P.S. I Like You

  “Hey,” she said, linking her arm through mine. Her plastic bracelets clinked together.

  “Hey,” I responded.

  “I’m surprised he didn’t feel you burning a hole in the back of his head.”

  “What? Who?”

  “Funny. Like you don’t know who you were just staring at.”

  My cheeks went hot and my gaze went back to Lucas, who was now almost to the lockers across the commons.

  I was about to avoid the subject by asking Isabel if she finished the History assignment. But then four sophomore girls met up in front of us with a loud squeal. They all exchanged the lidded Starbucks cups they were holding. I was confused until Isabel whispered, “They each buy a drink in the morning and then they switch.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not? It’s fun.” We walked around them. “We need a morning routine.”

  I gestured back toward the girls. “That morning routine?”

  “Not that one. But something we do or say every morning when we see each other to start the day right.”

  “Um … ”

  “A handshake?”

  I raised my eyebrows at her. “ ‘Hey’ has been working pretty well for us for the last three years.”

  “But they’re so cute,” Isabel said, nodding toward the giggling girls.

  “We’re not cute enough for you?”

  “No. We’re not.” She smiled.

  “Just last night, before falling asleep, I thought to myself, I wish Isabel and I had a morning tradition. It would make our friendship so much cuter.”

  “And last night before I fell asleep, I was wondering how you got so lucky to have a best friend like me when you’re such a brat.”

  “So lucky.”

  Isabel’s eyes widened. “That’s it! That’s our tradition.”

  “To talk about how awesome you are and how lucky I am every morning?”

  She shook her head. “No … Well, we can do that too. But how about the first thing we say to each other every morning is the last thing we thought of before we went to sleep the previous night?”

  “That won’t work. You’ll just say ‘Gabriel’ every morning. You’ll say it so much that soon I’ll start to wonder if my name is Gabriel.”

  “That’s not true.” She stuck out her lower lip. “Fine, I guess we don’t need a tradition. But, speaking of Gabriel, he wants to go out with us this weekend. You’ll come, right?”

  I tugged on the straps of my backpack. “I thought we already decided no setups.”

  “No, it wouldn’t be a setup. It will be a group of us. Some of his friends and us.”

  I frowned, suspicious. “What will we be doing?”

  “Go-karts.”

  The indoor track wasn’t cheap. I calculated how much money I had saved in the jar in my closet. After I bought the guitar, the twins’ mom hired a full-time nanny, so I was out of my regular source of income. Occasionally, I worked for my mom at craft fairs, but it had been a while. I couldn’t remember if I’d spent all my money the last time we went to the movies with Gabriel and his friends.

  “Okay, sure. I’ll talk to my mom about it. Sounds fun.”

  “It sounds awesome.” The bell rang. “See you at lunch. If you don’t die in Chemistry, that is.”

  “Every day poses that risk.”

  “I believe in you.”

  She was ten steps away when I called out. “Iz!”

  She turned. “Yeah?”

  “We don’t need any cutesy traditions. We’re solid you and me.”

  I wasn’t going to die from boredom this time. It was going to be from shock.

  In Chemistry, there was a hand drawn arrow underneath my final message from the day before. It pointed down, to the end of the desk. As if something was under there. My eyes went wide. Was there something under the desk? I looked on the floor but my high-topped red sneakers were the only things there.

  What if …

  While keeping an eye on Mr. Ortega, I ran my hand along the bottom of the desk, disgusted when it met a lump of what I assumed was chewed up-gum. Gross.

  Still, I let my pencil roll off my desk and land on the ground. I used my sneaker to slide the pencil back toward me then ducked down to retrieve it. While leaning down, I craned my neck around. Sure enough, wedged under the strip of metal that ran between the desk legs was a piece of paper folded into fourths. I quickly grabbed my pencil and the paper then sat back up, the blood rushing back down my face.

