Gimme a Call (28 page)

“I have a headache,” I tell her.

The truth is I’m not feeling as crappy today as I thought I would. The tears dried up by the time I got to my door, and then I just felt empty. Tired and empty.

Even though the picture of Bryan was back in its frame, even though the Harvard acceptance letter was gone, I did not cry. I’m stuck with whatever I have. If the phone battery is dead, then so are the Frosh-induced changes in my life.

So Bryan’s leaving me. He doesn’t need me anymore. No one needs me. The one person who did need me—Frosh—is history.

What can I do? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And NYU is still an amazing school. So I don’t have a scholarship. I can get a loan. Or I can work for a year and save up. I can figure something out. And I may not have my old friends anymore, but I can make new ones in New York.

“Dev?” I hear.

I’m startled out of my thoughts to see Bryan standing in front of my locker. What does he want? Didn’t I make myself clear?

“Can we talk?” he asks. “I don’t understand what happened last night. I thought we discussed—”

“I don’t know what we discussed,” I blurt out, clenching my jaw. I don’t know anything except that I want him to go away. I want to punch him in the chest. I want to pull him toward me and kiss him like crazy.

“I fixed your phone,” he says, rummaging through his bag. “The battery from the camera you bought me fit. It doesn’t have much juice, but the charger will work. You can keep it if you want.” He holds out my phone and a black charger.

My head spins. “The camera battery works in my phone?”

“Yeah.”

How could that be? “Wait. My phone is working?”

“Yeah.”

Frosh. Her French test. Today. I need to call her. Right now. “Wow,” I say, grabbing it from his hand. I still feel the sparks, but this time I pretend they don’t exist.

He chews on his bottom lip. “We’ll talk later, then?”

“Fine, later, whatever.” I turn my back to him, ignoring his pained expression, and hit send. It’s ringing. Hallelujah, it’s ringing!

And ringing.

And ringing.

“Hiya, this is Devi. I’m out and about and can’t take your call—”

Ahhhhh!
Why isn’t she answering? Can’t she tell how important this call is?

Now the bell is ringing. Crapola. I need to tell her what to write on the test. I call again. Voice mail again.

I’ll just have to text her the answers.

chapter forty-eight
Friday, September 23
Freshman Year

I’m about to close my locker before heading off to French class when I glance at my phone.

Two hang-ups, three messages, and seven texts.

The first message is Ivy screaming, “We’re back on!” That explains it all.

Oh.

Yay.

I should be happy. But then why does it feel like a balloon in my chest has lost all its helium?

One of the texts is just a string of letters. B. C. D. B. A. D., and so on. Huh? I look up at the heading. FRENCH ANSWERS. Oh.

The phone vibrates in my hand, and I answer immediately. “I don’t need them,” I say.

Ivy laughs. “Well, hello to you too.”

“Hi,” I say, leaning against my locker.

“I got it working,” she squeals. “It’s fixed! Aren’t you relieved?”

“Of course,” I say, and then wonder if it’s true. Yes. It must be. Who wouldn’t want to speak to herself in the future? “I’m very relieved. It’s just that—I don’t need your answers. I studied for the test.”

“No, no, no,” Ivy says. “You only get a B. I checked. And you lose our acceptance to Harvard.”

I kick my heel into the ground. “Because of one test? One freshman test? How does that happen?”

“Maybe it’s like the SATs. You know how those first few questions are really important and determine how hard or easy the next questions are, which determines your final score? I think it’s like that.”

I don’t respond.

“I texted you the answers. Bring your phone into class and you’ll have everything there. You’ll get your A. You need my help. Trust me. You need me.”

“I can’t bring the answers into class,” I whisper. “That’s
really
cheating.”

“It’s no worse than what we’ve already done. Just do it. And, Dev—whatever you’re up to with Bryan? Stop it, okay?” She doesn’t elaborate. She just hangs up.

I swallow hard and squeeze the phone until my knuckles turn white. I have the answers. I don’t want to get a B. I want to get an A. I want to go to Harvard. I think.

I
have
to go to Harvard, or Ivy will be mad at me. I’ll be mad at me. So I have no choice. Right? I slip my cell into my pencil case and close my locker. I can do this. I have to do this. It’s not like I’m going to get caught. If I were, Ivy would know.

Everything will be fine from now on. Every choice I need to make, she’ll tell me what to do. I square my shoulders and hug the case all the way to class. I slip into a desk at the back of the room. I open the text with the answers and then adjust my phone in my pencil case to where I can see it but Madame Ritale won’t. I take out my pencil and drum it against the desk.

The student in front of me passes back the test booklet.

I glance at the answer to question number one on my cell. I fill in the letter
B
.

chapter forty-nine
Friday, June 6
Senior Year

I’m on my way home when the world shifts. Instead of standing at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change, I’m standing in front of racks of jeans and shirts. Where am I? Did I just get hit by a car and fall into a coma?

And why am I folding a pair of jeans?

I look around the room again. Wait. I know where I am. I’m in Bella Boutique at the mall. Why am I not on my way home to get ready for prom? Not that I know who’s picking me up. Or at what time.

