Amends: A Love Story by E.J. Swenson

I'll give Ember money for a cab. I'm trying to remember
if I still have the number for the Jasper Heights Cab Company in my
contacts list, when Ember stands and heads inside, probably for a
bathroom break.
    She's left her phone tantalizingly
unattended. For about a second I remind myself that snooping and
spying is for insecure little pussies. Fuck it, I think, I've got
to know who she was texting. I make my way to her table and snatch
the phone. The other girls are absorbed in the diving spectacle, so
I'm free to snoop and spy unobserved. I type in her password and
immediately see she has a new text from a number stored as Bad
Idea. My eyes devour their conversation.
    Ember: You of all people know I have a
boyfriend.
    Bad Idea: At your age, that means
nothing.
    Ember: That's not true. I have integrity. I
won't cheat on him.
    Bad Idea: Oh, I'm not saying cheat on him.
Don't be dishonest. Break up with him first. Then you can be free
to explore other possibilities. Other forms of relating.
    Ember: You mean like fucking you?
    Bad Idea: Don't be crude, you little slut.
What I mean is that you're far too young for a monogamous
relationship. By the way, when do you turn eighteen? How would you
like to do a bit of shopping in New York City?
    Ember: Your son said you'd do this. Wait for
me to turn legal and then try to hook up.
    Bad Idea: I like the taste of young, ripe
fruit. And you, my dear, are a succulent plum, nearly ready to be
savored.
    Ember: I'm not a plum. I'm a peach. And I'm
no low-hanging fruit. You'll have to climb a long way to get
me.
    I'm interrupted by a loud, high female voice.
It's Ember. "What are you doing with my phone?"

    /////////////////////////

    Ember's mouth is moving, but I can hear
nothing except the roar of my rage. She is the worst girlfriend,
ever. Sure, she's not technically cheating, but text-flirting with
my father after everything I told her? I don't get it. I thought
she cared about me.
    Ember is reaching out for me, grabbing at me
with her carefully manicured hands. Oh yeah, I think, she wants her
fucking phone. I throw it into the pool and stalk down the path
that leads to Deegan's back yard and the marshy woods behind it. In
the distance, I hear a chorus of female outrage, but no footsteps.
I realize she's not going to run after me. Good.
    I open the gate and head into the woods. My
foot immediately sinks into the mud. Fuck it. I walk as fast as I
can away from everyone. A flash of lightning illuminates the sky
and underscores my black mood. I follow a small, foul-smelling
creek that's probably crawling with snakes and gators. Fat
raindrops pelt my back and shoulders. Uncaring, I keep walking
until I reach a narrow, paved path. I read a small placard and
discover it's part of the Jasper Heights lakeside trail system.
    Mindlessly, I follow the paved trail until I
reach a quaint, covered park bench. I sit down on the wet seat and
listen to the thunder get louder and angrier. I feel so miserable
and alone. I tell myself I'm just a whiny little pussy with a
shitty girlfriend and a creepy father and a fucked up life. I can't
talk to my father for obvious reasons, and my mother's gone.
Deegan's my best friend, but he's also another guy, and guys don't
talk about this kind of shit. They just get each other beers.
    I watch the rain pour off the shelter, and it
occurs to me that there's one person who might understand what I'm
going through right now, someone who's also riding the same waves
of anger, grief, and sorrow. It's Amity, the girl of my dreams and
my nightmares.
    It's a truly bizarre thought that makes me
wonder just how drunk I am. After all, it's my fault she lost her
mother. But I bet she can relate to what I'm feeling right now.
Maybe there's some way I could help her, or we could help each
other.
    I pull out my phone and find her on Facebook
and Google+. Her haunted eyes peer out at me from her profile
pictures. I'm not brave enough to friend her. But I do pop open my
Gmail and start