P.S. I Like You (17 page)

I frowned. “I do hate him. But his letters are different … ”

Isabel’s expression went a degree darker. “Wait. You like him? Because of his letters?”

My heart jumped. “No! I don’t. What? Not at all.”

Isabel nodded, looking relieved. “You like David, right?”

“David … He’s fine … nice … ”

Isabel sighed. “You two would be perfect for each other if you’d both give it a chance.”

“Why are you insistent on getting me and David together?” I asked, putting my hands on my hips.

Isabel shrugged, but her expression said it all. “I thought he was a better match for you.”

“Better than who?” I asked.

“The alternative.”

“Cade?”

“Yes!”

The air seemed to fly out of me and I was rendered silent. She was jealous. She didn’t want me to know I was writing to Cade because she was jealous. Even though she and Cade had dated two years ago and she didn’t like him anymore, she was still jealous.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, her voice softer. “But it shouldn’t matter. You wouldn’t ever like Cade, would you? It would be too awkward, considering the whole history. I mean, I gave him up for you two years ago.”

“But you didn’t give him up for me … you just said that.”

She looked at the floor then back up quickly, but not before I knew the truth. She
had
broken up with him because of me. Because I couldn’t get along with him. I always suspected that, but she’d always contradicted me. And now I knew for sure.

“Well, I won’t stand in your way anymore,” I snapped. “Go get him back.”

She gasped. “I’m with Gabriel now. I don’t want him back.”

“You just don’t want me to have him.”

“You said you didn’t want him.”

“I don’t.” What was wrong with me? “I need to go.” I headed for her door.

“Lily, wait.”

“I can’t do this right now.”

“We’ll get through this, right?”

“Yes,” I answered right away. “Just not right now.”

It was only eight thirty at night but I was already in bed, staring at my own ceiling now. There were no judging eyes up there, only a blank wall, but I felt just as bad. I sighed.

Why was I so mad at Isabel? I knew one reason—because she’d been lying to me. On purpose. That hurt. Would I ever believe her again?

But … was it more than the lost trust that was bothering me?

Maybe, just maybe, I had wanted her to say it was okay for me to like Cade.

Not that I did. At all.

But in a sense I could understand Isabel’s possessiveness. Two years ago, I’d driven her and Cade apart. I wasn’t a good friend.

The sounds of the house around me were loud—my brothers getting ready for bed in the bathroom next door, my mom yelling to make sure they brushed for two minutes, Ashley laughing on the phone in the hall, my father asking her to keep it down. I forced my eyes closed, listened to the noise of my family instead of the noise in my head. Tomorrow would be better than this day had been. It had to be.

Do you know how disappointing it is to pull out a note expecting a letter from someone, only to see your own handwriting staring back at you? It sucks. You must be sick. Which I’m sure is not very good for you, but think about where that left me. I’m sorry you’re sick. I hope you get better soon.

Okay, so, um that looks like a deformed turtle or something but it was meant to be a bowl of soup. That thing that looks like the turtle’s head is a spoon. Do you see it now? No? I won’t attempt to draw again. I apologize for making you suffer through that and when you’re just recovering from being sick.

Okay, quiz. What music do you listen to when you’re sick? Is it different than or the same as your everyday music? I listen to really sappy music when I’m sick. I don’t know why because I don’t like that music when I’m healthy. Maybe it
helps me wallow a little bit more. We need to think of some sappy song lyrics for our fans to listen to when they’re sick. Something like … You thought I was going to make up some song lyrics, didn’t you? I learned my lesson. I’m not.

How’s home life?

I closed my eyes. I would not write back. I would not. The letters were from
Cade.
He hated me. I hated him.

I folded the letter up and put it back. If I stopped writing he eventually would as well. I needed to stop reading, too. I knew I did. It wasn’t fair to give up on my end of the letter writing but still participate in the reading. The part that, despite knowing who had written it, still gave me a thrill. It still had me nodding my head in agreement and smiling in amusement.

I did not want to relate to Cade. I did not want to find him funny. I knew the other side of him. And I didn’t care why he acted like he did in public. He was old enough not to treat people like garbage, regardless of how he’d been treated by his dad and stepdad.

And I was old enough to be honest and tell him that I couldn’t write anymore.

I took out the two letters that were under the desk, dropped them in my bag, and stared at the empty sheet of paper in front of me. I didn’t have to be mean. I didn’t want to humiliate him or anything, even though that’s exactly what he liked to do to me. I was bigger than that.

