Gimme a Call

by Sarah Mlynowski

  Sweet lips.

  Adorable lips.

  Sure, I might not get into Harvard, but that’s three years away. Do I really have to worry about it now?

  No, I do not.

  Without Ivy on the other end of the phone, I don’t have to obsess about college. Or about tomorrow. Or about anything that isn’t happening across the table from me.

  It’s time for me to make my own decisions.

  “Hi,” I say, smiling. I can’t help it. He makes me smile.

  He grins back. “Don’t you mean ‘bonjour’?”

  chapter forty-five

  Thursday, June 5 Senior Year

  We drive down the block, and he stops the car in front of Hedgemonds Park. Superb. The place of our first kiss.

  “So your phone. It finally went to cell phone heaven?” he asks.

  Instead of looking at him, I stare out the window at the swings. “I guess. It doesn’t seem to be charging.”

  “Do you want me to take a look at it?” he asks.

  “If you want to.” I reach into my purse, pull out my phone, and give it to him.

  Our hands touch and a spark zooms up my arm.

  The next thing I know, he’s leaning over and we’re kissing. His lips are sweet and soft, and everything feels so right and safe. He’s mine again.

  It’s perfect. We’re perfect. Everything is the way it should be. Everything’s the way it was.

  He must have changed his mind. Something must have happened to change his mind. Maybe Frosh said something or did something to make him love me enough. And now he’s going to stay. He isn’t going to leave me. All thoughts of college, all thoughts of friends, are long forgotten.

  “I love you,” I tell him.

  “I love you too,” he says. “You better come visit.”

  What? I pull back, my body suddenly cold. “You’re still moving to Montreal?”

  He blinks. “Yeah.”

  I can’t breathe. It’s like someone is stepping on my throat. “You’re leaving me?” I whisper.

  His face twitches. “I … yeah. We talked about this. You know I’m going to Montreal. It’s what’s best.”

  A tsunami of sadness overwhelms me. “I can’t believe you’re still going.” I am suddenly furious with him. Furious with myself for even getting into his car. For letting him kiss me. One kiss and I forget everything I’ve been working for? All my plans? What about me? What about what’s best for me?

  He grabs hold of my shoulder. “But we agreed that breaking up was the right thing. You wanted—”

  “You agreed! I didn’t agree to anything!” Could I have agreed to this? Is that possible? How could I have agreed to it? What’s wrong with me? Who am I? The tears are running down my cheeks now, burning my skin. I need to get out of here. This second. My hands are shaking as I grab for the handle, yank the door open, and start running home.

  “Devi, wait,” Bryan calls. “Let’s talk about this. Please?”

  Instead of answering, I keep walking.

  “What about tomorrow? Can we talk about tomorrow? It’s prom!”

  I’m not going to prom with him. I’d rather go alone. I’d rather go with Tom. Someone who means absolutely nothing to me. Someone who will never hurt me. I grab at the clasp of the bracelet on my wrist and this time manage to get it off. For good. “Stay out of my life,” I beg.

  “Come on, Devi. Please talk to me.”

  I don’t listen. I don’t look back.

  I should never have looked back.

  chapter forty-six

  Friday, September 23 Freshman Year

  I’m at my locker when I see the text from Bryan.

  When is ur test?

  I text back: 4th.

  He writes: Gd lck. Wanna go for lnch after 2 celebr8? My bench wants to meet u.

  Tee hee. I’m about to write back YES but my fingers hesitate over the keypad.

  Ivy would not be pleased. But I like him! And anyway, why should I do what she says anymore? How do I know if she’s still right? Things change. Just because things ended badly for her, it doesn’t mean they’ll end badly for me. What if Bryan doesn’t cheat on me this time? He might not. That he did once doesn’t mean he’d do it again.

  I swallow hard. Yeah, I know, every Lifetime movie would tell me otherwise.

  But this is different. I’m different.

