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by L. M. Augustine

  Cat drives her family’s truck, but her dad always promised her that if she could fix up the old Mercedes, it would be all hers. He loved the car, and so did she—so she took the challenge. Every night since, she’s been working on fixing it.

  “It’s looking nice,” I say, which is a total understatement. Apparently, Cat is extremely handy, because the car appears a hell of a lot better than before.

  “You think?”

  “Yeah. Not long now,” I say and sit up on the hood beside her.

  She nods but doesn’t look at me. “Maybe in a few months.”

  For a minute, we just stare up at the stars together, with our thighs so close to touching, not meeting each other’s gaze. It’s perfect out, and the combination of the fresh air and Cat’s presence almost makes me forget—about my mom, about my dad, about Harper. I shift over to get more comfortable, and my side presses against hers. A shock of warm electricity flows through me at the contact, and I feel my muscles tense up. But I don’t move away. I just clench my jaw and turn back to the night sky. I get so lost in her warmth and the breathtaking beauty of the stars at night that I almost forget I’m touching her. When I realize what’s happening, though, I mutter an “Oh” and jerk away.

  She grimaces. “You’re really smooth, West,” she says and laughs to herself—a distant, sad kind of laugh.

  “Correction: I’m wonderful.”

  “Correction: you’re an idiot.”

  “Correction: you suck at corrections.”

  She rolls her eyes. Then, as if she’s remembering something, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out the small photograph of her grandparent’s beach house, a big place in Florida overlooking the ocean, with a beach all to itself. “My grandpa always promised me I could spend a week there whenever I want,” Cat says, tracing her thumb along the picture as she holds it out for me. “You know,” she continues, and brings her gaze back out to the moon above us, “I keep dreaming that when this car is all fixed up, maybe I can take it there and stay for a week with a company of some boy I like, just us and the beach and the wind and the water and our shared warmth.” She says it like she’s telling me about a magical promise land, with that distant sparkle in her eyes, that vague smile flickering across her lips. Even in the darkness, I can see she means it.

  Then, without thinking or even realizing what I’m doing, I reach out and push her hair to the side so I can see more of her face. The smell of her coconut shampoo wafts into my nose. I breathe it in slowly, savoring it. She turns to me as I do it, the smile still glittering on her lips.

  Both of Cat’s parents are workaholics who never seem to be home, and since she, like me, is an only child, she has practically raised herself. I remember coming here when we were kids, and even back then she could make me breakfast, lunch, and dinner, could care for me and care for herself and put us both to bed even though her parents wouldn’t be back until early the next morning. She’s always been the responsible one, the smart one, the one I can count on no matter what because she’s just that great.

  “Oh?” I say, quirking my eyebrow. “Is there a boy in your life I should know about?” I give her a playful push against her shoulder.

  She rolls her eyes. “Just this idiot one, unfortunately.”

  “Uh-huh. Now that I do not believe.”

  “You don’t?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” she breathes.

  I shift closer to her. “Cat… you look really weird… what’s wrong?”

  She just sighs, ignoring me. “What if I told you I had my sights set on one guy in particular?”

  “Then I’d ask you who.”

  She shakes her head, smiling a little. “But let’s just say you can’t ask me, or I can’t tell you, or something like that.”

  “Oh,” I say, and I stare back out at the empty neighborhood before us.

  “And what if… what if I was afraid to tell him?”

  I frown. “Who are you talking about? If you tell me I can hel—”

  “It’s a hypothetical,” she cuts in. “But just answer the question.”

  I give her a dubious look. “Well, in my experience, hypotheticals are always real… but I guess I’d tell you to go for it. It’s always better to try and fail than to not try at all. And what’s the worst that could happen? The guy will turn you down and turn out to be a douche. He’ll just be missing out and you’ll find someone better. I know you will,” I say, meaning it.

