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they’re on somebody else.
    Time yawns.
    This is what I get.  This is who I am. 
    It doesn’t matter what I wear or who I date. 
    I am Willow James.
    Big sister to Aaron.  Daughter to Julie and Miles.  Stepdaughter to Jake.  Owner to Ferdinand the cat.
    Willow James is the kind of girl who ditches her best friend and her sketchbook because a pretty boy looks her way.
    This is Willow James and she deserves all she gets.
    ***
    Dinner is as awful as I imagined it would be.  All that forced happy and bravado.  Mom is trying way too hard, squeezing Jake’s hand when she thinks that I’m not looking, goading him to tell us funny stories from the conference.  The only problem is that stories from the latest conference of gathered marine biologists aren’t funny.
    She asks about Alex so clearly she knows that I saw him yesterday at work.  That’s pretty weird but I don’t let myself dwell on it.  One emotional crisis at a time.  Alex is just another reminder of my failed romantic escapades. 
    Narrowly avoiding a game of Monopoly (which I so cannot handle right now), I skulk back to my room and wait.  Sometime after ten I make the call.  My fingers press the phone hard against the skin of my face. 
    Maybe this is desperation but I’ve decided to reach out to someone in the group even if no one’s reached out to me.  I’ve chosen Taylor because of all the girls, I feel closest to her.  I won’t try to pretend that she isn’t Dustin’s friend first, but maybe there’s a chance that she’s my friend too.
    She answers on the third ring and I can tell by her voice that she’s seen my number on the caller ID.
    “Hi!”  She sounds way too excited to hear from me.  Why should she be so excited?
    “Hey,” I counter.  And then we’re both quiet for a moment.  My mouth is full of copper pennies. 
    There are sounds in the background and I make out someone shouting over the thump of music.  More sounds.  The sound of fun.  Of Roland’s party.  It’s not like that got cancelled because Dustin broke up with me.  A girl’s voice asks who is on the phone and Taylor covers the mouthpiece so the sound is muffled but I can still hear my name.  I can’t make out anything else that is said.  Taylor giggles.  It echoes through my ear canal like a yell.   
    “So…”  I start awkwardly but Taylor interrupts. 
    “Wiiii—iii--loooow!”  Sometimes she does this: says my name with too—oo—oo many syllables.  She’s buzzed.  She’s happy.  And why shouldn’t she be?  She’s a teenager at a party with all my friends.  My ex- friends.  “I’m so bummed about you and Dustin, you know?  But don’t worry about him.  He’s just a guy and all guys are pricks, right?  Total pricks.  Pricks on sticks!”  She giggles at her joke.  “How about you?  Are you doing okay sweetie?”
    I sigh.  “Yeah.  Thanks.  I’m okay I guess.  It’s just—” 
    It’s just what? I think.  But I don’t need to finish.  Taylor’s mouth is at work and she’s telling me that she thinks it was a mistake and blah blah blah.  I thought this would make me feel better—less empty—but it doesn’t.  The more she talks, the more her words slur together.  Great.  I want to ask her if she knows who the other girl is—maybe she’s at the party even—but something stops me.  I do want answers but I know that once I learn them I can’t unlearn them. 
    I am so pathetic.  The line falls silent and I’m clued in enough to know that even though she hasn’t said it in so many words, Taylor wants to get back to the party.  I say goodbye and we hang up with promises to talk tomorrow. 
    If a dress could laugh, my gold prom dress would be laughing at me from its hanger.
    I close my eyes and take it all in: the break-up, the sad prom dress, me—friendless and still in my pajamas from the night before, the laughter at Roland’s party and Taylor’s pity.
    And a new thought takes shape in my