me@you.com

by KE Payne

  Fickle: Hey, stranger!

  Just the sight of her name made my heart beat faster. My hands shaking, I wrote:

  Barnaby Rudge: Hey!

  Fickle: Where you been?

  Then, before I could answer her, this:

  Fickle: I’ve missed ya!

  I looked at her message. She’d missed me. Maybe she was just saying that? I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just ignored it.

  Barnaby Rudge: Just been busy, is all.

  Fickle: Too busy for me?

  Was she flirting with me? Why would she flirt with me?

  Barnaby Rudge: LOL.

  There was a long pause. I stared at my computer screen, not really knowing what else to say. Actually, scrub that. I knew exactly what I wanted to say, and it was something along the lines of: What the fuck was going on with me? Or, what the fuck did your picture do to me the other night? Or even, what the fuck are you doing to me?

  I carried on staring at the screen.

  Fickle: You okay?

  Barnaby Rudge: Yeah, just tired. Soz.

  Fickle: Ah! Long day?

  Barnaby Rudge: Something like that.

  Fickle: Do you want me to go?

  Barnaby Rudge: No!!

  I’d written it without even thinking.

  Fickle: K.

  Do you know that feeling of being guilty about doing something that you feel you shouldn’t be doing, but loving it at the same time? I had that feeling right then. Everything inside me was telling me to stop talking to her, that it would just make matters worse, confuse me even more. And yet, I loved talking to her. Even though we’d barely spoken, she was making me so happy that I just couldn’t bring myself to log off again.

  Barnaby Rudge: So you missed me then, huh?

  Why did I write that? Because I wanted to. I wanted to draw her in.

  Fickle: Yeah, ’course I missed you!!

  Barnaby Rudge: What have you been up to lately?

  Fickle: Ah, this and that. You?

  Barnaby Rudge: College work, shit like that.

  Fickle: That’s ’cos you’re a good girl, Barnaby Rudge!

  Barnaby Rudge: What about you? Are you a good girl?

  Fickle: Always!!

  Then:

  Fickle: Well, sometimes.

  She posted me a winking sign. I felt my tummy flip again and suddenly felt like the four nights away from her had been for nothing.

  Fickle: And my mum’s not been so well so I’ve kinda been looking after her.

  Barnaby Rudge: I’m sorry. Is she okay?

  Fickle: Better now. Thanks for asking. She has MS, y’see? Some days she’s okay, some days not so okay. The days she’s not so okay, I look after her.

  I felt like my heart might melt right there and then.

  Barnaby Rudge: And I’m sure she’s glad to have you around to help her.

  Fickle: Ah, I’m not so sure about that! I still cause her grief sometimes!

  There was a pause while I guessed Fickle went off to do something else. I looked at her last messages and read them again; Fickle had a good heart, I was sure of it. So she was lovely and had a good heart. The perfect girl.

  Fickle: Hey, BR, you fancy swapping mobile numbers? Be good to text, don’t you think?

  I did think so.

  Barnaby Rudge: Sure!

  Fickle: Then I can keep in touch with you throughout the day, stuff like that. We can text each other during lessons. I think that’d be kinda cool, don’t you?

  The thought of being in touch with Fickle outside of MSN seemed appealing, and even though I knew it was going to make me closer to Fickle than ever, and a loud voice was screaming in my ear not to give her my number, I did.

  And so we did.

  Text, I mean.

  She gave me her number that night and I put it into my phone straight away, looking at the number until I knew it off by heart. She sent me a text the next morning, just the briefest of messages to say “Hi”, but I didn’t text her back until later the next night because, I guess, I wasn’t sure what to say to her. I sat up in the darkness of my room and turned my mobile over and over in my hands, wondering whether what I was about to do was a good idea. Oh, I knew I was going to text her eventually, and I knew that once I’d done that there was no going back.

