LostPhoebe: no
PrincessCesca: did he lay his palm on your cheek?
LostPhoebe: no
LostPhoebe: he was kinda busy holding me
PrincessCesca: are you sure he was going to kiss you?
LostPhoebe: for the millionth time . . . yes!
PrincessCesca: you’re in trouble
LostPhoebe: tell me about it
PrincessCesca: ES will kill you if you catch him before she can
ES is our shorthand for Evil Stepsister. AKA Stella.
After Griffin dropped me—and I found out that Nicole’s ankle zap had worn off and I could walk just fine—I had endured Stella’s inquisition about the whole thing.
As soon as she was satisfied, I ran to my room—to the new laptop and Internet connection that will be my salvation for these next few months—and called up Cesca on IM.
LostPhoebe: she won’t find out
PrincessCesca: it’s a small island
LostPhoebe: Justinian never found out they’d moved the school
PrincessCesca: what?
Oops. Not supposed to let that cat out of the bag. Well, at least I didn’t say who had moved the school. That would be worse.
LostPhoebe: just some junk about school history
LostPhoebe: we had a pep assembly on Friday
LostPhoebe: they’re big on tradition here
The cursor blinks at me for a long time. I can practically hear Cesca thinking from thousands of miles away. Great. If anyone can uncover the big secret, Cesca can. She’s the one who knew Justin was cheating on me weeks before the rest of the school found out.
PrincessCesca: yeah, Europeans are all serious about history
LostPhoebe: you’re not kidding
LostPhoebe: one of my teachers wears a toga to class
PrincessCesca: talk about your fashion faux pas
Another IM conversation pops up.
NaughtyNic: how’s your ankle
LostPhoebe: fine, no thanks to you
NaughtyNic: you were going to back out
LostPhoebe: that didn’t mean you had to
PrincessCesca: you still there?
LostPhoebe: yes
LostPhoebe: zap my ankle
NaughtyNic: what’s the harm?
NaughtyNic: it didn’t hurt
LostPhoebe: no, but
PrincessCesca: you’re talking to someone else, aren’t you?
LostPhoebe: of course not
LostPhoebe: you’re not talking either
LostPhoebe: I could have hurt myself falling
NaughtyNic: but you didn’t
NaughtyNic: it all worked out in the end
LostPhoebe: how would you know?
NaughtyNic: I saw him carry you home
PrincessCesca: if you’re going to ignore me I’m leaving
LostPhoebe: don’t go
PrincessCesca: then tell me who you’re talking to
LostPhoebe: a friend from school
LostPhoebe: she has a question about homework
I feel horrible lying to Cesca, but it’s easier than answering questions. Most of them aren’t even questions I’m allowed to answer.
LostPhoebe: him carrying me home doesn’t mean anything
NaughtyNic: what happened?
LostPhoebe: he almost kissed me
NaughtyNic: oh my gods!
NaughtyNic: why didn’t he?
LostPhoebe: Stella interrupted
PrincessCesca: Phoebe?
NaughtyNic: did she freak out?
LostPhoebe: no, she doesn’t know it was about to happen
PrincessCesca: hello???
LostPhoebe: hold on a sec
PrincessCesca: fine
NaughtyNic: see!!! it all worked out in the end
NaughtyNic: I zapped you for a good cause
LostPhoebe: I don’t care if he wound up groveling at my feet LostPhoebe: that’s no excuse to use your supernatural powers on me!
Blink, blink, blink.
NaughtyNic: are you there?
Blink, blink, blink.
NaughtyNic: Phoebe?
I glance back and forth at the two IM windows. Back and forth. Cesca and Nicole. L.A. and Serfopoula. My heart starts racing.
PrincessCesca: supernatural powers?
Crap!
LostPhoebe: have to go
NaughtyNic: something wrong
LostPhoebe: no, of course not
LostPhoebe: just have to go
LostPhoebe: now
LostPhoebe: bye
I quickly close the conversation with Nicole without waiting for her to reply. I am in so much crap it’s not even funny.
PrincessCesca: Phoebe, what’s going on?
Quick, think of a plausible explanation.
LostPhoebe: we’re doing this fantasy role-playing game
LostPhoebe: every character has special powers
LostPhoebe: they can use them against other characters
LostPhoebe: she used hers against me
LostPhoebe: in the game
Great, now I’m babbling in IM.
Cesca’s going to know something’s up. In her wildest dreams she wouldn’t guess exactly what, but Cesca’s like a bulldog—she doesn’t let go of something until she’s ready.
PrincessCesca: you hate computer games
LostPhoebe: um, not anymore
PrincessCesca: stop lying to me
LostPhoebe: I’m not
PrincessCesca: what’s really going on
PrincessCesca: what aren’t you telling me?
LostPhoebe: Cesca, I
Tears fill my eyes as I tell my best friend since kindergarten—the girl I’ve shared every deep, dark secret I’ve ever had with—that I can’t tell her this.
LostPhoebe: I can’t
LostPhoebe: I’m sorry
PrincessCesca: fine
I wait for her to say something more, to ask why or to make me tell her. But the stupid cursor just blinks at me. After staring at the unmoving conversation for fifteen minutes I accept the fact that she’s gone.