Sugarbaby

by Crystal Green

  It used to be that no one sat here in the velvet-seat plushness of movie worship very much. Actually, no one used to even come to the Ritz until Shelby had launched some social-media blitzes for it over the summer. Now it was the favored hangout of art students from the community college and trendy kids from school. A few of them were even in the balcony tonight instead of at Homecoming.

  My kind of people.

  As Carley led us to the top row, center, my phone buzzed in my jeans pocket. Another message from Mystery Texter?

  Before I could do anything about it, we sat. Diana was in the middle and Carley leaned over her. She had on one of her cool bracelets.

  “So station two?” she said. “They ended up being awful tippers.”

  “I’m really sorry for sticking you with them,” I said.

  Diana kicked her blue cowboy–booted feet up on the empty seat in front of her. “What happened at station two?”

  Carley smacked Diana’s leg, and she planted her boots on the floor.

  Satisfied, Carley said to her, “Station two was a table with alumni jerks. They were giving Jade a hard time.” Some kids a few rows down were watching the blank screen and munching on popcorn, and Carley quieted herself, sitting back in her seat.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket again, repeating its summons. Without thinking, I rested my hand against it, tempted. Sorely. But why? Was I so bored with life that I needed to fantasize that someone was on the other end, wanting to chat with me about humping in showers?

  My uncle used to tell me that curiosity killed the cat, and I was dying a little more each second. Also, it seemed rather rude to ignore the texter when they’d been polite enough to let me know my message had gone off course. But were they being polite or taking advantage of a misfired sext?

  Diana glanced at me. “Sounds like every Rex butt-kisser is still having a good time harassing you, Jadyn. God, what a tangled web we weave, huh?”

  Okay, this conversation was going to happen.

  “And it’s all because of Micah Wyatt, too,” Diana added. “Carley remembers him. He was at a party we went to after she moved here, after she started to get these TellTale messages.” Diana cocked her eyebrow at me. “Are you on TellTale?”

  It was some kind of phone app that allowed people to post confessions anonymously. Why deal with that when I could stumble into that kind of relationship with my own texts?

  “I’m not on it,” I said, “but I’ve heard of it.”

  “Well, Carley had an admirer on TellTale, and I thought it was Micah Wyatt.” Diana fanned herself. “Man, oh man, he was so hot. But you’d know that, Jadyn.”

  My, she was straightforward, and my face heated up. Yes, I knew Micah. He and Shelby were together now, after a crazy summer in which he’d tried to seduce her, the Nice Girl, just as he’d seduced me during the spring, when I’d been at my most vulnerable with Rex, when I’d cheated on him with a wicked Don Juan who’d made it a game to go after every romantic challenge he could find. Shelby had changed Micah, though. I was glad she had.

  Diana was still filling me in. “So I brought Carley to a party where Micah was supposed to be . . .”

  “You dragged me there,” Carley said.

  “Okay, I dragged her.” Diana corrected herself with a mild shrug. “And I turned out to be wrong about him. He wasn’t the TellTale admirer at all.”

  Carley looked at me. “Bret was.”

  Bret, her boyfriend. Until this moment, I hadn’t known how they’d met. He was out of town now, teaching at some music camp, and from what I knew, that was for the best, really. Carley had been hinting to me that the two of them were on less than ideal ground, that what they had was fast and intense, and she felt as if she didn’t know who he was at all.

  Cold feet, I thought. Some of us weren’t used to passion, and we didn’t handle it very well.

  “I don’t know what you think, Jadyn,” Diana said, wrestling things back to where she wanted the story to go, “but my opinion is that Micah brought a shitload of trouble to town when he appeared. He had a real hard on about getting the best of Rex. Some kind of bad-boy-hates-the-shining-football-star-who-gets-all-the-girls thing.”

  And . . . yes! We were back to Rex. It’s where I always seemed to end up.

  I pressed my hand to the phone. If I told the girls I had to use the restroom, that’d give me a chance to check my messages, and I wouldn’t have to hear the rest of this. I didn’t even mind if they talked about Rex and Micah while I was gone.

  But before I went anywhere, Carley said, “Jade, I already know what happened with you and Micah. I’d heard he was a man about town, and it wasn’t until long after I met him at the party that . . .”

  She trailed off.

  I decided to suck it up and finish what she’d started. “That I hooked up with him at a kegger and brought on the Rex wrath.”

  The kids from a few rows down looked at each other, but I didn’t care. I was beyond caring. That night with Micah, I had been at rock bottom. My uncle’s health had been getting worse, and Rex was off at Texas-U, dating me long-distance, which had opened me up to all these doubts about how he still loved Shelby. I’d been his rebound girl, never a good position to put yourself in, but I’d been surprised as all get out that Rex had chosen me, the student council president, the book nerd.

  And those doubts had eaten at me even worse after Shelby had lured Rex into an online trap where she’d pretended to be another woman, just to show that he was a cheater. He’d been so angry about it that it was obvious to me his feelings for Shelby were still real and very, very raw.

  That was how I’d stumbled right into Micah Wyatt’s open arms after a few too many beers and tears.