  “You really think anyone who turns me down is a douche?” she whispers, looking up at me. I’m consciously aware of how close her lips are to my own, and I really don’t understand why.

  “Of course,” I say, then frown again. “…why?”

  “No reason. But okay,” she says, nods, and goes back to studying the car like she’s hiding something on her features. “I think I’ll do that,” she finally says. “If this weren’t a hypothetical, that is.”

  “Now are you going to tell me who this guy is?” I say.

  “It’s no one, I told you.”

  “Yeah, suuure.”

  She smiles and rolls her eyes at me. “All right, fine. You caught me. The guy I’m secretly crushing on is that doughboy from the Pillsbury commercials! I’ve always known he’s hot stuff!”

  “I KNEW IT!” I shout too loudly, and she shoves my arm playfully and we laugh and laugh until the whole night melts away.

  Chapter 7

  from: Sam Green

  to: Harper Knight

  subject: YOU BETTER COME

  School is over. Our meet-up is in thirty minutes. The first one better have just been a LOLJKJK moment and this one turns out to be real.

  So.

  Be there.

  Or else.

  I type up the email as I sit in my dad’s car in our driveway, thirty minutes before I’m even supposed to leave. I’m too excited to wait, though. I write the email jokingly, but really, I’m nervous. I half expect her not to show again, to stop responding to my email and for all this whatever-it-is between us to come to an end, just like that.

  I don’t want that. Hell, I’d rather have anything but that. Harper and Cat are the two constants in my life, the two who I can depend on and lean and not worry about being weird in front of or saying stupid things. I can just talk with them, laugh and be myself and actually, for once, find happiness. It’s like with both of them, we’re in our own little worlds, our special bubbles that there is no way in hell I want to burst. And to lose either of them is like for my whole world to split apart—like it did when I lost Mom.

  I sigh. My therapist, if she knew about Harper, (and if I were still her client—Dad deemed her “unfit” after a few weeks, but we both know it was just because he didn’t want to spend money on me) would probably say this whole internet “love” for Harper is just me reverting back to my childlike state, trying so desperately to fill the void Mom’s death left in my heart with the first positive thing I found, and that ended up to be Harper. After all, I met her only a month after Mom’s death. But the thing is, if she said that, my therapist would be wrong. Sure, that might be how it started, but Harper is no longer just a filler for my screwed-up life; she’s mine. She stole a piece of my heart, a piece of me, and that sure isn’t filler. That’s real.

  If only I knew when I first started this vlog that two and a half years later, I’d be here, waiting to meet my internet girlfriend for the first time. Another minute passes before my phone finally beeps. I pounce on it and open up Harper’s response.

  from: Harper Knight

  to: Sam Green

  subject: RE: YOU BETTER COME

  Hmm. I’ll consider coming. I was planning to go on a date with my other internet boyfriend, but maybe I’ll stop by your meet-up too… ;-)

  from: Sam Green

  to: Harper Knight

 
; subject: RE: RE: YOU BETTER COME

  Ha ha. And you say *I* do the winky face smiley poorly.

  from: Harper Knight

  to: Sam Green

  subject: RE: RE: RE: YOU BETTER COME

  OMG BUT YOU DO!!!! It practically burns my eyes out.

  from: Sam Green

  to: Harper Knight

  subject: Grrr

  *gasp* *ninja stare*

  from: Harper Knight

  to: Sam Green

  subject: RE: Grr

  Ninja stare?! This is what I mean, Sam! You are an emoticon failure. ADMIT IT.

  from: Sam Green

  to: Harper Knight

  subject: RE: RE: Grrr

  I WILL DO NO SUCH THING!

  from: Harper Knight

  to: Sam Green

  subject: RE: RE: RE: Grr

  *sings* Emooooooticon failuuuuuuuure.

  from: Sam Green

  to: Harper Knight

  subject: *tosses hair*

  Hater. You just don’t appreciate my mad talent when it comes to emoticon usage.

  from: Harper Knight

  to: Sam Green

  subject: RE: *tosses hair*

  It pains me to even consider the possibility of you being talented at emoticon usage. It’s more like you’re emoticonally-challenged. (Yes, I just said that. You’re welcome.)

  from: Sam Green

  to: Harper Knight

  subject: RE: RE: *tosses hair*

  Wow.

