P.S. I Like You (15 page)

This could go well … or horribly.

Okay, calm down, Lily.
It’s not like he was asking to meet. He just said it was possible that we could balance each other out. That was just an observation. We’d continue on how we were. It was fine. We were fine. Letters were perfect.

Or … I could suck it up, face my fears, and meet him.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a text from Isabel.

Where are you? Were we meeting somewhere else today?

On my way
, I wrote back.

The halls were empty as I hurried to meet Isabel for lunch. So when I rounded the last corner before the door, I stopped in surprise when I saw one person standing at the end alone. Lucas. He wore dark jeans and a tee today. His headphones were in and he was flipping through a textbook. My heart pummeled my ribs as I forced myself to walk forward. It would be too obvious now if I avoided him.

Maybe I should say something. I’d start with something clever like,
You’re listening to music. Cool.
I laughed a little at myself.
So clever, Lily.
No, I could think of something that was actually clever. His T-shirt. It would probably be an awesome band tee, hopefully one I listened to, then I could quote a lyric to him or something.

I reached him and looked at his shirt. Across the front in faded blue was the name Metallica. Not helpful. My eyes went down in disappointment. Then I noticed he was holding a Chemistry textbook. He took Chemistry? But he was a senior.

My brain gave me the warning that I had been standing there silent too long. My eyes shot up to his. He was looking at me now, his earbuds out. When had he done that?

“Hi,” I said.

“Hey.”

“We’re in the hall alone.”
What, brain? That’s what you chose to spit out? Thanks for nothing.

But when Lucas gave me his crooked smile, I decided it wasn’t the end of the world.

“We are,” he said. “Cool shoes.”

I lifted up my foot as if he wanted to see my Docs closer. “Thrift store.”

He pulled on his T-shirt. “This too.”

“Nice.”

“You’re in Chemistry,” I said.

“Second time’s a charm.”

“You’re taking Chemistry … ”

My phone buzzed in my pocket again. I was sure it was Isabel. Lucas must’ve heard it as well because his attention was drawn there.

“Isabel is waiting for me.”

He smiled again and nodded as if I was trying to get out of this conversation. That wasn’t my intent. But now I felt like I should follow through with that.

“I’ll—I’ll see you around,” I stammered.

“Sure.” He stuck his earphones back in as I walked away.

My whole body felt like it was soaring. Lucas could really be … no. I wasn’t going to let my brain give me some unrealistic scenario just because I wanted it to be true. But … it could’ve been true. I could now add Lucas to the list of possibilities at least. I flipped to the back of my notebook and added his name, big and bold. As I went over all the clues it made much more sense than anyone who I’d written there before. My heart jumped in my chest. This could work. We could work.

I
woke up the next morning smiling and didn’t stop even when I got to school. I was determined to write a letter in Chemistry suggesting that my pen pal and I meet in person. He seemed to be hinting at that and I was ready now, too. It would be perfect. I’d even tell him where we should meet that day after school, by the composition room. It would symbolize what had brought us together in the first place—music.

I let out a happy sigh, imagining Lucas waiting for me by the composition room. Then I went back to sorting mail into the teacher’s boxes in the main office. This was one of my regular duties as office aide fourth period. A pretty mindless duty, lending itself to daydreaming. Although, really, what didn’t lend itself to daydreaming?

Mrs. Clark came in holding a cardboard box. “Lily, I need you to deliver these to Mr. Ortega. They’re his review packets he wanted printed off.”

“Right now?”

She smiled. “No, next period when you’re not here. Of course right now.”

“But Mr. Ortega has class right now. Next period is his free one. Maybe the next office aide should take them.”

Mrs. Clark shook her head. “He needs them right now. He’s using them. Right now.”

“Oh.”

She pushed them into my arms. “Quickly please.”

I stood, the box throwing me off-balance for a moment. I was almost certain that my pen pal was in second-period Chemistry. Still, I felt a surge of nervousness.

I made my way out of the office, through the halls and to the C building. Then I entered the Chemistry room where I now stood at the back, not wanting to take another step forward. I could see Isabel in the front row. The front row was not a very good vantage point for observations. And in the back row, in my seat, was a boy, his head bent low, writing. Maybe just taking notes. He was taking notes.

Mr. Ortega waved me forward and pointed to his desk. I rushed there and set the box down.

“Thanks,” the teacher said, and continued his lecture.

Isabel smiled and waved at me. I tried to return the gesture and began walking toward the door. I could see the front of the boy in the back row now, his hair flopped over his forehead as he furiously wrote on his paper. He was so obvious about it. Why wasn’t Mr. Ortega calling him out? Because he was just taking notes, I told myself. Really intense … apparently funny … Chemistry notes.

I was good at pretending.

