In Every Way (10 page)

My phone chimes. It’s nearly two in the morning, but I’m off work tomorrow so I’m still awake, playing online. I’m not exactly the most popular person in the world, so when my phone goes off, I assume it’s spam email or something equally uninteresting.

Heat rushes to my face as I stare at the glowing phone lighting up my otherwise dark bedroom.

TheFlyingJosh just followed me on Instagram. My finger hovers over the screen, aching to click on the follow button by his name. His account is private, so I can’t see anything he’s posted. It’s probably for the best. No doubt tons of thin and beautiful girls litter his page. I close out of the app without requesting to follow him.

I guess there’s a slight possibility that Josh is the kind of guy who doesn’t meet all of the stereotypes of the typical popular guy. Colby Jenson is like that, after all. He’s sweet and kind and loves Maddie like crazy. But there’s a big difference when it comes to Maddie and me; she’s hot and I’m just blah.

While I’m wallowing in self-pity, my phone chimes again, but this time it’s an email. My heart races as I stare at his name in my inbox. It could say anything, but I won’t know until I open it. With a deep breath, and pulse pounding in my ears, I open it.

To: BessNavarre

From: TheFlyingJosh

Subject: Hi

Hey there. Is this the Bess Navarre who works at Aiden Jane?

I stare at the phone for five full minutes before I reply.

To: TheFlyingJosh

From: BessNavarre

Subject: Re: Hi

Yes . . . is this the Josh who works at the Flying Mermaid?

To: BessNavarre

From: TheFlyingJosh

Subject: Re: Re: Hi

That’s me. What’s up? If you’re wondering how I got your email address, it was simple. I just took a gamble that your email would be the same as your Instagram name, since mine is too.

To: TheFlyingJosh

From: BessNavarre

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Hi

Ha. Good guess. I guess I’m not very original, except of course, for my fake online personality as a Pokémon erotic fan fiction writer. Or maybe I’m joking. You’ll never know.

To: BessNavarre

From: TheFlyingJosh

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Hi

Something tells me you’d use a fake name to write something other than Pokémon stories. Maybe . . . something about a uber smart mad scientist? Or . . . a cat who solves mysteries?

I’m just spit-balling here, after stalking your IG account for a while. Cute cat, btw.

To: TheFlyingJosh

From: BessNavarre

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Hi

You’re right. I’ve never even played Pokémon, but I hear it’s really popular with, well, just about everyone. I hate to break it to you, but I am not a secret fan fiction writer of anything, although I have been known to read quite a bit of it in my spare time.

And thank you for the compliments on Missy. Unfortunately, she passed away a few months ago. I miss her terribly.

To: BessNavarre

From: TheFlyingJosh

Subject: Time for a new subject

That’s so sad. I’m sorry to hear that. My dog, Monster, died a couple of years ago. We haven’t gotten another pet because my parents don’t want to bother with it. As soon as I’m out on my own though, you can bet I’m rescuing a puppy. Maybe even a cat, too.

To: TheFlyingJosh

From: BessNavarre

Subject: Re: Time for a new subject

Get a cat! Cats are the best! They’re aloof and private, quiet and furry. The best possible combination. I desperately want a new cat, but I haven’t found the energy to go down to the shelter yet. It’s just too painful, and I’ll want to adopt them all. :-(

I kind of regret it the moment I press send. Telling him about Missy was a little too personal, but I just typed it all up without realizing it. He doesn’t deserve to know those things about me, doesn’t get to see inside to the real me. After all, I’m still not convinced that his supposed interest in me isn’t just some elaborate joke. Like one of those lame movies where a guy bets his friends he can make an ugly girl popular, or maybe he lost a bet and now has to ask out an ugly girl. Whatever the case, when Josh is done talking to me, it will not end up in us falling in love like it does in the movies. It just won’t.

My heart aches with the pain of sharing my story to a stranger. Maybe I’m just too lonely, and that’s why I went off talking about stuff he has no business knowing. Luckily, he probably won’t care. My phone chimes with another new email and this time my fingers shake as I click on it.

To: BessNavarre

From: TheFlyingJosh

Subject: Re: Re: Time for a new subject

You’ll get there. I read this poem one time when I was a kid, and it was told from the dog’s point of view. He told his owner that when he died, he wanted the owner to give his food bowl and all his toys to a new dog. He said it wasn’t about forgetting him, but about sharing the love of an animal with one who didn’t have it. Of course, I’m not telling it to you nearly as eloquent as the original, (plus that one rhymed) but trust me, it was pretty powerful. It made me want a new dog even more. And yeah, you can’t adopt every single one, but you can give one a loving home, when it otherwise would be sitting alone in a shelter somewhere. That’s a really good feeling, I think. So maybe you can find it in you to seek out another cat soon. :-)

Tears roll down my eyes, and soon I am a sniffling sobbing mess.