  Is it fair to punish someone for something he hasn’t done yet? It’s not like he cheated on me. He cheated on me in the future. In one version of the future. And if I’ve learned anything in the last two weeks, it’s that there’s more than one version.

  Yes! I finally write back.

  chapter forty-seven

  Friday, June 6 Senior Year

  “What’s wrong with you?” Celia, all glittery, is standing in front of my locker. “You better not be a misery tonight. Perk up! It’s prom. And at least we get out of here at eleven! You definitely need the time to get your hair and nails done.”

  Ugh. Does this mean I’m in a limo with Celia? And who else? Who’s my date? Am I going stag now that I told Bryan to take a hike? Is Celia going with Bryan? My head hurts.

  “I have a headache,” I tell her.

  The truth is I’m not feeling as crappy today as I thought I would. The tears dried up by the time I got to my door, and then I just felt empty. Tired and empty.

  Even though the picture of Bryan was back in its frame, even though the Harvard acceptance letter was gone, I did not cry. I’m stuck with whatever I have. If the phone battery is dead, then so are the Frosh-induced changes in my life.

  So Bryan’s leaving me. He doesn’t need me anymore. No one needs me. The one person who did need me—Frosh—is history.

  What can I do? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And NYU is still an amazing school. So I don’t have a scholarship. I can get a loan. Or I can work for a year and save up. I can figure something out. And I may not have my old friends anymore, but I can make new ones in New York.

  “Dev?” I hear.

  I’m startled out of my thoughts to see Bryan standing in front of my locker. What does he want? Didn’t I make myself clear?

  “Can we talk?” he asks. “I don’t understand what happened last night. I thought we discussed—”

  “I don’t know what we discussed,” I blurt out, clenching my jaw. I don’t know anything except that I want him to go away. I want to punch him in the chest. I want to pull him toward me and kiss him like crazy.

  “I fixed your phone,” he says, rummaging through his bag. “The battery from the camera you bought me fit. It doesn’t have much juice, but the charger will work. You can keep it if you want.” He holds out my phone and a black charger.

  My head spins. “The camera battery works in my phone?”

  “Yeah.”

  How could that be? “Wait. My phone is working?”

  “Yeah.”

  Frosh. Her French test. Today. I need to call her. Right now. “Wow,” I say, grabbing it from his hand. I still feel the sparks, but this time I pretend they don’t exist.

  He chews on his bottom lip. “We’ll talk later, then?”

  “Fine, later, whatever.” I turn my back to him, ignoring his pained expression, and hit send. It’s ringing. Hallelujah, it’s ringing!

  And ringing.

  And ringing.

  “Hiya, this is Devi. I’m out and about and can’t take your call—”

  Ahhhhh! Why isn’t she answering? Can’t she tell how important this call is?

  Now the bell is ringing. Crapola. I need to tell her what to write on the test. I call again. Voice mail again.

  I’ll just have to text her the answers.

  chapter forty-eight

  Friday, September 23 Freshman Year

  I’m about to close my locker before heading off to French class when I glance at my phone.

  Two hang-ups, three messages, and seven texts.

  The first message is Ivy screaming, “We’re back on!” That explains it all.


  Oh.

  Yay.

  I should be happy. But then why does it feel like a balloon in my chest has lost all its helium?

  One of the texts is just a string of letters. B. C. D. B. A. D., and so on. Huh? I look up at the heading. FRENCH ANSWERS. Oh.

  The phone vibrates in my hand, and I answer immediately. “I don’t need them,” I say.

  Ivy laughs. “Well, hello to you too.”

  “Hi,” I say, leaning against my locker.

  “I got it working,” she squeals. “It’s fixed! Aren’t you relieved?”

  “Of course,” I say, and then wonder if it’s true. Yes. It must be. Who wouldn’t want to speak to herself in the future? “I’m very relieved. It’s just that—I don’t need your answers. I studied for the test.”

  “No, no, no,” Ivy says. “You only get a B. I checked. And you lose our acceptance to Harvard.”

  I kick my heel into the ground. “Because of one test? One freshman test? How does that happen?”

