I wait to see which way he goes. If he keeps denying, I cannot be held responsible for any and all physical harm that may erupt on this loser.
He crosses his arms. “Where did you get all this?”
“From your email, where do you think?”
“You hacked into my email?” Logan says in a tone like this is the most egregious part.
“Um, no. I went to your laptop where your email was open. Everything I needed to know was right there.”
“It was still an invasion of privacy.”
“What’s worse: me invading your privacy or you lying to me this whole time?”
Logan drops the victim act. He has no weapon to fight this battle. “What do you want me to say?”
“What do you want to say?”
“I don’t know.”
I rip into him. “Because you didn’t think you’d get caught? Did you really think I was going to fork over thousands of dollars for you to pay off some gambling debt?”
“I’m in trouble,” he says so low I almost can’t hear him. “I thought you’d want to help me.”
“Help you? Help you play me even more? Help you dump me again when you get back home? So you can hook up with that bimbo? Are you insane?”
“She doesn’t mean anything.” Logan reaches for me again. I shake him off again. “She’s nothing like you.”
“Yeah. I think the problem is that I’m nothing like her. Is that it? I’m just not your type?”
“That’s ridiculous. I love you.”
“I don’t think you do,” I snap. “You wouldn’t have been lying to me this whole time if you loved me.” I blink back tears in spite of myself.
“I didn’t want to tell you about the debt because I didn’t want you to worry. And I swear she doesn’t mean anything.”
“Whose necklace was that?” I ask.
“What necklace?”
“The necklace I found under your bed the last time I spent the night.”
“I don’t—”
“Stop lying.”
Logan glances down Leroy Street, hoping for someone to save him. But there is only me. The one who is ending us forever.
“Just tell me,” I say.
“You said you didn’t want to be exclusive.”
“No, I said I wasn’t going to see anyone else while you were here. I wanted to figure this out. I thought you wanted the same thing.” I push down the Jude guilt that has surfaced without warning.
“I did.”
“Then how did you think sleeping with some other girl would help us?”
“I didn’t sleep with her. We hung out one night. That’s all.”
I knew it. I knew there was another girl. Turns out there were two other girls—the bimbo and the necklace.
Logan is doing his sexy sloucher thing with his dark hair tousling and his dark eyes smoldering. But the tousling and the smoldering no longer enchant me. I broke out from under his spell the day I woke up.
An old guy walking his little dog is shuffling toward us. The comforting smell of freshly baked bread from the bread shop on the corner mocks me. A group of middle school girls shrieks with laughter as they stomp by on Bleecker Street. I refrain from screaming at Logan until the guy passes. The little dog’s paws click on the sidewalk as they saunter past.
“So what you’re saying,” I venture, “is that you weren’t just seeing one other girl. There were two. While I was entirely devoted to you? Did it ever occur to you that I could have been seeing someone else, but I chose not to? That I chose you over someone else I liked because you came all the way here to supposedly win me back?”
“You’re the only one I love,” Logan declares. His big eyes are desperate, pleading like a dog begging for table scraps. “Doesn’t that matter?”
“No. Not when her necklace is under your bed and your hair smells like her lemon shampoo and the other one is sending naked photos of herself to you. Oh, and you’re sending ones back.” I am shaking with rage. “You are disgusting. I can’t believe I fell for your bullshit again. But that has happened for the last time. We’re done.” I turn away and head back to work. I never want to see this scumbag again.
“Wait—”
“For what? More lies? I’m all set, thanks.” I keep walking. I do not look back.
Logan doesn’t follow me.
So that’s it. We’re over. I’m surprised our breakup wasn’t more dramatic. When I found out Logan was scamming me, I was so furious I spent days avoiding him while I plotted the perfect revenge. Now I can’t believe I was stupid enough to waste all that time thinking about him.
I take a minute to get myself together before going back into the coffee shop. I’m still shaking. I lean against a streetlamp, watching a steady stream of people flow by. How many of them have had their lives turned upside down? How many of them are heartbroken? How many are being deceived right now and don’t even know it?
Sadie will understand my pain. Austin lied to her. She knows how it feels to have the person you love betray you. Except our situations are different. Austin loves Sadie. Logan doesn’t love me. He probably never did. He ended up breaking my heart twice. But now I know that wouldn’t have happened if he’d truly loved me from the start. Which is why Sadie would encourage me to never give up on my search for true love. If she were here, she would tell me that my soul mate could be right around the corner. She would remind me that anything is possible in New York. She would point to the epic non-coincidence of last night as an example. How else would I explain the timing? That Tomer just happened to be staying at his uncle’s place? That he came home right when I was standing there?
I knew Tomer was a nice guy. He didn’t push me to drink. He didn’t try to take advantage of me. I considered getting sloppy drunk to bring on the numb, but I didn’t need to be numb with Tomer. We had the best time just talking.
And then there’s Jude. . . .
Sadie is right. Anything is possible.
When I feel ready to take control of my life, I take a deep breath in front of the coffee shop. Then I open the door.
