Born Wicked

XIX

So, funny story. I have a cell phone, which is ridiculous because I have NO friends. Gran insisted I have one after watching Dateline about some horrific tragedy that befell some teenage girl somewhere. I've used it six times. All when we were on the road for track meets and out of region volleyball games and tournaments. Oh, and State Championships last year. I took it with me so Gran would feel easier about me being away from home.

I should probably carry it with me because I don't have a car and so I walk everywhere, but I never remember it. It decorates my nightstand dead as a doornail. Now, I'm searching for the charger like my life depends on it, I could have sworn it was in this...

Aha! Yes. Stuffed in the bottom, under the mountain of last year's assignments, is the black cord I'm looking for. I pull it out of the junk drawer and after a few good yanks, it swings free. I unplug my bedside lamp and jam the charger into the outlet. It takes a few minutes before the phone will actually turn on.

I feel kind of stupid. I mean, I don't even know if Ethan's going to text. Yeah, he said tonight, but after ignoring and escaping him all day, who knows?

You do, you read his mind, remember? the caustic voice of my conscience snips. Wow, my inner monologue is a bit of a bitch today, isn't she?

The phone starts vibrating like it's possessed and a freaking catalogue of texts start lighting up the screen. I guess my catty conscience was right. I save his number in my short, sad list of three contacts. Gran, school, Ethan. I shake my head. Not winning any popularity contests any time soon, huh?

The first was immediately after our last class. There are six in total.

Found ur note. Very cute. R u ok? I kno u've been avoiding me.

J-L, r u ok?

I'm not trying 2 b a stalker or n-e-thing, I'm worried.

Jayme-Lynn Price. Are you okay????????

Ok, I'm gonna stop txting u in a min. I can take a hint. No date?

Found ur address. OMW.

Wait. What?! Oh, damn. That was sent ten minutes ago. Oh, hell, shit, damn. How did he find my address? More importantly, why?

Stubborn, stupid boy. I drop the phone back on the nightstand and rush into the bathroom. Okay, my hair is a bedraggled mess on top of my head and I don't have time to overhaul it. Better make the best of a bad situation, I yank the band out and rip a brush through it. I comb my bangs off to the side. It's better, not great, but better.

I make a mad dash back to my room and after a few moments I've wrestled out of my clothes, kicked them into my closet, and have found a decent pair of skinny jeans, a white tank and a soft pink button down shirt, that's all billowy and sheer and feminine. I stuff my feet into my best, worn pair of grey Converse, the seams all frayed.

I put on a bit of my mother's favorite perfume, not the bottle she had, that was lost in the fire, but my own. I've kept a bottle of the stuff since I was twelve. I'm adjusting my daddy's silver chain when the phone buzzes violently against the heavy wood of the nightstand.

In ur driveway. R u home?

I bite my lip and text back. Yes. Do you want me to come out?

I barely hit send when there's a firm knock on the front door. I hear Gran open it up as I rush down the stairs.

"Hello, ma'am," he says politely. "My name is Ethan, is Jayme-Lynn home?"