  I wasn’t proud of myself for it, either. I was downright ashamed, especially after most of the town had turned on the hate for me. But this summer, when Shelby had come back as just as much of a pariah as I’d been and we’d stood up to Rex and his bullying friends, I’d learned that I didn’t have to take all the judgment lying down.

  Some days it was harder than others to remember that.

  Both Carley and Diana were watching me with something like pity. The kids down the way were even sneaking glances back at us, and now I cared.

  “I should hit the ladies’ before the movie starts,” I said.

  They let me go without a fuss, and I thought I heard Diana whisper, “Should I have shut up about it?” before I left.

  I made it as far as the stairwell, leaning against the red velveteen wall. Then I finally gave in to that cat-killing curiosity and took out my phone, hoping whatever was on there would amuse me, maybe even take me away for a few precious minutes.

  There were two messages—not enough to be stalky, but not so few as to make me feel entirely ignored, either.

  555-8465:

  Just a helpful hint for the future: proofreading is your friend.

  Then:

  555-8465:

  Okay, that’ll conclude the teasing. Have a fun night with Grandma.

  Whoever it was had definitely wanted to carry on a conversation. Were they a hermit who never talked to anyone? Someone who enjoyed hiding behind a computer screen instead of face-to-facing? Or was this a perv who thought I was desperate enough to jump and hump in his or her shower?

  Any way about it, one more text from me wouldn’t hurt, would it? They sounded harmless enough. One text and that’d be that.

  Jadyn:

  I appreciate you contacting me to tell me my text wandered off into the wild blue yonder. And thanks for the tip about proofing. I’m usually a better study.

  And . . . there. Case closed, movie starting in T-minus five minutes.

  So why was I still leaning against the wall, staring at the phone screen, wondering if another message would appear? Was I that lonely or bored?

  I thought of how I
’d go home tonight, walk past my Uncle Joseph’s favorite chair, which stood empty in front of the TV. He’d been my everything, taking me in when there was no one else around after my parents died, raising me to be proud of working hard and getting good grades and wanting to be a doctor, until Parkinson’s had set in and he’d needed me as much as any other patient would.

  I’d told myself that I didn’t mind attending community college for a while and was content to mostly stay home and study while watching over Joseph, unless our part-time nurse could come and take over my shift when I worked or during one of the few times I’d gone out. And that was true. But all of it had gotten lonely.

  When my phone buzzed, I couldn’t stop the smile that took me over.

  555-8465:

  BTW, that’s a nice name . . . Jadyn.

  I wasn’t sure what to make of that. How did he know who I was?

  Well, duh. He’d probably done a number search to see who might be sending him shower texts, and my name had come up. Should I have been creeped out? I wasn’t. Actually, I was a little flattered that someone out there had bothered to look me up, that my stupid sexting had somehow intrigued him enough to make him fish for information about me.

  And now he was flirting. Wasn’t he? Did I even know how to do that anymore?

  Why not find out? said a little voice inside me. What’s the harm?

  Jadyn:

  Thanks. Do you have one? A name, I mean?

  The pause seemed to go on forever—so long that I could see the moviehouse lights dim, casting shadows into the stairwell, flickering white streaks onto the walls. The soundtrack from one of the old newsreels Mr. C. liked to play flooded the area with a man talking fast about the Great Depression.

  By the time my phone buzzed again, my pulse was clamoring. I hadn’t even realized it’d been alive.

  555-8465:

  You can call me Aidan.

  Aidan.

  I held the phone away from me. How much of a coincidence was this? Someone with the same name as the town I lived in?

  Then suspicion rolled over me, pushing at my veins, making the blood bang through them even faster.

  Jadyn:

  Are you a boy Aidan or girl Aidan? Or are you Aidan because of another reason?

  I was asking if he or she was making a word play with the name of my town, and “Aidan’s” answer came really quickly this time.

  555-8465:

  Boy Aidan.

  Yes! said a hopeful little spark in me. But that was insane. Just imagine—being so entertained by a stranger. Or by texting. It wasn’t like I was going on a blind date or anything. These were just words.

  My heart kept thumping.

  Jadyn:

  Funny. Your name is *very* familiar to me.

  He knew just what I was talking about, too.

  555-8465:

  You got me. I was curious and did a search on your area code. Texas, huh?

  Again, a tiny red flag went up in me. Or maybe it was pinkish. I wasn’t scared, because I’d met people I didn’t know online before. Big deal. Most of all, though, I’d been feeling like a pixel in a field of pixels for a few years now and, dang, it felt nice not to blend, to have a boy—I hoped it really was a boy—flirting with me from . . . somewhere. And maybe nearby, too, based on his number. It felt nice knowing that this was all it’d be—flirting until one of us decided to shut down the phone.

  Jadyn:

  Yes, Texas. Small-town fishing holes, meat-loving, yee-haw, horse-riding state that we are.

  555-8465:

  I haven’t gone fishing in . . . Damn. Years.

  Jadyn:

  It’s been a while for me, too. Same with horse riding.

  I’d been good at it when I was little. My parents had a horse they’d let me name Samantha Antoinette Marquette—I’d called her Sam—and I remembered swaying in the saddle as we rode over our huge backyard lawn, always staying in my mom’s sights. It was a sun-dappled memory that I didn’t think of much these days. Not until now.