CHAPTER 12
ROSANNA
THE APARTMENT IS SO QUIET, all I can hear is the hum of the air conditioner. When I first moved here, the traffic noises out on 5th Avenue kept me awake at night. I don’t even notice them anymore. The traffic has blended into the background noise. I actually like how it’s never completely quiet here. City noises remind me that there is always something going on right outside my door. The constant activity makes me feel less alone, even when I’m feeling extra lonely like tonight.
I lie on my bed looking around my room. D is working late tonight. Same with Darcy. Sadie is at Otheroom with Austin. She must be loving it. As soon as D took me there and I saw all that candlelight, I knew it was a Sadie place.
I’m not as homesick as I was when I first moved here. But there are times when I think about my family and feel so far away. We talk all the time, but it’s not the same as being with them in person. Not at all.
A picture from my eighteenth birthday party sits on my dresser. My friend’s parents own a pizza place and they let me have my birthday party there for free. The picture is of me and four friends standing around a table. My mom baked a cake that day, and I caught her tearing up when I went into the kitchen while she was mixing the ingredients. She couldn’t use her onions excuse for why her eyes were watery. She told me she was emotional about baking my last birthday cake while I was living at home. Since my birthday is in early December, I’ll be at college for my birthday from now on. And then in grad school. And then being a social worker, hopefully here in New York. She was probably baking my last mom-baked birthday cake ever.
I push myself up from my bed and go over to my dresser, picking up the picture frame. Every time I look at this picture it bothers me that I didn’t stand up straight. I’m standing in the middle of my friends, kind of hunched over. They are all standing up straight with pretty smiles. I should have smiled in that picture
as brightly as they did. If only my posture had been better, I’d be looking at this picture with fond memories instead of kicking myself. Why can’t I embrace being tall instead of feeling so self-conscious? Regretting everything I should have done in pictures is not the way I want to live my life. I need to accept my height for what it is. I need to quit fighting the parts of me I don’t like but cannot change.
Out of the corner of my eye, I detect someone at a window across the alleyway. Not just any window. His window.
We got lucky with our apartment. Some other apartments have windows that look out on air shafts. They have no views or light. My windows face another building, but it’s far enough away to offer some privacy and let light come into my room; plus I’m close enough to the corner to see part of 5th Avenue to the right. The other day I was looking at some of those windows I could see into, wondering who lived in each apartment and where they came from, when a boy suddenly appeared in a window one floor above mine. From what I could tell he was around my age. He looked cute. There was a UNY cap on his windowsill along with a baseball in a clear display cube and a struggling philodendron, half-wilted with too many yellow leaves. He just came right up to the window eating a piece of toast, looking out toward 5th Avenue. And there I was, one floor below him, staring right into his apartment.
I lurched away from the window, stubbing my toe on the bed frame and nearly taking out a lamp, showing off my ineptitude at covering up overt spying.
I didn’t think the boy eating toast saw me. But now he’s back in the window. Just standing there.
Looking right at me.
My first instinct is to bolt. When it comes to fight or flight, I am all about the flight. But I want to be more confident. This could be a test to see how much I want to fight for it.
I peek up at him.
He smiles at me.
I smile back.
He waves.
I wave back. My heart is doing jumping jacks.
He moves away from the window. Did I do something wrong? Was my wave weird? I am still as a statue, waiting to see if he will come back.
Hoping that he will come back.
Why am I hoping? Why it is so exciting to be sort of flirting with a boy in a window? Should I even be doing this when I have a boyfriend? What would D say if he found out? But as long as nothing happens, I think it’s harmless.
The boy comes back. My heart breaks out in a riot of jumping jacks.
He holds a sign up against the window for me. HI is written in black marker on plain white paper.
Now what? Should I write something back?
Only if I want to be Shiny New Rosanna. Which I do.
I grab a Sharpie from my desk and some paper from my printer. This ancient printer will deserve a trophy if it makes it through all four years of college.
I write HI back. Original, I know. My jumping-jack heart is making it impossible to be more creative.
He sees my HI and raises me an I’M BRANDON.
Do I have to give him my name? Would it be a security risk if I did? Not that he could track me down from only a first name. But he already knows where I live. He could easily find out that my building is UNY student housing. If he searched the student directory for girls with my first name, I would quickly come up. How many Rosannas can there be at UNY?
But then what? What do I really think this guy would do if he knew my last name? Be all twisted like Addison and make my life a living hell? Darcy has been trying to get me to come out of my shell. Like I’m a turtle instead of a girl lacking self-esteem. Maybe she’s right. Maybe if I were more like Darcy, I wouldn’t be worrying about the boy next door’s secret identity as a serial killer. Darcy’s priority is to have fun. When has my priority ever been to have fun? Never. I could try it now, just for one night. Just to see what happens.
I make a new sign and hold it against my window. I’M ROSANNA.
Brandon writes on a new piece of paper. My jumping-jack heart refuses to slow down.
His new sign says CALL ME? With his number.
Okay. This just got real.
Too real for me.
I can’t call a random boy who knows where I live. What would I even say? That I already have a boyfriend, but thanks for the interest? That would only irritate him and make him more likely to lash out against me. Especially if he is a serial killer.
