The Real Thing (3 page)

“Well, then yeah, wrong email.”

“Should I reply?”

I raise an eyebrow, glancing at her profile. She pulls at her bottom lip, tilting her head back and forth as she stares at the screen.

“What would you say?” I ask.

Her fingers tap the home row, and she gives a little shrug. “Not sure. But I feel bad if he thinks the right Mia is ignoring him. But seriously, you’d think he’d know her email if they were going out.”

“I don’t know.” I point to her email address at the top. “How many Mia Johnsons are there in the world? And not all people have relationships with their computers.”

She turns to face me, almost smacking me in the nose. I must’ve gravitated toward her without thinking.

Instead of making it majorly awkward, she presses her forehead to mine and says, “But some online relationships are the best kind.”

I gulp, and then my mouth goes dry. I can’t argue with her. It was because of the Internet that we’ve been able to keep up with each other—the reason we’re here together now like we just talked yesterday. We
did
talk yesterday.

I’m about to make a stupid move by tucking hair behind her ear just to touch her, but then I remember I’m still in my sweaty clothes, and I get a dizzy spell and pull back.

“Uh, I’m gonna jump in the shower,” I stutter as I slide from the bed.

Em nods and clicks her mouse pad a few times. “Okay. I’m going to order some food. You still like Hawaiian pizza?”

I think I do, but I don’t eat pizza anymore.

“Get what you want. I’ve already eaten.” It’s bullshit, but if I have one slice of pizza, before I know it, I’ll have eaten five more.

Her brow furrows and her eyes drop to the bottom corner of her screen. “Oh crap, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what time it was. And you’re probably still in a different time zone in here.” She pats her stomach, flicking her eyes from the screen to me.

“It’s no big deal.” I smile and go to hit her door frame on the way out, but she stops me.

“Oh, Eric?”

“Yeah?”

“The whole ‘make yourself at home’ thing goes both ways.” She nods toward my chest. “I don’t care if you walk around without a shirt on.”

“Huh?”

She points at my neck, and I look down and see the tag sticking out under my chin. Inside out … and backward.

“Whoops.”

She laughs and her eyes rest on the screen again. I let her return to her email, but I keep my shirt covering me until I’ve locked myself in the bathroom. Twenty more pounds and I’ll walk around buck-ass naked if I want to.

Emilia Johnson

2 minutes ago

Anyone have any extra lives for Candy Crush? I’m out!

Eve Ferguson and 8 others like this

The sand from the beach flies into my flip-flops as I book it to the SnoGo on the boardwalk. I’m always late, damn it! First day, too. What an impression I’m making.

I blame the book I bought this morning. Amazon is my weakness, and the email of recommendations included a book with a character named Max. I one-clicked solely because of that. I’ve never gone wrong with a Max. In fact, the last Max I read was so damn sexy I spent a little more time with my vibrator than I normally do. My real-life boyfriend used to benefit from my fantasy Max worlds, but it’s been a very dry year since Jaxon.

This book seems to be going the same, since I’d read up to 46 percent before I realized that I’d been reading for two hours and my shift was starting in ten minutes.

The SnoGo’s bright-blue walls come into view, and I pick up the pace. Eve will kill me if I show up late after she talked Rachel into giving me the job. Rachel’s been running the snow cone shack since her freshman year, so she’s a total pro. Eve worked with her for the last two summers, but this year I doubt Eve could maneuver around that tight space without knocking juice every which way, or leaning out to puke in the sand every few hours from the heat.

I reach the side of the small building and lean against it to catch my breath. I pull my phone out. It’s only 9:58. Made it!

And I notice a text from my dad. I hurry and open it before clocking in.

Today I’m going to catch a fish. Then I’m going to do the proper thing and tell my family about it even though we’re a country apart. I mean, if my daughter catches a fish, I’d want to be shown the same respect.

“Oh, Dad …” I laugh under my breath and type back.

I’m not seeing anyone. And how many times are you going to bring this up? :P

Sliding my phone back in my pocket, I take a deep breath and blow it out. I’m ready to kick ass at my first day of summer snow-coning. Huh, I better look that term up in case there’s some sexual connotation to it. I’m tempted to pull my cell out again and Urban Dictionary that baby.

