P.S. I Like You (20 page)

Now we all stood fifteen feet back from the stage, a little too close to the speakers to hold a normal conversation. I told myself that I hadn’t led us there on purpose.

I’d prove it by talking. “Do you like the band?” I yelled to Lucas.

“What?” He put a hand to his ear and leaned closer.

“Do you like the band?”

He nodded.

“Do you listen to a lot of this kind of music?”

“What?”

“Is this your taste in music?” I asked when he leaned in again, his shoulder brushing mine.

“I like variety,” he replied.

“I wonder how similar our playlists are.”

“What?”

“Never mind.” Maybe I
had
placed us here on purpose.

Isabel tapped my arm then mimed drinking from a cup. “Getting water. Be right back.”

“Okay.”

Lucas said something I couldn’t understand. Maybe we both needed to take a cue from Isabel and start miming.

“What?” I leaned close to him this time.

“Do you want something to drink, too?” he asked, gesturing toward where Isabel and Gabriel were walking toward the bar behind us. It was a small crowd tonight, like it usually was with lesser-known bands.

The lead singer on stage was wailing into the microphone, sweat dripping down his temple.

“I’m okay. Maybe when they break,” I told Lucas.

Lucas either heard me that time or understood my hand motions because he turned his attention back to the front as well.

My ears were still ringing and my chest still buzzing even though we were all outside now, on the far end of a parking lot across the street. The night was calm around us. Concerts always left me buzzing in the best ways. I wasn’t someone who needed to be up there in the spotlight, performing. If I could just hear my words being sung, my chords being strummed by someone breathing life and passion into my ideas, I would be so happy.

We had stopped by Lucas’s car, a navy Ford Focus. Not the car I would’ve imagined him in. He seemed more like a beat-up Corolla guy to me. Not that most people I knew matched their cars. I drove my mom’s minivan most of the time … Okay, well that kind of fit.

Isabel plugged and unplugged her ears several times with her pointer fingers. “They need to issue earplugs on our way in the door.” Her voice was loud, her ears probably ringing.

“You sound like a grandma!” Gabriel teased, but he was speaking extra loud, too.

I giggled.

“That was great,” Lucas said, his crooked smile on.

I smiled. “Amazing. Had you ever heard them before?”

“No, I think they’re local. Pretty new.”

“Now we can say we knew them way back when once they get big.”

“Yes. We’ll be smug about it, too,” Lucas said, and I laughed.

Gabriel nodded. “Maybe by then Lily will be just as big and she can be equally smug.”

Lucas spun his keys once around his finger then stopped it with his palm. “Are you in a band?” he asked me.

“No. Not even close.”

“She plays the guitar and writes music,” Isabel put in.

I shuffled my feet. “I used to—well, I tried to. But not anymore. My guitar is broken.”

Lucas tipped his head to one side. “Is it fixable?”

“Not sure. It’s splintered pretty bad.”

“I know a girl at the music store who does guitar repairs. I’ll get you her info.”

“Really? That would be amazing. Thank you.”

Lucas nodded. “A broken guitar is the worst.”

I paused, about to agree, when I processed what he said. “Wait, do you play?”

“I do.”

“Cool,” I said.

“Really cool,” Isabel said, giving me a big smile.

“I’ll try to get her info for you this week,” Lucas told me. “The store might not be open, with Thanksgiving and everything.”

“That’s fine. After this week will be good.”

“I’ll send you a message if I get it.”

“Like in the sky?” I asked with a laugh.

“No, like a text?” he said, confused.

“It was a joke … airplanes … sales … never mind, yes, a text would be great.”
Stop referring to your letters like everyone should understand what you’re talking about, Lily.

We exchanged numbers then he unlocked his car and held out one arm. I wasn’t sure what the one arm was offering but I slid in for a side hug. “Thanks for coming. That was fun.”

“It was. See you later.”

When he left I squeezed Isabel’s hand and she squeezed mine back. I’d gone on a date with Lucas! And we’d exchanged numbers. And hugged!

It had been perfect.

I could finally move on from my pen pal.

“W
hy is he in the house?” my dad asked, stepping over the rabbit. Ashley and I were in the living room, watching a documentary on fire ants (her idea, not mine) that I was finding oddly fascinating.

My mom, who sat at the table, stringing beads onto a necklace, said, “He needs some exercise. If he had a bigger cage … ” She gave Dad her pleading eyes.

“I’m not building a mansion for a rabbit.”

“Did I say mansion? Girls, did I say mansion?”

I held up my hands. “Leave us out of this. That rabbit is evil. I’m on dad’s side.”

“There are no sides,” Mom and Dad both said at the same time.

Ashley looked at me, raised her eyebrows, then said, “So we don’t have to vote anymore? Ever?”

My dad laughed. “Those are just fun and games. Get ready to vote on the best pie in two days. I’ve perfected my recipe.”

Ashley stood up. “Come on, Lily. Let’s take a walk.”

“But I don’t want to. The fire ants.” I pointed to the TV.

She pulled on my arm. “Come on.”

“Fine. We’re going for a walk.”

