P.S. I Like You

  I scowled. Wasn’t there a different section for that kind of thing?

  My mom was unloading her trays onto the table and I was trying to think of any excuse to leave this booth. “Should I go get us drinks?” I asked.

  “I brought some water bottles.” She pointed to a bag under the table.

  “Snacks?”

  “Are you hungry already?”

  It was nine in the morning and we’d eaten breakfast before we left. It was a valid question. “No, I guess not.”

  “There’s another case of rings below. Why don’t you put them out?”

  “Okay.” I pulled up the tablecloth and slid out the boxes. “How come we aren’t selling any of dad’s pieces today?” I meant his furniture pieces; Dad’s furniture was really nice, even nicer than the necklaces he made that he tried to pretend were better than Mom’s.

  “He’s working on a contracted job—some kitchen cabinets for a house up in Scottsdale.”

  “Oh, that’s good.” Contracted jobs were steadier pay and better money.

  I glanced to our right. Cade hadn’t seen me yet. Or at least I assumed he hadn’t, by the lack of rude comments. He was unloading some sort of flyers into a plastic stand. I’d never seen him dressed up before. He was wearing slacks, a buttondown, and even had a tie on. I felt more shabby than normal in my homemade short floral skirt and denim vest. I would not try to hide half my outfit by sitting down, even though I was very tempted to do just that. I did not care what Cade thought of me.

  A man who looked nothing like Cade walked up to the front of his booth holding two lidded cups. He handed one to Cade.

  Maybe Cade took after his mother. Or this man was his father’s business partner. He mumbled something to Cade, who then dumped the flyers he had just arranged out onto the table and refilled the plastic stand with different ones.

  My mom began discussing the potential crowd today with the lady to our left. Cade met my eyes then, like he knew I’d been staring all along and a slow smile spread over his lips.

  “Are you taking notes?” he asked me. “This is what success looks like.” His eyes swept over the jewelry on my table, pausing on the tray with all the feathered necklaces. He raised his eyebrows. “You’ll probably need more than notes.”

  I pretended to write on a pad of paper. “First step, dress like a forty-year-old man. Second step, treat people badly. Third, act like the world revolves around me. Did I miss any?”

  Cade smirked. “Actually, you missed quite a few. Don’t pretend like you know everything, don’t write and walk at the same time, and think about other people every once in a while.”

  “What? Me think about other people? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “No hidden meaning there.”

  I narrowed my eyes, about to say something I probably shouldn’t have, when my mom placed a hand on my shoulder. “Do you go to school with that boy?” she asked me. “How fun.” Then, much to my horror, she called out, “Hi. Nice to meet you.”

  Cade brought out a smile that might’ve looked sincere to my mom, but actually was completely mocking her.

  “Hi, booth neighbor,” he said, and my mom laughed like that was some super witty line.

  “What a cutie,” my mom said under her breath. “Do you know my daughter?” This she said at a volume he could hear. I cringed.

  Cade met my eyes, and a playful sparkle lit his up. “I do. We go to school together.”

  “That’s great. If it’s slow today, you two won’t be so bored now.”

  “Lily definitely keeps things interesting,” Cade said.

  “We feel the same way,” my mom said as if he hadn’t just insulted me.

  Today was going to be awful.

  The day wasn’t going as badly as I originally anticipated. Cade minded his own business and I did mine. And now, he wasn’t even in his booth. He’d left about an hour ago and hadn’t returned. Maybe Isabel was right. Maybe I did start things more often than I realized.

  A woman with a coin purse and several stripes of colored hair stood at our booth, checking the circle price tags on each item and then counting her change. Every time she’d come up short then move onto the next item. There had to be a song in this situation somewhere. If a penny can bring luck and a dime can grant a wish, how come my eleven cents hasn’t bought me what I need. I chuckled at the lame lyrics.

  “What’s so funny?” my mom asked.

  “Oh, nothing.”

  “You ready for a lunch break?”