  As quietly as possible, I unfolded the paper and smoothed it flat. It was as if this was the most normal thing in the world, like this person and I exchanged notes all the time.

  So, did you listen to The Crooked Brookes? What did you think? Maybe it was too dark for you. It is kind of a depressing band. But I thought if you liked Blackout you might like them. Sometimes listening to depressing songs makes me feel like my life isn’t so bad. Reverse psychology or something. Ha. Well, hopefully this note distracted you for at least one minute. Writing back will take another couple. Then you’ll only have … an eternity to sit through. Sorry.

  I laughed quietly. So my pen pal liked Blackout and hated Chemistry. We were kindred spirits. I turned the paper over, trying to decide what to write back. This would be my third message to her, I realized.

  I’d started a cute tradition with a total stranger completely unknowingly. It felt a little like cheating. No, this wasn’t cheating. I’d already told Isabel about it. And this wasn’t even a real friendship. It was a distraction. Besides, Isabel had other friends. I could have an anonymous pen pal. Anonymous friends were perfect for me.

  I haven’t had a chance to listen to The Crooked Brookes. Life at home is a bit … chaotic. I will the first chance I get. I’m all for music that makes my life seem better. And you’re right, Blackout is depressing, but they’re not only depressing. Track 8 on their Blue album, for example. I’ve never felt more alive than when listening to that song. It makes me feel like I’m flying. Soaring above my life and looking down on it. Being above it for a while makes it easier to live when I’m back in the middle of it, if that makes any sense at all. Anyway, I better get back to the mind-numbing boredom.

  For a moment I couldn’t believe I had written that to a total stranger. I even considered not folding the paper back up and putting it under the desk. But two things made me do it. One: When talking about music, I always found myself opening up more than I might have otherwise. People who appreciated music like I did seemed to understand that. I sensed my pen pal would. Two, anonymity was freeing. I could say a lot when I didn’t have to sign my name at the end. And I didn’t.

  I stuffed the note back into place under the desk and got to work on a few Chemistry notes that I was still required to show Mr. Ortega at the end of each period.

  I must’ve still felt a little guilty about the letter exchange because at lunch, I blurted out to Isabel, “She wrote me a letter.”

  Isabel, known for her drastic subject changes, didn’t follow mine. “What?”

  We were walking back from the food trucks with our burritos and sodas. Isabel loved getting “fake Mexican food,” as she called it, even though her dad made the best real Mexican food on earth. Maybe it was her form of teenage rebellion.

  “Remember I told you about writing back and forth with that girl in Chemistry?” I began as we started toward the outdoor student commons. “The one who likes the same band as me?”

  “Yes,” Isabel said. “I thought it was a guy.”

  “No. She wrote something about wanting to be Lyssa Primm when she grows up.”

  “Who’s Lyssa Primm?”

  “The lead singer of Blackout.”

  “Aw, how cute, you found a new weird pen pal. The two of you are like the same person.” She hip checked me.

  “Two of me? Our school couldn’t handle that.”

  “So true.”

  “But anyway, she left me a longer letter under the desk this time and I wrote back.”

 
Isabel let out a hum. “Who do you think she is?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Aren’t you curious? Maybe it’s someone you already know. It’s obviously someone you’d get along with.” She scanned the commons. Students were clustered in groups, divided by grade, eating and laughing and throwing balled-up napkins at each other. I spotted Lucas sitting with his friends, and tried not to stare. Especially since I got caught by Isabel last time. “We should find out.”

  “No.” I knew it was silly to feel insecure about what others thought of me, but I couldn’t help it. I was worried if this girl found out who I was, she wouldn’t find me cool enough for her. Besides that, I’d already decided that anonymity made writing so much easier. And this letter exchange was my sanity in Chemistry. “It’s just a fun distraction. I really don’t want to know.”

  Isabel shrugged. “Okay. Fine. If it were me, my curiosity wouldn’t be able to leave it alone.”

