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"Wait, you're serious?" you ask, eyeing Finn skeptically from across the table. "You don't have a Facebook?"
It's Sunday afternoon, and the two of you are camped out in the back corner of the public library, hammering out the details of your weekly assignment. Technically, Finn showed up six minutes late, but you were willing to forgive him, on account of he brought you Starbucks. When you asked how he even knew what your favorite drink was, he'd grinned and said, "Magic." You think it's safe to assume Jasper had something to do with it. Not that it mattered, anyway, because your Caramel Frappuccino was delicious.
Most of the work is already done, thankfully. You and Finn both came prepared, with detailed notes for the poem you were supposed to be annotating. You'd argued over interpretations for a good while before coming to a consensus, and then quickly decided how to present it. Now you're just sort of talking and it's actually...kind of nice?
"Nope." Finn shrugs, leaning back in his chair. "No Facebook, Instagram, Twitter. It kind of seems like a waste of time, don't you think?"
"Do you have a computer?" you ask, genuinely curious, glancing from your laptop, to his leather-bound notebook. You should have guessed, really -- Finn's one of the few people in any of your classes that takes genuine handwritten notes. "What about a cell phone?"
"I send pigeons, usually," Finn says, completely straight-faced, and you can't help but laugh. "We have a computer at home. My mom uses it for work, mostly, or my cousin plays on it. And I do have this," he digs around in his pocket, pulling out an old Nokia. "I think it's more than a decade old," he says, examining it thoughtfully. "But it does the job. Stores ten whole text messages."
"Oh, wow." You nod, very serious. "So, you do text."
"I do," Finn agrees, rocking his chair forward, and resting his hands on the table. "I could text you, if I had your number." He says it very casually.
The thing is, you're sort of wary about giving out your phone number. You had to change it earlier this year, on account of you were getting three calls a day from some pharmaceutical company wanting payment for pills you never ordered. Since then, you've only given your number to your family members, and Monty, and Wells, and if he doesn't tone it down soon you'll end up having to change it again.
Finn raises an eyebrow, and you realize he's still waiting for your answer. "Yes, you could," you agree after several awful seconds of silence. You unlock your own phone and push it towards him. "Add yourself to mine, I'm not even going to try and use that dinosaur," you say, eyes darting towards his methuselah of a phone.
He laughs, typing in his name and number, and then snapping a selfie for his profile before he saves it in your contacts.
"Facebook's a waste of time, but selfies are okay?" You roll your eyes as he slides your phone back across the table. "You're worse than Jasper." You call Finn's phone, letting it ring once before hanging up.
"Is he coming to the games this week?" Finn asks, shoving his phone back in his pocket. "Or are you guys quitting while we're ahead?"
"We're coming tomorrow and Thursday," you tell him, "but Jasper's going to his mom's house this weekend, so he won't make it to Saturday's game."
"What about you?" Finn asks, and you blink, because you honestly hadn't even considering going on your own. It's Jasper's thing, you only even go because you're his ride. Then again, even you can't deny that you sort of had a lot of fun Friday night. The thought makes you vaguely uncomfortable.
Your phone buzzes, and you dive for it instead of answering, and find a text from your mom.
Stuck in surgery, can you handle dinner?
It isn't actually a question, and it's not out of the ordinary. You can't even count how many times you've gotten exactly this text. Sometimes you wonder how much they even get done at the hospital when your mom isn't there, since it kind of seems like she does everything over there.
"I should probably go," you say, suddenly remembering that Finn is still sitting across from you, and that you've spaced out and ignored him for the second time in as many minutes. "Are we good here?" you ask, nodding towards the notes stacked in the center of the table.
"Yeah, I think so." Finn reaches for his notebook, and slides it into his bag, as you pack up your laptop and grab your purse. "Guess I'll see you tomorrow, then?"
"Tomorrow," you agree, giving him a wave as you head for the door.
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You pop a couple of frozen pizzas in the oven and pointedly ignore all of Jasper's questions about your meeting with Finn. Well, most of his questions, anyway.
"He's not on Facebook?" Jasper asks around a mouthful of Totino's triple cheese party pizza. He's literally inhaling the slices, and washing them down with Mountain Dew. You'd be losing your appetite, except you got used to this six years ago. "I guess that explains why I couldn't find him."
You finish chewing your food, like an actual human being, before you ask, "What do you mean, you couldn't find him?" All of a sudden Jasper becomes very interested in the placemat, and you narrow your eyes. "Were you Facebook stalking him?" you demand, voice all accusatory.
"I was trying to," he admits, and he doesn't even bother looking guilty about it. "I figured he had a fake name or something, I didn't think he just didn't have one. It was Monty's idea," he adds, probably because you're still glaring at him. "Come on, Clarke," Jasper argues. "It's 2014, don't you think it's kind of weird this guy doesn't have a Facebook?"
"I don't know," you answer, keeping your tone even. "Maybe he just doesn't want people looking up every detail of his personal life?"
Jasper shrugs. "I'm just saying -- no Facebook, no Instagram, no nothing. Kind of seems like he's got something to hide."
"I don't have an Instagram," you point out, and Jasper makes this face, the one he makes when he knows he just put his foot in his mouth. You only recognize it because he uses it so often.
"You're right, you don't," Jasper says quickly, and then he shoves the rest of the pizza in his mouth, mumbles something incoherent, and bolts out of the room. It's a far cry from the weirdest thing he's ever done, but still more than enough to make you suspicious.
It only takes you four minutes to find the Instagram account Jasper apparently made for you two years ago, and by then he's already locked his bedroom door.
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