P.S. I Like You (16 page)

“What’s wrong?” Isabel asked me at lunch.

All I wanted to do was tell her what had happened. It was all I could think about. But I didn’t know how she’d react. What would I even say? I imagined how our conversation would go.

Remember that pen pal I told you about in Chemistry? It’s your ex. I’ve been exchanging letters with your ex.

The one you hate?

Yes, the one you broke up with because he hated me and I hated him. The one I still hate. Apparently we’re okay on paper. Perfect, actually. So maybe I’ll date him through letters the rest of our lives. Cool?

Of course it’s cool, I mean, I’ve made out with him and talked to him for hours on end for months on end, but hey, he’s all yours now.

No. That wasn’t how it would go at all. It would be better to have this delicate conversation off school grounds. Just in case I did cry, or if she punched me or something equally as dramatic.

“Can we talk later?” I asked Isabel. “After school. I need to tell you something.”

Her brown eyes grew concerned. “That sounds so cryptic. Are you okay?”

“Later. I’ll tell you later.”

She squeezed my hand. “Okay. Later.”

T
he already-long day ended an hour later than usual because of detention.

Ashley looked over at me as she pulled into our driveway. “You’re mopey today. Detention isn’t a big deal. I was in there like every other month. It’s a great time to get homework done.”

I didn’t want to tell her this had nothing to do with detention and everything to do with my letter-writing world being shattered.

“Good idea,” I muttered.

“Guess who asked me out?” Ashley asked brightly.

Like I wanted to hear about her—or anyone’s—love life at the moment. “Who?”

“Mark. The boy who saw the food in my teeth. Apparently I’d already made it through the first two stages. Thank goodness.”

“He told you that?” I glanced at my sister. “He said, ‘Ashley, first I found you mysterious, then I found you intriguing, and then when that food was on your tooth, I found you adorably funny. So now I can ask you out?’ ”

Ashley grinned. “Yes, that is basically what he said.”

“How?”

“By asking me out.”

I grabbed my backpack and climbed out of the car. “It probably went more like this: ‘Huh, that girl is cute, I should go out with her. Because guys don’t care about anything else. They don’t care about personality or intrigue.’ ” I could hear the bitterness in my voice but I didn’t try to stop it.

“Wow.” Ashley raised her eyebrows at me. “Jaded?”

“Yes, I’ve unlocked that achievement. Leveled up.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” I headed for my room, needing some time to unwind on my guitar before I called Isabel.

I reached my bedroom. I should’ve known something was wrong when the door was wide open, or when my guitar case was only halfway under my bed. I should’ve, but I didn’t. I pulled the case out, very calm. The latches were undone, but I figured I’d just left them undone the night before. I flipped open the lid.

The first thing I saw were all the strings loose, a couple broken completely. That didn’t have me panicking, just a little angry. Strings were easy to replace. But then I saw the jagged line across the neck of the guitar, close to the body.

“No, no, no, no.” I pulled it out and only the neck came—the end as spiked as a rake. The rest stayed in the case, completely severed. My face drained of all feeling. “No! Mom!”

My mother arrived at my door, breathless. “What? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

I held up the bodiless neck for her to see.

Her expression went from panicked to sympathetic. “Oh no. What happened?”

“What do you mean, what happened?” I exploded, feeling tears threaten. “Jonah happened! I’ve asked you a million times to keep him out of my room.”

Mom frowned. “Jonah did that?”

“Who else? I certainly didn’t do it.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions.”

“I don’t have to jump to anything. I’m holding the conclusion.” I threw the broken piece into the case and sank onto my bed face first.

“Oh, honey. We’ll figure something out.”

“What?” I said, my voice muffled by the mattress. “You can’t afford to buy me a new guitar. This one took me six months to earn. What’s left to figure out?”

“Is it repairable?”

“It’s splintered. It’s not a clean break.”

The mattress sank down as my mom sat next to me. She rubbed my back. I shrugged her hand off. She got the hint.

“I’m sorry, Lil. You can have first dibs on all the fairs,” she said softly. “I’ll help you earn it back.”

I lifted my head, brushing the tears away from my eyes. “Why should I have to earn it back?” I said. “Shouldn’t
Jonah
be working the fairs to buy me a new one?”

“He’s seven.”

“Old enough to know better.”

“Honey … ”

“Mom? Can you leave? I want to be alone.”

“Okay.”

I didn’t say anything and she stood and left my room. I heard her call for Jonah as she shut my door. Then they had a conversation in the hall. I listened in, my face pressed back into the mattress.

“Jonah, did you break your sister’s guitar?”

“What? No.”

“Did you go in her room and break her guitar?”

“No! I didn’t.”

Right. Give him the chance to say no, Mom. Good call. She should’ve just led with, “I know you broke her guitar.” But whatever. It didn’t matter. It was broken. Jonah admitting it wouldn’t change that fact.

There was a rattling on my handle followed by my mom saying, “Leave her be for now. You can talk to her later.”

Mom must’ve told everyone to leave me be because no one bugged me for the rest of the evening. Not a single person. After years of trying to get some alone time, I finally had it.

