TMI (12 page)

As the evening slowly ticked down, Meg wondered what to do with herself. Her mother had already been home and left for her second job waiting tables. She nuked a frozen meal for dinner and threw a few hours into studying that wasn't so bad because she had leftover cake. Around 9:30, she grabbed a paintbrush. She clipped a piece of Bristol paper to her easel. Its smooth surface was great for testing colors. She got out some acrylics and starting layering colors—olive green, khaki, mustard, golden rod, chocolate, moss, ochre, and ivory. Meg mixed and blended and scraped but still couldn't get the eyes right.

Thank God Chase never asked about the easel. She'd have cracked like dried-out paint and never been able to face him again. If he'd noticed, he pretended he hadn't. She thought of his hands on her shoulder and her hip, and her eyes slipped shut. She relived his lips, his tongue on hers, and sighed at the way her body reacted to just the thought of his hands on her. If he'd pressed her for more, she wasn't sure she'd have said no. When the stab of pain came, as it always did, she carefully draped a cover over the easel and started cleaning brushes.

That's when her cell buzzed.

Meg glanced at the screen, but it was a text message from a number that wasn't in her contacts list.

Ryder:
Hey. I hear u been asking a lot of questions about me.

Meg frowned at the screen and quickly typed a reply.

Meg:
Here's a question. Who is this?

The phone pinged with a reply.

Ryder:
Sorry. My name's Ryder. Ryder West. I'm Bailey's friend.

Her eyes narrowed. Bailey's friend? She'd be pretty pissed to find out he was just a friend and not a boyfriend. Meg texted back.

Meg:
Well, Ryder West, I'm Bailey's friend, and you're right. I do have questions about you.

Ryder:
Fine. Ask.

Oh, she planned to.

Meg:
How did you meet?

They hadn't met, not officially, as far as Meg knew.

Ryder:
We both like Xbox games.

Meg knew that much.

Meg:
So you played a few games and thought you'd pick up the other player?

Ryder:
U know it's not like that. Stop wasting time and get to the point.

Meg shook her head in disgust. Ryder wasn't quite the gentleman Bailey thought.

Meg:
Fine. What's your deal?

Ryder:
No deal. Just like hanging out with her.

Oh, she wasn't letting him off the hook that easily.

Meg:
So what are you texting me for?

Ryder:
I just wanted to show u I'm not jerking Bailey around. Can u ease up on her? I don't like hearing her so upset.

Upset? Bailey was upset? This was news.

Meg:
Why is she upset?

Ryder:
Testing me again? Fine. She told me UR mad at her because she forgot about plans she made with u.

Meg wished she could believe that. The truth stung a bit, and she tapped out a reply.

Meg:
She didn't forget. She just wants to talk to you more than me.

Oh, God, could she be any more pathetic?

Ryder:
I feel the same way about her. If u were really her friend, u wld be happy 4 her.

Oh, hell no. Meg stabbed at the buttons with extra fury.

Meg:
I really am her friend, and that's why I'm making sure you're really who she thinks, so why don't you prove to me you're not some 50 year old pervert getting off by the sound of her voice?

Ryder:
UR really sick. Why can't u just be happy for us?

Meg rolled her eyes. He's the creep hiding behind a keyboard and she's the sick one?

Meg:
Is English not your first language? I'm not backing off until I know you're for real.

Meg waited, but no further texts arrived.

Bailey stared at her phone, willing it to buzz or vibrate or do something other than look cute in its glitter skin. She'd given Ryder Meg's phone number ages ago and neither one of them had contacted her. What were they talking about all this time? She nibbled a fingernail and obsessed. Meg was probably doing her TV lawyer routine, citing all the statistics and facts and reasons why Ryder was a liar and Bailey was a ditz for trusting him. Ryder was probably being his usual adorable self and doing his best to calm Meg down.

Unless—what if Meg was right and Ryder really was a guy in jail for murdering some poor teenager he'd met in person and then hiding her body in a creepy corn field? What if Meg totally scared Ryder away and she never heard from him again? She'd never know what he was really like…or what he looked like. She didn't even know where he lived.

