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conversation. He didn’t ask any questions, so that means our little back and forth is over. Those are the rules.
    But…I wonder if his mother never taught him the rules. Maybe he doesn’t know that girls aren’t supposed to be making chitchat with him via his phone?
    Why do I care, though? The whole point is to not prolong this whole “friendly” exchange. I put my phone down on my nightstand and flop back on my bed. Leave it , I think. It’s over.
    It feels like my phone has eyes, though, and it’s staring at me. “Don’t ignore me,” it says. “What if he’s waiting for a reply?”
    He isn’t, I think as I roll over and grab my phone. I’m being an idiot.
    Kyra: I was, but it was rude of me to just conk out, so I’m sorry about that.
    I hit send and say goodbye to any chance I ever had of really getting to know Zach Wechsler.
    An hour later, there’s no reply.
    Two hours later, I know the conversation is over.
    When I go to bed that night, it’s hard to sleep. What if I hadn’t sent that text?
    The next morning, my phone chimes and I see another message from Zach. My heart pounds hard enough to crack my ribs as I grab my phone and turn on the screen.

Brad Sego: It was rude of me to be on the phone for two hours. I was talking to a friend of mine who’s an actress about changing managers. I shouldn’t be so worried about it all, but I am.
    A c tress means a beautiful female, and I go at once into competitive mode.
    Kyra: No, I understand, really. Changing managers is like changing a tire at 70 mph. My uncle went through three when he was eighteen and his mother stopped managing him.
    I type every word out except for “mph.” No text speak. I hit send.
    I pad into my bathroom and brush my teeth. My heart leaps as my phone chimes again.
    Brad Sego: Oh yeah? How did he find the right one?
    Score. He took the bait. That’s what he gets for letting me know he’d talk for two hours to someone about a topic.
    I rinse my mouth, wipe my face on a towel, and wonder, Should I wait before I reply? Would immediate replies look desperate? Would waiting a long time look like a game? And what exactly am I doing? I force myself to take a reality check. He’s being friendly, nothing more. Employing some of my old tricks isn’t going to convert him into the kind of guy who’ll call me for a hookup.
    I go out into the kitchen, where Jen is in her bathrobe, nursing her half cup of coffee. At the sight of me, she raises her eyebrows. “You all right?”
    “I’m texting with Zach Wechsler.”
    “Is that a bad thing?”
    “Do your lecture thing with Jason and Chloe.” I wish Chloe still lived with us, but her house is finished and she’s moved.
    “What lecture thing?”
    “Where you explain that famous people don’t just fall for random non-famous people. Remind me that I’m no Chloe.”
    Jen gives me a quizzical look as she takes another sip of coffee.
    “Come on ,” I urge her. “Tell me that Zach Wechsler isn’t just going to meet me once and fall madly in love and—”
    “Did you ever listen to that lecture at all?” Jen’s smile looks an awful lot like a smirk.
    “Yes. I’m—”
    “Not just anyone. My point is, you are a Chloe. You’re not just some random individual. You know a lot of people in common with celebrities. The point of my lecture was you need to be ready should there ever come a day when you date someone famous.”
    “No,” I argue.
    “Yes,” she shoots back. “I dated Julian Michaels for a summer, sweetie, and I got asked out by Brad Dempsey.”
    “I can’t date Zach Wechsler. He could have anyone.”
    She relents. “You probably won’t, sure.”
    “Augh…”
    “Coffee?”
    “He is so hot…”
    “So I hear.”
    “You are not too old to see it.”
    “Well”—she smirks again—“thanks for that. But I’m not even sure which one he is.”
    “The hottest one,” I say.
    “Oh, right. Forgive me. That one.” She sets her coffee cup aside. “So what