Love? Maybe. by Heather Hepler Read Free Book Online Page A

stinks.
     
    I’ve just settled onto the couch with my jar of peanut butter and a spoon when my cell buzzes. I look at the screen before answering. Claire.
    “Hey,” I say around a mouthful of peanut butter. I pray she’s feeling a little better.
     
    “He’s been cheating on me for months.”
     
    Okay. Deep breath. “How do you know this?” I ask.
     
    “Bonnie overheard Ellen talking to Tracy in the locker room after gym.” There seem to be two more layers of names, but I can’t keep up. Montrose has to be the center of the gossip universe. Really, the administration should make it one of our electives. “She overheard Kelly talking to Christi.”
     
    “Wait,” I say. “Which Christi?” There are four.
     
    “Christi Jacobs.”
     
    “Oh,” I say.
     
    “Anyway, Christi was telling Kelly about the present Stuart gave her for Christmas.” Claire sniffs hard again. “Christmas!”
Ouch.
     
    “Jerk,” I say, dutifully. I may not be that familiar with the big sister handbook, but I’m a little clearer on the best friend one.
     
    “That’s not the worst part,” Claire says. “Do you know what he gave her?” I stay silent. I have no idea where this is going. “He gave her a locket.” A fresh wave of sobs pours through the phone. I sigh and close my eyes. Stuart just sealed my nomination for world’s worst boyfriend. Claire had been hinting around for months that she wanted this locket she had seen in Jump!, the secondhand store where we always shop. It even had a
C
engraved on it, which I guess is why it worked for Christi too.
     
    “He’s a moron, Claire,” I say, taking a page from Jillian’sbook. “You don’t need him. We are going to find you someone better,” I say.
     
    “You mean it?” Claire asks.
     
    “Yes,” I say. And I realize I do because my heart rate stays normal and my hands stay non-sweaty. Of course, I was totally willing to bust out a lie if I needed to. White lies are in chapter two of the best friend handbook. They are to be used sparingly and only under extreme circumstances. I’m pretty sure finding out your boyfriend of more than a year is a total jerk qualifies.
     
    “Listen,” I say. “Spend Friday night at my house.” I really should ask my mom first before I invite friends to stay over, but I think I can play the jilted love sympathy card with her. “I’ll call Jillian right now.” Claire offers a watery thank you before hanging up. I leave a message on Jillian’s cell, telling her about our planning meeting. I hang up just before I hear the sound of laughing followed by a big thud from upstairs.
So much for dinner,
I think, screwing the top back on the jar of peanut butter.
     
    “How were they?” Mom asks, poking her head into my room.
    “Good,” I say. And it’s the truth. For Dom and Lucy, they weren’t terrible. I was able to clean most of the toothpaste out of their hair before I got them back into bed. Anything I missed will just give them that minty, freshly brushed scent.
     
    “How are
you
?” she asks.
     
    “I’m good,” I say. My mother frowns and tilts her head at me. “Really.” If I can just squeeze another half hour out, I’m pretty sure I can finish my paper, the one I begged an extension for.
     
    “Don’t stay up too late,” my mother says, pulling my door shut behind her.
     
    I sigh and rub my eyes. Literary criticism is so confusing. It seems like everything is symbolic. Nothing is just what it is. How am I supposed to know that a gray scarf is supposed to symbolize unrequited love? I manage to pull together something that should earn me at least a B, then take out our next novel,
Emma.
It seems that even my Brit lit teacher is conspiring against me in matters of the heart. I can only make it through a dozen pages before I have to admit that I’m just too tired.
     
    I put down the novel and slide under my quilt. I think about one of the ten random questions that Dom asked me earlier. He wanted to know