I wasn’t sick but thank you for the turtle bowl anyway. It was so awfully drawn that it almost crossed the line that made it art again. Almost. I’ve had a bad couple of days.

Tears pricked my eyes as I wrote that last line. I wanted to tell him everything that happened. I wanted to say, “First I found out that you were you. Then my brother broke the one thing that might’ve helped me deal with that fact, then my best friend and I got into the worst fight of our friendship so she can’t even help me through this.” But I couldn’t. I wondered what advice he’d give me about my brother, about Isabel. This was Cade Jennings. He had millions of friends. Backups for his backups. Isabel was my one.

I got in a fight with my best friend. Plus my little brother broke something very important to me. Something I can’t replace and I was so angry that when he tried to hug me this morning to say sorry, I turned my back on him. And I hate myself for doing that, but I’m still angry.

This time a tear fell and I swiped it away quickly. I still felt guilty for turning my back on Jonah that morning. He’d looked so sad and I couldn’t get over my anger to comfort him. And I didn’t think I should’ve been expected to comfort him, though it was obvious my mom thought so by the look she’d given me. That kid got away with everything.
Maybe he needed to learn that not everything could be hugged away. See, here I was again trying to justify how I’d acted that morning.

But then I think: it’s just a thing. You know? And my brother is a person. A thing is not more important than a person …

And you, Cade Jennings, are not more important than my friendship. And I hate you even more for coming between us. That’s what I should’ve written. But I didn’t, I finished with:

Anyway, I wasn’t sick.

This wasn’t the note I had set out to write. The note I had set out to write was supposed to include the words:
I won’t be writing you anymore.
This note did not come anywhere close to including those words. Then why was I folding it up and shoving it in place?

I just needed one more. This last letter. Then I’d end it officially.

I needed to talk to Isabel. We could work through this. We just needed to talk it out more. I’d left too fast the day before, hadn’t acknowledged my fault in anything. That’s what I
realized as I left Chemistry. I just needed to tell Isabel that I was sorry for breaking up her and Cade because I was too immature to deal with him back then (and maybe now) and that she had every right to not want me to write to him. I hoped that admission would fix everything.

Only Isabel wasn’t waiting at our meeting spot for lunch. She didn’t answer my texts either. I couldn’t find her anywhere. She was probably giving me space.

I wandered toward the food cart. I’d get some food and find a quiet place in the library to eat and think.

David was leaning against a tree to my right so I cut left and went the long way around. I sensed David had only gone out with me as some sort of favor to Isabel. To keep me from the “alternative.” I did not need pity dates.

There were three lines for the sandwich cart and I picked the wrong one. I didn’t know it at first. But after a few minutes, Cade, Sasha, and crew were in line right behind me.

I wanted to leave but it would be too obvious … and weak.

I pulled out my phone and pretended to read texts.

From behind me came a voice. “Nice shorts.” That was Sasha. I knew she was referring to mine. They were jeans I had cut off and sewn patches on. I didn’t want to turn around and acknowledge that she’d been talking about me, but when Cade laughed, a rush of anger made me turn.

He had his arm around Sasha, which was different than past times I’d seen them together where she was the one
hanging on to him. I wondered what changed. I looked him straight in the eyes, like he was the one who made the comment and said, “I’m sorry, what was that? I don’t speak jerk.”

He didn’t flinch, just cocked his head and said, “And here I thought you were fluent.”

It shouldn’t have hurt. I was used to it. I’d heard much worse. But it did hurt, and I didn’t want him to see that. I left the line, not sure where I was going, when I saw Lucas sitting beside his friends, listening to music. Present but not present.

I marched over. When I arrived in front of him I tugged on the cord to his earphones. They fell into his lap and his eyes met mine in surprise.

“You want to go do something?” I blurted out.

“What? Now?”

“No. Friday—this Friday. The day after tomorrow. There’s a concert at the all-ages club in Phoenix. A new band is playing. You want to go with me?” My nerves were catching up with me, overriding the bravado that had propelled me here. All of Lucas’s friends had gone silent and were staring at me. He was staring at me.

“Sure,” he said.

“Sure?”

“Yes, I’ll go. Should we meet there at eight?”

“Okay. Friday at eight.”

I managed not to let out any form of happy yelp or excited jump as I walked away.