Page 22 of Styx & Stones

“Because I’m not who she thinks I am.”

Joe glares at me like I need to elaborate right-the-fuck now. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means, she doesn’t know it’s me she’s been talking to online.”

“So you were lying about the two of you hanging out?”

“No, I ... it’s complicated.”

My phone buzzes and I glance down at the screen.

@alaskasaerosoladdiction: Hello?

Shit. I’m an asshole. She’s just lost her only friends

@alaskasaerosoladdiction: So clearly you didn’t mean you wanted to actually talk—that’s just something people say, right? I don’t know why the hell I’m surprised though. I don’t even know your name.

Fuck. I have two choices here. One, I can ignore her and she’ll never speak to me again. Or two, I tell her who I am right now, and she’ll also never speak to me again because she’ll think I’m a catfishing asshole.

@zedatwoodsbellybuttonlint: I do want to talk to you. It’s all I’ve wanted for weeks, but I have people over.

@alaskasaerosoladdiction: Of course you do.

@zedatwoodsbellybuttonlint: It’s 415-509-6205

@alaskasaerosoladdiction: You’re in San Francisco?

@zedatwoodsbellybuttonlint: Yep. Born and bred. Just call, okay?

I glance down at my phone, waiting for it to ring. I close my eyes and silently will her to call me.

She doesn’t.

“Dude!” Joe says, flopping back on the couch beside me. “What the hell just happened?”

“I don’t know.”

My phone rings and I hit answer, but I chicken out at the last minute and thrust it at Joe. He waves his hand dramatically and mouths,“No!”

I’m so fucking nervous, I toss it in his lap. A beat passes where we both make wild gestures to the phone and to each other, and then I glare at him. He picks it up and clears his throat.

“Hello,” he says in a deep voice that definitely doesn’t belong to him. I gesture and mouth,“Speaker. Put her on speaker.”

He finally takes the hint and Alaska’s voice fills the den. “You sound different than what I thought you would.”

“What did you think I would sound like?”

“I don’t know. This is weird, isn’t it?”

“Totally weird,” Joe agrees. “So, listen, why don’t we skip the phone convo and just meet in person?”

“What? No! What are you doing?” I whisper.

“Um. I don’t even know your name. So I’m going to go with no.”

“It’s Styx,” he says, jumping off the couch and bolting for the stairs. “Styx Hendricks, and I live at 431 Alvarado St Dolores Heights.”

“What the hell are you doing, man?” I shout.