Chapter 2

2

For the next three months, I lived two lives.

During the day, I was Josie Quinn. I wore faded jeans and sat in the back of the lecture hall taking notes.

Whenever Jensen passed me in the hallway, his eyes never stayed on me for more than half a second.

Once, I was waiting at the water fountain. He finished his drink and turned around, his gaze sliding over my face as if I were a blank wall.

At night, I was “Cee.” I would lie in bed using Celine’s phone to reply to every message he sent.

He’d complain that the case study was boring, and I’d joke about the professor’s annoying catchphrases.

He’d say the cafeteria food sucked, and I’d tell him to try the hidden deli on the second floor.

He mentioned a niche indie band, and I spent the whole day listening to their albums so I could discuss their lyrics with him.

He sent a voice note saying, “How do you know everything?”

I replayed it a dozen times. His voice was deeper over the phone, with a slight rasp that felt like a sigh.

“Because I get you,” I typed back.

My heart skipped a beat after I hit send.

That sentence wasn't an act.

Once, he told me he had a Golden Retriever named Cooper when he was a kid. Cooper died when Jensen was fifteen, and he cried for a whole day.

I asked, “Is that why you don't have a dog now?”

“I can’t. I’m afraid of going through that loss again.”

“I feel the same. I had a cat that went missing, and I’ve never been able to bring another pet home.”

“What was the cat’s name?”

I had to think fast. I never actually had a cat. But there was a stray I used to feed every day after school.

“Ash. He was a scruffy gray thing.”

“Ash,” he repeated. “That’s a cute name.”

“Not as cool as Cooper.”

He sent a smiley face.

That afternoon, I was returning books to the library when I saw Jensen playing basketball. He was wearing a white jersey, looking effortless as he sank a three-pointer.

His teammates cheered and slapped his back.

I walked past the fence, keeping my head down.

A few yards away, my phone buzzed.

“What are you doing?”

It was him.

I glanced back at the court. He was sitting on the bench, looking down at his phone.

I replied: “At the library. You?”

“Just finished playing. I’m a sweaty mess.”

I stood under a large oak tree as the wind rustled the leaves. Across the field, he stood up and wiped his face with a towel.

We were less than thirty yards apart.

He took a swig of water and started typing again.

“Any thoughts on the group project for Lit?”

“Not yet. What do you suggest?”

“We could do ‘A Farewell to Arms.’ You said you liked Hemingway’s style, right?”

I froze. We had discussed that over text. I did love Hemingway.

But I realized a major problem―Celine wasn't even in that Literature class.

I waited three seconds before replying.

“Sure. Let’s do it.”

He sent an “OK” emoji.

I leaned against the tree and closed my eyes.

This lie was going to break eventually. But I couldn't stop yet. Celine had paid me fifty thousand dollars, and I had to finish the job.

But damn it, I didn't want to admit how happy I was every time that phone buzzed.

One Wednesday in November, I was eating in the cafeteria when I overheard two girls talking.

“I heard Jensen Caldwell is always smiling at his phone lately.”

“Right? I saw him yesterday. He was actually recording a voice note for like thirty minutes.”

“Is he finally seeing someone?”

“No idea, but he’s different. I’ve chased him for two years and never seen him like that.”

I shoved a piece of potato into my mouth. I chewed slowly, but I couldn't taste a thing.

Half an hour later, I ran into Jensen in the hallway.

He was holding a package, looking down as he replied to a message. We almost collided as we passed each other.

He didn’t even look up. He just muttered, “Sorry.”

His voice was flat. Like he was talking to a piece of furniture.

I stood there, gripping my backpack straps until my knuckles cracked.

I ducked around the corner and pulled out Celine’s phone.

His message from three minutes ago was glowing on the screen.

“It’s getting cold. Make sure you dress warm. That gray coat you sent me a picture of looked really good on you.”

The gray coat.

I had bought that coat on a clearance rack for fifteen dollars last month. Nobody at school had even noticed it.

Only he―online―had complimented it.

I clicked the screen off.

Then I clicked it back on.

He would never know that the person making him smile was the girl he just walked past without a second glance.