Point Horror: Identity Theft Part 4

"I need to talk to you," I said, aware that every pair of eyes was on me.

Something - Amus.e.m.e.nt? Confusion? Fear? - flickered across her face. She shrugged, then snapped her gum.

"Okay."

Okay? Was it really that easy?

Keely stalked toward me, stopping several paces away from me before nodding.

"Come on," she said finally. At that, the party resumed its low hum as Keely walked across the lawn toward the stream. Finally, she stopped near a cl.u.s.ter of willow trees. A few wicker lawn chairs were scattered around. Keely perched in one, then rustled through her bag and pulled out an iced tea bottle. She pried the cap open with her teeth, then took a sip. I smiled. She used to insist on buying old-fas.h.i.+oned c.o.ke bottles just so she could do that trick when we were kids.

"Want one?" Keely asked in a flat voice.

"I guess?" Grabbing another, Keely repeated the process and handed it to me.

"So, I wanted to talk to you about my Facebook profile," I said finally.

Keely wrinkled her nose. "What about it?"

"Well ... it's not me," I said.

"Okay ... do you want me to, like, defriend it or something? What's the problem?" Keely asked, her voice edged with annoyance.

"No, it's not online anymore. It was taken down. But I was wondering if you put it up," I said in a rush of words. "Because it's embarra.s.sing. It had those pictures ... and the status updates ... and I feel like someone's sabotaging me."

"No!" Keely said. "No ... I mean, I wouldn't do something like that. I thought you'd loosened up over the summer. And I didn't think it was embarra.s.sing, I thought it was kind of fun. And I deleted that midweek sadness comment." She bit her lip and shrugged. "I don't want to, like, torment you. And I'd never have made the whole thing up. I barely have time to keep my own profile up to date. How would I have time to think up a whole, like, new life for someone I don't even care about?"

"Right," I said.

"No, I don't mean it like that ... I mean, I know we've gone through a ton of stuff, and I know you hate me, because you're always glaring at me, but I wouldn't, like, ruin your life."

"You did once," I said.

"You mean the HIKE thing?" Keely shook her head. "That was when we were, like, children. I was mad at you. Are you seriously still hung up on that?"

"It just seems like something you'd do. And I wanted to ask you directly. Because if it was you, and you tell me, I won't press charges," I said definitively.

"Press charges?" Keely raised one blond eyebrow. I remembered: I hadn't learned the eyebrow trick from debate. I'd learned it from her. "It sounds like a stupid prank. But people liked it. Everyone was talking about it. Like, you could get rid of the s.e.xy Santa outfit picture, but the other ones were cute. It's not bad to be noticed for stuff beyond, like, debate skills. I mean, you aren't ugly, you used to be fun, and probably could be again if you tried to ... just live a little." Her tone wasn't mocking. Instead, it sounded vaguely friendly.

In the distance, an owl hooted, and then I heard a crash. Keely and I both whirled around, but nothing was there.

Keely shrugged. "Anyway, I'm sorry. And I'm sorry you're still mad about that HIKE thing. I didn't mean to hurt you. I was just mad at you."

"Why were you mad at me?" The way I'd remembered it, she'd been so busy talking about which guys liked her, I was surprised she'd even cared whether or not I'd quit the team.

"Because ..." Keely chewed on her lip. "It was like you thought you were better than all of us. And you hadn't even told us that you were going to quit field hockey. I guess it just felt like you turned your back on us. So we turned our backs on you. But I mean, it was kid stuff. And I wouldn't do that now. I mean, I saw that profile and thought it was cool. Like, finally, you're chilling with the ma.s.ses, you know?"

I appraised her. In the almost-darkness, her profile seemed different from that of the girl who'd spent the last three years glaring at me every chance she could get. She was biting her lip with her front teeth, her gaze off in the distance, and I couldn't help but wonder what it would have been like if we'd stayed friends. Would we still have sleepovers and make s'mores in the microwave or would we have naturally drifted apart?