We were halfway down the block before she said, “Why did you throw away the newspaper clipping?”

“What?” I asked, even though I had heard her perfectly.

“The one I saw on your wall for weeks.”

“I didn’t throw it away,” I argued. “It’s still in the corner of our room somewhere … in a tight crumpled-up ball.”

Ashley bumped my hip. “I thought you were finally going to get over your fear and share your songs.”

“I was. But my guitar is broken so I can’t now.” I didn’t mention that Lucas might know someone who could fix it. I didn’t want to get my hopes up just in case that didn’t come to anything.

“Get a new guitar,” Ashley said as we rounded the corner.

“You know I can’t afford that.”

“Rent a guitar.”

“I … ”

She tapped a mailbox as we passed it, like it had taken her side in the argument. “That’s what I thought. You jumped on the first excuse available to get out of the competition.”

I scowled in annoyance. “Ashley. My guitar is broken. The thing I have to use to write half of the song. I think that’s a pretty good excuse.”

“Fine. If that’s the only reason, you can share the words to the song you’ve been working on with the family on Thanksgiving.”

I paused then said, “Fine. I will.”

“Good. Grandma and Grandpa are going to be there, too.”

“I know.”

“And Aunt Lisa and her kids. And Uncle James and his kids.”

“I know.” Was she trying to talk me out of this or just make me admit I was terrified?

“And Mark.”

“I know … wait … who?”

“The guy from work. We’re getting serious.”

“Really?” My sister never got serious with anyone so that surprised me. “The guy that saw food on your teeth?”

She shoved my arm. “Shut up.”

I laughed. “Just kidding. That’s cool, Ash.”

“So I invited him over for Thanksgiving dinner.”

I nodded. A boyfriend at Thanksgiving would be new. “If you like this guy, keep him far away from our house,” I said. “Especially on holidays.”

She laughed like I was joking but then her laughter trailed off into a worried expression. “Oh no. You’re right. I’ve made a mistake.”

I nodded. “It’s not too late to tell him to stay home.”

“Our family can all be normal for one day, right?” Ashley asked hopefully. “That won’t be hard. We’ve been normal for a stretch of time before.” She sounded doubtful.

“It’s your funeral.”

“It’ll be fine.” She waved a hand in the air. “I’ll be there to run interference.”

“Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.”

“Do not say things like that when he’s over.”

“I can’t quote
The Wizard of Oz
? Everyone knows
The Wizard of Oz.
And if he doesn’t then you should be glad that we found out so early in the relationship.”

She put her hand to her forehead. “You’re right. He needs to stay home.”

“Exactly.”

“He’ll stay home … but you’re still sharing your song on Thanksgiving.”

“You did
what?
” I was pouring hot gravy into the dish and nearly spilled it on the counter. A little splattered on my wrist and I wiped it quickly before it burned me.

“Please, Lily,” Mom said with a sigh. “Let’s not get dramatic about this. I thought you knew him.”

“I do know him and that’s why I don’t want him over here for Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Well, your brother invited him and he accepted.”

Ashley popped an olive in her mouth. “Wyatt invited him to Thanksgiving dinner? Weird.”

“See. It’s weird,” I said. “Just call Cade and tell him there was a change of plans.”

Because Cade Jennings, my enemy, my former secret pen pal, could not show up at my house for Thanksgiving.

“Who’s Cade?” Aunt Lisa asked, a baby on her hip while she stirred yams. She and her three kids, along with my grandparents, had arrived an hour earlier. My uncle, his wife, and their four kids had arrived the night before. And we were still waiting on my mom’s other sister.

And Cade, apparently.

“Lily’s friend,” my mom said.

My face went hot.

“No.
We are not friends
. He’s Wyatt’s baseball coach.” I placed the gravy boat next to the potatoes. “Mom, our family is too crazy to have guests over,” I tried to argue. And why couldn’t Cade go to Sasha’s house for Thanksgiving? Couldn’t he torture another family?

Ashley, now raiding the vegetable tray, said, “He and Mark can talk.”

“What? I thought you’d convinced Mark to stay home,” I said.

“No, I didn’t. But everyone be normal today, okay? Normal!” Ashley marched out of the kitchen, probably to give the “be normal” instructions to the rest of the family. My family didn’t know what normal was. She’d have to be a bit more specific than that.

I wiped my hands on a dish towel and found myself heading to the bathroom and analyzing myself in the mirror. My analysis ended with me applying more mascara, a dusting of
blush, and some lip gloss. Not for Cade, but because it was Thanksgiving.

The doorbell rang and I closed my eyes, giving myself a pep talk.

I am glad Cade can spend Thanksgiving away from his house. He needs this. And I can handle him for one afternoon.

Right?

The doorbell rang again.

Did nobody else know how to answer the door around here?

It was probably better if I answered it, anyway. I could let Cade know what he was in for or better yet, turn him away.

I opened the front door and stepped outside while Cade’s fist was in the air, getting ready to knock again. He wore a nice pair of pants and a button-down short-sleeved shirt. His hair was combed and he held a wrapped box in his hand.