  And I wondered if her curiosity would be able to leave it alone even though it wasn’t her. I gave her my best “we are not pursuing this” look and let it go.

  “No anniversary lunches today, right?” I asked.

  She smiled. “Yes, it’s our two-month-and-five-day anniversary. You understand, right?”

  We settled into our spot under a tree. I hadn’t picked this spot because it had the best view of Lucas—that was just a happy coincidence. My eyes scanned the commons again. Maybe my letter writer was someone I already knew. But who?

  I scribbled in my notebook as The Crooked Brookes blasted through my headphones. I couldn’t wait to write to my Chemistry friend the next day and tell her how awesome this music was. The song was raw and unapologetic and oh-so-depressing. But for whatever reason, it had inspired me. A song about secrets was twisting its way through my head and out of my pen.

  If I tell you my secrets, will you just tell me lies?

  If I say I believe you, does that make it all right?

  It’s hard to place my trust in someone new,

  But that doesn’t mean

  A tapping on my back interrupted my thought. I looked over to see my brother, Jonah, standing by my bed.

  I clicked off the music. “Hey, Thing Two, what’s up?”

  “Will you read me a story?” He was already holding the book.

  “You can read.”

  “I like it when you read.”

  My notebook was begging me to continue, pleading with me as it sat there on my pillow.

  “Sure, buddy,” I said. “Come on up.” I shut my notebook and Jonah climbed onto my bed with a smile.

  He handed me the first Harry Potter. “And do the voices, too.”

  “So demanding.”

  I had been reading for twenty minutes when Jonah’s attention wavered. His finger tapped the perfectly cut-out newspaper article about the songwriting competition I had pinned to my wall. “What’s that?”

  “That’s just me dreaming … like always.”

  “Dreaming is fun,” Jonah said. “I dreamed about dinosaurs last night. What did you dream about?”

  My eyes darted to the notebook I had abandoned on my pillow, then back to my brother. “I dreamed about a little prince named Jonah who had three older siblings who always gave him whatever he wanted because he was the most spoiled prince in all the land.”

  Jonah stuck out his lower lip. “I am not.”

  “I wasn’t talking about you. I was talking about Prince Jonah, from my dream. Do you think everyone is talking about you all the time?”

  “Yes.”

  I tickled him. “Good night, Prince Jonah.”

  “I thought I was Thing Two.”

  “Only when you make messes.” I gently pushed him off my bed with my feet. “Speaking of messes, how is that rabbit of yours?”

  “Mom won’t let him sleep in my bed.”

  “Mom makes good decisions sometimes. Have you given him a name?”

  “Bugs Rabbit.”

  “You mean Bugs Bunny?”

  He scrunched his lips together. “We call him Bugs Rabbit.”

  “Really? But then how are you going to remember it?”

  “It’s easy. His name is Bugs and he’s a rabbit.”

  “Does nobody in the world use alliteration anymore?”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Will you take us trick-or-treating Friday?”

  “That’s right, Friday is Halloween.”

  Jonah put his little fists on his hips. “Did you forget?”

  “No, but I’m too old for trick-or-treating … so Halloween isn’t such a big deal anymore.”

  “I’m never going to get too old for trick-or-treating.”

  I ruffled his hair. “Yes, of course I can take you … in exchange for a piece of candy.”

  Jonah gave a yelp of joy as he ran out of my room.

  “One of the good ones!” I called after him.

  I opened my notebook back up to the lyrics I’d been writing, but it was too late. The inspiration was gone. If I tried to write a song right now, it’d be about rabbits, dinosaurs, and Halloween candy. Almost as good as monsters in trees. I’d have to try again later.

  “Monsters in trees,” I said to Isabel the next morning when I saw her by our lockers.

  “What?”

  “That’s what I thought about before going to bed last night. Are we doing this or not?”

  She clapped her hands, then bit her lip in thought.

  I laughed. “Gabriel, right?”

  “Shhh. There was something after that. I’m trying to remember. Oh! Nutella crepes.”

