Emily snatched Nathan’s arm, pulling him back to the sidewalk before he fell into bustling traffic. Cars were known to speed and run the lights on this busy road which ran the length of this small, college town. Despite them rushing by, the black, shiny mirror in Nathan’s hand consumed his attention. Ever since one of his stupid dancing videos went viral, he was obsessed– unable to look away from himself on that screen. It drove Emily insane.  

They were going for dinner at the hole-in-the-wall Mexican place that served free margaritas with the purchase of an entrée. Emily couldn’t drive– the anxiety of navigating a two-ton machine too much for her. Especially when no one seemed to know how to drive on these narrow streets. Maybe one day when therapy started to work and she figured out how to soothe her worries– how to stop the worst-case scenarios playing in vivid detail over and over in her mind– she would try for a driver’s license.  

Nathan was too nonchalant which enticed and terrified her. Emily learned to take deep breaths and accept that somehow, when she wasn’t looking, he managed to get things done and maintained his bare minimum 2.5 GPA. Good enough for him had to be good enough for her. The real problem now was how much he did care about his phone. His eyes never left it.  

A small bell tinkled as they pushed open the door to the restaurant. A short Hispanic woman, much too old to be a host yet here she was, led the couple to a booth. Emily acted as guide, her arm around Nathan’s, until they sat opposite each other. Her eyes scanned the menu lazily, already knowing she would get the flauta plate and as many free margaritas as they’d serve her. Nathan’s eyes flickered up to her face then back down to his phone, fingers never ceasing the algorithm-perpetuated doom scroll.  

Their waiter arrived and tried to greet them, but Nathan cut him off. The waiter scribbled furiously on his note pad. This is how it always went. Nathan barked orders but never stopped scrolling. Even at their apartment. Emily wondered how she could once again be important enough to demand his attention like that device. But how could she compete with his own image?   

“Ma’am?”  

Emily ordered her usual and with a nod the waiter left. She clicked her nails against the faux wood. A scowl slowly spread across Nathan’s face and his piercing eyes met hers for the first time in what felt like days. 

“Stop,” he grumbled, looking away only when she obeyed. The hairs on her arms pricked up.    

Their drinks arrived, Emily downing her first strawberry margarita in minutes, and before their food came, she ordered another. The waiter brought the steaming dishes, and only then did Nathan put his phone down on the table, yet one hand stayed distracted, continuously flicking the screen. His gaze flickered between the phone and his plate, but he had gotten good at using his peripheral vision to bring bites of food to his mouth.  

“How was your day?” Emily tried. Between bites, Nathan mumbled a nonsense reply. Emily tried to remember what, besides his carefree attitude and bright blue eyes, had attracted her to him. She had followed him to this university– obsessed. Something about him was magnetic. But now he was desperate for validation from everyone but her. And if she ever dared mention his screentime, apparently, he was “researching” how to “market himself.” She stopped bringing it up weeks ago.  

Another margarita down and their plates depleted signaled time to go. Emily paid the bill, scribbling a decent, ungenerous tip above the total line. Her head swam and her numbers came out shaky. She scooted out of the booth and swayed on her feet. Her eyes couldn’t focus as she waited for Nathan to notice she had gotten up. He didn’t. 

“Come on,” she grabbed his arm and tugged.  

It was darker outside than Emily anticipated, but the streetlights and buildings illuminated the sidewalk. They waited impatiently, their apartment visible across the road. Time slowed but the cars rushed passed, all late for something. Emily’s head lolled to one side, then the other, her eyes eventually dropping down to her feet. Her shoe was untied, and unable to concentrate on anything else, she stooped down.  

Across the street, the little neon man signaled time to walk. Nathan’s eyes flickered up, triggered by the shift in light, and he stepped off the curb.  

The squealing of tires and a hollow crack like a broken coconut made Emily look up.  

Nathan lay sprawled out, one arm twisted beneath his body, his head oozing dark red blood onto the black pavement. A video of himself dancing to a viral music clip played over and over again through a cracked screen.  

Emily stood in stock horror. The boy she had moved away from her family for, the boy that gave her a purpose, the boy who loved himself more than her, was now a crumpled heap on the pavement. A wounded cry escaped her lips as she rushed, stumbling, into the road to meet him.  

Somewhere in the distance, sirens echoed and grew nearer. People parked their cars and stood beside them, gawking.  

His phone was shattered, yet his image still danced, grinning, as it looped continuously. Emily would never see that smile again. Infuriated, she smashed the phone again and again into the pavement. The world swirled around her in a mess of colored lights and yelling voices, until a hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled her away from Nathan’s body and destroyed phone.  

She couldn’t speak. An officer asked her what happened, and she could only repeat his words. What happened? What happened? She hadn’t been there for him, hadn’t been his guide. She couldn’t protect him from his obsession with himself. And now he was gone.  

Whitney McClelland is a tenth-grade English teacher, which supports her fictional writing career. She is also a creative writing Master's student at Stephen F. Austin State University in East Texas. She hopes to one day work as a manuscript editor and volunteers in her free time as an editor for the Story Society, a new literary magazine.