P.S. I Like You

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “I just completely and totally humiliated myself in front of the guy I have a crush on at work.”

  “How?”

  She showed me her teeth. “See that?”

  “No.”

  “Exactly. Earlier there was a big, huge food chunk right here.” She pointed at her front tooth. “And nobody told me. Nobody. Oh wait, Mark told me after I’d been talking to him for five minutes.”

  I laughed.

  “You would’ve told me, right? Tricia should have told me. It’s girl code. I think Tricia likes Mark, too. That’s the problem here.”

  “Maybe she didn’t see the food.”

  “Lil, people on the space station saw this chunk of food. It was massive. And right on my front tooth.”

  “That was rude of the people on the space station not to tell you about it.”

  “Ha-ha.”

  “He probably thought it was funny,” I said.

  Ashley groaned. “That’s exactly what he thought. That’s why this is a nightmare. If you want a romantic relationship with a guy, first he has to find you mysterious, then intriguing, then funny. In that order. If it’s in any different order, you are forever labeled friend.”

  I frowned. “That’s an interesting theory.”

  “Tried and proven. And the funny has to be intentional. None of this making a fool of yourself business.”

  Huh. Maybe that’s why I’d never had a romantic relationship. I was always making a fool of myself.

  Ashley rolled off her bed, crawled forward, and sat on the floor with her back facing me. “Braid my hair. I want it to be wavy tomorrow. Plus, it will make me feel better.”

  “You’re so needy.” Sometimes, it felt like Ashley was the younger sister.

  “Please? I’ll straighten yours for you.”

  “Get me a brush.”

  She hopped up and walked out of the room.

  I looked at my notebook. “We’ll never have enough alone time together, will we?” I asked it with a sigh. “It’s as if people are trying to keep us apart.”

  My sister came back in swinging a hairbrush like a pendulum between her thumb and forefinger, a straightener tucked under her other arm. “Who are you talking to?”

  “Myself.”

  “You do that a lot.”

  “I know. I’m the only one who understands me.”

  Ashley threw the brush at me, narrowly missing my leg, then plugged in the straightener and positioned herself on the floor by my bed. I begrudgingly closed my notebook.

  My sister had long, beautiful hair. It was the same color as mine, but unlike my crazy waves, hers was perfectly straight.

  “People spend a lot of time to make their hair look exactly like yours,” I said as I ran a brush through it.

  “And people spend just as much time to make their hair look like yours.”

  “I guess everyone wants what they don’t have.”

  As if I had been making a statement about her love life, Ashley said, “Boys suck.”

  “Amen,” I said.

  Ashley tipped her head back. “What? You’re agreeing with me? Spill.”

  “You want to feel better about your supposedly embarrassing situation that in reality happens to everyone?” I asked.

  “Not everyone.”

  “Everyone at some point or another has had food in their teeth. But I bet your pet rabbit has never peed on your date’s foot.”

  Ashley laughed.

  “Yeah … exactly,” I said.

  Ashley didn’t stop laughing. She put her forehead to her knees, causing me to let go of the braid.

  “Keep on laughing,” I said.

  “Okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She sat back and I separated her hair again and began to braid when she broke out into laughter again.

  “I’m not braiding your hair anymore,” I announced, sitting back.

  “No, no, no,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  I gathered her hair. Two minutes passed, then she said, “Do you call him Pee Foot now?” and burst into laughter.

  I let go of her hair and shoved her. “You’re a brat.”

  She stood and let out a happy sigh. “Your stories are the best, Lil. Your social life is so funny. Thanks for making me feel better.” With that she left the room.

  “Yes, that’s me, the girl whose social life makes everyone feel better about theirs,” I said to nobody.

  I yanked the straightener’s cord out of the wall, turning it off, and then picked up my notebook. I flipped to the back and titled the last page: Suspects. I didn’t have that sad of a social life. I had a fun and perfectly normal relationship with an anonymous pen pal. Okay, so an anonymous pen pal didn’t exactly sound normal, but I would ignore that fact. Maybe it was time to figure out who he was.

  “Mrs. Clark, did you have rules when you were dating?”

  I was beginning to wonder if I was the only girl in the world who didn’t have dating rules, and if this was part of my problem. I was sitting at a desk in the main office fulfilling my aide duties, which today consisted of transferring the handwritten sign-out sheet from the day before into the computer.

  Mrs. Clark looked up from her computer. She was about my mom’s age, and pretty, with long blonde hair and glasses. I could almost picture her as a teenager. Almost.

  “Rules?” Mrs. Clark asked, furrowing her brow.

  “You know, like ‘be mysterious but not too mysterious,’ ‘don’t laugh at your date,’ things like that.”

  She smiled. “Do you make it a habit of laughing at your dates?”

  “Only when they do something funny.”

  Mrs. Clark thought for a second. “When I was dating, my girlfriends and I used to say, ‘Don’t cry in front of him before date three.’ ”

  “Cry?” I echoed, frowning.

  “Yeah. Guys gets skittish when you cry.”

  “I don’t think I have to worry about that one.”

  “You don’t cry?”

  “I don’t make it to date three.”