To: TheFlyingJosh

From: BessNavarre

Subject: Thanks

Thank you for saying that.

I put the phone on my nightstand and roll over to face the wall. Now I want a new cat more than ever. The thought of them sitting there all alone in a cage in some shelter makes my heart hurt worse than it has since Missy died. If only the world were a perfect place, where animals were never abandoned, hearts never got broken, and happiness never faded.

My phone alerts me to a new email, and I can’t grab my phone fast enough.

To: BessNavarre

From: TheFlyingJosh

Subject: Re: Thanks

:-) So anyway, I hate to change the subject, but I actually emailed you for a reason, I’ve just been beating around the bush to get there. There’s a bonfire party at the barn this Saturday, you know that shack out off county road 59? If you want to come and hang out, that would be cool. I could even pick you up if you want. No big deal. Just, we both have the same friends so I figured we could hang out, right? Let me know. :-) I have to get to sleep now… work will suck enough as it is without being a zombie.

Have a goodnight!

-Josh

There is something magical in being told goodnight by a hot guy. It warms me from my head to my toes, and I read over the email several more times.

For the first time since Josh first started talking to me, I’m starting to wonder if maybe he is being sincere. If maybe he’s not just talking to me as a bet by his douche bag friends.

Could that be true?

The barn is a pretty popular hang out in our small town, though I’ve never been invited. At least, not until now. I wouldn’t have a clue what to do wear or what to expect, but I could go with Josh. All I have to do is reply to this email and ask him to pick me up on Friday. I could ride in a guy’s car and everything. The thought alone nearly sends me into a fit of giggles.

This is so surreal. This is
not
how my life usually goes.

Reality slams into me, as it often does, reminding me why this isn’t really a good idea. I am fat. Maybe not like an actual walrus or anything, but I’m not some thin girl the guys love. There’s no way Josh could ever like me
like that
. He’s probably serious about being friends, maybe still trying to make up for whacking me with a football.

I press my fingertips to my shoulder, where the bruise still hurts.

If I were ten, or fifteen, pounds lighter . . . maybe I could be more confident. Maybe I could go.

Friday is still a week away, so I wonder how much weight I could lose by then? Even if it’s just cheating by losing water weight like they talk about in fad diets, who cares? Losing some weight would only help with my situation with Josh.

I pull the covers up to my chin and leave my phone on the nightstand. He’s already told me goodnight, so he can wait until morning to get a reply. For now, I’m working up a plan, a promise to myself.

If I can lose enough weight by Friday to feel slightly better about myself, then I’ll go.

I close my eyes and gnaw on my bottom lip. This might just work.

“Can’t you do that somewhere else?” I ask Abigail as I wave my hand in front of my face, hoping to spread the stink of chemicals away from me.

She looks over at me, her lip curled in a classic little sister scowl. “No.” She goes back to painting her nails, the bottles of nail polish reeking up here at the front counter at work.

“That stuff stinks, and it’s rude to the customers,” I say, knowing my complaining is falling on deaf ears. Abigail paints her nails all the time, so it’s not like I really care. I’m just easy to piss off lately. Every little thing annoys me, and I know why, I’m just embarrassed to admit it, even to myself.

It’s been two days since I last emailed Bess, asking her to go to the party at the Barn with me. She hasn’t replied yet, and each hour that passes without a new message in my inbox is driving me more and more insane. I tried being cool about it, but that’s just not working.

Now every little thing is annoying me, especially the email updates from our fantasy football league. Every email that isn’t from Bess is just a stupid false hope. A blinking light on my phone that leads to nothing.

For all I know, Bess was already planning on going to the party, maybe even with someone else. Someone who isn’t me. Would she give me the courtesy of telling me, or will I show up at the barn all by myself and walk right into her making out with some other guy?

My hands ball into fists and I have to shake myself to clear the thought. Standing behind the counter is only making me crazier, so I walk around the store, looking for things to organize or straighten.

Ashley Warren was my first real girlfriend back in seventh grade. I remember thinking we were all grown up and shit, but in reality, we were just kids. We only kissed twice, and back then I’d thought those kisses were something to be proud of. Something that made me a man. We lasted until the start of eighth grade when she told me she just wanted to be friends. It was as if she’d rehearsed her breakup speech all night before she told it to me, which she probably did. I was crushed, and even more hurt when she had a new boyfriend the next day. Some ninth grade prick named Jamal.