Instead I rap against the back door and make sure my big smile is in place.

“Oh good, you’re here!” Rachel’s voice floats through the tiny shack before she swings the door open. She’s wearing her black hair in a messy side braid that somehow makes her look like a rock star. Rachel’s always been some sort of casual supermodel. She wears ratty T-shirts, cutoffs, and worn Chucks, and still looks like she stepped off a runway.

She wraps her fingers around my forearm and pulls me into the SnoGo, which is smaller than a four-man tent. At least I can stand up in here.

“Okay, quick rundown, since we’re running short on time,” Rachel says, leaning against the tiny sink. She starts pointing around the shack. “Money box down there, but we have a credit card machine I hook up to my phone. I keep that plugged in to the side and tucked in that drawer.” Her finger moves to all the juices lining the left wall. “Our syrups … make sure to keep grape, green apple, Tiger’s Blood, Piña Colada, and coconut up front. They’re our top sellers, and we go through them fast.” She reaches around me to a clipboard hanging from a drawer. “When we’re low on a flavor, write it here and I’ll make sure to get more.”

Her boobs get real close to my face as she stretches up to grab a syrup bottle over my head. “I’ve put black marks on every bottle so you know how much syrup to use each order. We only have one size here, so it makes it easy.”

I nod. “Got it.”

Rachel shows me the fridge full of shaved ice, the ice shaver, the ice maker … I’m surprised she doesn’t pull out an ice sculpture. After making a few actual snow cones to show me how, she hands the scoop to me and I get ready to make my first shaved ice of the summer.

“You think you’re ready for this?” she asks, and I put on a confident smile that says I was born to make the best damn snow cone ever.

There’s a tap at the window behind me and my eyes bug out of my face when I see the long line of beach-ready college students.

“Rach!” the guy in front says from behind the glass. “It’s a hundred degrees. You know you want to open a little early for me, right?” He winks, and then his buddy wraps an arm around his shoulder and flexes his pectorals.

Rachel laughs and leans over to unlock the order window. Before undoing the latch she looks over her shoulder at me. “You sure you’re ready?”

I stand up straight, hold my scoop out and say, “Bring it.”

She laughs again and unhooks the window. A cheer echoes in from the beach. “All right, Grant … banana still your choice flavor?”

“You know me so well, baby.”

“Dollar fifty,” Rachel says, and takes the money from him. She looks back at me. “Banana. Go for it.”

All right, let’s see how much of the tutorial I retained.

I quit.

Flopping on the twin bed I’ve dubbed mine, I pull my phone out and see all the messages and notifications I missed. My body is so tired, and I smell like fruit and sweat. I call it “swuit.”

Oh, I’m totally tweeting that.

I use one hand to shimmy out of my shorts while I scroll through my emails with the other. Shower first, then online time. I pause with my shorts around my ankles when I spot another email from Scott.

I never did respond to the last one. Couldn’t figure out what to say, so I didn’t say anything. Also, I was a little distracted when Eric came in smelling like a Tropicana air freshener. That familiar energy surged around me with his proximity, and I couldn’t concentrate much afterward, so instead of responding to Scott, I went to Eric’s Facebook page and tried to find old photos of him, just so I could feel like he was still in the room with me.

Sitting up, I reach down to my shorts and pull them the rest of the way off while I read the new email.

Mia,

It took me two hours to get the courage to talk to you for the first time. It probably would’ve taken me even longer, but the movie was almost over, and I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again. But I knew if I didn’t take my chance, I probably wouldn’t get another one.

You were on a date with some douche who ignored you half the night. You sat in front of me, and every time you leaned toward him to say something, he’d quiet you down. I almost popped him one in the back of the head. You’re way more interesting than any movie. Hell, I don’t even remember what movie it was … I was watching you the whole time.

So I didn’t care that you were on a date. I didn’t care you had no clue who I was and probably thought I was some jackass making a fool of myself. I had to know you.

You took a chance on me then. I have no idea why, but I go to bed every night grateful you did. And pissed at myself for screwing it up.