Maybe Frosh did something in the past that’s making me come here to exchange my shoes? I glance around the room for someone to ask, but no one else is here.

“Hello?” I ask, but no one answers.

“Hello?” I repeat from the center of the store.

“Hello?” a woman with a nasal voice responds.

“Oh, good! Hello!” The voice is coming from a changing room in the back. Maybe she can tell me what’s going on.

“Can you get me a size eight, please?” the nasal woman asks.

She must be talking to someone else. Not that I see anyone else. But that must be it. I’m not working today. It’s not even summer. I just need to find my schoolbag.

“Helllllo?”
the woman with the nasal voice says again. “Did you hear me? I need a size eight.”

Where is my schoolbag?

The changing room door is thrown open and an older woman who’s had way too much Botox slits her eyes and hollers at me, “Do you work here or not?”

Veronica, the store manager, peeks out of the staff room. “Devi, is there a problem? Can you get the customer her size?”

Oh. My. God. I am working here. And it’s not even summer or winter holidays.

But why am I working on the day of my prom?

“Earth to Devi,” Veronica says. “The customer would like the Dolly jeans in a size eight.”

“Right. Sorry.” I snap to attention. “Ma’am, the jeans are made really small. Do you want to try a bigger size?”

“No!” She scoffs.

Okay, then. My head spins as I search for the size and then pass them over the changing room door. When I turn around, I spot my reflection in the mirror.

My hair is bright pink and cropped. Plus I have a tattoo of a cell phone on my wrist.

My stomach swoops.

Where’s my hair? Who am I? Did I morph into someone else’s body? What’s going on?
Ahhhhh!
I need to call myself this second. My phone must be in my schoolbag. Where the heck is my schoolbag? The staff room—it must be.

I pull back the curtain. Veronica is sipping a cup of coffee and reading a magazine.

“Do you know where my schoolbag is?” I ask, my heart pounding.

“Why would you bring a schoolbag?” she asks.

“Didn’t I come from school?”

She stares at me blankly. “School? Since when?”

Now I feel sick. “I—I dropped out?”

“That’s what you told me.” She flips the page of her magazine. “Didn’t you hate Heken?”

My legs turn to jelly. The school for delinquents? “When did I start at Heken?”

“Wouldn’t you know that better than me?”

“Yes, I should, but I have a killer headache, so can you just tell me?”

“You really need to ease up on the drinking, Dev. I bet you were out with JT again, huh?” She flips another page in her magazine. “Didn’t you start at Heken after you got booted from Florence West for cheating?”

I gasp and grab on to the curtain for support. Frosh got caught. With the cell phone. And I ended up here.

I want to strangle her. How could she have screwed up so badly and gotten me into this mess? And how pathetic did I become that I’m with JT? I need my phone. Where’s my phone?

“These are too small!” the customer yells. “Why would you bring me something that doesn’t fit? Are you an idiot?”

“Devi, can you take care of Mrs. Arnold, please? I’m on my break.”

I try to nod, but my whole body feels numb. I step out of the staff room and knock on the changing room door.

Just get through this, I tell myself. Then you’ll find your phone and straighten everything out.

She throws open the door, clad only in her beige panties and red blouse. “Are you trying to make me feel fat?”

I shake my head. “I told you they ran small.”

She digs her fingers into my arm. “So you think I’m fat?”

I really can’t deal with this right now. I pull myself out of her grasp. “No, I do not. The jeans are made small. I wanted to get you a size ten. You wouldn’t let me.”

“So this is my fault?”

That’s it. “Yes! It’s your fault!”

“Devi!” Veronica says, pushing back the staff room curtain.

“Well, it is! It’s her fault!” I shout. “It’s all her fault! Her fault, her fault! Her fault!”

Veronica and the customer are gaping at me.

None of this is my fault. It’s her fault. And Frosh’s fault. And Bryan’s fault. Hers for getting caught and Bryan’s for ruining my life.

“The customer is always right,” Veronica tells me under her breath.

“So does that mean I’m always wrong?” For telling Frosh to use the phone? For letting Bryan become my whole life? I know this is no longer about the customer. It’s about me.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my eyes filling with tears.

Veronica sighs. “Devi, I’m going to have to ask you to leave immediately.”

Superb. Now I’m getting fired from a job I didn’t even know I still had. I blink quickly to stop the tears from spilling over and push my way out of the store.

I need my phone. I
really
need my phone. “Devi, you forgot your purse,” Veronica calls after me.

Of course! If I don’t go to school, I don’t have a schoolbag; I have a purse. Yes! “Thanks,” I mumble, rushing back into the store and then running back out with it.

Please be in here, please be in here. I look under my wallet. No phone. In the pockets. No phone. It has to be here somewhere.

I walk over to the fountain and dump the entire contents of the purse onto the bench.

No phone. I have no phone.

Where is it? Did I leave it somewhere? Or—I’m almost knocked over with nausea—was it confiscated after I got caught?

What have I done?

I can’t breathe. I need more air. I don’t think I can stand anymore. Black spots are swirling in front of my eyes like smoke and I’m falling … and the fountain is rushing toward me.

chapter fifty
Friday, September 23
Freshman Year