The point is, I feel safe with Nya, less lonely with Nya. And it’s hard to give that up. But Carli. Carli makes me feel . . . everything.

“Well?” Nya says, sounding frustrated.

And it’s the kind of everything that’s not going away.

“Hello! Earth to Rex! What is it that you gotta tell me?”

I take a deep breath and push out, “I met somebody else.”

“Who?”

The question comes at me with lightning speed. I want to say, This girl you don’t know to keep things vague, but the ache in my throat won’t let me call Carli something so impersonal. “Carli.”

“Carli?”

I can hear her face twisting up.

“Who’s Carli?”

“You don’t know her.”

“Did you have sex with her?”

“Whoa! Hold up a second,” I reply, trying to think of why she would ask that. I didn’t even think sex was on her brain. We never even got past touching above the waist with our clothes on.

“Well, did you?”

“No.”

“Did you kiss her?”

“No.”

“How long have you been talking to her?”

“I haven’t been talking to her. I—”

“Well, when did you meet her then?”

“Tonight.”

“At the game?”

“Yeah.”

“Wait, is it that girl from the video?”

“You saw that?”

“Of course I saw it. Everybody saw it. So, is it?”

“Yeah.”

“So, what exactly happened?”

“I caught her and—”

“So you already knew her?”

“No.”

“Sooooo . . . you caught her and what?”

“I felt something.”

“You felt something?”

“Yeah.”

“Felt what?”

“I don’t know . . . something deep.”

She cracks up laughing in a way I’ve never heard her laugh before—hard and high, like she has her head thrown all the way back. “You felt something deep? That’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard. And for a girl you don’t even know? Everybody said you were an asshole, but I didn’t know I was dealing with a fool, too.”

My ear throbs with that familiar word—asshole—with the unfamiliar brand-newness of Nya. It’s like she just smacked me upside the head through the phone. This can’t be Nya. I wish I could clap back and call her a fraud, but shock has dulled my anger.

“But what can I say? You are the Rex Carrington. At least I got to try you out for myself. If you would’ve waited another two weeks, I would’ve given you the goods. But too bad for you, boo-boo.”

No anger at my back, a fresh wound starts to spread just beneath my skin. I push it down to the place with the million other hurts I don’t have time to deal with and hang up. Then I grab my juice, my plate out of the microwave, and sit at the counter on one of our uncomfortable-ass barstools.

Every time I have to sit on one of these, it pisses me off. Who buys concrete chairs? I would sit at the table, but those chairs aren’t any better. All the furniture in this house is uncomfortable. My father says it has to match the house’s modern style. Man, he can get on somewhere with his modern style.