Tomorrow, Probably
Jane
RichieRich69: eyo... u guys heard whats happenin in philly?
My phone’s vibration almost got drowned out by a spectacularly loud ambulance wailing past the school, which would’ve made me miss Richie’s message and resulted in one of his dramatic monologues about how everyone ignored him on the server.
Which wasn’t true.
It was impossible to ignore Richie. He was obnoxiously funny.
Dr. Backshots: no.
RichieRich69: aint no way dude mum and dad says philly is getting quarantined doe my sweet baby boy
Dr. Backshots: duh daddy i was kidding UwU yeah they said the zombies are cumming XD but only ones cumming is me on you daddy ugh
Stephen’s message almost got me laughing in Griffin’s class, which was dangerous territory.
Mr. Griffin had the hearing of a horror-movie killer whenever somebody was doing something they weren’t supposed to.
I pressed my lips together and looked back at the board.
Something about John Green’s writing.
Probably not that important.
My phone buzzed again beneath the edge of my notebook.
I lasted approximately two seconds.
RichieRich69: careful baby boy you dont want to make my hubby jealous @BustinJieber btw @carrieD wat wer u typing?
Oh.
I looked at the message box.
The question was still sitting there.
would u guys want to meet up sum time?
I had typed it before Richie started talking about Philadelphia.
I had not sent it.
Important distinction.
One required moving my thumbs.
The other required courage, confidence, and apparently several business days for processing.
I deleted it.
“Fuck.”
“Ms. Smith, is there something you want to share to class?”
Double fuck.
I looked up.
Mr. Griffin had stopped talking.
So had everyone else.
Traitors.
Let’s see. Griffin had been talking about John Green —
Oh, right.
“I said Hazel Grace and Augustus Waters were fucked from the start, sir.”
Convincing excuse.
I hoped.
“First, great insight. Second, language, young lady. And lastly, that would’ve been a good excuse if we were not talking about An Abundance of Katherines.”
My cheeks heated.
“Nice one, Jane of the Dead!” Caleb hollered.
I turned to give him the appropriate finger for the situation, but caught a pair of blue eyes looking at me.
Or maybe just in my general direction.
Arthur Bennett.
Great.
Now I was getting redder. He looked away quickly, though, which was probably for the best. I was having enough boy problems for one seventeen-year-old in the middle of literature class.
“Ms. Smith, that’s your last warning before I confiscate your phone.”
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”
I sat down before I embarrassed myself any further. My phone buzzed again. I managed to have enough discipline for approximately two seconds before checking Discord.
petty_patty: yall going ol l8er?
Patty came to my rescue. God bless her beautiful soul. This was especially effective because Richie had the attention span of a three-year-old presented with a second, shinier toy.
RichieRich69: hell yeah but ill prolly be l8.
petty_patty: oh why u went out and got a life richie?
RichieRich69: daddy @BustinJieber patty is being a big meanie TT
BustinJieber is typing…
My attention immediately narrowed to those three little dots, which was ridiculous. We type in the server every day. Three dots should not have had this kind of authority over my nervous system. I lowered my phone farther beneath the desk and pretended to look at my book.
Very discreet, probably.
Mr. Griffin was still talking about Colin Singleton’s inability to get over Katherine—at least I thought that was what he was talking about.
BustinJieber is typing…
Still typing.
What was he writing, the Declaration of Independence?
The dots disappeared.
My stomach dropped.
Then they came back.
Oh, come on.
This was psychological warfare.
Horror movies loved doing this with doors. Something moved behind the door, stopped, moved again, and meanwhile the idiot protagonist stood there instead of leaving the house like a person interested in remaining alive. I understood those protagonists slightly better now, but not enough to forgive them.
Just slightly.
I checked Mr. Griffin. His back was to us.
Safe.
I looked down again.
BustinJieber: yea. same time. hby @carrieD
Hby should not have made me want to grin, but it did.
There was something very sad about having my first actual crush on someone I had never met. For all I knew, BustinJieber could be a balding old man sitting in a basement somewhere, the kind of guy who ended up on To Catch a Predator insisting he was only there to talk.
Okay, probably not.
I had heard his voice. He sounded our age. We had been playing together for long enough that a middle-aged man maintaining an elaborate teenage gamer persona would require a level of commitment normally reserved for espionage.
Still, the internet existed, and the internet had spent most of my childhood warning me that everyone on it was either lying, trying to steal my mother’s credit-card information, or waiting to murder me.
This was exactly why I hadn’t wanted Nicole finding out I had a crush on a guy named BustinJieber.
She found out anyway.
She had laughed for a very long time.
Not helped by the username.
Especially not helped by the username.
I looked at his message again.
hby @carrieD
Right.
He had asked me a question.
My thumb hovered over the keyboard.
I could just answer yes.
That was normal.
Maybe I could ask the other question too.
Would you guys ever want to meet up sometime?
My stomach immediately rejected the proposal.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow was still available.
Probably.
carrieD: yea. same time too :)
RichieRich69: carrie i luv u girl but quit stealing my man >:(
Before I could finish my witty reply, someone screamed in the hallway.
Not the usual school kind either.
It was loud enough to make Mr. Griffin stop mid-sentence and look toward the little window in the classroom door.
The room went quiet.
Another scream followed.
Mr. Griffin crossed the room and leaned toward the window to see what was happening outside.
Something slammed against the door.
He stumbled backward.
That was enough to make half the class get up.
Including me.
Because apparently seventeen years of horror movies had taught me absolutely nothing.
I had almost committed a horror-movie no-no and followed the loud, unexplained noise when I heard my name behind me.
“Jane.”
I stopped.
Arthur Bennett was looking at me.
He didn’t say anything else. He just gave one small shake of his head, like saying my first name had somehow communicated the rest of the sentence. Right. Horror movie rule number one: do not follow the screaming.
I sat back down. For once, personal growth had arrived before the killer and then something hit the door again.
Harder.
This time, I stayed seated.
