Page 73 of Grown

Email... there’s a business center in this hotel. With computers.

I flip through the hotel menus to a map on the back page. The business center is on the second floor, close to the elevators.

What if someone sees me? What if Korey comes and finds I’m not here?

But this is my only chance. Once I’m back in that house, there won’t be another.

I grab my keycard and the ice bucket, glancing over at Flounder.

“I’ll be gone ten minutes, tops,” I say, shrugging on a robe.

Flounder looks worried as I slip out the door, sprinting to the elevators barefoot.

The business center’s computers are old, the internet slow, the wide glass door easy for someone to spot me.

“Come on, come on,” I whimper to the booting monitor. It takes over six minutes to log in to Gmail. But once it’s up, I hit the compose button and type quick:

Hey Gab,

Korey has a big show at MSG next month and I really need you. But don’t tell anyone you’re coming. Just wait on the corner of 33rd and 7th. I know you’re still mad at me because I lied and I’m sorry. But I really need you. Please. You’re still my best friend.

Love,

Chanty

Send.

It’s been more than ten minutes. Can’t wait for a reply; I’ll just have to trust she’s coming. But before I log off, a message pops up—

The message that you sent could not be delivered. Permanent error.

Did I send it to the right address? Shit, there’s no time.

I log off, clear the cache, deleting any evidence of my existence, and race back to the elevator as a voice creeps inside my head. One that says,What about Korey? He says he needs you. How can you leave? How can you live with yourself after everything he’s done for you? How can you use him for songs? He loves you.

Love is complicated...

Back on my floor, I step off the elevator and find the police at my door.

BOOM BOOM BOOM! “POLICE!”

Shit.

“I... I was just getting ice,” I croak as I approach, showing the ice bucket.

“Ma’am, is anyone in there with you?” the officer standing at the threshold asks.

“No. Just me.”

“Is Korey Fields here?” the other one asks. “We had a call for a 10-56A. Some type of suicide pact.”

The floor is ripped from underneath me as I bring a trembling hand to my mouth.

Korey.

“Oh God,” I mumble, dropping the bucket.

A door swings open behind me.