P.S. I Like You (31 page)

He laughed and sent my heart racing. “So,” he went on, “I thought maybe if you could get to know me through the letters without knowing who I was in real life that you would eventually be willing to look past my mistakes. I was again surprised to learn you had been doing the same thing. So here we are at a crossroads.”

I waited for him to continue, to finish. He didn’t. I spoke up. “Here we are at a crossroads? That’s how you ended it? All cryptic like that?”

He took a step forward. Even though there wasn’t room to take that step. My legs hit a desk.

“I think there might’ve been a P.S.,” he said.

I couldn’t breathe again, only this time it had nothing to do with running. It had to do with his closeness and his voice, which had turned quiet, and his eyes that hadn’t left mine since he arrived.

My voice had lowered, too. “P.S.? We haven’t written one of those before.”

“It felt like it needed one.”

“It did need one.”

“P.S.” He brushed a piece of hair off of my cheek. “I like you. A lot.”

My breathing was shallow, my eyes starting to water from staring too long. “That’s a great P.S.”

“For our first one, I thought it was solid.”

It didn’t take much because he was so close. All I had to do was rise up on my tiptoes and our lips met. He tasted like mint gum and all my hopes and dreams. Well, not all of them, but a lot of them. His hands moved to my back where they pulled me against him. He deepened the kiss. My arms slid their way under his, finding his back as well. Why had we waited so long to do this? His breath was warm, his kiss as intense as his stare had been.

Something clattered onto the floor and I vaguely registered it was the keys I’d been holding. My brain was too muddled to think about that for another blissful moment in his arms. Then I remembered Isabel.

I gasped and pulled away. Too fast. The back of my legs whacked against a chair. “Ouch.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. The keys. Isabel. I have to go.” I somehow twisted my way out of his arms, swiped the keys off the floor, and took off.

“Lily!”

“We’ll talk later! I like you, too!” I turned and walked backward for a moment, smiling his way. “In case that wasn’t obvious.” Then I left.

Running was fun, freeing—so easy.

“I
’ll drive. You talk.” That was the first thing Isabel said when we climbed into her car.

I’d managed to put the keys back in the office, thanking whatever form of luck had kept Mrs. Clark and Isabel talking the entire time. Then I went through the front door of the office.

“There you are,” I’d said to Isabel, as though I’d been searching the campus over for her.

She turned around at the sound of my voice and the look in her eyes spelled murder. I tried to convey to her that I was sorry with one look as well. She’d hooked her arm in mine and said, “It was great talking to you, Mrs. Clark. Thanks for the info on dress code.”

“You’re welcome, hon. See you later.”

We’d then walked away in silence like we were being tailed by a spy, not saying a word until in the safety of her car.

“I’m sorry,” I said now, buckling my seat belt.

“Why? What happened?” She pulled out of the parking lot.

A smile spread across my face. “Nothing … Everything. Cade showed up. I guess he saw me running by and followed me.”

“He did?”

“Yes. And he knew. He knew I was the letter writer for weeks but he thought I hated him so he didn’t want to tell me.”

Isabel gave a knowing laugh. “So you were both being dumb.”

“Yes. How did you keep Mrs. Clark talking for that long, by the way?”

“What? No. Who cares. Why are you asking that question when you haven’t finished telling me the story?”

I laughed. “Wow. I could really drag this out and make you mad.”

She grabbed my hand and squeezed. “But you won’t do that because you owe me big-time for what I just did.”

“True. Thank you so much.”

“I don’t need your praise. I need the rest of the story. Tell me.”

I sucked my lips in to keep from laughing again. She was portraying perfectly how I felt on the inside, all excitement and manic happiness.

“Okay, sorry, sorry. Let’s see, where was I. So, he recited his letter, which he had apparently memorized, to me, not letting me get it from the desk. Basically he said that he was afraid I wouldn’t like him once I found out who he was and
that when he realized I was doing the same thing, he was relieved. And then he told me he liked me. So I kissed him. But then I remembered you were waiting so I ran.”

“Wait, what?” Isabel cried, her eyes on the road as the car swerved a tiny bit. “You’re just going to casually mention kissing him and move on like that’s nothing?”

I wasn’t going to casually mention kissing him. I wanted to go into detail but suddenly with Isabel sitting next to me, squeezing my hand, I remembered something I hadn’t when I was kissing him—that she’d kissed him, too.

“Don’t,” she said as though reading my mind. “Don’t think about that. We’ve both kissed several people since then and I’m sure it’s nothing close to the same. We were young. I wasn’t even thinking about that, Lil. I promise. You two are adorable. It’s not even comparable to what Cade and I had. So spill it.”

I let out a happy sigh. “It was perfect.”

