Free A Week of Mondays by Jessica Brody

percent possible.” He stops. “What about you? What would you rename yourself if you could?”
    I sigh. “Right now, anything but Ellison.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong with Ellison?”
    â€œEllison is the girl who gets dumped by Tristan Wheeler at the town carnival.”
    â€œYou think he dumped you because of your name?”
    â€œNo. I think he dumped me because I’m me.”
    And just like that, the misery washes back over me and I collapse onto my pillows, staring at the ceiling. The tears well up and run down the sides of my cheeks. I don’t even attempt to brush them away. Owen has seen me cry a thousand times. What’s one more?
    He’s fallen silent beside me. I know he’s trying to find a way to cheer me up. Like he always does. But it’s not that simple this time. I’m beyond cheering up. Beyond fixing.
    â€œI have a secret to tell you,” he says after a long while. His voice isn’t light and playful like it usually is when he’s on one of his “Cheer Up Ellison” missions. It’s quiet and serious. Almost hesitant. The shift snags my attention and I sit up.
    â€œWhat?” There are traces of concern in my voice. Owen and I don’t keep secrets from each other. We never have. So what has he been hiding from me?
    He sighs and stares down at my comforter. “I wasn’t going to tell you because, well, it’s kind of humiliating.”
    I swallow. “Now you have to tell me.”
    â€œBlimey, okay. You have to swear you won’t laugh.”
    I laugh at this. He shoots me a look. I settle down.
    â€œSeriously,” I tell him. “Why would I laugh?”
    â€œLike I said, it’s embarrassing.”
    â€œI won’t laugh,” I swear, keeping my voice steady and sincere.
    He exhales loudly and hugs Hippo tighter, like he’s trying to pull strength from the inanimate object. “Okay, here it goes.”
    I’m not sure why, but suddenly I feel like the air has been sucked out of the room. My stomach clenches in anticipation. Am I actually nervous? Why would I be nervous? Maybe because I’ve never heard Owen’s voice quite so grave before. What if it’s bad? I’m not sure I can handle any more bad news today.
    â€œLast night I dreamed I went skinny-dipping in the school pool with Principal Yates.”
    I stare at him openmouthed for a long time and then burst into uncontrollable giggles.
    Owen huffs indignantly. “You said you wouldn’t laugh.”
    I laugh harder. “How can I not? Are you kidding?”
    He flinches. “No. See? This is why I didn’t want to tell you!”
    â€œI’m sorry,” I say, trying to regain control. “But why did you tell me if you knew I would laugh?”
    As soon as the question is out of my mouth, the answer is obvious to me.
    He knew I would laugh. That’s why he told me. Another mission accomplished. Owen managed to momentarily make me forget about the worst night (correction, day ) of my life.
    â€œI swear though,” Owen warns, “if you tell a living soul, I will murder you in your sleep and make it look like a mafia hit.”
    â€œSo…” I say, nudging his shoulder. “How was she? Was she good? Did she have a rockin’ bod?” I crack up again.
    Owen shudders. “Eew! Bugger off! I really don’t want to talk about this. I shouldn’t have told you.”
    I shake my head. “No, you’re right. You shouldn’t have. Because I’m going to hold this against you for the rest of your life.”
    9:12 p.m.
    Owen leaves a half hour later. I swallow an ibuprofen to help with the massive headache I’m surely going to have in the morning, turn off the light, and climb under the covers. In the darkness, everything about my day becomes magnified. Like my agony feeds off the shadows and grows darker and more sinister in my head. Then the questions start. The