  “Sure.”

  She handed me a ten. “I want one of those big veggie burritos.”

  “Okay, I’ll be back.”

  I weaved my way through the crowd as I headed toward the food trucks at the end of the street. I had been standing in line for a few minutes when I saw Cade sitting off to the right at a long plastic table with one of his friends, Mike, from school. They were a stone’s throw away and even though I wasn’t trying to listen, I could hear their voices perfectly.

  “Do you think Coach expects us to be at every club practice plus the games?” Mike was saying.

  “Yeah,” Cade answered. “At least you don’t have mornings here and afternoons there.”

  “True. How many more of these do you have to work?” Mike asked.

  “As many as the company decides to do,” Cade answered.

  “It’s not too bad. This is a good place to meet new girls. Unlike club baseball.”

  “Really? Have you noticed the average age of the buyers here? Not really my age bracket.”

  “I noticed that one chick from school in the booth next to yours … you know … what’s her name … Lily. That could be interesting. She’s weird, but cute.”

  I tensed up.

  “Lily Abbott?” Cade said. “You think Lily Abbott is cute?”

  “You don’t?”

  “No.”

  “Then maybe I’ll go talk to her.”

  “Believe me. Avoid her at all costs. She’s not worth your time at all. She’s a—”

  Before I could hear how Cade ended that delightful sentence, the person standing in line behind me snapped: “Are you going to order or are you just looking?”

  “Oh, I’m ordering.” Flustered, I stepped up to the window, glancing once at Cade to see if he’d seen me. He raised one eyebrow at me, then took a drink of his soda. I hurriedly placed my order and waited on the opposite side, far away from Cade.

  My thoughts were swirling. That Mike guy thought I was weird, but cute? I wouldn’t have expected that. I didn’t think boys thought of me at all. But I wasn’t really surprised by Cade’s response.

  I could see why Cade hated me. I really could. In his mind, I had broken up him and Isabel. And I might’ve been able to deal with his hatred if that was the only reason for it. But his attitude toward me wasn’t new. It wasn’t post-Isabel. It had started when he and Isabel started. His jerkiness all along was what made me want him out of Isabel’s life. His attitude was the precursor to mine. He’d created my loathing with his. And I couldn’t for the life of me understand why.

  Chemistry used to be the class I had to get through. Now it was the class I couldn’t wait to get to. Monday morning seemed to drag on forever. Math was nothing short of torture. Composition, my favorite class ever, was slow, and in English, Ms. Logan decided we should read Romeo and Juliet out loud, the entire period, with English accents. A few drama students were the only ones who made it halfway entertaining. Everyone else butchered it. Two more classes until I would get to read today’s new note.

  Fourth period I was an office aide—the much-coveted position that usually only seniors got. It was basically busy-work and no homework, not the noblest elective, but a free period was a free period. And helping out Mrs. Clark wasn’t so bad.

  I was making my way through the crowded halls to the office when I saw Lucas ahead of me. He was several inches taller than everyone around him. He turned at the end of the hall. I turned, too. It was time to say something … a
nything to him.

  The second I made that decision my heart kicked up a notch.

  It’s okay, I said to myself, Just say hi, make sure he knows you exist.

  That wouldn’t be hard. Hi was a harmless word.

  Lucas pushed open a door on his right and I nearly followed him right through it until it swung shut and I saw the blue symbol of a man on the outside of it. I had almost walked right into the boy’s bathroom. Apparently I was a stalker now.

  I doubled back around and bumped into Isabel. Which was a relief. I needed an intervention or, at the very least, a lecture about why silently following boys was creepy.

  Only Isabel wasn’t alone. A boy was beside her. David. Isabel smiled eagerly at me.

  I sighed. Were we really going to do a take two? Isabel didn’t know how to give up.

  “Lily!” Isabel said in a fake innocent tone. “Look who I ran into.”

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hey,” David replied, hands in his pockets. “How are you?”