I could also pretend it wasn’t Cade Jennings even though that was just as obvious as the fact that he wasn’t taking notes.

All my pretending had to stop when I watched him fold up the paper into fourths and tuck it beneath the desk. I rushed out of the room before he saw me and didn’t look back.

C
ade couldn’t be my pen pal.

He couldn’t.

Cade was an insensitive, selfish, arrogant jerk. He was not a funny, thoughtful guy with exceptionally good taste in music.
Lucas
was supposed to be my pen pal. I had all but convinced myself of that the night before.

Cade was definitely not someone who would balance me out. He made me my most unbalanced self.

Why did I go into that classroom?
I asked myself, furious, as I tore down the hall. Why hadn’t I found someone to make the delivery for me? I could never unknow this. I could never go back to getting anonymous, perfect letters again. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to go back in there and tell Cade that he wasn’t allowed to be two different people.

I found the nearest bathroom to get my emotions under control. I refused to cry. Cade Jennings didn’t get to have this much power over me.

I leaned back against the tile wall, letting its coolness seep through my shirt and chill me out. Across the room, on the opposite wall, was a full-length mirror. My hair was a wavy
mess today, a little more unruly than normal. I wore a plain brown tee with a pair of skinny jeans and white high-tops with hand-drawn pictures on them. It was one of my more plain outfits. I took off the necklace I wore, one Ashley had made me ages ago, and looked at the charms—a butterfly, a cat, a flower, a music note. There was no rhyme or reason to the things she’d picked to put on the necklace. Just everything she’d thought was cute when she was ten. She made fun of me for wearing it now, but I loved it.

I squeezed the necklace in my fist, hoping to gain some sort of positive energy or something from it. But my sister was right, it was pointless.

I slid down the wall and hugged my knees to my chest. I hated Cade Jennings. Now more than ever.

Why does he always have to ruin everything?

I knew that thought made no sense. The fact that Cade Jennings wrote the letters should’ve made me realize he wasn’t the person I’d always thought he was. But I’d never understand how the person in the letters could be the same person who mocked those he considered beneath him, who’d mistreated me and my friend. He wasn’t. He wasn’t the same person.

Two girls came into the bathroom, laughing. They both stopped when they saw me. I stood, brushed off my jeans, and left.

In Chemistry I very slowly pulled his letter out from under the desk. I was shaking. For the first time ever, I dreaded reading it.

Humming on a Monday? Has that ever happened before in the history of Mondays? I’ll take the blame for that if you’ll take the blame for making me laugh in the middle of a Chemistry lecture.

Too bad there’s not a way for us to exchange letters during break. A week is a long time. I mean, your idea of airplanes carrying our messages was a good one, but I was referring to that new thing some kids do these days called texting. What do you think? Or am I just the guy who keeps you entertained during Chemistry? I’m totally fine with that title, by the way. Chemistry entertainer. No, that was bad. You’ll think of a better name for me I’m sure, being the word girl. Word girl? I think maybe you were right about banning me from writing lyrics.

The letter should’ve made me laugh but it only made me want to punch something. I refolded it exactly like he had and stuck it back under the desk. Cade didn’t know he was writing to me. So as far as he knew, the recipient of his notes wasn’t in school today. And I wouldn’t be in school for the rest of the year. I was not going to write back to Cade Jennings. Ever.

When class was over, I got up to leave. “Lily,” Mr. Ortega called. “I need to speak with you.”

My heart stopped. Had he figured out the letter-writing thing? Was I about to get in trouble for writing on the desktop and wasting my time in class? Was Cade about to be the bane of my existence
again?
If I could’ve I would’ve grabbed the letter I’d left tucked under the desk and made a run for it. I didn’t want Mr. Ortega reading it. As the class emptied out, I slowly walked to the front where Mr. Ortega sat behind a long table.

He cleared his throat. “I got a not-so-glowing report from the sub yesterday. I have to say, I’m very disappointed.”

“What?” I asked.

“He said not only were you and Lauren talking the entire class but that you gave someone a rude gesture, and then picked on another student after class.”

It took me too long to realize that the sub, because of our seating mix-up, thought I was Sasha. “Oh. We changed seats,” I said. “He thinks I was someone else.”

“He also said a young man came in at the end of class, pulling a prank. He was one of your friends, but you wouldn’t tell him who it was.”

“He is
not
one of my friends,” I said, my face flushing. I pictured the note stuck under the desk.

“Then who was it?”

Why wouldn’t I just tell him? I owed Cade nothing. Nothing at all.

“It’s not my place to say.”

Mr. Ortega frowned. “I’m very disappointed. After-school detention for two weeks. I’ll shorten it to one if you change your mind about coming clean and taking responsibility for your actions.”

“But—”

“That’ll be all.”