"Pinky swear you didn't do it?" I held my hand out toward her. It was shaking slightly. It was our childhood oath, one we never backed down on.

A trace of a smile flickered across her face as she reached her hand toward mine. Her pinky hooked with mine and she squeezed.

"I wouldn't do that. I think you know that. Or at least I hope you do." She kept her finger entwined with mine. Silence fell between us again. But the quiet felt warmer, friendlier, like when we'd finally snuggle into our sleeping bags at five a.m. after eight hours of endless conversation. I was about to bring up an old memory, but just then, Keely s.h.i.+fted and turned toward me. And just like that, the spell was broken. Too much time had pa.s.sed.

"Is that all you needed from me?" Keely looked over her shoulder toward the barn.

I nodded. I felt more confused than ever.

"Cool." Keely stood up, pulling her long hair into a high ponytail on the top of her head. I couldn't help but watch her every move. "Anyway, good luck with the profile thing. But it's not bad for people to see you as human. It's not, like, a scandal. It's high school." She cracked her knuckles and stood up. After a few steps, she looked over her shoulder. "Well, since you're here, you might as well stay. Have fun for once."

"Thanks." I slowly stood up and made my way back to the kids cl.u.s.tered around the barn. I felt like I was an anthropologist, learning about the rituals of the American teenager.

Matt was standing by the cooler. Despite myself, I made my way over to him.

"Need another?" he asked, unearthing two bottles from the cooler. He pushed them toward me and I reflexively grabbed them.

"No!" I held the bottles as far away from me as I could, watching condensation sweat down their sides as he rooted on the ground for an opener. I didn't want anyone to think I was drinking.

"Lighten up," I whispered to myself.

"What?"

"Nothing!" I said, bending to put the bottles on the ground just as Matt stood up with the opener. His head collided with my chin. And then, a flash from the bushes, but I wasn't sure if it was coming from a camera or from the pain radiating from my face. It hurt.

"Ow!" I gently held my hand on my chin.

"Sorry!" Matt took a few steps back.

"It's not a big deal," I mumbled.

"What?" he asked.

My face still hurt. "I'm fine," I whispered under my breath, trying to convince myself.

Matt paused, then put his drink down next to mine. A half smile crossed his face.

"You do that a lot, you know?" he said finally.

"What?"

"Talk to yourself. It makes me feel left out. It's very rude to have conversations in front of other people."

I grinned as I tried to come up with an appropriately flirty response. But I didn't have anything. I had no problem coming up with things to say to myself, but I was fundamentally incapable of having a conversation with someone else. Awesome.

Just then, my phone quacked to signal that I'd gotten a text. Shoot. I'd always meant to change the sound, but I kept forgetting. Not like it mattered. It wasn't like my phone was usually blowing up with texts.

I put one of the bottles on the ground, then slid my phone from my pocket.

It was from Adam.

What's up? I know we're doing Ainsworth stuff tomorrow, but I started going through the materials now. Wanna come over?

"Who was that?" Matt asked curiously.

"Oh, just a friend," I said.

"You should tell them to come!" Matt grabbed my phone as I yanked it back.

"Whoa, sorry!" Matt let go of the phone. "I didn't realize you were texting your boyfriend."

"What, Adam? He's not my boyfriend!" I said quickly.

"Good for me."

My stomach flipped. "What did you say?" I wanted to hear it again.

"He seemed to be."

Oh. Disappointment sliced through my stomach. "Nope, just a friend."

"Cool," Matt said.

"So ..." I desperately racked my brain for something to say that didn't involve Yearbook or Adam or the Facebook profile.

Just then, Erin hurried up to Matt and threw her skinny arms around his waist.

"I was looking for you everywhere. We're about to play flip cup and you know I need your help."

"I have to go," I mumbled, even though it wasn't necessary. Matt was oblivious to my presence. I put my drink down and headed home.

Once I got there, I popped Love Actually into the DVD player. That was why romantic comedies existed - so people could remind themselves that meet-cute situations never, ever happened in real life. Of course Matt had the attention span of a gnat. Of course he didn't care that I left. And of course it never would have occurred to him to follow me. And the only person I should have been mad at was myself for having wanted it.