  “Maybe it’s like the SATs. You know how those first few questions are really important and determine how hard or easy the next questions are, which determines your final score? I think it’s like that.”

  I don’t respond.

  “I texted you the answers. Bring your phone into class and you’ll have everything there. You’ll get your A. You need my help. Trust me. You need me.”

  “I can’t bring the answers into class,” I whisper. “That’s really cheating.”

  “It’s no worse than what we’ve already done. Just do it. And, Dev—whatever you’re up to with Bryan? Stop it, okay?” She doesn’t elaborate. She just hangs up.

  I swallow hard and squeeze the phone until my knuckles turn white. I have the answers. I don’t want to get a B. I want to get an A. I want to go to Harvard. I think.

  I have to go to Harvard, or Ivy will be mad at me. I’ll be mad at me. So I have no choice. Right? I slip my cell into my pencil case and close my locker. I can do this. I have to do this. It’s not like I’m going to get caught. If I were, Ivy would know.

  Everything will be fine from now on. Every choice I need to make, she’ll tell me what to do. I square my shoulders and hug the case all the way to class. I slip into a desk at the back of the room. I open the text with the answers and then adjust my phone in my pencil case to where I can see it but Madame Ritale won’t. I take out my pencil and drum it against the desk.

  The student in front of me passes back the test booklet.

  I glance at the answer to question number one on my cell. I fill in the letter B.

  chapter forty-nine

  Friday, June 6 Senior Year

  I’m on my way home when the world shifts. Instead of standing at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change, I’m standing in front of racks of jeans and shirts. Where am I? Did I just get hit by a car and fall into a coma?

  And why am I folding a pair of jeans?

  I look around the room again. Wait. I know where I am. I’m in Bella Boutique at the mall. Why am I not on my way home to get ready for prom? Not that I know who’s picking me up. Or at what time.

  Maybe Frosh did something in the past that’s making me come here to exchange my shoes? I glance around the room for someone to ask, but no one else is here.

  “Hello?” I ask, but no one answers.

  “Hello?” I repeat from the center of the store.

  “Hello?” a woman with a nasal voice responds.

  “Oh, good! Hello!” The voice is coming from a changing room in the back. Maybe she can tell me what’s going on.

  “Can you get me a size eight, please?” the nasal woman asks.

  She must be talking to someone else. Not that I see anyone else. But that must be it. I’m not working today. It’s not even summer. I just need to find my schoolbag.

  “Helllllo?” the woman with the nasal voice says again. “Did you hear me? I need a size eight.”

  Where is my schoolbag?

  The changing room door is thrown open and an older woman who’s had way too much Botox slits her eyes and hollers at me, “Do you work here or not?”

  Veronica, the store manager, peeks out of the staff room. “Devi, is there a problem? Can you get the customer her size?”

  Oh. My. God. I am working here. And it’s not even summer or winter holidays.

  But why am I working on the day of my prom?

  “Earth to Devi,” Veronica says. “The customer would like the Dolly jeans in a size eight.”

  “Right. Sorry.” I snap to attention. “Ma’am, the jeans are made really small. Do you want to try a bigger size?”

  “No!” She scoffs.

  Okay, then. My head spins as I search for the size and then pass them over the changing room door. When I turn around, I spot my reflection in the mirror.

  My hair is bright pink and cropped. Plus I have a tattoo of a cell phone on my wrist.

  My stomach swoops.

  Where’s my hair? Who am I? Did I morph into someone else’s body? What’s going on? Ahhhhh! I need to call myself this second. My phone must be in my schoolbag. Where the heck is my schoolbag? The staff room—it must be.

  I pull back the curtain. Veronica is sipping a cup of coffee and reading a magazine.

  “Do you know where my schoolbag is?” I ask, my heart pounding.

  “Why would you bring a schoolbag?” she asks.

  “Didn’t I come from school?”

  She stares at me blankly. “School? Since when?”

