Subject: Re: Skype Camera.

LOLOLOL!

Arizona

35. New Romantics

Carter

I closed Ari’s latest email and clicked on my latest term paper. On nights like tonight, it was if she’d never left, as if she was still minutes away from being picked up at her house.

Over the past few weeks, a new sort of routine had developed between us. Instead of weekend meet ups at Gayle’s there were early morning emails: She traded me her rainy coasts in exchange for white sanded beaches, and I gave her glimpses of moments at Gayle’s while she showed me her concoctions inside the cooking school.

At night, we talked for hours—despite the fact that we both had tons of work to do. We video-chatted whenever our roommates were asleep, and of course, there were still letters.

I didn’t think it was possible for either of us to ever let that go. [...]

When I’d reached the eighth page of my assignment, I realized it was midnight so I headed downstairs.

“Have you talked to your wife tonight?” Josh asked as I stepped in front of the TV. “If so, bravo. I barely heard your conversation this time.”

“You’ve moved Ari from girlfriend to wife now?”

“Might as well.” He groaned, handing me his laptop. “And I swear I wasn’t trying to kill your Skype app. I was just trying to ruin it so you’d never be able to use it again.”

“Did you actually hear what the fuck you just said?”

“I did.” He laughed. “Wait, before you go. I need to ask for your advice on something.”

“Yes, your taste in clothes is absolutely terrible. Was that your question?”

“No.” He rolled his eyes. “I think—”He paused. “I think I might actually like someone. More than just a normal like...”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “You’re not my type.”

“What the fuck, Carter?” He grabbed his beer. “Did I get sarcastic with you when you were moping about Arizona for months? When you were crying like a seven year old when every woman on this beach was willing to give her pussy to you and you were too blind to see it?”

I shook my head, refusing to entertain his wared memories. “Okay, fine. You like someone. Does this someone have a name?”

“She doesn’t. That’s actually her best quality,” he said. “But I don’t think she’s aware that I actually like her beyond what’s currently happening. There’s only so much more of this ‘just friends’ shit I can take, you know? I’m not you.”

“Is there’s a question coming?” I asked. “Or is this a venting session?”

“I need your advice on helping me figure out how to get out of the friend zone. Preferably by the end of the week We can discuss it Saturday..” He grabbed a pair of earplugs and stuck one in his ear. “Okay. I’ve told you, so you can go now.”

A Sneak peek of RESENTMENT by Nicole London

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Smalltown, USA

Mia

2004

Dean Collins is the most irresistible asshole at Central High School.

He’s your typical cliché, Mr. Popular. The “guy’s guy” who’s been voted “Homecoming King” two times in a row (minus my vote); the sexy star quarterback who’s capable of making grown women swoon from the sidelines (it really is sad), and the guy who can charm the hell out of any admiring girl with a simple smile, and a “Hey...What’s up?” in five seconds flat.

His face is the object of sculptures—hard and strong jawline, deep and piercing green eyes and dimples that show even when he’s not smiling. And, as if that wasn’t enough for the gods to endow him with, he has a six pack of abs that he always shows off, and full and defined lips that sometimes even make me wonder what they would feel like.

Nonetheless, I always do my best to avoid Dean Collins like the plague: I leave the four classes we take together early, never go to pep rallies to cheer on the team (Dean is the team), and the few times that he’s attempted that “Hey...What’s up?” thing on me, I’ve offered a blank stare and walked away.

Today my usual avoidance routine seems to be getting tested. Especially since he’s currently standing five feet away from me.

“Yes?” I look up from my canvas and stare at him from across the classroom. “May I help you with something? You’re not in art club.”

“I’m aware.” He smirks, looking around the empty classroom. “But it doesn’t look like anyone is in art club...”

That part is true. There’s actually no such thing as “art club” at Central High. It’s just me taking over whatever classroom I can find to paint for a few hours.

“We’re currently accepting applications for membership,” I say, setting my paintbrush down in the easel tray. “What can I help you with?”

“I did come here for something...” He steps into the room and pulls the door closed. “But, now that you claim that you’re accepting applications for your club, can I fill one out?”

“We don’t accept douchebags,” I say flatly. “Your application wouldn’t make it past round one.”

“Douchebag?”

“Yes, douchebag. Would you like me to give you the definition?”

Laughing, he tilts his head to the side. “I’m well versed on the definition, Mia Gray...” He stares at me for a long time, looking right into my eyes, giving me his usual charm.

I immediately break our gaze and clear my throat. “You said you came here for something? Can you hurry up and tell me what it is so I can get back to addressing my art club? Today is a very important day for us.”

“I can see that...” He pulls his backpack off his shoulder and opens it, pulling out a black notebook. My black notebook.

“I found your notebook this morning,” he says, “so I wanted to find you and give it back. I tried to give it to you after Physics class but I couldn’t get your attention.”

I reach out for it, but then I stop. “Where exactly did you find it?”

“It was in the Lost and Found. I just saw it on top of everything in there when I got to school.”

“You know, that’s funny,” I say, crossing my arms. “Because I’ve been checking Lost and Found every day and in between every class for weeks and it was never there...”

“Maybe you just didn’t look hard enough.”

“I even checked it this morning, and it wasn’t there. It. Was. Not. There.”

He smiles and flips through the pages. “You have a very pretty handwriting...”

“Where did you really find it, Dean?”

“You take pretty detailed notes, too.”

“Did you steal my fucking notebook?”

“Maybe.” His lips curve into a smirk.

WHAT?! I nearly scream, knowing that that’s exactly what has happened. “I had to rewrite the entire thing in one night! The night before our midterm!”

Still smiling, he walks over and sets it on my easel. “Well, good thing you somehow managed to still get an A, right? If it wasn’t for me, you probably wouldn’t have known that you were capable of rewriting a notebook in a night. I helped you push your boundaries, so I think I deserve a thank you.”