How often had this happened to us? Too often to count. It made
sense that Kim would think Macal an was my girlfriend. I’d told her that I had a girlfriend, I’d talked about Macal an a lot, Macal an was always here with me. But I racked my brain trying to think if I had brought up Stacey by name. Surely, I couldn’t have neglected to
mention her name.
“Sorry,” I apologized to Macal an. Like it was my fault that people always assumed we were together. But maybe it was.
She shrugged it off. “It’s okay. Maybe if you’d let Stacey come
with you . . .”
I knew I was an awful boyfriend to not let Stacey help me. But I liked having this time with Macal an.
“Anyway” — she sat upright — “today was pretty epic at lunch.
Keith was all ‘me want food, me hate food in cafeteria, me deserve better.’ ” Whenever Macal an imitated Keith, she pretended he was a Neanderthal, which maybe wasn’t far from the truth. She hunched
over and stuck out her jaw. “Then Emily was like ‘Oh. My. Gawd.
You’re, like, a picky eater for someone who thinks pizza is a vegetable.’ ” And whenever she pretended to be Emily — or any girl,
real y — she put on a Val ey Girl accent, twirled her hair, and made her eyes real y wide.
It was incredibly entertaining and made the sil iest high school encounter hilarious. It was better than actual y being there.
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“You’re such a Mean Girl,” I teased.
“Hey, I’m tel ing it like it is.”
“So what else happened today?” I asked. I was heading back to
school on Monday and wasn’t real y looking forward to it, even
though I knew it would be good for me to have some normalcy again.
I couldn’t continue to live in my Macal an bubble, no matter how much I wished I could.
She hesitated. “Wel , actual y . . .” She bit her lip; it seemed like she was a little nervous. “You know Alex Curtis?”
Alex Curtis? He’d graduated the year before. He’d been on the
basketball team, and was real y good. We’d hung out a few times this summer before he’d headed off to Marquette.
“Yeah,” I said, harsher than I meant to sound. Alex was a good
guy, but I didn’t want Macal an to think so.
“Wel , I ran into him a couple days ago and we were talking, and, um, our moms were good friends.” I could tell Macal an was stal -
ing. “Yeah, so he’s going to be around for the dance and offered to take me.”
Macal an was going to the winter dance with a col ege guy? A
col ege guy she apparently had a history with? A col ege guy she’d talked to a couple days ago without mentioning it to me?
“Cool” was the only lame response I could come up with.
Relief flashed across her face. “Yeah, he’s real y nice. And I didn’t even think about the dance when we were talking, but he brought it up. He asked who I was going with and when I said nobody, he . . .”
Her cheeks flushed. “He said it was an egregious crime, which he felt it necessary to correct.”
She giggled.
I wanted to barf.
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“You like him, right?” she asked.
Did I think Alex Curtis was a good guy? Sure.
Did I want to punch Alex Curtis in the face at that exact moment in time? You betcha.
Why couldn’t I tell her that? Why couldn’t I just tell her how I felt?
Why did I fight something I wanted — no, something I needed so badly?
But then I flashed to Macal an leaving after I’d confessed my feelings for her. How awkward she’d been when she first came back from Ireland. How I hadn’t wanted to drive her away.
But maybe things were different now?
I opened my mouth, daring myself to final y man up. “Macal an.”
“Yeah?”
The buzzer on my stim machine went off. Kim came over to
remove the ice and pads.
“Levi?” Macal an looked at me with concern. “Was there something you wanted?”
“Never mind.”
Time was up.
I began to focus on what I did have: A wonderful family. An awesome best friend. A group of guy friends. And a girlfriend.
That was what I needed to concentrate on.
Stacey insisted on having some people over the Saturday night
before my, as Keith had put it, “legendary return to South Lake High School.”
“There’s my bro,” Keith greeted me now, gently putting me into a headlock. “Dude, we missed you at school. Who else am I going to cheat off during trig?”
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I smiled and played the part of the happy guest of honor. When I maneuvered my crutches and leg brace to the closest couch, Stacey sat down next to me.
“What can I get you?” she asked. “Do you want something to
drink or eat?”
“Just some water, thanks.” I knew I was being grumpy, but I was
on some serious painkil ers, and even soda made my stomach
woozy.
Stacey got up to get me some water. I watched her move across