  Now I feel sick. “I—I dropped out?”

  “That’s what you told me.” She flips the page of her magazine. “Didn’t you hate Heken?”

  My legs turn to jelly. The school for delinquents? “When did I start at Heken?”

  “Wouldn’t you know that better than me?”

  “Yes, I should, but I have a killer headache, so can you just tell me?”

  “You really need to ease up on the drinking, Dev. I bet you were out with JT again, huh?” She flips another page in her magazine. “Didn’t you start at Heken after you got booted from Florence West for cheating?”

  I gasp and grab on to the curtain for support. Frosh got caught. With the cell phone. And I ended up here.

  I want to strangle her. How could she have screwed up so badly and gotten me into this mess? And how pathetic did I become that I’m with JT? I need my phone. Where’s my phone?

  “These are too small!” the customer yells. “Why would you bring me something that doesn’t fit? Are you an idiot?”

  “Devi, can you take care of Mrs. Arnold, please? I’m on my break.”

  I try to nod, but my whole body feels numb. I step out of the staff room and knock on the changing room door.

  Just get through this, I tell myself. Then you’ll find your phone and straighten everything out.

  She throws open the door, clad only in her beige panties and red blouse. “Are you trying to make me feel fat?”

  I shake my head. “I told you they ran small.”

  She digs her fingers into my arm. “So you think I’m fat?”

  I really can’t deal with this right now. I pull myself out of her grasp. “No, I do not. The jeans are made small. I wanted to get you a size ten. You wouldn’t let me.”

  “So this is my fault?”

  That’s it. “Yes! It’s your fault!”

  “Devi!” Veronica says, pushing back the staff room curtain.

  “Well, it is! It’s her fault!” I shout. “It’s all her fault! Her fault, her fault! Her fault!”

  Veronica and the customer are gaping at me.

  None of this is my fault. It’s her fault. And Frosh’s fault. And Bryan’s fault. Hers for getting caught and Bryan’s for ruining my life.

  “The customer is always right,” Veronica tells me under her breath.

  “So does that mean I’m always wrong?” For telling Frosh to use the phone? For letting Bryan become my whole life? I know this is no longer about the customer. It’s about me.
>
  “I’m sorry,” I say, my eyes filling with tears.

  Veronica sighs. “Devi, I’m going to have to ask you to leave immediately.”

  Superb. Now I’m getting fired from a job I didn’t even know I still had. I blink quickly to stop the tears from spilling over and push my way out of the store.

  I need my phone. I really need my phone. “Devi, you forgot your purse,” Veronica calls after me.

  Of course! If I don’t go to school, I don’t have a schoolbag; I have a purse. Yes! “Thanks,” I mumble, rushing back into the store and then running back out with it.

  Please be in here, please be in here. I look under my wallet. No phone. In the pockets. No phone. It has to be here somewhere.

  I walk over to the fountain and dump the entire contents of the purse onto the bench.

  No phone. I have no phone.

  Where is it? Did I leave it somewhere? Or—I’m almost knocked over with nausea—was it confiscated after I got caught?

  What have I done?

  I can’t breathe. I need more air. I don’t think I can stand anymore. Black spots are swirling in front of my eyes like smoke and I’m falling … and the fountain is rushing toward me.

  chapter fifty

  Friday, September 23 Freshman Year

  A new text pops up on my screen.

  Ur gonna do gr8.

  From Bryan.

  My stomach lurches. I might throw up all over my test paper. I’m making myself sick.

  I don’t want to cheat. I don’t need to cheat. I can do this on my own.

  I don’t want to break it off with Bryan either. I want to make him proud. I want to make myself proud. Instead of making myself sick.

  But you need to get an A! Her voice screams in my head. Even when she’s not yelling in my ear, I can hear her. You have to get an A!

  No, I tell her. I don’t.

  I turn my phone off and shove it back into my pencil case.

  This is my life. These are my decisions. If there’s one thing she taught me, it’s that she made her choices. Now it’s my turn to make mine.