  She smiled again, like I hadn’t been making a joke. I had been. Sort of. “Rules are silly,” she said. “Just be real.”

  “Easier said than done.” I entered the last sign out into the computer, then filed away the hardcopy. “Done.”

  “Oh, good.” She pointed across the room. “Can you grab the keys and drop this packet off in Mrs. Lungren’s room?”

  “Sure.” I got to my feet. “Why do I need keys for that?”

  “Mrs. L locks up during fourth. Prep period.”

  “Where are the keys?”

  “Have I never had you drop things off in locked rooms before?”

  “No.”

  She gave a grunt like she was surprised. “Well, you’re responsible, so I can trust you.” She winked and went over to a cabinet at the very back of the office, retrieved some keys, and then placed them in my hand.

  “Super responsible,” I promised with a smile.

  So responsible that after dropping off the packet in Mrs. L’s classroom, I found myself in the Science building, heading toward room 201. The room where I had Chemistry. I’d just look in the window, I told myself. See who sat at my desk. True, Isabel had Chemistry fourth period, and I could have just asked her. Why was I doing this? My best friend would’ve mentioned if she’d seen someone writing notes the whole class. She noticed things like that. Especially because she knew I was exchanging notes with someone. My pen pal had to have it second period.

  Still, I wanted to look.

  My heart was racing when I reached the room. But it was dark, and locked. Why? The keys I held dug into my hand and I was so tempted to use them. But for what purpose? To retrieve the note early? To see if my note was already gone? Both seemed too pointless to risk it.

  I turned and rushed off before Mrs. Clark realized I had been gone way too long and took my future key privileges away.

  When it was time for my Chemistry class, I arrived at
the door to find it locked again, and the classroom still empty. This time I noticed a sign taped to the door. Had it been there earlier? It must’ve.

  LAB TODAY. MEET IN ROOM 301.

  Lab. I’d forgotten about lab. That meant there would be no note today. It also meant he hadn’t read my note from the day before. I didn’t remember exactly what I had written. I vaguely remembered trying to make a few jokes. Would he think I was laughing at him? Was I trying too hard to be funny?

  It didn’t matter. I wasn’t trying to date the guy. I didn’t even know who he was. I wasn’t going to overanalyze it. Besides, rules were stupid.

  “It says: Lab today. Meet in room 301.” Cade said each word of the sign slowly.

  I turned, wanting to throw an elbow as I did, but kept my arms safely at my sides. “Yeah. I got that.”

  “You were standing there for so long I wondered.”

  “Are you stalking me now?”

  He held up his hands and stepped to the side. “I was just trying to be helpful. It’s who I am.”

  “You should reevaluate your definition of help.”

  He smiled and started ticking words off on his right hand. “To assist, to save, to be handsome. I think I have them all.”

  “Pretty sure you only possess the one that doesn’t even fit the definition.”

  “I’m glad you think I’m handsome, Lily. I always knew you did.”

  My cheeks went pink as I realized I had walked right into that.

  He leaned close. “That makes it two hundred and one … ” He pointed at himself. “To three.” He pointed at me. “Since you’re keeping score.”

  I gave him a little push and walked away. “I have at least five points,” I mumbled.

  I got to the lab and settled into my seat next to my lab partner, Isaiah. I knew there would not be a note under the long lab table. I looked anyway. There were only tubes leading up to the Bunsen burners. My pen pal and I probably sat in completely different seats for lab. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t disappointed.

  Isaiah handed me a pair of goggles and said, “I should probably control the fire this time. Your paper dragon last time almost set off the smoke alarm.”

  “Thanks,” I sighed, and got to work.

  I was the first to arrive at the library after school. I found a table near the back and placed my backpack in the center. This was already off to a better start than the last time I hung out with David because it was taking place outside of my house. No spilled Legos and stacks of laundry, no bloody-chinned brothers and definitely no rabbits with bladder control issues.

  Okay, I told myself as I settled back in the chair. Isabel is trying really hard in her self-appointed quest to make you dateable. You can try, too. I wasn’t sure what trying consisted of. Not talking?

  As I sat there thinking about how to be normal, I realized I was staring in the general direction of a guy sitting two tables over. Not just any guy, but Lucas. I caught my breath.

  His attention was fully focused on the book in front of him, his finger scanning the page. This was my opportunity to say hi or to ask him if he knew where the nonfiction section was or something. I could do that.

  Just as I convinced myself that I really could do that, David arrived.

  “Hey,” he said, placing his backpack next to mine.

  “Hi.”

  He sat down and pulled books out of his bag. I gave one last useless look at Lucas and then sat down as well. I unzipped my bag and pulled my book and notebook out. This not-talking thing was working well so far; it made things less awkward.

  “Silence is kind of awkward, don’t you think?” he said.

  Oh. Or not. “No. I’m okay with silence. We’re in a library after all. This is the birthplace of silence.”

  “The library is the birthplace of silence?” David asked.

  “All the words are being used by the books. When I was little, that’s what I used to think. That people were told to be quiet so that all their words didn’t get stolen by the books. I thought books needed words to exist. Well, obviously they do, but I thought they needed spoken words. Yeah … I was always weird.”