She stared at her computer screen and opened the last email he'd sent. It held a link to a new game engine he'd mentioned—one that was geared toward newbies like herself and much easier to use than the one Chase had told her about. She clicked the link and did her best to concentrate on roughing-in the game's bones instead of on what Ryder and Meg were talking about.

Meg must have been furious with her all over again. It was the only explanation Bailey had to explain her silence. With luck, Meg was even now turning to Chase for comfort. This was a lot harder than she'd expected. What if Meg hated her for doing this? Could she live with that? What if even after all this scheming, Meg and Chase still didn't hook up?

Bailey couldn't stand it another second. She picked up the phone and texted Ryder.

Bailey:
Did you text Meg?

Ryder:
Wow, she's a total B. Don't know Y UR friends.

Bailey:
What happened? What did she say?

Ryder:
She demanded I stop lying to u. Said I'm a perv, a liar, and a freak. Even blamed me for the fight u had.

Bailey's eyes went round. Wow. That was over the top, even for Meg. What happened to the promise she'd made to give Ryder a chance?

Bailey:
OMG, I'm sorry. She overreacts.

Ryder:
Whatever. I gotta go. U should call her, hang out.

Wait…what? She sent him one more text to say she was sorry, but he didn't reply. She plugged the phone in to charge and stared at it for a long moment. This hadn't gone exactly as planned. She had wanted
Meg
to worry, not Ryder. Oh, hell, this was all just so messed up. Tomorrow, she'd straighten it all out and just confess.

Meanwhile, she had a new idea for a blog update.

She considered that for a moment. It really was a competition, wasn't it? Chase had said it to her face. Meg was really upset that Bailey had ditched her. But that wasn't all of it. No, she knew Meg. She knew that Meg took a lot of pride in her grades and her intelligence. It was more like she couldn't stand that Bailey wasn't listening to her advice. She was a big girl and certainly able to make her own decisions.

Would Meg expect her to drop Ryder because she didn't trust him? Was that why she was so ticked off? Well, she wasn't going to do that. Meg would either get over it or not.

Her choice.

Bailey published the post.

At school on Monday, Meg headed to her locker with her head down and her steps heavy. She hadn't talked to Bailey since Saturday. She thought about calling her…until she saw Bailey's latest blog. She hadn't asked Bailey to choose anybody! She was only looking out for her. Isn't that what friends did for each other? If Bailey thought Meg would allow her to get hacked up by some ax-murdering freak, she had another thing coming.

“Um…hey, Meg.”

She jerked and found Bailey standing beside her. Meg opened her mouth but couldn't squeeze any sound out. She fiddled with the lock, her fingers cold and stiff, and finally managed to get it open.

“I shouldn't have asked Ryder to text you.”

Tears stung the back of her eyes and Meg only stared. “You
asked
him?”

“I'm really sorry.”

“It's okay,” she replied automatically. And then wondered why. It
wasn't
okay. It wasn't the least bit okay. They were friends. Friends were supposed to talk to each other, not hide and avoid and forget and abandon. Meg stuffed her jacket inside her locker and grabbed a textbook without even looking at the title. She slammed the locker and Bailey jumped.

“If it's not okay, you should say so.” Bailey shifted her weight to one side. “I just thought if you guys talked, you'd believe me.”

Meg fell back against the locker, let her eyes slip shut. “Bailey, I do believe you. I just want to know he's the real deal.”

“Oh, Meg, he is. He really is.” She smiled and wrapped her arms around her middle.

“Bay,” Meg started and then looked around to make sure no one could hear. “What about Simon? I mean, one day you're all hung up over him, and the next, it's Ryder. This isn't a video game where you get to keep pressing reset.”

Bailey jerked, and Meg knew she'd hit a nerve.

“I know that, Meg. I still miss Simon. But Ryder's so smart. And we have a lot in common.”

“Besides your video games?”

Her smile froze and then brightened. “He grew up on a ranch. We spent hours talking about horses.”

