”

I stand, shaking my head. “Not interested.”

“Fine.” Aimee stands next to me. “But I think it’s because you’re hung up on Jack. I get that you’re his best friend and all, but guess what? You’re my best friend, and I don’t like to see you hurt. If he’s not interested, or if you’re not interested, you have to move on.”

“What are you suggesting? That I cut ties with Jack?”

“Maybe tone down the one-on-one time with him.”

“But—”

“Look at your relationship with him. Most friends—yes, even the best of friends—don’t have sleepovers once a week. Do you and I have dinner and sleepovers four times a month?” She shrugs. “It’s no wonder you’re feeling a little confused about your relationship.”

“He’s like a brother to me.”

“Most siblings don’t have sleepovers once a week after they’re out of the house.”

I hesitate, unwilling to see the logic in her argument. It’s there, we both know it is. Aimee reaches out and offers a sympathetic squeeze to my shoulder.

“I’m just trying to watch out for you,” she says, apology scrawled across her face. “You’re my friend, too.”

With the conversation drawing to an end, we begin the walk toward our cars.

“Well, thanks for meeting me,” I say when I reach my vehicle. “It was good to clear my head.”

“Didn’t think I’d be at school a second before I had to,” she says with a wide grin, leaning against the front hood. “But it was worth it. And hey—before you delete that post, read some of the comments—will you? Just maybe skip over the one about the size of—”

“Got it,” I interrupt. “I promise.”

It’s a quick drive home from school, and I spend most of it in a haze, watching the world pass through my rearview mirror. I park, tuck myself inside my yellow-walled apartment that everyone at the stupid club seems to hate, and cozy up on my bed.

My heart pounds as I flick on the computer and navigate to the blog post. There’s over five thousand views already, and the comments have crept to one hundred and twenty-seven.

A few of them are mean old trolls telling me to get a life, but the vast majority of them, as Aimee pointed out, are positive. I hadn’t intended the article to be funny, or honest, or even an article at all, but more people than I expected seem to identify with it.

There are several casting their vote for the pro and con list—most of them telling me to go for the guy—but the most common thread of all is the one encouraging me to keep writing. To create another post. To tell the readers what I’ve decided. To post again next week.

After reading every last comment, including the one requesting a detailed measurement of Jack’s most private part, I can’t help the little bubble of hope that’s blooming in my chest.

Reaching for my phone, I hit dial.

“Caroline!” I say once she answers. I listen to a few moments of her exclaiming over the success of the blog before she lets me edge in another word. “If I were thinking of writing a follow up post, what would you like to read about?”