The Truth About Sex & Surfing [Featured Story]

Chapter one

Hailey knew something was wrong as soon as she felt her iPhone buzz. All her friends had already left D.C., moved on to bigger and better things, and Ben never texted her. He always claimed it was a primitive form of communication, even though it involved recent technology. "Did Plato text?" He'd ask, manically wiggling his thumbs. "Did Shakespeare tap out Hamlet's soliloquy?"

But this time he had texted her. I DONT THINK I CAN DO THIS ANYMORE.

The bastard. Just like that, in all caps. With so little practice, he probably didn't know how to change the casing. Her phone buzzed again before she had time to send back instructions.

I NEED TO BE BY MYSELF THIS NEXT YEAR. And two seconds later: PLUS IVE KIND OF MET SOMEONE.

Guessing which someone Ben had met wasn't difficult. Like magnets she'd held apart too long, their two names snapped themselves together in her head. Ben and Fiona, who was "just a friend." More recently, "just my roommate." Fiona wore leopard-print rompers. She was a film major, like Ben, and she had an English accent that Hailey was 93% sure was fake.

All the pent-up rage and hurt in Hailey finally unclenched as she stood there in her tiny, grubby kitchen, clutching her phone. A rush of heat spread to her fingertips and the pit of her stomach. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She wanted to call up her sister, Liz, and tell Liz everything. Most of all, she wanted to climb in her battered old Jetta, jam the gas pedal to the floor, and gun it for the airport. She'd just get on the biggest jet they had. She couldn't face anyone, not now.

The problem was she had to go to work.

On Saturday nights, between the two-dollar Corona special and the karaoke from dinner till midnight, the deli was slammed. Always. From the minute they opened to the minute they closed, pushing the last customers out the door. There was no way her boss, Jimmy, could make it run smoothly without her. Hailey looked down at the bracelet that Liz had given her and twisted it around on her wrist a few times, her newest awkward habit. Then she grabbed her black waitress's apron and her keys and headed out the door.

The rain, heavy the last few days, had slowed to thin, miserable drizzle. Above the noises of the traffic, even, she could hear it pattering down drainpipes, tapping in the alleys. Plop plop plop. She didn't seem to hear it with her ears so much as with her soul. Maybe her heart. It sounded almost like rapid-fire texting – though that couldn't be right. Not wanting to, she thought of Ben. What she would write if she were to text him back right now. Ben, you're a jerk but I love you. I guess I've seen this coming for a while even if I also tried really, really hard not to see. One thing is for sure. I should never have loaned you money.

It wasn't anything he didn't already know. Or that she didn't already know. It was, officially, old news. No matter how much it stung. She slipped her phone in the pocket of her apron and pushed through the plate glass door into Jimmy's Karaoke Deli, the bell tinkling.

Inside, the air was even more humid than on the street, though with grease, not rain. If a dive bar could be like a diner with a permanent open-mic night, this was it. Customers packed the long, narrow dining room. On the tiny stage in the back corner, the karaoke jockey was firing up the monitor, microphone in his hand. Any moment, he'd open it up with his version of "Danke Shoen."

The only thing missing was Jimmy, yelling. In her head, Hailey began counting backward from five. Four, three, two...

The door to the kitchen swung open, hard enough to hit the wall behind. No one blinked. The Saturday night crowd was all regulars, people from the neighborhood.

"Hailey, you're late," Jimmy yelled.

"By three minutes," she yelled back, like a sullen kid. "God." Usually she could do better than this. Getting dumped had screwed with her bantering skills, and that didn't bode well.