  “Pretty good. Did you get all the pee out of your sock?”

  “I threw it away.”

  “Oh. That was another solution.” A bit of an overreaction in my opinion, but maybe it smelled worse than I imagined it might.

  I looked at Isabel. She had a smile on her face like she was witnessing the cutest thing she’d ever seen. Isabel made a horrible matchmaker. I hoped she didn’t have her heart set on this as a career.

  “I didn’t mean to kick it, by the way,” David added, looking at the ground. “The rabbit. I just … it just surprised me.”

  I smiled. “My brother will be relieved to know this. Although you should probably avoid him for a while. My brother, that is. Oh, and the rabbit, I guess.” Not that David would ever want to go to my mad house again.

  “She’s just kidding,” Isabel clarified.

  “Yes. I am.” I had probably sounded rude. I was glad Isabel got my sense of humor so she could translate for me.

  “So … anyway, about that Chemistry assignment,” David said, turning to Isabel, and I realized this was how their conversation had probably started, how she had gotten him to follow her over here.

  “I can help you with it. Lily and I meet in the library on Wednesdays after school to work on Chemistry,” Isabel said.

  We most certainly did not.

  “Why don’t you join us this week?” Isabel went on.

  “Okay, sure.” David smiled a little at me and I softened. Maybe he was just shy and uncomfortable. I could understand that and have some sympathy for the poor guy. We could be friends. Maybe a few more conversations would bring out his real personality. “Mr. Ortega is going to be the death of me.”

  “Me too,” I said. “Do you guys have Chemistry together?” I glanced from David to Isabel.

  “No,” Isabel said. “I have it fourth period, and David has it second.”

  “And I have it sixth,” I said, almost to myself. We were each in one of the three junior Chemistry classes. The only three that existed. So my mystery pen pal was in one of their periods. One of them knew exactly who sat in my seat. All I had to do was open my mouth and ask … and forever ruin Chemistry. This was the one thing I’d been looking forward to for the past week and a half. I was not going to ruin that with my curiosity. I’d already told Isabel I didn’t want to know who my pen pal was. And I really didn’t.

  The late bell rang then. David, Isabel, and I all went our separate ways. I smiled as I hurried toward the main office. I was one step closer to Chemistry class.

  I didn’t have to look under the desk to find the note anymore. My hand went straight to it. I’d even become an expert at unfolding it quietly and placing it just so under my single sheet of notepaper. I didn’t even think Lauren realized what I was doing. I held my breath and read:

  Track 4 is my favorite too. And also, Track 8 on Blue is amazing. You were right, not depressing at all. (I’m not just saying that because the cool guitarist in my new band said she likes it the best.)

  By the way, I don’t play guitar so there will be no stealing your solo time here. That means it’s official, right? We need a band name now. Something overly sweet like Rainbows & Roses. Then all our songs should be angry. It will make for a good contrast. I have a lot of angry material right now—awful stepdad, distant mother, and absent father. That’s some solid fodder, right? Here, I’ll come up with a good first line right now … Parents (a pause in lyrics for a dramatic guitar solo for you) are (pause for drum solo) lame. Hmm … maybe I shouldn’t be the lyricist either. My musical skills don’t translate to a band. Where does that leave me? I can stand in the background and dance. Oh, also, if Mr. Ortega catches me writing you this letter, I am committed to shoving it in my mouth and swallowing. I hope I can count on the same commitment from you.

  I smiled. After the buildup of the whole weekend and all morning anticipating this letter, I was worried it would disappoint. It did not. It was cute and funny and a little sad. I wished there was something I could do about the sad part to make him feel better.

  I took out a fresh sheet of paper because now that we were saying more personal things, I didn’t want someone to find a long exchange under the desk. If discovered, it was better to have less.

  We’re already to the swallowing-paper-for-each-other commitment level? You may be moving a little fast for me. And yes, your lyrics could use some work. What are these other musical skills you mentioned? Maybe we can integrate them somehow.