Bailey loved horses and had wanted one for as long as Meg could remember. She'd taken Meg to a public stable to ride, but it hadn't gone well. Bailey's horse was a gentle mare. Meg's was Satan. So Bailey rode alone and Meg watched from the safety of the bleachers that circled the ring.

“Um…Bay?” Alarm bells pealed in her head. “Does he know where you ride?”

“Sure. I told him.”

“So he could have been there, watching you, but you wouldn't even know it, would you?”

“Meg, he—”

Why didn't this frighten her? “He could have been there, Bay. Watching you.”

“Oh, my God, Meg!” she shouted. “Just stop it. I haven't been to the stable since I met him. He didn't follow me. He didn't stalk me. This is exactly why I hid him.”

“Bailey, I know how you get with guys. I'm trying to make sure—”

“God, do you even hear yourself? The only thing you're making sure of is that I never find love like you.” Her eyes got hard. “I don't want to be like you! Why don't you get that?”

Bailey's words tore through Meg's gut like bullets. Meg flinched and gasped, unable to catch her breath. She pressed her hands to her stomach, unable to remember grabbing the textbook clutched in them, and sucked in air. She forced her feet to move. She couldn't see anything…anything except the furious disapproval in Bailey's eyes.

Away. Meg had to just move away. It was all that mattered. One step. Two. Stumbling into lockers, Meg walked and then ran to the exit and shoved the door open, gasping in great gulps of the chill that clung to the spring air.

She ran until her legs felt like they'd left her body. Finally, she fell to her knees and sat on the cold ground for ages, replaying Bailey's words, the look in her eyes. Cars drove past, but no one stopped for the broken girl on the side of a road.

A buzzing sound interrupted her self-punishment. Meg dug her cell out of the pocket of her jeans and glanced at the screen.

Chase.

With a sigh, Meg hit the button that sent him straight to voice mail. For a long moment, she stared at the phone clutched in numb fingers.

And then Meg got mad.

She flipped through the call history and found Ryder's last text message. She pressed Reply.

Meg:
We need to talk. It's about Bailey.

Several minutes ticked by until the phone buzzed.

Ryder:
Is this Meg again? Busy now. Email if u want. [email protected].

Oh, Meg wanted to all right.

She picked herself up and headed home to an empty house. Mom was at her day job and probably had already gotten the phone call letting her know she'd skipped class today. She didn't have much time and hurried up to her room, powered on the computer, and started composing a long email to Ryder.

To:
[email protected]

Subject: Who are you?

Ryder,

I don't know you and you don't know me. But I do know Bailey. You may think you know her too, but you don't. Not the way I do. You don't know the things she's been through. You don't know what hurts her.

I do.

I know everything about her. I need to make sure you won't hurt her. If you really care about her, you'll help me. I need proof that you're real and not some psycho stalker pedophile. Text messages and emails are not the way to handle this.

What do you say, Ryder? Are you willing to meet us in person some place public?

Meg sent the message, and while she waited impatiently for his response, she changed into comfortable sweats and tied her hair back. Despite the run, she was wired and jittery. She needed something to burn off energy, something that would soothe. She tugged the tarp off the easel and started mixing color combinations. With a filbert brush, she dropped gray over the Bristol paper, shaping it into an oval. The whites of eyes are never truly white, so maybe starting with a layer of light gray might tell her what she kept missing. She switched to a round brush and outlined the folds of an eye. Upper lid. Lower lid. Creases. Soon, Meg was captured by the work, lost in a world of color and lines until the phone buzzed.

She flexed her hand and answered.

“Meg, why aren't you in school?”

Meg winced. “Oh…hey, Mom.”

“Don't ‘Hey, Mom' me. I want to know why you aren't in school.”

“Sick.”

“Don't lie to me, Meg.”

Meg didn't have the energy to come up with anything clever and decided to go with the truth. “Mom, It's Bailey. We…well, we had a horrible fight and I just couldn't—” she trailed off.