  You really just called me emoticonally-challenged.

  Who ARE you, Harper Knight?!

  from: Harper Knight

  to: Sam Green

  subject: RE: RE: RE: *tosses hair*

  The incredibly attractive, charming, and perfect-in-every-way-ever girl you met through the internet. That’s who.

  I don’t respond after that, just smile to myself, turn off my phone, and back out of my driveway. The drive back to the same coffee shop as yesterday feels impossibly long.

  I arrive there a few minutes later, clamber out of my car, and head to the door. I glance around the store the second I step inside—no Harper in sight. Then I sigh and take a seat at the same chair as last time. But as I wait there, I realize I honestly have no idea what I’m expecting. For Harper not to show? For her to end up to be a serial killer? For her to decide she doesn’t like me and what the hell was she thinking wanting to meet with me and for me never to see or hear from her again? For this all to be a mistake? To go to hell?

  It’s weird, though, that I don’t even care what she looks like. I mean, looks aren’t something I’m all that oblivious to, but somehow, today, I don’t in fact care. I want to meet Harper. Not her face, not her body, not her lips (although I would not complain about meeting those. “Knock, knock,” I’d say. “Who’s there?” she’d say. “Harper’s lips.” “Harper’s lips who?” “Harper’s lips feel so right pressed against mine.” Then, we’d kiss, and it would be fantastic. I have it all planned out in my head, okay?), but her. If she makes me smile in person half as much as she does online, I don’t give a crap about what she looks like. I just care that she’s here.

  With me.

  Sometimes I still try to picture her in my head, though. Blue eyes, brown eyes, green? Long hair, short hair, red, blond, burnette? Dark skin? Slender, pudgy? Freckled, rosy-cheeked? All of the combinations I come up with are beautiful in my eyes, because they are all Harper and I already know Harper is just that: beautiful.

  I check my phone—1:23. She should be here by now. My stomach clenches. Oh god, what if she does leave me? What would I do if she misses today too?

  Another wave of fear grips me as I sit at a small, fake-wood table in the corner of the one-room coffee shop. The place is empty except for a few old ladies across from me, who keep giving me weird looks and gossiping amongst themselves, and the same crappy cashier from yesterday, who is asleep at the cash register again. As is, it’s not a very romantic spot for a meet-up, made worse by the fact that this place does not even sell coffee. It’s like they’re trying to drive away customers. With the name “Mary’s Coffee Shop,” they had one job. One. And they failed.

  I lean back and try to relax in my chair. It doesn’t work, though, because my heart is pounding too hard for me to be even remotely calm. I can’t stop thinking about Harper, what’s going to happen, how I’m going to react to seeing her. Will she show? Or will I sit here, waiting, for hours and hours? And if she does show, how is it going go to go? Will I work up the courage to tell her how I really feel? If I do, will she reject me? Or say yes and we make out passionately? (That would be the preferred option.) Or worse, what if she doesn’t react at all?

  Then another thought hits me: she said she only lived twenty minutes away, so will I recognize her when I see her? I shake my head at that. I don’t know a Harper in real life. Of course I won’t recognize her. Still, even as I think it, I have this inexplicable feeling that I already know her.

  After a few more minutes of silently freaking out and getting into staring contests with the old ladies, a message from Harper in our chatroom comes in. I let out a breath of relief I didn’t even realize I was holding. At least she isn’t dead.

  on my way, she says. sorry. was caught in traffic. see you in a minute.

  get ready for epicness, I respond. I’m smiling now, because above all the anxiety I realize this is really happening. I’m really about to meet the girl I’ve been thinking about, dreaming about, for longer than I can even remember.

  okay, I’m here. remember to watch for the I <3 Sam Green shirt, Harper replies a minute later.

