Page 12 of Mr. North
How did he get my phone number? Thalia must have given it to him. Or maybe he went and hunted it down on his own. He has the resources to do that kind of thing, I’m sure.
Am I supposed to reply to this? And if so, how ? I think for a solid ten minutes, torn by what I should do. His message wasn’t a question. He didn’t ask me anything, so I have nothing to respond to per se. But if I don’t send something, would that be rude? Shit. What would I do if it were Thalia who’d sent the text and not Raphael? Hmm. I’d reply with an emoji probably. Hardly an intellectual means of communication, but emojis are safe. You can’t confuse the tone of an emoji. A happy face is just that. A crying face, a high five, an emoji blowing a kiss. They’re impossible to misinterpret. I go to respond, surveying the options open to me. The smiling guy with the red cheeks? Extreme happiness? Probably not appropriate. Flamenco dancing lady? Definitely not. The laughing-so-hard-I’m-crying dude? Nope. What about a simple smiley face? That’s none threatening. It says, ‘it’s funny that you looked that up.’
Okay. Smiley face. Smiley face. Just send the damn thing already, Beth. Come on! I tap the smiley face icon and then hit send as quick as I can. I’m my own worst enemy. I overthink everything in these situa—
Wait.
Wait.
Oh…god…
I stare at the phone screen, not quite able to process what I’m seeing. There is no happy, yellow, round smiley face icon on the screen I’m looking at. Not even close. The single emoji sitting there next to my name, the only thing I’ve replied to the hottest, wealthiest man in New York… is brown.
The poop emoji.
It stares back at me, mouth open, eyes wide, laughing at me. Fuck. I can almost hear it mocking me: “Too late! Can’t take me back now, motherfucker! I have been unleashed upon the world.”
“Shit. Shit, shit, shit !” Literally. Shit. I throw my phone down on the couch beside me and cover my face with both hands. How? How the hell did I manage to send a shit emoji for no apparent reason to Raphael North? This is not good. Thalia is going to murder me.
I scramble, picking up my phone, about to text her, to ask her what the hell I should do, when I see the little bubble text box pop up in the conversation: Raphael is replying. I mouth the word fuck silently as I watch that damn box flash on the screen.
And then…an emoji. Two of them: a monkey, and another poop. The speech bubble appears again.
U nknown : Hey, if you’re about to start slinging shit around, at least let me defend myself.
M e : I am SO sorry. I did NOT mean to send that.
U nknown : No offence taken. I’m aware that I invoke strong reactions from people sometimes.
D amn it. It was an accident, but now Raphael obviously thinks I’m trying to insult him. Change the subject. Change the subject.
M e : Ha! I’ll be sure to tell my conspiracy theory friends that chemtrails are 100% safe, then.
R aphael sends a hand emoji—a peace sign. That seems a little out of character, but at least he doesn’t appear to be mad.
M e : I’ll also be sure to tell them the reports of your death have been greatly exaggerated.
H e doesn’t reply. I watch my phone, waiting for its chime for fifteen minutes, knees up under my chin, but nothing happens. After a while, I go back to my textbooks. An hour later, as I’m making coffee, a new message pops up on the screen. I’ve saved his number now, so I immediately know it’s him.
R aphael : I wouldn’t be so quick to spread that rumor if I were you. The jury’s still out on that one.