She pulled into a parking lot and I realized she was taking me up on the ice cream sundae offer right this second. “This story is going to be even better with ice cream,” she said.

It was seven o’clock when the doorbell rang. I was already in my pajamas and makeup free. I hardly registered the doorbell because I’d just written several lines of a new song, one that wouldn’t exploit Cade’s tragic life.

It’s easy to judge not knowing the truth

Only seeing carefully built walls.

It’s hard to undo years written in youth

But how amazing when the tower finally falls.

And I see you standing there

All sweet and kind of scared.

And you see me standing here.

Hope in my eyes but full of fear.

A knock at my door startled me from the lyrics. “Yeah?”

The door opened and my mom’s face appeared. “Hey, you have a visitor.”

“I do?”

She didn’t give me a chance to ask another question, just swung my door open the rest of the way, revealing Cade. He stood, hands clasped in front of him, his posture reserved, shoulders down, head bowed slightly, like he wasn’t sure how I’d receive him.

“Hey!” I jumped up, a smile instantly on my face. “Come in.”

He looked to my mom to make sure that was okay.

“Keep the door open,” was all she said in return, then walked away.

“I don’t have your phone number,” he said, looking around my room, then choosing the desk chair at the foot of my bed as his landing place. “I wanted to see you.”

I sunk back down to my bed, my smile far from leaving my face. “I will give you my phone number so that I’ll be better
prepared for you next time.” I patted my hair and tugged on my T-shirt.

“You look adorable.” He rolled the desk chair around my bed so we were now knee to knee. “You
are
adorable. I want to kiss you. I can do that now, right?”

I only got one head bob of my nod in before he took my face in his hands and pulled me to him. Given the urgency in his eyes, I thought our lips would collide, but right before they did, he paused, breathed me in, then ran his lips slowly across mine. My breath was gone and I grabbed hold of the front of his shirt and tugged him toward me. The kiss didn’t last long enough before he pulled away again.

“I just wanted to make sure,” Cade said with a smile. “With the way you left today, I wasn’t sure where we stood.”

“You think I just go around kissing boys for fun?”

“I don’t know what to think of you. You constantly surprise me. I honestly thought that you’d be waiting for me after baseball practice.”

I made a face. “You wanted me to wait around school for over an hour?”

He laughed. “No, I did not. That would be boring.”

“Oh!” I said, suddenly realizing something. “That’s what other girls have done. I’m sorry. That probably would’ve been a good show of how much I liked you or something.”

“Don’t be sorry. I like that your life doesn’t revolve around this.” He pointed between the two of us and I grabbed his finger.

“What do you mean by
this
?”

“Us.”

“Us? I like us.”

He kissed my hand that was still holding his finger. “Me too.”

I
f I thought back over the past several weeks I could trace the days where lyrics came easy to me. Those were the days when some emotional height was reached. Days when the letter I found in Chemistry was funny or heartfelt or sad. Or the day when I discovered the letter writer was Cade. Those were the days the lyrics seemed to pour out of me in a wave of emotion.

Now, only days after kissing Cade for the first time, but with less than a week left to finish up a song for the contest, tension was definitely not an emotion that was helping at all. My sister wasn’t being helpful either. She was singing pop songs she loved at the top of her lungs while telling me I should try to make my song more like whatever song she was singing.

“Please. I beg of you. Can you be quiet?” I had bought a guitar from Craigslist with the money she gave me and was feeling very ungrateful that I now wanted to kick her out of the room. I’d already come up with what I thought was a good tune, and her singing was only throwing me off. All I had to do was finish the lyrics.

“I will do your laundry for a week if you give me an hour alone.”

“You’ll shrink my stuff on purpose so you can wear it,” Ashley said.

That wasn’t a bad idea. I stood up, pulled her up by her arms, which was harder than I thought it would be, and deposited her outside of the room. “One hour.”

She didn’t fight it as I heard her sing her way down the hall. I sank onto my bed and picked up the guitar again. The silence was supposed to bring me inspiration but my mind went blank. I picked up my phone and shot off a text:

I need inspiration.

Cade sent me back a selfie—him making a smoldering face—and I laughed.

Yeah. That didn’t work.

That’s all I have to work with
, he replied.
You’re out of luck. You writing a song?

Trying to. One week left.

You’ll figure it out. Don’t you have a whole notebook full of lyrics? Is there something you can use in there?

I stared at that notebook on my nightstand. My favorite song was the one I’d first written about him. “Left Behind.” I couldn’t use that. I had no right to assign emotions and words to his experience.

I’ll figure something out
, I wrote back.
Now leave me alone, I’m trying to write!

He sent me another model-face selfie and I laughed and tucked my phone away.