Double Exposure by Bridget Birdsall

Author:Bridget Birdsall
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sky Pony Press
Published: 2014-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 23

Say Yes

At practice after school, I move through drills as if in a trance. Afterward, Roslyn plops down on the bench beside me. I shift uncomfortably, and I can tell she senses my distance.

“Those lines are killers, aren’t they?”

I rummage through my locker, sorting socks.

“Why is your face streaky, Alyx?”

I reach down and untie my shoes.

“Hey, Rossy, you getting excited about TWIRP?” Mary throws her sweaty T-shirt at Roslyn, who jumps up and they begin to talk about the upcoming dance.

Then I hear Roslyn say, “So, you want Peter’s number or what?”

Leaning down, she puts her face in mine. “Come on, Alyx. Say yes.”

Obviously, she’s not giving up on this. “Roslyn,” I moan, then close my eyes and pound my head softly against the locker. They all laugh.

“Come on, Alyx, just say yes!” Then they all chant: “Say yes. Say yes. Say yes!”

In my mind’s eye, I see Prickman and Bryce standing on either side of Roslyn, sneering, but I hold out my hand anyway. She slaps me five and squishes a small piece of paper into my fist. “Call him, tonight. Okay?”

I roll my eyes. She bumps my shoulder, smiles.

“Don’t text him. Oh yeah,” she laughs, “you don’t have a cell. Even better. Call him, okay—talk to the guy!” She throws her gym bag over her shoulder and heads for the door. “Alyx, you’ll see. It’s going to be the best night ever! He’s totally hot for you!”

A part of me wants to believe it’s true, but something doesn’t feel right, and I swallow at the lump rising in my throat.

While Grandpa and Mom are in the living room that evening, I drag the portable black box dial phone into my room and stare at Peter’s number that’s lying on the bed.

Q fish flutters near the side of the tank.

I tap at the glass and she comes up and kisses it. She’s molting, looking even sicklier than usual.

“You’re a sorry excuse for a goldfish. But I’m still your friend.” Laughing, I flick my finger and she darts back and forth, following it.

I take a breath. Pick up the phone. As if on cue, the fish line up to watch, opening and closing their mouths in unison.

“Here goes,” I tell them.

Suddenly the clock chimes nine times in the living room.

It’s a convenient excuse. Mom doesn’t like me calling anyone after nine at night, unless it’s an emergency. Putting the phone down, I decide to wait and ask Peter in the morning at school.

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