But the pain didn’t last long, because soon Mindy and her friends were flirting with me in science class, and sitting next to me during lunch. Back then Mindy was still popular, but since we were younger, the popularity wasn’t necessarily the weapon it is now.

A week after Ashley dumped me, I had three girls vying for my attention and my biggest problem was choosing which one to date. I asked Dominique to be my girlfriend at the eighth grade winter formal, in what I’d thought was super romantic at the time. I asked her to dance and then slipped her a rose that had a note tied to it, asking her if she’d go out with me.

Now, I cringe at the thought of doing something so cheesy. But damn if eighth grade me didn’t think it was the greatest thing ever. Plus, I got the girl in the end, so it worked out.

And then of course, she dumped me a year later.

Things with Elise were different. I was older, and she was really into me. She always told me how lucky she was to be my girlfriend and that sort of gave me a big ego about it. I guess maybe that’s where the downfall happened. I’d been pumped up into thinking we’d last forever because Elise constantly told me how great I was. And then one day she was gone. Apparently, the guy who can’t take off her bra smoothly was some guy in college at Texas A&M who was better than me, because that’s why she ended our relationship.

As I straighten a shelf of board shorts, I think back over all of these relationships and how they all crashed and burned in the end. Last year, I’d sworn to remain single for a very long time. That was all going really well until I hit a girl with a football and she seems to fit every item on my list.

I probably should have included another item on the list: a girl that actually likes me back.

I snort out a laugh and Abigail gives me a weird look. There’s no customers in here at the moment, so I can do whatever I want. I stick out my tongue at her and keep scouting the store for things to take my mind off Bess.

It feels like such a jackass thing to say, that I’ve never had to work for a girl before, but that’s exactly it. Girls have always seemed happy to have my attention. Bess couldn’t care less when I talk to her, and that’s only encouraging me to become the type of guy she
would
care about.

At least she replied to my emails at first. That’s a good sign.

Grinning, I pull out my phone and shoot her another email. If I want this girl, I’ll have to work for her. And that’s fine by me.

To: BessNavarre

From: TheFlyingJosh

Hey there, me again. It’s cool if you don’t want to go to the barn, although a part of me is still holding out hope that you will. And that you’ll want to go with me. What can I say, you’re ridiculously adorable and I want to get to know you. Please, tell me to fuck off if you want and I’ll leave you alone. But, until you do, I’m gonna keep trying, okay?

The inside of my lip starts bleeding from how hard I’m biting it, but I swallow my pride and send the email. It’s so much easier to be that straightforward through text than in person. Maybe this time she’ll reply.

Later, a girl walks into the store, her eyes looking determined as she gazes around the shop. My heart temporarily leaps into my chest until I realize the shock of blond hair doesn’t belong to Bess.

The girl’s eyes lock onto mine and her lips curve upward. There’s a sway to her hips as she saunters toward me, smelling of some kind of fruity perfume.

She’s short, so she peers up at me through her bangs, stopping when she’s just a few inches away. I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen her before, but she’s acting like she knows me.

“Are you Josh?” she says, batting her eyelashes up at me.

“Yes, can I help you?”

“You
can
help me, Josh,” she says, her voice still weirdly sweet. She blinks, her smile growing bigger. “You can help me by standing right there, okay?”

“Um, okay?” I say, lifting an eyebrow.

In a flash, her smile fades, her jaw clenches, and she reaches up. Her hand flies across my face, slapping me, hard. Really hard.

I curse and jump backward, nearly crashing into a rack of T-shirts.

The girl narrows her eyes at me. “That’s for Jenny, you fucking asshole!”

With that, she turns on her heel and storms out of the store.

“Nice,” Abigail says, nodding slowly.

“Shut up,” I snap, rubbing my cheek. That really hurt. I’ve been punched and body slammed by other guys and it didn’t hurt as much as one girl’s open palm on my cheek.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. At least Dad’s not in here to have witnessed this epic beat down by some girl I don’t even know.

This day can’t possibly get any worse, I guess.

And then my phone vibrates from inside my pocket. I pull it out, and my heart leaps into my throat.

To: TheFlyingJosh

From: BessNavarre

I’m not telling you to fuck off. I mean, unless this is some joke you’re doing, some bet to your friends that you’ll hit on me just to be an asshole, in which case, fuck off.

But, if you’re serious, and this isn’t a joke, then…no, don’t fuck off.

Okay, I’ve said the f-word enough times for one email, yeah? I guess I’ll go now. And maybe I’ll see you at the barn… I’m kind of busy and have some stuff going on, but if it works out, then yes, I’ll go.

-Bess