Free Blind Spot by Laura Ellen Page A

you. I’m thorough. I record the lectures with my MP3 player for backup.”
    My fingers found the jagged edges of my keys. “I’d like that, actually. The notes.” Dellian had started writing very small on the board. Even though I was sitting up front, it was hard to decipher them. “I’m not moving to the back, though.” I opened the car door and lingered. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. The day had been too much fun. “You want to come in? I have some photos I think you’d like.”
    “If you don’t think your mom will mind.”
    “She won’t mind.” I unlocked the door. “The photos are downstairs, on my bedroom ceiling.”
    Greg kicked his shoes off and jumped up on my bed, standing on his tippy toes to examine each of the UFO photographs plastered on my ceiling. “These are amazing. Where’d you get them?”
    “My dad.” I leaned back against my headboard. “He sends them in lieu of child support. Mom tried to sell one on eBay once, but no one bid. So she lets me have them.”
    “How does he find all these?”
    “People give them to him. He’s a . . . ufologist.”
    “Ufologist? Is that a real job?” He looked down at me. “He gets paid to study UFOs?”
    I laughed. “Don’t be too impressed. Mom made the same mistake—she heard the ‘ologist’ and saw dollar signs. Not sure if it’s a legit title. But I know he doesn’t make money doing it, just a grant here and there.” I pulled my cell phone out. It was a habit by now. I didn’t want to talk to Jonathan or go to the party anymore—I simply wanted to see if he’d called. So I could ignore it. “What’s your verdict? Do aliens exist?” I turned my eyes back up to Greg.
    He was watching me. “Did he call?” There was a tinge of annoyance in his voice.
    “No, just . . . checking.”
    His hands left the ceiling. “Well, some of these probably are overexposure or sunspots. I’d have to look at where each was taken, the circumstances surrounding each incident, that sort of thing. They’re definitely awesome.” He stepped off the bed and leaned in an awkward pose against the dresser. “Your name, Roswell, makes sense now. I always wondered.”
    “My dad’s idea. He said it was a family name. Mom says if she’d known it was a town in New Mexico, she never would’ve agreed.” I fiddled with the phone in my hand.
    “I should get going.” He slipped his shoes back on and headed up the stairs.
    “I had fun today,” I said when we reached the door.
    “Did you?” He turned around. “You seem really eager to call him.”
    “No! I mean, yes, I had fun. A lot of fun.” I tried to give him a reassuring smile. “I’m not eager. I just”—I rubbed my thumb across the face of my phone—“wanted to see if he’d called, if he was”—I shrugged—“missing me.”
    “Roz, why—” Greg paused. “Never mind.” He pushed the screen door open. “I’ll get those notes to you Monday.”

Five days before
    An insane desperation came over me on Sunday. I called Jonathan’s cell every half hour. I walked by his house. I became the stalker I’d accused Greg of being. My heart pounded; my body shook. I could focus on nothing but making things right with him. I had to know that he still wanted me. That I was still beautiful.
    Monday morning, he didn’t pick me up. I called him every three minutes until finally, out of time, I had to wake Mom up to drive me and then I beelined to Life Skills. I flew past Tricia spinning in the hallway and ran into the classroom.
    Tricia followed. “Can’t say hi?”
    “Leave me alone.” I surveyed the classroom. He wasn’t there yet. I threw my books down next to my desk and trotted back into the hallway.
    Tricia trailed behind. “You know your name spelled backwards is Llew-sor?”
    Clever. I made a mental scan of her name backwards, but got nothing. “You spend all weekend coming up with that?” The first bell rang. No Jonathan. I moved to the end of the hall, searching in both