Page 34 of Grown

“Huh? What?”

Mom snickers from the sink, peeling carrots; Shea chopping onions for dinner.

“You always on that phone. Wondering who got you texting like crazy.”

I clutch the phone to my chest, sinking deeper into the crook of the L-shaped sofa. Just the thought of Mom knowing makes my stomach twist into a cramp.

“J... just Mackenzie.”

Mom smirks. “Oh, I see.”

“I... I left my textbook in my room,” I say, sprinting down the hall. “Be right back!”

Behind me, Mom whispers with a giggle to Shea, “I think your sister has a little boyfriend.”

Korey Fields asked me to send him a photo... the one thing I’m not good at. I hate taking pictures of myself; I never do. I’m not even big on sharing pics. Another thing Gab and I have in common. She hates social media and doesn’t want her face on the internet. Most of my Instagram pics are of me and the Littles.

But... Korey Fields wants a picture. And I can’t just tell him no.

I shut my bedroom door, using it as my backdrop, and try a few different angles, the same way I’ve seen Shea take selfies.

Hey! Where’s my pic?

The seconds tick louder. I’m taking too long. More attempts. Smiling, not smiling. Posing. Duck lips. Pull my T-shirt off one shoulder. Ugh!

“Chanted!” Mom calls. “Come help with dinner!”

“Just a second,” I scream back, my voice shaky.

Another twenty shots. Maybe I should try some of Shea’s makeup. Or a filter. Maybe black and white. Or a new shirt...

Or... maybe he’s just being nice. Maybe I’m doing the most and overthinking all of this.

But... he called you beautiful. And he loves your eyes.

With a deep breath, I take one last selfie with my regular smile and send it before I can stop myself.

Typing bubble...

You always cut your hair short?

I give in to the instinct to glide a hand down the back of my neck.

Yeah. It’s easier for swim meets.

Within seconds I regret the answer.

Stupid! You sound like a kid and... this is Korey Fields!He’s used to dealing with women. Real women. He dated a Kardashian.

You ever think about growing it out?

A twitch of... something scratches at my stomach, mouth dry.

No. Why?

There’s a long pause. My heart drops so low it sits next to my heel.

Footsteps down the hall. Mom’s footsteps. I frantically search for a book to keep up with my lie when my phone rings. Different from my regular ring... it’s a FaceTime.