29
“Tell him I can’t use the phone,” I told my mother.
She handed it to me anyway. “You tell him.”
“Hi, Cat?”
“Uh-huh?”
“Hi. It’s Greg Beecher. From school.”
“Right,” I said. “I know who you are.”
A fine mist sprang up over my lip, like a tiny sweat mustache. If only Amanda were nearby so I could kick her.
“Great,” he said. “I, uh ... wanted to know if ... ”
Oh my gosh, he actually sounded nervous. Which was impossible, because I was nervous enough for everyone in the world.
I needed to put us both out of our misery, fast.
“Look, Greg, I’m not really supposed to talk on the phone—”
“Oh, did I call too late?”
Considering that it was only 7:00, that was hard to believe. “No, but I’ve taken a vow not to use the telephone for about another 165 days. So I have to get off right now—