On the other hand, I don’t want to completely shut him down. That would hurt his feelings. So I take a fresh sheet of paper and write SORRY, I HAVE A BOYFRIEND. I hold it up to the window, trying for an apologetic expression to go along with breaking the news.
He shrugs and smiles. Then he does a little salute thing before he disappears farther into his apartment.
I really should be more careful about keeping my blinds closed. But I like having them open. I like how sunlight shifts the mood of my room throughout the day. At night, I like being able to see the city lights and other people’s lit windows. It calms me to see that there are lots of people around me in their homes, living their lives in the same space as mine.
Now it’s going to be awkward. Whenever I have my blinds open, I’ll be wondering if he’s looking in. Or I’ll be looking into his apartment to see if he’s there. What if I see him on the street? Would he recognize me? He could be one of those coffee shop guys always on their laptops where Darcy works. Or he could show up in one of my classes when fall semester starts. The boy could be anywhere.
I think about all these scenarios again later as I try to fall asleep. Not because I want to meet him. That would be embarrassing. I have no idea what he’s seen me doing in my room. Or what he’s seen D and me doing in my room. It’s more like I am letting my mind drift over all the possibilities of people interacting in this city. We affect one another every day in ways we don’t even realize. An incredible amount of potential exists for us to help one another, for us to reach out and show other people that we are all in this together. No matter what we are all going through, chances are at least one other person here is dealing with the same thing.
I must have drifted off to sleep without realizing it because a scratching sound jolts me awake. Normal night sounds are Darcy coming home or Sadie going to the bathroom. This is not a normal night sound. And it sounds like it’s coming from inside my room.
Scritch-scritch-scritch. Taptaptaptap!
Adrenaline sears my veins. There is something in the corner by my dresser.
I don’t want to know what it is.
I have to know what it is.
I reach over to the lamp on my nightstand and turn it on. The noise stops. Then I see a gray blur streaking along the baseboards to my door.
A mouse. The gray blur is a mouse.
I scream. I don’t know who else is home and I feel bad about waking anyone up. But I can’t help it.
Sadie rushes to my room.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Don’t stand on the floor! There’s a mouse!”
Sadie yelps. She leaps up on the foot of my bed.
Darcy appears in the doorway. She doesn’t seem like she knows she’s awake.
“Are you guys okay?” Darcy says.
“No, we are not okay,” Sadie huffs. “There’s a mouse.”
“It went that way.” I point to the living room.
“A mouse?” Darcy is slowly waking up.
“Yes,” I confirm.
“In our apartment?”
“I saw it.”
Darcy absorbs this information. I can’t believe she wasn’t smacked into consciousness as soon as she heard the word mouse. She does not look anywhere near as panicked as me or Sadie. Darcy stands strong, hands on hips, giving us a terse nod.
“That fucker is going down,” she intones.
We gape at her.
She strides out to the living room like a mouse didn’t dash that same way a minute ago. Sadie and I scream.
“Oh, relax,” Darcy mumbles. She comes back to my room with the broom.
??
?What are you going to do?” Sadie trills, hopping from foot to foot on my bed.
“I’m going to show that intruder who’s boss!” Darcy booms. “Some mouse thinks he can dance around this place like he runs the joint? I don’t think so.”
We gape at her some more. I can’t believe Darcy is so in control of this situation. So not afraid. I know Sadie is thinking the same thing.
“You said it went into the living room?” Darcy asks us.
We nod.
“Sit tight,” she says, wielding the broom. “I’ll go investigate.” She takes off into the living room like Wonder Woman. Lights start coming on in the living room and kitchen.
“Wow,” I breathe.
“Who was that?” Sadie breathes back.
“Did you see how unfazed she was?”
“I know. How is she not freaking out right now?”
There is no way I’m going back to sleep. Even if Darcy smashes that mouse to smithereens like she did with the smoke detector.
“Have you ever had mice before?” I ask Sadie.
“Not as a regular thing. But some of my friends had them. Wildlife kind of comes with the West Village territory. I am just not a fan of indoor wildlife.”
“What if there’s more than one?”
“Ooooh!” Sadie does her hopping thing again. “Don’t say that! I have to get back on the floor to go back to my room.”
“But we have the lights on.”
“Doesn’t matter. My friend Heather kept her light on all night and she still had a mouse in her room. Or mice. Gross!”
I sit up higher, throwing my light blanket and sheet off. I’m drenched in nervous sweat.
“We have to put traps down,” Sadie strategizes. “Glue traps. The big ones.” She cranes her neck toward my doorway, trying to see what Darcy is doing. Banging noises are coming from the kitchen. “I cannot believe this is happening. Jesse said the building was fumigated. He said I didn’t have to worry.”
“Who’s Jesse?”
“That cute guy in 3A.”
“Oh yeah. Can’t the exterminator do our apartment?”
“Totally. I’ll look into that.”
“You think you’re smarter than me?” Darcy bellows from the kitchen. “Watch who’s smarter when I move this stove, bitch!”