What's the similarity between the American Liberty Movement of 1934 and the Tea Party of today?" Adam asked, glancing up from his laptop.

It was Sat.u.r.day evening, and Adam and I were studying like rock stars, eyeb.a.l.l.s deep in American history. Adam, clad in his dad's Harvard Law hoodie, was chugging down chai lattes like it was his job. I was similarly dressed in an old Harvard s.h.i.+rt of my mom's, drinking my third cup of black coffee.

"We're totally twins!" Adam had noticed.

"I wouldn't say that. I'd say we're both guilty of raiding our parents' closets, which makes us both kind of pathetic," I'd cracked. Even though Adam hadn't done or said anything wrong, just the fact that he wasn't Matt was enough to put me in a weird mood. I couldn't help but wonder what was going on at Alyssa's barn tonight. I knew it was more of the same: gossiping. Flirting. But for whatever reason, part of me wanted to be there.

"Hayley?" Adam asked, snapping me back to my Sat.u.r.day night studying reality.

"Um, well, I think that the similarity is the idea of states' rights." I chewed on the edge of my sweats.h.i.+rt. "But this question isn't hard. Think of something weirder. The Tea Party question is just to make sure that people are up on current events."

"That question was one of the ones Klish gave us," he said defensively, flipping through a thick packet.

"Okay, well, I'll think about it later. I'll give you one." I looked around the almost-empty cafe, finally noticing a guy in the corner, bobbing his head back and forth to the beat from his headphones. He was wearing a checkered scarf knotted tightly just below his bearded chin, and his head was covered by a newsboy cap. His jeans were skinny and tapered into a pair of polished brown loafers. He was probably a student at the U. "If a hipster's in a coffee shop, but there are no hipsters around, is he still a hipster?"

"What?" Adam asked irritatedly, causing the is-he-or-isn't-he-a-hipster to glance up. "That's a ridiculous question. Ask me something real!"

"Um, okay ..." I shuffled through the packet Mr. Klish gave us. Trace how the industrial revolution is responsible for social media. Maybe. In a century, what national or international event will most likely be artistically commemorated on a continual basis? Maybe.

"Come on!" Adam urged. "I want to get at least three more questions."

"All right. Um, is it possible for someone to suddenly find him or herself attracted to someone they'd never noticed before? And compare the concept to, uh, the theory of relativity," I finished lamely.

Adam peered at me dubiously over his gla.s.ses. "Is that question in the packet?"

"No," I admitted.

"Come on. Give me a real one!" Adam took one of the cookies from the plate in the center of the table. I grabbed one as well. "Arts and Sciences, please."

"Okay, Mr. Trivial Pursuit." I flipped through the packet. He chuckled. We were acting just like we had when we were debate partners, before all the Ainsworth stuff had come between us. It was weird. It was nice.

Just then, my phone buzzed, skittering across the table.

There was a text, from an unfamiliar number.

All work and no play.... It won't make me go away.

My heart thudded against my rib cage.

PS: You give Keely way too much credit.

I quickly pressed delete.

"What was that?"

I shook my head. "Nothing."

"Really? It doesn't seem like nothing."

"It was just a random text. Like an automated spam thing." I shoved my phone into my bag.

"Anyway, here's one. If ancient Rome had television, what would the top five reality programs be, and why?" I asked quickly.

"Well, clearly, the Colosseum was a cultural center, so there'd be something about that. But do you think the committee wants to subdivide within gladiator programs? Like, Soldiers of Style could work, since that would speak to Rome's interest in textiles," Adam said, allowing me to zone out.

But just then, the door to the cafe opened and Jess walked in with her boyfriend, Robbie. Robbie was a skinny, bearded junior whose interests seemed to be Hacky Sack, incense, and Phish.

Instead of heading to the counter, Jess came up to my table.

"Hey," she said, but not in a friendly way.

"Hey, Jess," I said coolly.

"I'm surprised you're here," she said.