  “Now I’m hungry.”

  “And I’m confused,” Isabel said, shutting her locker. “Monsters in trees?”

  “Fake song idea. But I actually started a real song, one I’ll read to you when I’m done.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “This is going to be a fun tradition.”

  She laughed. “It is. I feel our friendship getting cuter already.”

  I may have started the morning tradition with Isabel because I felt guilty about how excited I was to read this letter. The letter that I had retrieved from beneath my desk in Chemistry and was now unfolded on top of my desk.

  Track 8 on Blackout’s Blue album? I haven’t listened to that one yet. I only have their first album. And even though it goes against my reverse psychology theory of how I handle life, if you think it’s good, I’ll try it out. Any other bands I should add to my “shutting out the world” playlist? I could use some of that to deal with my life right now. Does that make me sound pathetic? I’m not, most of the time. I’m actually a pretty fun guy when not at home.

  Guy? I blinked. My pen pal was a he? My eyes went back to the notes written on the desk—to the line that had made me think he was a girl. It was still there. His claim that he had dibs on wanting to be Lyssa when he grew up. So it had been a joke? He liked to joke.

  He was a guy. A guy who liked the same music as me and was bored in Chemistry and had a sense of humor. We were soul mates. I smiled a little, then shook my head. The guy was bored and was writing me letters to pass time. He wasn’t asking me out or anything.

  I realized my brain had stopped mid-letter. I read the rest.

  So what should we chat about that’s not so depressing? I’m open to suggestions. Perhaps one of the following topics: Death, cancer, global warming (or is it climate change now?), animal cruelty …

  I turned over the page, but that was the end. We’d filled up an entire page with our back and forth communication. Which meant I got to keep this page. I folded it nicely and stuck it in my bag.

  I stared at the new, clean sheet in front of me, and then wrote:

  How about we discuss the fact that you’re a guy. Let’s get married and have cute Indie Rock babies.

  I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing and dropped that sheet of paper in my backpack by my feet. I wasn’t even going to mention the fact that he was a he. I
was going to pretend I knew all along. Because it changed nothing.

  I finally got a chance in the chaos that is my house to listen to The Crooked Brookes. Brilliant. Track 4. I must’ve listened to that one five times in a row. I wasn’t sure I could trust your taste in music before, but you have now proven yourself. I will listen to anything you suggest. I’ll include a list of my favorites at the bottom of this page. Do you play any instruments? I’m a self-taught not-very-good-but-thinks-she-is guitarist. Okay, you’ve convinced me, we can start a band together. Unless you play the guitar, too. Sorry, but I won’t fight you for solo time.

  I re-read what I wrote three times. It was me, but I wasn’t sure I should be me. I didn’t have the best track record with guys. But at least on paper he could read it in a smooth, confident voice, not in the way I would’ve delivered it in person: awkwardly.

  It didn’t matter. Why was I suddenly worried about how he would perceive me? I wished I hadn’t found out he was a guy. This had been fun until I learned that piece of information. I had actually been looking forward to Chemistry for the last week. Something that had never happened before. And I would continue to look forward to it. We still had anonymity on our side.

  I opened another drawer of my dresser and flung several shirts onto my bed.

  Where is it? I wondered in frustration.

  I was the organized one in this room. I didn’t misplace my favorite shirt. Especially when I saved it specifically for nights like tonight—nights where I’d be hanging out with Isabel, her boyfriend, and a bunch of his friends I didn’t know.

  I pulled the dirty laundry basket out of my closet and dumped it on the floor, then sifted through the pile of clothes. When I came up empty, I let out a growl. That’s when I spotted my sister’s laundry basket on the other side of the closet. I stormed over to it and after shifting a few clothes, found my favorite green shirt. I held it up. It was wrinkled and had a big dark stain on the right side.

  “Ashley!” Anger made my eyes hot. I tore out of the room, taking my shirt and my anger with me.