Page 37 of Heartthrobs Don't Date Wallflowers
Which school does your sister go to?
It took me a second to remember. I scrolled through my photos, back to the first weekend in September when she moved in. There she was, standing in front of the school’s huge sign: Hartwell Academy. I sent him the name, and once again, his text came back just a second later.
Not Zesty
Mine goes to Westwood
The name tickled my brain and I looked up Westwood to figure out why exactly it sounded so familiar. For a moment, I thought maybe it just had the same name as a school I’d gone to or a similar enough one that it was making me think of it.
But it only took me a few minutes of searching to realize that it was Hartwell’s rival school. And a moment after that, I realized why I recognized it. Poppy had mentioned they’d had their homecoming game against them.
I grinned as I texted him back.
Ivy
Oh, so our sisters go to rival schools
Well, I better not tell Poppy
She won’t be happy to hear that I’ve been fraternizing with the enemy
Not Zesty
Do I count as the enemy if I don’t actually go to the rival school?
Ivy
I’m not sure on the exact rules, but I better play it safe anyway
She knows how to hold a grudge
Not Zesty
What a shame
Ok I’ll call my sister and let her know she needs to drop out of Westwood immediately to make sure nothing happens between you and your sister
I laughed. It only took me a second after that to realize that we had both shared something about ourselves that we hadn’t before. Both being night owls was one thing, but starting to share about our sisters and where they went to school was getting into a level of personal details that I wouldn’t just share with anybody. And I’d said it like it was nothing, like he was a friend.
Which, I guess, at this point, he was, wasn’t he? He might have been a stranger that I met online, but somehow, along the way, he had become my closest friend. And I didn’t even know his real name.
ten
The wafflepractically burned my fingertips as I pulled it out of the toaster and dropped it onto the plate. Poppy laughed at me as I blew on my fingers and awkwardly walked to the table, the plate propped up on my elbow, my phone in my hand. On the other side of FaceTime, she was sitting in her dorm room eating a Pop-Tart for breakfast.
I told her she didn’t have to call me if she wanted to go down to the dining hall for breakfast, but she said she preferred it this way and that she missed the days when we would eat every meal together.
“It’s not my fault you went to boarding school,” I said as I dropped the plate on the table and propped up my phone against the salt and pepper shakers so that I could eat with both hands.
“Not my fault you didn’t want to,” she shot back.
I rolled my eyes. “I wasn’t going to start boarding school in my junior year.”
My phone started to buzz like I was getting a call,and I frowned. A second later, there was an overlay over Poppy’s face with a notification.
Incoming call: Not Zesty.
Options: Decline call. Answer call and hang up. Answer and add to conference call.