  Of course. Don’t doubt my skills.

  Oh, I already do…

  Now my whole body is on overload, and I can feel my skin tingling with anticipation. Holy crap. This really is happening. Instinctually, I glance down at my own meet-up shirt, which is really just an old white T-shirt with “Harper Knight Is Cooler Than Pizza-Eating Cows” scrawled across it in fading blue sharpie, as I promised.

  I take a sip of water, my eyes trained on the door, trying to remain calm. But I can’t. I mean, she’s here. She’s here! OH MY GOD SHE’S HEEEERE! In less than a minute, I remind myself, I’ll meet Harper Knight for the first time.

  Just like that, there’s a sound at the coffee shop door. A jolt of energy rushes through me, and I lean forward, my fists anxiously clenching and unclenching. I take a deep breath, waiting. The door rattles again, and this time it swings open a sliver, then a little more, until it’s finally open all the way. I wait, and my heart seems to leap in my throat. A girl steps inside, but as hard as I try, I can’t see her face. Still, I wait.

  My whole body is on alert now, and all I want is for the anticipation to end, for me to just meet her already. The smell of vanilla coconut permeates through the room, and I recognize the smell, I’m just too distracted to say from where. I can’t look away as Harper turns toward me, slowly, like in all the best cliché chick flicks, and I see…

  I stop.

  I see… Cat?

  Cat is walking toward me?

  My heart sinks. Why is Cat here? And where the hell is Harper?

  “Hey,” she says as she approaches, in a shy, embarrassed kind way I’ve never heard her speak to me with before. Her face is red and glossy, and her vanilla scent engulfs me as she nears the table. Actually, I realize, this is her flirting voice. Weird. Maybe she just came from an impromptu date or something?

  “Hey?” I frown, but she just blushes and sits down across from me. I have no idea what’s going on. Please tell me Cat didn’t find out about
Harper and is here to talk some sense into me about meeting her.

  “Oh,” I say, still entirely confused. “I’m actually expecting someone…”

  Her blush fades a little, and she looks at me now, her jaw tight. “You don’t notice?” she says flatly.

  “Notice what…?”

  She closes her eyes like she’s debating telling me something, takes a deep breath, and whispers. “My shirt.”

  Painfully slowly, she lifts up the writing for me to see. My heart rate slows, and then races again. I <3 Sam Green, it reads in big, loopy letters. The shirt Harper promised she’d have on.

  But how could Cat have on Harper’s shirt?

  Unless…

  Oh my god…

  “I’m Harper Knight,” Cat whispers, her blue eyes locked on mine. She doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch, just takes a deep breath and says, “I made her up.”

  As soon as the words leave her mouth, my mind explodes with thoughts. I feel my insides go cold, and my whole stomach tightens. Harper isn’t real? I’ve been falling for a made-up human this whole? Oh god, oh god, oh fucking hell. Somehow, this is even more pathetic than falling for a sixty-year-old creeper.

  “So you did this all… why? As a joke?” I stand up, my hands shaking. This cannot be real. My one last chance at love, gone in an instant. I had my heart set on Harper, and this is what I get? A slap in the face?

  “No—” Cat starts to blurt out, but I cut in again.

  “You’re my best friend,” I whisper, not turning away from her. “I thought I trusted you.”

  “West, that’s not—”

  “Not what?” I shake my head and run my hands through my hair. This can’t be happening. This can’t be. I finally thought I’d found someone, someone for me, and it turns out the person I trust most in this world made it all up? Shit shit shit. What is even going on anymore?

  She closes her eyes. “Not… how I meant it,” she says softly.

  “Then how did you mean it?” I’m angry now, and I can’t help but let the rage slip into my voice.