  Jadyn:

  BTW, don’t you have the same area code as I do? That’s what my phone is showing.

  555-8465:

  No. This actually isn’t my phone.

  Before I could ask about that, another text came.

  555-8465:

  I haven’t been on a horse in years, either. Too many distractions.

  I went with it.

  Jadyn:

  Like what?

  This time, his response took a little longer. But when it came, I was surprised he was being so forthcoming. Unless he wasn’t that way at all and he was getting his rocks off by mind-whacking the girl on the other end of the line.

  555-8465:

  Meetings. Business. Other distractions. Also, I don’t get out much.

  Now I was very curious.

  Jadyn:

  You’re a businessman?

  I waited. Then . . .

  555-8465:

  If that’s what you want to call it.

  Way to be cryptic, boy Aidan.

  It was as if he could hear my thoughts, wherever he was, and he wanted to keep me from digging further into him.

  555-8465:

  It really has been a long time since I’ve been fishing. Or riding.

  Just as I was wondering why he’d made it a point to isolate “riding”—were we back to sexting?—I saw a shadow on the wall, and I hid the phone at my side.

  Diana was coming down the stairs toward me, twirling a long, wavy strand of hair as if she was nervous.

  “Hey,” she said over the sound of the newsreel. “You doing okay?”

  She was definitely nervous. I was pretty sure she thought she’d insulted me with the Rex and Micah talk. “Yeah. I just got some texts on the way back up here, so I thought I’d answer them.”

  “You sure? Because sometimes things come out of my mouth before they should. Carley’s having me work on that. I’m really sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

  I recalled the reputation she had in high school—Motor Mush Mouth. I’d always felt a little sorry for her having to live with that rep.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said, smiling, itching to get back to “Aidan” or whoever he was.

  My phone buzzed, loudly, and Diana craned her neck as if she could see the screen at my side.

  “So who’re you texting?” she asked. “It must be someone stupendous if he’s keeping you away from the movie.”

  “It’s no one.”

  “Ooo, that means it is a someone!”

  Like a puppy, she pounced, grabbing my phone before I even knew what was in store.

  “Hey!” I said.

  But she’d already bounded away, holding the phone above her and reading the screen. She was tall enough to keep it away from me, and she was fast at reading, too, because she’d already scanned everything before I made an amazing jump and got my phone back.

  “Who the hell is this?” she asked. “And don’t tell me ‘Aidan.’ That’s clearly not a real name.”

  “Really?” I asked, pissed that she’d seen his latest message before I had. “You’re this nosy?”

  “Yup. Friends protect friends from weird stalky phone numbs who prey on women.”

  “Please.” I was chafed but, heck, I liked that she was protective. After my friends had left for college and never looked back, I’d missed having people in my life. Even nosy ones.

  She got out her own phone, her thumbs tapping madly over the screen. I took the opportunity to read Aidan’s last message.

  555-8465:

  Aidan Falls sounds most interesting, Jadyn. And so do you.

  That was it.

  Diana looked up at me, her blue eyes wide. “The number he’s using could be a burner. I’m not getting info
rmation on it.”

  “You looked it up?” I hadn’t even done that yet.

  “Of course.” She showed me her screen, as if I needed proof. “It’s probably a temporary number or phone that he’ll ‘burn’ when he’s done with it. Maybe. And I’m only getting all spy-rific here because he might be a freak.”

  So then what did that make me?

  “Listen,” she said, “I know it’s fun to have these chats with strangers . . . unless they get too strange.” She grabbed me by my coat and pulled me along so I’d go back to my seat. “Just shut that conversation down, though, okay? He sounds like he’s diddling with your brain.”

  She was right, absolutely right, but as we walked back to our seats where Carley was chowing on Junior Mints and watching the start of the movie as the soundtrack’s symphony filled the theater, I held tight to my phone, even though it didn’t buzz again.

  3

  The phone didn’t buzz for several more days, either.

  How could “Aidan” be so in to a text conversation one night and then—poof!—nothing afterward?

  Okay, I could ask that question of myself, too. I hadn’t exactly texted him back; instead, I was waiting for him to pick things up and run with them, as he’d done the other night when he’d first latched onto the conversation. Was he wondering on his side of cyberworld what had happened to the lousy proofreader and her naughty showers? It was nice to believe that he could be thinking of me, that someone out there might be, and it wasn’t just because of some scandal.

  Dream on, though, right? I was making a bigger deal out of those texts than they really were. And, honestly, if “Aidan” knew that I wasn’t the kind of girl who got frisky with anonymous guys, I was sure he’d get disinterested in me, anyway. How could anyone get excited about someone who stayed busy by putting her head down at work and getting through Homecoming weekend, thanking heaven that Rex had been on the road with Texas-U, second-stringing them to victory instead of showing up here in town? Let’s not forget that I was also playing my part as Good Student, going to my general-ed college classes, studying, attending a counseling appointment to see if there were any internships that’d be available at the county hospital, now that I had more time on my hands without Uncle Joseph here.