Tag Along by Tom Ryan Page A

though.
    â€œAndrea,” I say, “it’s fine. It’s Granite Ridge—it’s a hazard of the landscape. I can’t wait to get out of this place. Aren’t you excited to graduate and get the hell out of here?”
    â€œI don’t know,” she says. “I guess I don’t really think about it that much.”
    â€œWell, I think about it,” I say. “I think about it every fucking day. Anyway, where do you suppose Paul and Candace are? This adventure is starting to suck.”
    â€œYour guess is as good as mine,” she says, looking up and down the street.
    â€œWell, let’s just walk this way,” I say. “Maybe they’ll drive by us or something.” I pull my phone out of my pocket. Nothing from John.
    â€œWhat are you looking at?” asks Andrea.
    â€œJust seeing if Monsieur Dickhead had a change of heart.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œNada. He’s obviously making out with a football player or something as we speak.”
    â€œOh, come on,” she says. “He must have had a good reason for standing you up. Didn’t you get any hints from him or anything?”
    â€œWe weren’t playing twenty questions, Andrea,” I say. “Besides, it’s hard to pick up on that stuff online.”
    â€œAre you telling me that you never met this guy in person?” she asks.
    â€œOf course not,” I say. “We video-chatted all the time though. That counts, right?”
    â€œI don’t think so,” she says. “I don’t get it. I thought you were, like, the king of dating or something.”
    â€œYou obviously weren’t listening. I told you I had great straightdar. I’m great at helping girls figure out boys and giving fashion tips and stuff. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m the only out gay student at Granite Ridge High School. I haven’t had much personal practice with dating.”
    â€œSo you don’t know anything about this guy except for what you learned online?”
    â€œHey, don’t knock Google! I know what his parents do, I know where he lives, I even found supercute pictures of him playing Little League a few years back. We’re practically engaged.”
    â€œYeah, but Roemi—”
    â€œHey,” I say, putting my hand up to cut her off. “Can we stop talking about this? I know the whole thing was stupid and I should never have expected it to work out. I just don’t really want to admit any of that right now. I want to feel hard done by. I want to wallow in self-pity. If I wanted to answer questions about my failed date, I’d be at the prom right now talking to my real friends about it.”
    â€œOkay, I get it,” she says. She starts walking briskly ahead of me.
    I feel like a total asshole. She’s just trying to help.
    â€œHey, wait up!” I say, hurrying after her although I think my shoes are starting to kill the nerve endings in my feet.
    â€œOn a more cheerful note, I’ll bet you that with my help we could make Justin fall head over heels for you.”
    She stops and waits for me to catch up, turning around and raising a skeptical eyebrow at me.
    â€œSeriously,” I say. “Justin is the kind of guy who needs to be told what’s going on. He’s a bit spacey, if you know what I mean. He’s not going to figure this thing out on his own, but with some prompting, I guarantee you guys could be married by graduation.”
    She laughs. “That’s what Bethanne tells me. She says that if I like him, I’m probably going to have to make the first move. She says he has no skills.”
    â€œWell, Bethanne’s a wise woman,” I say. “Despite her bangs.”
    â€œThat was kind of the main reason I wanted to go to prom,” she tells me. “I was going to talk to him, or whatever.”
    â€œThat’s as good a plan as any,” I say. “Talking is usually a good