P.S. I Like You (13 page)

I tipped my head back so I could see under the brim of the hat. “Do you like being in the marching band?”

“Sometimes. It’s a lot of work.”

“It looked good tonight even though I couldn’t really see you out there.” I wasn’t sure that came out right. “I mean, you did a good job … I think. I guess what I mean is that no one stood out, which is what you want, right? It’s supposed to look
all … uniform.” How come when faced with Lucas, no words came out, and for David, I had no filter?

“Yes. Thanks.”

David wasn’t much of a talker and I still couldn’t decide if it was because he was shy or because he really didn’t want to be here. I took the hat off, twisted it once between my palms, and set it back down.

“So, I know nothing about you,” I blurted. “Except that you play the clarinet and you hate Chemistry. What else is there to know about David … ” I paused. “I don’t even know your last name.”

“Feldman.”

“Okay, David Feldman, give me the bullet points.”

“The bullet points?”

“You know, your life in ten points or less.”

“Okay, um … my parents are divorced. I have a much older brother and a sister. They’re both married and moved out. My favorite books are Harry Potter.”

“That counts as seven.”

“Really?”

“No, but that’s awesome. I love Potter, too.”

He smiled and with it I decided that he was just shy.

“Keep going,” I said.

“I haven’t been sick since the seventh grade and—”

“Wait, that one needs some expounding. Do you have a super immune system or do you just mean you haven’t thrown up in that long?”

“I haven’t had a cold or the flu since the seventh grade.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “I take lots of vitamin C.”

“Text me your diet and habits please.” I was kidding but he pulled out his phone like I’d been serious and handed it to me. I assumed he wanted me to enter my number so I did.

“Is that ten yet?” he asked when I handed it back.

“If you’re done it is, but I think I interrupted you in the middle of one.”

“I was just going to say that I hadn’t missed a day of school since seventh. One of the bad side effects of never being sick.”

“True. Plus, how can you ever appreciate your health when you’re always healthy? Maybe you should try to purposely get sick. Go around kissing sick people or something.”

Why had I said the word
kiss
? His cheeks darkened. Had he never been kissed? Not that I was all that experienced in the kissing department, but I had done it before. And I could at least say the word without blushing.

“And you?” he asked.

“I’m not sick right now so I can’t help you.”

“N-no, I meant the bullet points thing,” he stammered.

I blinked. Okay, maybe I was blushing a little. “Oh. Right. You’ve been to my house so you know like eight of mine. But let’s see, besides the guitar and the siblings and the crazy house, I like to sew. I shop at thrift stores and have no problem buying used shoes. I talk to myself too much and at school they call me—”

“Magnet,” he finished for me. “Why?”

“Long story. Basically the school jerk, who for some reason is popular, bestowed the name upon me because I’m horrible at P.E.—oh, there’s another bullet, I’m horrible at P.E.—and it stuck.”

“Who’s the school jerk?”

“You don’t know? Do people really not know? You go to our school.” Remembering how Cade had pulled Lucas aside, I gritted my teeth. “He’s actually probably warned you to stay away from me.” Cade seemed to be on a one-man mission to do just that.

David shook his head no.

“Who do you think the school jerk might be?” I held up his hat again when it seemed like he wasn’t going to answer the question. “You’re telling me that you walk around wearing this and you’ve never been picked on?”

He laughed. “Are you making fun of me?”

“No. Hey, I would totally wear this hat to school if it went with my outfit.”

“You would, wouldn’t you? But you’re confident like that.”

I gasped and then coughed. “That’s funny.”

“You don’t seem to care what anyone thinks of you,” David said seriously.

“Just because I wear weird clothes doesn’t mean I’m not worried people aren’t judging me for them. Now, stop trying to avoid the question. Who is the biggest jerk?”

“Pete Wise.”

“That big water polo guy?”

“Yes.”

I growled. “Okay, second-biggest jerk then.”

“Lyle Penner.”

“Really? Lyle’s your number two? How about third?”

David’s eyes widened. “How many people do you think pick on me?”

I laughed. “I don’t know. I figure we’re at least tied. But you still haven’t named the biggest offender. He picks on everyone. If you’re walking around in this hat, there’s no way he hasn’t given you a name.”

“I only wear this to games, Lily,” David said.

I sensed I had told one too many hat jokes. “Fine. Never mind. I’m supposed to be pretending he doesn’t exist anyway.”

“You’re going to leave me in suspense?”

I still couldn’t believe he hadn’t guessed. “Cade Jennings.”

“Cade?
He
named you Magnet?”

“Yes. He’s a jerk.”

David seemed to consider that label then said, “I guess I can see how he’d come off like that. He’s a little full of himself.”

“A little?”

“And he’s loud and over the top. But he’s never been mean to me like Pete or Lyle.”

“Well, he’s been mean to me,” I said. “And always when there’s an audience. He’s the worst kind of jerk, the kind that
pretends he’s doing something for your benefit, including you in some funny joke, when really he’s making you the butt of a joke.”

David nodded and I could practically see the memories of all the times Cade had done just that to many people, working their way through his mind.

From across the playground where I could’ve sworn Isabel and Gabriel had been too concerned with each other to worry about us, Isabel yelled, “Stop talking about Cade, Lily!”

“Mind your own Bs, Isabel!” I yelled with a laugh.

“I take it this isn’t a new discussion,” David said.

No, it wasn’t. And I really shouldn’t have been dwelling on it. “You want to race down the bumpy slides?”

He looked down at his uniform. “It might not be a fair race. This material makes a super slick surface.”

I laughed. “I’m willing to take my chances.”