  That is some serious material for lyrics. It will make a great song. Capitalizing on your sad life is cool, right? But seriously, I’m sorry. I don’t know if I can help much, but feel free to vent. I’m a good listener. Especially in letters, because I have no other choice.

  You want to hear about a sad life? My best friend brought a guy to my house, kind of like a setup, and he basically ran away screaming. That’s how crazy my family is. Has your family ever accomplished such a feat? I doubt it.

  I wasn’t sure that making light of his situation was the way to go, but he seemed like the type who appreciated humor. And it felt good to get my frustration about the weekend off my chest. I couldn’t vent about it to Isabel because I knew she’d just tell me that it was fine and that nobody thought my family was crazy—even though I was sure they all did.

  I folded the letter and carefully placed it back in its spot. Now I had to wait twenty-four hours for a response. This was so much less gratifying than texting.

  No, that wasn’t true. There was something about the secrecy and the anticipation and the possibility of getting caught that made it much more exciting than texting.

  The next day I was just as excited when I pulled his response from beneath the desk.

  No, I can’t say that my family has ever sent anyone away screaming. That would require them actually being involved in my life in some way. My parents divorced seven years ago and my dad moved. He moved to get away from her and me. If my mom hadn’t mentioned where he moved a couple times, I wouldn’t even know. Also, he might be dating someone four years older than me. I only know this because my mom screamed it into the phone about a year ago. I think she got remarried to make my dad mad, because there is no way she likes the jerk of a guy she married. He is impossible to impress. Everything has to be better and more and perfect for him.

  How’s that for venting? Remember, you asked for it. I don’t know if I buy your “good listening because it’s a letter” thing though. Technically you could just skip to the end of a letter and pretend you read it. Is that what you did? Here, I’ll give you some key words so that you can fake a response: five-state buffer zone, man cougar, loveless marriage. (Those sound like song lyrics. Look at that, I’m getting so much better. I’m back on for lyricist.) I was going to call him just a plain cougar, but they only use that term for women, right? That’s sexist. What do you call men in their fifties who date women who are practically teenagers?

  I hid my smile so Lauren wouldn’t notice. My pen pal had this
way of making even the saddest things funny somehow. I looked up at Mr. Ortega. I had to pay attention for five minutes before I could write back. It was my method of secrecy—listen, write, listen, write …

  I think they’re called perverts. And I’m sorry. I wish I were more than a good listener who reads entire letters and not just the highlights. I wish I had awesome advice to give you about how trials make you stronger or build character or something like that, but I know that doesn’t help. So if you want advice, you’ll have to find some other desk defacer. Me, I’ll just wallow with you.

  I’m impressed you’ve kept a sense of humor through all this. You haven’t let it make you a bitter, angry person. Or have you? Do you walk around punching lockers and kicking small animals? Or writing angry songs (for real)? That’s how this whole topic started, right? We’re going to use the injustices against you to make some awesome songs! Okay, so the first one can be called “Left Behind.” I’ll try to figure out how we can use the words man cougar in it.

  I hoped he was okay with me trying to make his sad topics funny too. Because before I’d added the last sentence, I’d stared at that song title for a few minutes. “Left Behind.” The title that represented his father leaving him without looking back, and a pit formed in my stomach that I’d had to combat.

  I folded the letter and secured it beneath the desk.

  I hadn’t been serious about writing a song inspired by my pen pal’s life. It was supposed to be like the jokes I’d always made with Isabel about writing a book based on her dating situations. But that wasn’t what happened. What happened was that the title “Left Behind,” along with his words, brought so many images into my mind that I found myself that night, notebook on knees, writing.

  First I’d filled in the margins with notes about what he’d said about his life. Then I’d let those words inspire lyrics.

  I’ve turned waiting into a form of art.

  Tied twisted lines around my broken heart.

  Because I always thought you’d be back one day.

  The door swung open and Ashley walked in and dropped onto her bed with a loud sigh.