Getting Over Garrett Delaney(24)
Author: Abby McDonald

Check mail! it calls to me. Check mail!

I’ve never been one of those technology-dependent kids — the ones who go into meltdown if they’re dragged away from their computers for all of five minutes — but now my hand is reaching for my cell phone as if it’s possessed. Garrett has texted twice already (at least I assume it’s him, since I’ve stoically ignored the tantalizing buzz), and that’s not even thinking about whatever could be lurking upstairs in my e-mail in-box. . . .

It’s clear that the house is way too dangerous in my current state of Garrett OCD. Here, peril and temptation lurk at every turn, so I do what any smart warrior would: I grab my keys and bag, and I flee.

It’s time for some distraction.

I never figured Totally Wired as a sanctuary, but it turns out there’s nowhere safer from my cruel addiction than the noisy, bustling café. Three days of Garrett detox later and I have my coffee serving down to a graceful ballet.

“Order up for table five!” Josh hits the bell and deposits two plates on the hatch ledge.

“I need two lattes and a soy tea!” Dominique calls from behind the register.

“Excuse me? Can someone come clear this table?” A customer lingers by a trash- and mug-littered table, trying to catch my attention.

“Coming, right away, absolutely!” I call back to each in turn. Flicking some switches on the Beast, I start the lattes, then grab the full plates and swoop through the café, depositing them at table five with a cheerful “Enjoy!” and a handful of utensils before pivoting, sweeping up the debris on the next table, and stacking my arms high with dirty plates. By the time I get back to the counter, fresh espresso is dripping obediently into the mugs, herbal tea is steaming, and even Dominique is looking at me with what could be admiration — if admiration can be masked beneath a scowl, that is.

“You’re learning fast,” she tells me grudgingly.

I beam. With my cell phone stowed safely in the staff locker and my idle hands put to good use, I can almost, almost forget the texts I’m deleting unread (because having them there in my in-box is a temptation too far) and the e-mails that must be piling up back at home. I unplugged my computer that first night and haven’t touched it since, instead, filling my evenings with gritty cop shows on TV (the least romantic thing I can find) and reading my way through Mom’s extensive library of self-help books. By the time I collapse, exhausted, into bed, it feels like I’ve run a marathon of self-control.

But it’s working. I’ve struggled through seventy-two hours of a Garrett-free existence, and it almost, almost feels like that itch is lessening. To, say, a fiery burn, rather than a full-on red-ant attack. Soon, it might even fade to a mild irritation.

I can but dream.

But just when I feel like maybe, just maybe, I can make it through another day triumphant, the door dings open and an icy chill blasts through the café. OK, so maybe not a literal one, but the sight of Beth Chambers sauntering in is enough to freeze me in my tracks.

“Hi,” I gulp. “I mean, welcome to Totally Wired. What can I get you?”

“You work here?” Beth asks, looking slowly around. Oversize sunglasses are propped just-so on top of her hair, and she’s wearing another of her fabulously stylish outfits — skinny black pants and a striped shirt that just scream Audrey Hepburn.

Right then I decide, she’s not going to get to me. Nothing is going to ruin my sunny mood, not even Little Miss Drama Queen and her chic monochrome wardrobe.

“Yup, I do.” I brace myself for a scathing retort, but instead she just smiles at me.

“That’s cool. It’s a great place,” she says, then orders a frothy chocolate concoction. “Is that OK?” she asks. “I can get something simpler, if you don’t want to . . .”

“No, it’s fine.” I blink at her, thrown. What happened to the über-bitch of old — the Beth who would send Garrett out for a bottle of water during lunch, and woe betide him if he came back with Poland Spring instead of her precious Evian? “Do you, um, want whipped cream with that?”

“Sure — if it’s not too much trouble,” she adds quickly.

There it is again: trouble. As if she cares about my time and energy. For what would be the first time in the history of the universe.

I assemble the drink, wondering what has prompted this personality makeover into a new, humble, conscientious Beth Chambers. Did finally graduating the confines of Sherman High make her realize that treating people as if they’re nothing more than inconvenient gnats might not, you know, endear her to people, out in the real world? Or is this all an elaborate ploy, to set me up for another confidence-shaking smackdown?

“Here you go.” I put her drink on the counter, still staring at her suspiciously.

“Thanks so much,” Beth gushes. She passes me the money for her drink and stuffs a couple of dollars in the tip jar, then meets my eyes, looking awkward. “I, um, want to let you know, I’m sorry for saying that stuff to you at the party.”

I blink, truly amazed now. “Oh,” I manage. “That’s OK.”

“No, I mean . . . I was such a bitch, it’s not even funny.” She gives me this shrug, seeming to be genuinely uncomfortable. “I was just so mad at you. I mean, you guys were always so close. I guess I was just jealous, that’s all.”

“Jealous? Of me?”

Beth stares at me. “Of course. You’re, like, his favorite person. I could never compete with that.” She exhales. “Even now . . . I mean, we were so close, and suddenly, I can’t even talk to him anymore. You’re so lucky,” she tells me. “You’re still friends with him, but I don’t get him in my life at all anymore.”

Her words sit between us on the counter. I know I should say something nice back, something reassuring, but I’m wordless with sudden horror.

She gives another rueful shrug and then takes her drink. “Thanks. Good luck with . . . well, next year. Maybe I’ll see you around, during breaks, you know?” And with that, she sashays away.

12

What am I doing?

I stare after Beth, a rush of absolute, unfettered panic speeding through me. She’s right, I am lucky. Garrett has been the best friend a girl could want, so how could I be so stupid as to think about shutting him out for good? I’ve been so busy thinking about my unrequited love, I haven’t even stopped to consider the other, more important part of our relationship.