Evie

No :(

I’m in a full body cast now, so be nice to me

Salem

I’m only like 69% sure you’re joking

Evie

:) :) :)

Salem

Who types like that

Are you my mom

Evie

Well, actually, this is awkward, but

… yes

Yes I am

Salem

I’m done with you

Evie

Cool, send Archie to text me next

I miss him

Salem

brb going to make you regret that joke in 5

4

3

2

Evie

Salem jfc do not

…

Salem, what did you do

Salem

We’re gonna fight this together, Skeevy

He says the baby’s not his, but I told him you have proof

Evie

Oh my god you better not be doing this in public

Salem

What are you talking about

You specifically said to make a scene at a school assembly

God, it feels good to laugh. I take off the now-defrosted ice pack, try moving my ankle, immediately regret it, and rewrap the loosening Ace bandage.

Evie

Lose my number, Grayson

Salem

Too late

Went back to the mall

Chick with the blue hair tattooed it on my thigh

I do not need to think about Salem Grayson’s thighs. Or the way Salem looked at said chick with the blue hair at the Ink Spot.

My dad calls to me from the kitchen before I can think of a clever response, letting me know my mom’s pulling into the driveway and he’ll be putting dinner on the table in two minutes. Instinctively, I open my mouth to tell him I’ll come help, then remember that I can’t carry a damn thing. I use the two minutes to maneuver my way to the table on crutches instead.

“You do not make those look very comfortable, kiddo,” he says with a sympathetic smile as he puts a pitcher of water on the table, then returns to the cabinets for three glasses. I half expect him to grab four out of habit, the way I probably would, then remember he’s had two months now to get used to having only three people at dinner. And lately, it hasn’t even been that.

The urge to apologize for leaving is strong, and the words are on the tip of my tongue when the door opens and my mom swoops in, planting a quick kiss on my dad before giving me one of her lukewarm hugs. “It’s good to see you, sweetie,” she says, holding me at arm’s length as she sizes up my whole crutch situation. “I hope it doesn’t hurt too bad.”

“It’s okay.” Which is true, because they gave me painkillers at the infirmary just before I left. “Mostly, I’m hoping the doctor will tell me tomorrow that I don’t have to stay on these crutches. I suck at using them.”