I pulled my notebook out and stared at the song I had started. I couldn’t write that song right now. It was about
him …
about
Cade
. I shuddered. I could only write one song about Cade. I turned to a fresh page and positioned my pencil.

You claim you want to be heard.

So you write your hollow words.

You fill your life with deception.

Because it’s all about perception.

The world sees you one way.

And they listen to all you say.

You crave their attention.

To feed your addiction.

You have two sides.

Two faces.

You’re trying to hide.

In two places.

And I hate you, Cade, because you’re the biggest jerk in the world and you should go away forever and stop writing me stupid letters where you pretend to be nice and misunderstood.

“Ugh.” Even my angry Cade-inspired songs were better than anything I’d written before him. I scratched two deep lines in an X across the words. Then I flipped to the back and crossed out all my suspects.
Why couldn’t it have been you
? I thought as I x-ed out Lucas’s name.

I reached up, ripped down the newspaper clipping from my wall, and crumpled it into a tight ball. Even if I still could finish any song, I wouldn’t be able to write the guitar part for it. And there was no way I was using a song that had anything to do with Cade. I threw the paper across the room. I was being dramatic, but for once I felt like I was justified. Everything had gone wrong.

I dug my phone out of my pocket and called Isabel.

“Hey, Lil!” she answered.

“Hey.” I thought I’d kept the tears out of my voice but when she added, “What’s wrong?” I realized I hadn’t.

“Jonah destroyed my guitar.”

“Oh no! How?”

“I don’t know. He’s denying it, but it’s broken. Completely broken.”

“I’m so sorry,” Isabel said softly. “I know how much you loved your guitar. How hard you worked to buy it.”

“Yeah.”

“Your mom will probably replace it, right?”

“She can’t afford that, Iz. She couldn’t even afford a spool of thread for me before payday.” Tears came to my eyes again. “This is not a spool of thread.”

“That totally sucks.”

“I know.”

“Aw, Lil. It’ll be okay.”

“It’s just, this was my thing, you know?” The tears fell down my cheeks now and I couldn’t stop them. “It was the one thing I was really good at. The one thing that brought me perfect peace and happiness. I don’t need much, but I need this.” I wondered if I was only talking about my guitar.

“Then you’ll find a way to get another one,” Isabel said with determination. “It might take some time, but you’ll do it.”

I knew she was right. “Yeah.”

“If I could, I’d buy you one.”

I smiled through my tears. “I wouldn’t accept something like that from you, Iz.”

“I know.”

I sniffled and wiped my nose on my sleeve.

“So was that the thing you wanted to tell me at lunch?” Isabel asked after a moment.

I paused, and realized I wanted to have this conversation in person. “Are you busy?” I asked. “Can I come over?”

“Of course you can.”

“Okay. I’ll tell you when I get there.”

I hung up, gathered the letters from Cade, and headed for the door.

I
was staring at Einstein on Isabel’s ceiling because I couldn’t look at her. I’d rather have Einstein judge me.

“I have to tell you something.”

“Okay … ” Isabel moved to her desk chair.

“Remember how I was exchanging letters with someone in Chemistry?” I said to Einstein.

“Yes. That girl?”

“Girl?” It had been so long since I’d thought my pen pal was a girl that it took me a while to remember that I had at first. “No. I mean yes, but I found out she wasn’t a girl.”

“How’d you find that out?”

“He said something about being a guy in one of the letters. Sorry. I thought I told you.”

“It’s okay.”

I waited for a moment. Waited for her to give a little excited squeal or happy hum. Something that would indicate that she thought this was a good thing—my pen pal being a guy. But she didn’t. She was silent. Probably because I seemed so distraught.

I sat up then to face her. Her expression was as serious as mine.

“Remember years ago when you gave up a boy because he was coming between us?” I asked in a rush.

She nodded. “You mean Cade?”

“Yes.”

She laughed a little. “Yes, of course I remember.” She paused and added, “I don’t want you to think that you were the only reason Cade and I broke up. The two of you both complained about each other to me all the time, and I got tired of it. But Cade and I wouldn’t have worked even if you weren’t in the picture.”

I nodded, then blurted. “Cade is my pen pal.”

Isabel didn’t answer. “Cade Jennings,” I repeated for effect, barely believing the words myself. “He’s the one who’s been writing to me in Chemistry.”

I pulled my shoulder bag, which I had flung onto her bed when I first walked in, onto my lap. Then I dug out all the letters and held them out to Isabel. But my best friend didn’t move to retrieve them.

“And I’m going to stop writing him. Now,” I said. “I didn’t write him today even though he wrote me. I’ll never write him again.”

She still said nothing and I noticed something missing from her expression—surprise.

That’s when it hit me.

Isabel knew.

I’d told her I had a pen pal. And Cade was in her Chemistry class writing letters without the tiniest bit of discretion. And she knew. Isabel was observant like that.

I stood, shoving the letters back into my bag. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded.

“Because you hate him and you seemed so excited about the writing.”

“How long have you known?”

“Not very long. I swear.”

“
Why didn’t you tell me?
It felt like being slapped in the face today when I saw him at that desk. A little warning would’ve been nice.”

Isabel held up her hands. “I know. I’d hoped after a while that his letters would show you that he wasn’t someone you wanted to continue writing to. Because you hate him.”