Unfriended (30 page)

I leaned back against my chair at Stubbs and took a long sip of my iced latte. Then I turned on Justin’s cell phone, took a deep breath, and pulled up his text menu. I was sorely tempted to look at some of his other texts, but restrained myself, feeling like we were already doing enough, with the phone borrowing and identity fudging. Plus, it had made me feel sick when I’d found out that Isabel had been able to see what I’d been doing on my computer. I didn’t want to cross that line with Justin.

I began texting on an unfamiliar phone, trying to sound as much like someone else as possible. Because of these reasons, and the fact that my hands were shaking slightly, it took me longer than I’d expected it to. But I finally finished, reading it over several times before sending.

OUTBOX 1 of 15
To: Isabel
Date: 7/1, 4:32
P.M.

Hi Isabel. I was wondering if maybe we could go out tonight? I wanted to talk to you about … us.—Justin

The only problem we might run into here was if she saw or talked to him before I sent this. I pulled out my own phone and sent a message on Constellation, to the two people who were serving as our lookouts.

So the coast—literally, in this case—was clear. I read the text through one more time and pressed SEND. Then I put the phone back in my bag, so I wouldn’t stare at it, just waiting for a response and then respond too quickly. And because what I remembered about Justin’s
texting style was that he would sometimes wait a long time to get back to you. Isabel would undoubtedly know this, and I didn’t want to give her even the slightest indication that I was not, in fact, Justin. I gathered up my things, preparing to head to the smoothie shop, when the bell above the Stubbs door rang. I looked up and saw Connor Atkins stepping inside.

I hadn’t seen Connor much since he and Schuyler broke up. The two of them seemed to be mutually ignoring each other in the halls, which was absurd, since they both looked equally miserable and unhappy about the breakup.

Connor took off his sunglasses as he walked inside, meeting my eye. He paused for a moment, clearly not sure what to do, then finally nodded at me. I waved and after hesitating a moment, he walked over to where I was sitting. “Hey, Mad,” he said.

“Hi, Connor,” I said, very glad that I had just hidden the evidence that I had been guilty of identity theft—or, technically, identity borrowing. Connor was the most by-the-book person that I knew, and he would have undoubtedly felt compelled to report it to Justin, the authorities, and anyone else who he felt might have deserved to know. I smiled at him as brightly as possible, trying to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary was going on. “How’s it going?”

“Oh, you know,” Connor said with a sigh. He shifted from foot to foot and gestured at the couch across from me. “Mind if I …?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said, secretly crossing my fingers that we weren’t going to have a long chat, since I didn’t have time. As he took his seat on the couch, I wondered with a pang if he had any idea that he had chosen to sit in what was always Schuyler’s spot.

Connor sighed again, like even the act of sitting had worn him out, which was so out of character—Connor was a one-man high-energy volunteer squad. I leaned forward and saw that he did
not
look good. He looked tired, defeated, and fairly miserable. Much like I had, actually, post-Nate breakup. If I’d only known, we could have formed a support group or something.

“How’s Schuyler?” he asked, clearly trying for nonchalance, but not coming close to pulling it off.

I shook my head, getting annoyed. Nate and I weren’t together for an actual reason. But the only reason that Schuyler and Connor weren’t together was because Schuyler hadn’t been honest with him. And thinking of them both alone, and unhappy without the other, was making me mad.