If you take another chance on me, I won’t mess it up this time.

Please write back, Mia. Just something so I know you’re getting this.

—Scott

I sit in my underwear and T-shirt, staring at my phone. Tears feel like they want to tumble from my eyes. It’s so romantic and sad at the same time, I feel like I’m peeking into one of my romance novels. I never knew this sort of thing actually happened. The guy emails his love begging for forgiveness, remembering things from their past. I sort of wish I was the right Mia.

And maybe Scott was named Eric, sending me love emails saying he never should’ve left after he graduated. We’d meet up somewhere, and we’d get trapped in the rain. It pours over our faces and he’d cup my cheeks and say it’s always been me …

I shake my head and blink back to the real world. Okay, shower first—maybe a cold one—then reply. Via computer, since I want to get the response right and not have autocorrect accidentally come on to him or something. But I have to direct him to the right girl so he can sweep her off her feet.

I plug my phone into the charger because the battery is almost dead and strip down. Eric won’t be home for another hour … or at least I think that’s what he said this morning. I was half asleep when he told me he was headed to work, but I think I got the gist. Eric works at a nursing home a few blocks down. I’m going to have to ask him what he does when I’m more coherent, because maybe I shouldn’t complain about making a million and a half snow cones if he had to give enemas or something.

After grabbing my fuzzy towel and skipping to the bathroom, I turn on the showerhead and take the best shower of my life. The water pressure is perfect, and it’s been a while since I showered in something other than a community bathroom. I let the water pound away the work sweat and stress, and hop out with a smile on my face and a better attitude.

Eric’s still not home, and I’m starving, so after I dress and yank my hair up into a wet ponytail, I dig through the fridge. It’s practically empty, aside from the pizza I ordered last night. I totally made a pig of myself while Eric watched. I ate four slices while he kept saying he wasn’t hungry. I’d have felt self-conscious, but I hadn’t eaten anything besides half a cheese Danish. I left the other half on my computer desk back at the dorm.

I pull the pizza box out just as my phone rings in my pocket. Am I getting a phone call? That rarely happens, unless it’s my dad and something’s gone wrong with his fishing boat.

Dropping the box on the counter, I yank my cell out and a relieved sigh exits my lips when I see Eric’s name on the caller ID. Then my tummy does a happy dance.

“Hello?”

“Hey, I’m bringing home dinner. You okay with chicken?”

I smile and push the pizza back in the fridge. “As long as it gets here in ten minutes. Or my stomach may eat itself.”

He laughs and I smile bigger. I love his laugh.

“Sorry. I’m going grocery shopping tonight to fill the fridge.”

“Can I come with you?”

“You want to?”

“Of course. I was a bit of a dud yesterday, and I want to spend time with you.”

“Then hell, yes.” Something muffles his end of the phone, but it quiets down after a few seconds. “I’ll be there in a bit.”

“Okay, bye.”

“Bye.”

I hang up, cheeks hurting from smiling so big. After looking down at my outfit and feeling my wet hair, I head to my room to put on something a little cuter.

I refuse to pull up my computer, even though I need to email Scott. But I know if I do, I’ll be stuck in front of it all night without even realizing.

Eric Matua likes Zac Brown Band

6 hours ago

Em’s on her phone, playing some sort of match three game.

“What’s that?” I ask nodding to her cell and tossing a box of protein bars in the cart.

She fake gasps, holding the screen out so I can see it better. “You don’t know Candy Crush?”

I shake my head and lean around her to grab protein-shake mix. “I avoided that game the second everyone and their mom invited me to play on Facebook. Took me two years to get off Farmville. Can’t replace one addiction with another.”

“You can when it’s Candy Crush.” She taps the phone and snakes it back in her pocket. “And sorry, I’m being rude. Sometimes I don’t even notice I’m on my phone until I’ve been on it for an hour already.”

I shrug it off, but to be honest, I’m glad she tucked it away. I’m starting to think I only appeal to her when I’m on the other end of a computer.

She links her elbow with mine, her fingers squeezing my forearm. My breath starts to seize in my throat, but I manage to push air into my lungs. It’s been a long time since someone’s been so comfortable touching me.