  “And here I thought libraries were quiet because people were trying to study,” David whispered.

  “That might be another explanation.”

  He laughed a little and my eyes met his. It seemed like he was genuinely amused. That was a good thing. Or was it too early for that?

  He opened his book. “So is Isabel normally this late?”

  “Normally … That’s such a subjective word.” Especially since she and I never met in the library to study.

  “Is it?” He looked at his watch.

  Before I had to answer, Isabel came rushing in. “Hi, guys. Sorry. I got held up in Math class because Sasha needed notes from yesterday.”

  “Sasha?” I said. “Cade’s girlfriend?”

  “I don’t think she and Cade are together. Are they?”

  “I thought they were.” I looked at David to back me up but he was turning pages in his Chemistry book as if he hadn’t been following the conversation.

  “I guess they could be. She’s never said anything.” Was that jealousy in Isabel’s voice? Why would Isabel be jealous of Sasha?

  “I didn’t know you and Sasha were friends,” I said, feeling sort of jealous myself.

  “We’re not, really,” Isabel said, opening her books, “but everyone always asks me for notes. I’m a good note taker.” She looked from me to David. “Did you guys get started?”

  I smirked. “Yes, the people who need help in Chemistry went ahead and taught each other. We’re super good at Chemistry now.”

  Isabel rolled her eyes.

  Over Isabel’s shoulder I could still see Lucas. He looked up, a small smile on his face. Had he been following our conversation or was he amused by something in his book?

  Isabel hit my arm. “I hope you’ve learned by now that Lily likes to joke,” she said to David.

  “I have,” David said.

  “You have?” I said.

  “Yes.”

  Isabel moved her eyebrows up and down at me. I ignored her.

  “Why are we extending the torture of Chemistry beyond school hours again?” I asked, picking up my pen.

  “So we don’t have to retake the class next year?” David offered.

  “Good point.” I opened my book.

  “What are you guys up to this weekend?” Isabel asked, instead of focusing on Chemistry. “We should all do something.”

  I glanced at David. I wondered if he knew that Isabel was trying to set us up.

  “What day?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” Isabel said. “Whatever day we all have open.”

  I said nothing.

  David flipped through the pages of his textbook. “The band is playing for the home game on Friday.”

  “You’re playing at the football game?” Isabel asked, widening her eyes. “Fun. We’ll totally go watch you. Right, Lily?”

  “Um … I’ll have to make sure I’m not stuck babysitting again, but sure,” I said hesitantly. “Sounds fun.”

  “And maybe we could all hang out after the game?” Isabel added. She was so persistent.

  David nodded and tentatively looked at me. I couldn’t read him very well. I wasn’t sure if he wanted me to give an encouraging look or if he was trying to get out of this plan.

  I smiled, just in case that would help when really I just wanted to say, Yeah, I’m trying to get out of this too, but you don’t know my best friend very well if you think there is hope for either of us.

  “We’ll be doing our marching band performance at halftime,” David finally said, glancing back at Isabel.

  “I love watching the marching band,” Isabel exclaimed. “It’s so cool to see all those formations. How long do you have to work on those?”

  “Months,” he said.

  “Lily likes anything with music.”

  Apparently I was still going with the
“not-talking” strategy. I finally found my voice. “It’s true.”

  David smiled. “Music and chemistry. Bringing people together.”

  For some reason, I blushed. Music and chemistry. Why had he said that?

  I thought about the Suspects page in the back of my notebook. I had written down two possibilities so far: A guy named George from my composition class who yesterday morning was going on and on about his parents’ divorce and how he was going to write a song about it. When I’d heard him say that, my heart had jumped. George wasn’t that cute, but he seemed smart. I was willing to consider him. The other suspect was Travis from P.E.; I’d overheard him telling his friend that reverse psychology works well on teachers. My letter writer had said something about reverse psychology. I guess I was grasping at straws.

  But now, sitting in the library, I wondered if I could add a third name to the Suspects list: David.

  Finally, I thought, as I settled into my seat in Chemistry on Thursday. I couldn’t listen to Mr. Ortega for the normal five minutes I usually did before reading. I unfolded the note right away.

  I hadn’t realized it was lab yesterday. It surprised me. Maybe I should start paying more attention in class. I blame you for the distraction. The problem is that you’re making me look forward to Chemistry or something. In what crazy world does anyone look forward to Chemistry? Can you stop being so amusing? I think that will help. Did you start on our first song? “Left Behind.” It’s hard to tell if someone is kidding or not in a letter. Are you actually a songwriter?

  That last sentence made me pause. I wanted to be a songwriter. But I really wasn’t. I hadn’t even written a full song. I had partial lyrics, and incomplete melodies, but nothing finished. I shook off the thought and continued reading.

  If so, I’m impressed. If not, maybe you should be. You seem passionate about music and you have a way with words. Sometimes I wish I were passionate about something real. Something I knew I could succeed in. Right now all my dreams are a little far-fetched. Oh no, Mr. Ortega wants us to complete a worksheet with our seat partner. Gotta go.

  I smiled, and checked up to see Mr. Ortega writing some endless formula on the board. I immediately produced a fresh piece of paper and wrote: