Just One of the Guys. Kristan Higgins

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      “Hi. Sorry. Yes, it’s Trevor. How are you?”

      “I’m fine.” Is it possible that I, who hold a master’s from Columbia University, can think of a wittier response? “Great, I mean. And you?” I close my eyes. “I thought you guys went out on a call.”

      “Oh, just the engine went. I’m tails on the ladder this week.”

      “Oh.” Another captivating response.

      He pauses. “I’ve been instructed by my captain to find out if Mom is really going on a date,” he says in a low voice. Trev’s called my mother “Mom” since he was about sixteen years old. And his captain is my father, of course.

      “Yeah. I guess she is,” I answer. My shoulders drop a little. I should have known he wouldn’t call for purely social reasons.

      “It’s hard to believe she’s really looking for a boyfriend,” Trevor says.

      “Yeah.”

      “Well. Okay, Chas. I better run. See you around.”

      “Okay. Thanks for calling. Bye. Take care.” I sound like a jerk.

      Luckily, my computer dings softly. You have one new message, GirlNextDoor. Hooray! Husbandmaterial is back!

      Dear GND (We’re on nicknames already—fantastic),

       I’m a Yankees fan, not to worry. I have a big family. As far as sports and hobbies, I like to hike, mountain bike, kayak a little. What about you? Hobbies? Pets? What makes you the girl next door?

      “Dinner in ten, sweetie!” Elaina calls, rattling some pans. “Chicken quesadillas!”

      “Angels bless you, Elaina! Be right there. Just answering an e-mail.”

      Husbandmaterial sounds…well, great. Friendly, kind of sweet. I immediately write back. I also have a big family. I like hiking and rowing (single scull). Have lots of nieces and nephews. Love animals. I have a big dog who slobbers, and I worship the Yanks. I hit Send and wait.

      Thirty seconds later, bing! You have one new message, GirlNextDoor. Yippee! I click immediately.

       Chastity?

      Oh, my God! Husbandmaterial knows me! Shit! Or is it good? Yes? I type back.

       It’s Matt.

      Clapping my hand over the shriek of laughter (or is it horror?) that bursts forth, I snatch up the phone, dial Matt’s cell. “Hello?” he chokes. I can barely wheeze back. “You’re disgusting,” he says. “Checking out your own brother. Gross.”

      “You wrote first, pervert.” I wipe my eyes and try to control myself, but it’s no use. We laugh in mutual horror for a good two minutes. “You are to tell no one about this, Matthew.”

      “Right back at you, Chastity,” he says, still laughing.

      “I find it hard to believe that you have trouble meeting women, Matt,” I tell him when I’ve calmed down. “Oh, and you’re a ten, by the way. A six and a half? Come on! You look like Mel Gibson!”

      “Ew.”

      “Well, okay, not the drunken, sun-damaged mug shot Mel. Young, wholesome Mel. Road Warrior Mel. You’re a good-looking guy, Mattie.”

      “Well, you know, it’s weird to fill out all that stuff,” he says. “I do meet plenty of women, but you know. Haven’t met the right one. I figured I could cut through some crap. This single thing’s getting old. I don’t want to live with my sister for the rest of my life. No offense, Chas.”

      “None taken,” I say. “Well, I’ll keep my eye out for you. And you do the same for me, okay?”

      “Sure. Not that I know anyone I’d actually fix you up with, Chas. All I know are firefighters, and you don’t want to end up like Mom, do you?”

      “Mom has twenty-three hits on her profile, Matt. And she just registered an hour ago.”

      “Jeez! I only got fourteen all day. How many did you get?”

      “Once you upgrade that attractiveness level, you’ll have more,” I answer, craftily ignoring his question. “Gotta go. Elaina’s over and she just made dinner.”

      “Don’t tell her about this! And save some food for me.”

      “Okay. Talk to you later.” Checking once more to see if I got any more hits—I don’t—I sigh, my humor evaporating. I’ve been registered for forty minutes now. Mom had twenty-three hits in that time…I’ve had one, and it’s from a blood relative.

      “Come on. Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” Elaina says from the doorway. “Everything’s better after a quesadilla.”

      I sign off the computer, and for the briefest second, I let myself recall Trevor’s voice. Then I shake my head and join my friend for dinner.

      Chapter Five

      WHEN TREVOR’S SISTER DIED, she and I were both ten years old.

      Her family had moved to our town while I was in fourth grade. Michelle was a pale girl with pretty, dark hair. Being a well-dressed new kid had ensured her popularity, and for the first month, she was surrounded by admirers who wanted to hear all about the glamour of Springfield, Massachusetts, where she was from. When we were assigned to the same reading group, we chatted, found that we both wanted to be horse trainers when we grew up, and started eating lunch together. But a week or two later, she became sick—no one knew what she had, just that she was out. She came back after a few weeks, but only for a day or two.

      When she’d missed more than a month of school, I went to see her, bringing some cookies that Mom had baked. She only lived three blocks away, and Mom allowed me go all by myself with strict instructions to call if I were going to stay more than a few minutes. I rang the bell, and Michelle’s big brother let me into the foyer. Over his shoulder, I could see someone lying on the couch, obscured by a puffy comforter.

      “Is Michelle here?” I asked. “I’m her friend from school.”

      “She’s kind of sick,” the brother said. “She can’t play right now.”

      “Oh.” Blushing, I handed him the cookies. “Tell her Chastity said hello,” I said, scuffing my feet. The brother was a seventh-grader, and kind of, well, cute. I peeked again over his shoulder. Michelle lifted her hand. I waved back, not realizing that I would never see her again.

      “Okay. Thanks for coming by, Chastity,” he said. “Thanks for the cookies, too.”

      I learned later that Michelle’s leukemia was so virulent that her immune system couldn’t handle the risk of germs from outside visitors. While I missed her, it was more on the theoretical side—we hadn’t really had time to become good friends. My life continued on pretty much the same, basketball, homework, soccer, CCD. Then one night, months after she’d left school, my mom popped into my bedroom, СКАЧАТЬ