She heard a sigh. A loud squeak from her office chair. Mom was fidgeting. She always fidgeted when she didn't know what to say.

“A fight, huh? What was it about?”

More squeaking.

“She's been talking to this guy online. She hasn't even met him and she thinks she's in love.” Meg thought she was empty. But fresh tears fell. “I'm worried, Mom. I don't trust this guy. But she does. And now she's taking his side against mine. She said I don't care about her…that I only care about myself…and making sure she has no friends…just like me.”

Squeak
. “Okay, Meg. Okay.”
Squeak
. “I'll be home at lunch and we'll talk then. You hang in there, okay? I'm sure she didn't mean any of this, and once you talk, everything will be fine again.”

Meg ended the call, tossed the phone on her bed, and flung herself on the mattress after it, crying until the computer let out a soft ping.

An email from Ryder West.

From:
[email protected]

Subject: re: Who are you?

Meg, I know you and Bailey are best friends. She talks about you all the time. I think it's pretty great that you look out for her. She told me how you help her with her video game designs. They're sick! I know you're really worried about Bailey, but I won't hurt her. I swear. Things here are totally messed up. I have to use this ancient computer, no printer, no web cam. As soon as I can, I'll take you and Bailey out. We can go to the museum. Bailey says you really like art. My mom used to take me to the museum when I was little. I really liked the Impressionists. Renoir's my favorite. Mom liked all those Italian renaissance artists, but those paintings are all pretty much of chubby people. LOL. I have to go to work now. I promise I won't hurt Bailey. Could you just maybe ease up a little on her. I hate seeing her upset and I feel like we're tearing her apart. ––R.

Meg read it again.

And again.

Meg read it until her mother knocked on the bedroom door.

Over lunch in the sunny kitchen, her mother shook her head. “Meg, you're right to be concerned. But maybe you could dial it down a little? Bailey's a big girl now. She knows enough not to run off and meet some Internet guy by herself. Trust her.”

Meg stared at her mother across the kitchen table, at the lines under her eyes, the fatigue visible around her mouth, and guilt attacked. Mom worked at an office during the day. At night, she took college courses toward a degree in accounting when she wasn't waiting tables. Sunlight reflected off all the gold appliances and the room felt warm and cozy, but Meg was cold inside, and Mom…well, she just looked beat.

“Maybe this boy really is on the level.”

Meg pressed her lips together and let her head fall back against the chair. “There's that word again,” she murmured.

“What word?”

“Maybe,” Meg replied.

“You have to give Bailey space, honey. You have to let her grow. All she's doing is talking. That's it. Just talking to a boy online. If she starts talking about sending money or running away, then you should worry.”

“But Mom—”

“Meg, I'm not saying you're wrong. You're being smart and that's really good. But you're pushing Bailey away. In fact, you're pushing her directly into the arms of the boy you're afraid of.” She stood up, took her plate. “Why don't you try being more supportive…you know, show Bailey you're here for her?” She put the plates in the sink, washed her hands, and ripped off a paper towel. “I have to get back to work. Are you better?”

Meg nodded and smiled tightly. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Since you're taking the day off, you can straighten up the kitchen.” She handed Meg the paper towel. “See you later, honey.”

And she was gone.

Meg heard the door close and the car start. She washed their dishes and wiped down the table. Upstairs in her room, she thought about everything Pauline had said. And some of the things Chase had said.

That
judgmental
thing still stung.

She loved Bailey and only wanted to protect her. Bailey was so trusting, almost to the point of—

Meg gave herself a mental kick in the rear. She was doing it again.

Eventually, she settled on a course of action, grabbed her phone, and sent a quick reply to Ryder's email.

To:
[email protected]

Subject: Backing off

OK. You win. I'll back off. I want to see Bailey happy, not hurt, so I'll stop giving you a hard time if you promise to make meeting us in person in a safe public place your top priority. Also, I attached an image I thought you'd like. You said you like the Impressionists. –Meg

Meg sent the message, powered down the computer, and then grabbed her keys, her phone, and her jacket. Bailey should be getting off the bus in a minute or two.