Free Getting Over Garrett Delaney by Abby McDonald Page A

can you hold these? My lips are crying out for ChapStick.” She passes me her shopping bags and Slushie until I’m laden with handles and cups in both hands. “Man, where is that thing? I’m sure I saw it in here somewhere… .” Kayla digs through her purse while I juggle our collected junk.
    “Um,” I murmur, trying to keep hold of everything. “I don’t think I can keep …”
    “I swear, this thing is like a portal to some other dimension.” Kayla grins, still rummaging in the cavernous confines of her pale-blue shoulder bag. “It swallows everything whole.”
    And then I feel the buzz of my phone again.
    “Kayla?”
    But she’s upended her bag and is dumping makeup and spare change and tampons out onto the floor. I edge over. “Could you … ?”
    “Sure, just a sec!” ’
    My phone buzzes again, this time with Garrett’s ringtone, an obscure Belle & Sebastian song he loves. He’s calling!
    That second drags into an eternity as I watch Kayla hunt for the mythical missing ChapStick. Garrett’s ringtone sounds again. And again. This is torture. I can’t focus on Kayla, the mall, anything! Not when Garrett is waiting on me, somewhere out there… .
    What if he can’t deny it anymore? What if he
has
to tell me how he feels?
    Enough! Carefully, I move one of the Slushies over into the crook of my right arm, so I’m clutching it to my chest. Then I set about transferring shopping bags out of my left hand, hooking two onto my pinkie and trapping the handle of another between my teeth. There: my phone hand is free! Now, if I can just stay very still, I might be able to reach around… .
    I grope across my body for my left back pocket and reach my ringing phone with the very tips of my fingers. Gently, gently, I nudge it closer, until I can almost —
    “Found it!”
    Kayla suddenly bounces to her feet, proudly clutching the pink tube of ChapStick.
    “No!”
    But it’s too late. She knocks into me; I teeter, losing balance, and then — as if the world has slowed — I realize in a split second that I have a terrible choice to make: answer Garrett or keep my load stable.
    Phone or Slushies. Phone or Slushies.
    So I choose.

Chapter Eight
     
    I’m not proud of what happens next: the horrifying arc of lurid red liquid spilling through the air, Kayla’s squeal of disbelief. But what was I supposed to do? Destiny doesn’t wait for a convenient moment to call, and if you’re too slow, then you risk letting it pass you by forever. No, you’ve got to cling on to fate — or your cell phone — tight with both hands, and to hell with the consequences. Which in this case are a ruined outfit, and Kayla fleeing from me as fast as her cute blue sneakers will take her.
    Even the next morning, I still feel bad, and after all that, Garrett only wanted to know the name of the guy who wrote that book about all the sad young literary men. At least, that’s what he
says
he was calling about, but who knows what emotional truth was lingering on the tip of his tongue, had I only picked up the call sooner?
    I’m saving all the notes and handouts for you.
Garrett’s IM bubbles to life on my screen. Early mornings are the best time for him to chat, before classes get started
. I’ll mail them this weekend — I promise.
    No problem,
I type back, wistful. For the first time in years, I don’t know exactly what he’s doing; the stories he tells me are all at a distance, secondhand narrations of what he’s been seeing, and doing, and thinking.
Are the classes fun?
    More work than fun.
His reply comes a moment later
. But worth it. I’m learning so much.
    “Honey, I’m leaving in two minutes!” Mom calls upstairs.
    “OK!” I yell back, typing a quick good-bye.
Text if you want to talk!
I even allow myself a casual
x
sign-off before I log out, grab my bag and my comfiest pair of sneakers, and hurtle downstairs.
    “You look nice.” Mom smiles as I burst into the kitchen, but she can’t stop herself from reaching