He smiled and led the way to the slides, where after a few races, I really had forgotten about Cade and how he’d embarrassed me in front of Lucas at the football game. Maybe a guy I couldn’t talk to wasn’t the right guy for me, anyway.

When we all left the park together, Isabel dropped me off first and I wondered if David would walk me to the door. I’d had a really fun night. But David didn’t even move toward his handle when the car stopped. I climbed out and walked the path alone.

T
he next week of notes in Chemistry were amazing and I counted my days by them.

Monday from him:

Dead’s the New Alive is something I listen to once a week. I can’t believe you know that band. We speak the same music language. Is that rare? How many people have you met that speak your same music language? I have met maybe one other. (That sounds like a song, right? You speak my music language, baby. You have to admit that would make an awesome lyric.) Okay, so since you gave me a music coping strategy for my parental problems, here is my cure for your overbearing family. Track 11 of
Serendipity.
This one will make you feel like you are in the middle of a forest completely alone.

To answer your other question: I am pro Thanksgiving break. As pathetic as I’ve obviously made my home life seem, a break from school is a break from school. I don’t usually hang out at home anyway. I go out with friends,
drive, walk, read. Now, as for Thanksgiving day, when I’m forced to stay home and celebrate, that’s a joke. My mom and stepdad order a bunch of “homemade” food, my grandparents come over, their friends come over. Someone ends up yelling, usually the stepdad, my mom ends up drinking too much wine, and we all wish we would’ve pretended it was just any other day. What about yours? Hopefully your Thanksgiving traditions are better than mine.

My response:

Is being crazy considered a tradition? Because that’s what our tradition is. Okay, we actually have a real one: The double-blind taste test. First, both my mom and dad make pumpkin pies. Different ones, mind you, but both pumpkin. Then they cut the pies in the other room and put pieces on different plates. One each for everyone there. Then they force us—
force us
—to eat it blindfolded. Then we have to tell them whose is better. We can’t say they both taste the same or they are equally good. Nope. We HAVE to choose a side. It’s quite obnoxious. So my siblings and I have a little competition of our own. We always try to even up the score so someone has to be the tiebreaker. But anyway, the winning parent brags about it the entire year. My parents are strange.

Other than that, it’s loud and disorganized and exhausting. But the food is actually homemade and we do laugh a lot. So I think I win. But … hang in there.

I’m convinced we do speak the same music language because Track 11 on
Serendipity
is on my favorites list. (As for your “song” about us speaking the same music language. Just … no.) I wonder if we compared our playlists what percentage would be the same. I wouldn’t want it to be one hundred percent because that’s too similar. You have to bring something new to the table to help balance out my music tastes or I’ll learn nothing. You did introduce me to The Crooked Brookes so I think we’re safe for now.

Tuesday from him:

Good thing we’re safe. I didn’t realize the music list conversation could put us in jeopardy. I feel the need to present a new band to you so we’re safe for another couple weeks. Maybe I have that backward. I already did my part. Where is my new band from you? I could really use one. I’ve had a bad couple of days.

Have you ever tried so hard to live up to expectations only to fall short every time? That was vague and cryptic, wasn’t it? Okay, so my stepdad. He’s a super demanding jerk and I feel like if I could do or be what he expects me to be, then he’d be nicer to my mom or happier, or something. He’s been in my life for six years and I still
can’t figure out exactly what it is that he expects of me. He’ll ask me to do things, I’ll think I do exactly what he asks, but he is never satisfied. I know you said you’re not good at sage advice, but what would you do in this situation?

Tuesday from me:

I don’t know. I’m a bit of a people pleaser so I’d be horrible in that situation. It sounds like maybe you are too. I guess if I were trying my hardest, that’s the best I could do. But it sounds like it’s his problem, not yours. If you haven’t figured out what his expectations are then they are undefined, which makes them impossible to live up to. Have you tried talking it out with him? Asking him?

You need a new band to help you deal with this? How about Better Than Yesterday? Are they new to you or are we in sync again?

Wednesday from him:

They aren’t new to me but I love them, of course. However NSYNC better not be on your list or we might be done.

Ask my stepdad. Now there’s an obvious solution that I haven’t tried yet. I just thought if I kept running as fast as he said for as long as he said that eventually
I’d catch him. I don’t know why I care what he thinks so much anyway. Like I said, he’s a jerk to both me and my mom. I shouldn’t worry about it, especially because it doesn’t help. But for whatever reason his approval still means something to me. I do like your advice though. I should try that. Does it work for you when you talk to your parents? Are you a parent whisperer? (More lyrics: She’s a parent whisperer and that’s why she rules the world.) Tips would be helpful.

Wednesday from me:

Hey, I just give advice, I don’t take it. Tips for talking to parents … hmm … maybe write a letter so they have to listen and can’t interrupt. I don’t know. I talk to my parents a lot. For example:
Can you pass the butter? Can I stay home from school today? Can I borrow the car?

No, but in all seriousness, sometimes I do talk to my mom about things that matter. And half the time it helps. The other times, life is too crazy for her to hear me. I’m not the only one who has no space in my house.

Okay, enough of the minor problems in our lives. Back to the real issue: finding an awesome band you’ve never heard of. Oh! How about End Game or Flight and Fight? Also, please, please stop making up song lyrics. It’s killing me.

Thursday (him):

Flight and Fight? I haven’t listened to them before. You finally found one. This means our playlists aren’t perfectly matched! We’re safe. I know you secretly like my song lyrics. How can you not? They’re brilliant. And besides, I don’t see you offering up any lyrics. Do you have any to share? You said you’d written parts of songs. You should include some lyrics in a letter so I can read them.