  You see, I knew I could monitor how much or how little I spoke to Fickle on the computer. But texting? That was a whole different thing as far as I was concerned. Her messages would always be there, stored in my phone until I chose to delete them, so I could read them over and over again, never giving her a chance to leave my thoughts. I took a deep breath and texted her back, a nondescript message that just kinda asked her how she was. It seemed she’d been waiting for me to text her though, ’cos she answered with: Much better from hearing from you. I’ve been waiting all day for you to text me!

  I looked at her text and my heart fluttered. She always managed to cause that. It all began to make sense in the dead silence of the night; I knew I’d become hooked on the message board where I still chatted to Twiggy and Joey and some others on there, and I’d become almost reliant on MSN, far more so than Facebook or Twitter, mainly because I enjoyed the privacy and anonymity of MSN more than either of those. But what I hadn’t realised, not until recently anyway, was that I was logging on more frequently now, supposedly to put messages on the board, or to read others’ comments, or to see how Twiggy was. But my heart leapt if I saw that Fickle was online too, and more worrying was the feeling of, well, wretchedness—I can’t think of a more appropriate word—if she wasn’t there. Seeing her picture, it seemed, had only set alight something that was already inside me—I just hadn’t known it.

  I was mesmerised by her, thought about her all the time. If Fickle didn’t log on during the times I was online, I’d wait and wait, finding random things to look at on the web, hoping that if I waited around long enough, she’d log on, just hanging around on there doing jack shit until I’d eventually concede defeat and finally log off. I always left with this feeling of emptiness, a feeling that would stay with me until I caved in and logged on again, knowing that I shouldn’t, knowing that I had other things to do, knowing this…crush?…had grown out of control. And then saw she was there. It was during those times that my heart would beat faster and my palms—yes, my palms!! Crazy, huh?—would sweat. You read about this stuff in slushy romantic novels, right? It didn’t happen to normally sensible eighteen-year-old college students like me.

  Our MSN conversations grew increasingly flirty night after night, long into the night. Her spirit and sense of fun and extroverted nature—and her flirting—all combined and conspired to pull me towards her, closer each time we spoke. I’d never felt like this about anyone before—certainly never with Matt—and I was scared and excited at the same time.

  I knew by now that I wanted her—I just didn’t know how I was going to get her.

  *

  “So you’ll have to fend for yourself tonight, okay?” Mum was fussing round me like, well, like mums do.

  “I told you just now, yeah, it’s no problem.” I was in the kitchen, rooting round for something to eat. “I can cook, you know!”

  “Now, your dad and me will be out until midnight, I reckon,” Mum said, pulling down a packet of pasta from the cupboard. “You know how these things drag on. Have a pasta bake.” She waggled the packet of pasta in my face.

  “What about Sophie? Do I have to feed her as well?” I sighed.

  “Sophie’s gone to Megan’s for a sleepover, so she won’t be back till morning, okay?”

  The house to myself! A shiver shot through me at the thought of an uninterrupted evening in front of the computer, talking to Fickle.

  My parents left shortly after seven p.m., leaving me alone in the house for the first time in what seemed like ages. It had been just over a week since Fickle and I had exchanged phone numbers, during which we’d texted and MSNed pretty much daily, but the excitement I felt, knowing I’d have her all to myself
for an entire evening, was something else. After I’d eaten, I took myself up to my room, wriggling with an overwhelming sense of anticipation as I watched the PC boot up. I logged myself onto MSN, hoping desperately to see Fickle’s name.

  She was there.

  A wash of excitement cascaded down my back.

  Barnaby Rudge: Hey!

  Fickle: Hey yourself! How’s tricks?

  Barnaby Rudge: Yeah, good! ’Rents just gone out for the night so I’m home alone!

  Fickle: Ooooh, are you to be trusted??

  Barnaby Rudge: Of course!

  Fickle: I’m not so sure! I’ve heard about girls like you!

  She did one of those poking-tongue smilies. It made me feel almost as weird as her winking ones.

  Barnaby Rudge: I hope you’re not flirting with me!

  Fickle: Now, would I do that?!

  Barnaby Rudge: Hmm.

  Fickle: Don’t hmm at me, madam! LOL.

  Barnaby Rudge: Sorry.

  Fickle: Chillax! I’m kidding ya! Hey, you got another photo for me, then?

  Barnaby Rudge: You want one??!

  Fickle: Sure! I can’t keep looking at this one all the time, can I?

  Okaaaaay, that was flirtatious, wasn’t it?

  Barnaby Rudge: OK, if you think you can stand it! Here’s one taken last year in Crete. My parents are in the photo too, but you can ignore them!

  I remembered I had a photo, taken in Crete the year before, of me on the beach in my shorts and T-shirt. The picture showed off my legs to their best, and I kinda wanted Fickle to see them too.

  Barnaby Rudge: You got it yet?

  Fickle: It’s just coming now. You send it by pigeon post or what?

  She sent me a winky; this time I grinned at it.

  Fickle: Here it is.

  I waited, dying for her to make some comment about my legs.

  Fickle: Hey, nice! Where was it taken again?

  Barnaby Rudge: Crete.

  Fickle: Never been there myself. Is it nice?

  I wanted her to mention my legs, not bloody Crete!

  Barnaby Rudge: Yeah, it’s all right, not bad, y’know?

  Fickle: You’re lucky. All we get to go to is the coast each year. Dad has this mobile home thing down there, so he reckons we have to go to get our money’s worth!

  Why hadn’t she mentioned my legs? I’m not blowing my own trumpet or anything, but my legs are good! Anyone can see that! The photo shows that!

  I suddenly looked at her name, flashing away on the screen in front of me. Fickle. That was all I knew her as. It was crazy! I was beginning to have feelings for Fickle and I didn’t even know her real name.

  Barnaby Rudge: What’s your real name, Fickle?

  There was a pause and I wondered if I’d pissed her off, or whether she just didn’t want to tell me. The great thing about the Internet is the anonymity. Maybe she was happy for me to just know her as Fickle. After all, who was I to her?

  I winced inwardly, sure that she was going to tell me to mind my own business.

  Fickle: Soz, went to the toilet! LOL. My name? It’s Gemma.

  Toilet? She should have been looking at my legs, not going to the toilet!

  Barnaby Rudge: That’s a nice name.

  I meant it too.

  Fickle: LOL. What’s yours?

  Barnaby Rudge: Imogen. Everyone calls me Immy though.

  Fickle: That’s well sexy.

  She added a winky sign. Why did that winky sign make me feel so weird?

  Barnaby Rudge: Sexy? LMAO! You think so?

  Fickle: Yeah. I love it when people shorten their names. Very hot!

  I didn’t think it was sexy at all, but each to their own, I supposed.

  Fickle: Why did you wanna know my name, Immy?

  Barnaby Rudge: I dunno. We’ve been talking for a while now, I s’pose I just wanted to know who you really are.

  Fickle: Well, I’m glad you asked. I wanted to know what your name is for ages. Even more so since I’ve seen your photos. Now I know, I like it. It’s nice.

  Barnaby Rudge: Thank you! So’s yours!

  My legs! Was she going to mention my legs?

  There was a pause, then:

  Fickle: Ah crap, BR, I gotta go.

  Damn!

  Barnaby Rudge: So soon?

  Fickle: I’m sorry, yeah. I’m going out tonight.

  Barnaby Rudge: Oh, okay. Going anywhere nice?

  Fickle: Meeting my ex.

  Barnaby Rudge: Ah, right.

  Fickle: And I wanna grab a bite to eat before I go…and of course, make myself look shit hot. Might smooth things along better with her, you know what I’m saying? LMAO. Kidding ya.

  Her…?

  Barnaby Rudge: You’re, uh, you’re gay then?

  Fickle: LMAO! Uhh, yeah, durr! Hadn’t you already guessed that?

  Barnaby Rudge: Oh, um, I hadn’t really thought about it.

  Yeah, right! Who was I kidding?

  Fickle: Really? Surprised about that!

  Barnaby Rudge: Sorry?

  Fickle: Nothing. LOL. Did I tell you about my ex? All very nasty, it was, towards the end.

  Barnaby Rudge: You didn’t, no.

  Fickle: It’ll have to be another time, BR. I really gotta go. Wish me luck!

  Barnaby Rudge: Good luck, Fickle.

  Fickle: See ya.

  Barnaby Rudge: See ya.

  I watched as Fickle’s status changed from online to offline and leant back in my chair, rubbing irritably at my eyes with the balls of my palms, my head filling up with a thousand thoughts.

  So Fickle was gay. I supposed I’d kinda already guessed that, just by all the flirting, but seeing her write it in black and white confirmed it for me. And she had an ex too. Why couldn’t I have seen that? Of course she was going to have an ex! Everyone has a bloody ex! And if Fickle had her way, whoever she was, she wouldn’t be an ex for long.

  Anger pulsed through me, for no apparent reason, like there was some kinda rising tide of frustration and rage that I couldn’t control or stop. On an impulse, I snatched up my phone and called Matt, listening half in disappointment and half in relief as I heard it ring out and go to voicemail. I closed my eyes and spoke into the phone, telling Matt I wanted to see him. I don’t know why I wanted to see him—I just did. Or did I? Who the fuck knew? “Be good to hook up, Matt,” I said, squeezing my eyes tight shut. “Ring me when you get this message, yeah?”

  I flipped my phone shut and wandered to my bed, lying out on it with my hands folded behind my head, enjoying the silence of the house. I stared up at the ceiling and tried not to think about Fickle and her ex, but no matter how hard I tried, images of her—of them—floated in and out of my mind, until I thought that I would go raving mad. The ringing of my mobile a short while later punctured the silence, and I jumped. I blinked my eyes open, surprised to see my bedroom now in complete darkness, except for the flickering light of my computer, which had evidently given up any hope of my return and had gone into standby. I must have fallen asleep. I looked at my phone; Matt’s name flashed at me.

  I sat up, flipped the phone open, and spoke.

  “Matt,” I said groggily.

  “You okay? You don’t sound so good.” Matt’s voice rumbled with concern.

  “I was asleep, I dunno, I just, uh, I just fell asleep on my bed.” I laughed, rubbing at my eyes and yawning loudly.

  “Hard day, huh?”

  “I guess.”

  “You said you wanted to hang out, yeah?” Matt sounded breathless, as if he was walking and talking at the same time.

  I looked at my watch. Fickle would be out by now. With her ex.

  “Yeah, fancy it?” I tried to forget about Fickle and focus on talking to Matt.

  “Sure. You wanna meet in town?” Matt asked.

  I mean, who the hell was Fickle’s ex anyway? And why hadn’t she told me she had an ex? I frowned. More importantly, why was she always flirting with me when she had an ex whom she was still inter
ested in?

  “Immy? You there?” Matt again.

  Where was she now, huh? Why did she have to go out when all I wanted to do was talk to her, get to know her more? Did she have any idea how much I thought about her? How much I wanted her? How could I ever get to know her better if she wasn’t around? You know what? Fuck her.

  “No, come over here,” I suddenly said to Matt. “Mum and Dad are out. Sophie’s at a mate’s.”

  “You sure?” Matt sounded cautious.

  “Very sure,” I replied.

  *

  Matt arrived at the house just after seven, slightly out of breath.

  “I was walking through town when you rang, so I just ran up straight from there.” He grinned at me, shrugging apologetically.

  I stepped aside to let him in.

  “You had a good day?” I asked, shutting the front door behind him as he brushed past me, bringing a rush of cool evening air from outside in with him, and stood in the hallway.

  “Not bad. Just been given a pile of work at college, but nothing that can’t wait.” Matt pulled his coat off and placed it over the banister. He looped his arms over my shoulders and pulled me to him, kissing me briefly.