Perception by Kim Harrington

in the right place. We have a lot to talk about.”
    I nodded slowly, words suddenly failing me.
    She tilted her head to the side. “Are you my son’s … girlfriend?”
    “No,” I said, wringing my hands. “We’re just friends.”
    She smiled. “He’s lucky to have a friend like you looking out for him.”
    I returned her smile nervously. “Thanks. I won’t tell him,Mrs. Toscano. You have the right to approach him however you want.”
    “Thank you … Miss …”
    “Clare.”
    “Thank you, Clare.”
    She held her hand out and I shook it, despite the gnawing feeling that things were about to drastically change.
     
    On Saturday, Mom — like a woman possessed — went shopping for even more decorations. Perry was bogarting the television. So I decided what better way to spend a Saturday than with homework.
    Normal teens do their homework on Sunday nights. I realize this. I am not normal.
    I hate procrastinating, so much so that I often do my homework on Friday so it won’t be hanging over my head all weekend long. The good thing is, my (nonexistent) social life doesn’t usually interfere with this quirk of mine.
    Before I settled in to write my paper on the causes of World War II, I checked my email.
    One new message.
    From mybeautifulClare. Subject line: empty.
    My heart sped up. Was my secret admirer going to reveal himself? The cursor hovered over the message. I wanted to know who it was, but felt conflicting feelings on who I wanted it to be. If it was Gabriel or Justin, then it was a nice effort but didn’t help the stalemate much. If it was someone new … then I suppose my reaction would depend on who it was.But did I need any further complications in my romantic life? Especially with all the pressure surrounding that stupid dance?
    I told myself to shut up and just open the email. I clicked.
    I hope you liked my flowers. You deserve to be lavished with gifts. Because you are unique. You are special.
    Still anonymous.
    I read it over three or four times. The note in my locker and the flowers had made my stomach do little flips over the unexpected flattery. But now I felt a bit nervous. The email was all complimentary. There was nothing threatening about it. But it didn’t seem right. I hemmed and hawed for a few minutes about whether or not to write back and finally decided to do it.
    Thanks for the compliments, but I’m at the point now where I want to know who you are. Please tell me.
    I hit SEND , and only a minute later, I got a mailbox error in return. The email address did not exist.
    Someone had created the address at one of those free mail websites, used it once to email me, and then deleted the account.
    Strange.
    Wouldn’t he want to know my response to his email? Wouldn’t he want to know how I felt about his advances? Whether I was interested?
    Obviously not.
    But why?
    Two scenarios formed in my mind.
    Maybe he never planned on telling me who he was, never intended on going past the secret admirer thing. Either because he was a harmless guy who was afraid of rejection or there was no secret crush and it was someone playing a joke on me.
    The other possible scenario was a bit darker. He did want to take this out of secrecy and to the next level. But he didn’t care about my response because it didn’t matter how I felt. It didn’t matter whether I wanted him or not. Because he was going to have me either way.
    I shuddered, then tried to talk myself off the ceiling. I had no evidence for the creepy scenario. This secret admirer had been nothing but nice. I’d just learned to expect the worst in people. Or I’d been watching too many crime dramas with my mother.
    The instant messenger window popped up with a loud bing .
    MALLORYNEENEE: what’s up?
    I typed back:
    REDFERN: Mallory?
    MALLORYNEENEE: yeah. when I was little, I couldn’t say Neely, so I said my name was Mallory Nee Nee. wasn’t I cute?
    REDFERN: how did you get my IM?
    MALLORYNEENEE: I’m a clever girl. so your handle