P.S. I Like You (4 page)

Anger surged up my chest and I whirled around. “Have you ever heard of alliteration? You should try it.” It was a lame comeback. An inside argument that he wouldn’t get, but it was the only thing that came out. The kids around him laughed harder. I turned and it took everything in me to walk away at a normal speed.

“I
’m going to enter a songwriting competition,” I said.

Isabel’s hand paused while reaching for her pajamas.

It was Friday night and we were at her house about to watch a scary movie. I had held in this announcement since I’d read about the contest the day before, turning it over in my mind. Now I’d said it out loud. That meant I’d have to follow through. I
would
follow through.

“You are?” Her voice held more than a little skepticism.

I threw myself back onto her queen-size bed and stared at the poster of Einstein pinned to her ceiling. I wondered, like I always did, how she could sleep with him staring down at her like that. I always had a hard time.

But I still loved sleeping over at Isabel’s. She was an only child, so her house was like an oasis of calm for me. We would eat dinner with her parents—tonight it was delicious homemade tamales with rice and beans—and then we’d come upstairs to hang out in her giant room, with its own pullout sofa, TV, and tiny refrigerator for stashing Diet Cokes and ice cream.

“You don’t think I can?” I asked her now, frowning.

“It’s not that, Lil. I’m sure your songs are great,” Isabel replied, pulling her pajamas out of her dresser drawer. “I’d be able to tell you for sure if you would actually
share
one with me—you know, your best friend in the whole world.”

I groaned. “I know. I’m sorry. I don’t have one finished yet.”

“That’s what you always say. How are you going to enter a contest when you won’t even share a song with
me
?”

I covered my face with my hands. “I don’t know.”

She sat next to me on the bed. “I’m sorry. I know you can do it, Lil. You just need to believe in yourself.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Don’t be a brat. I’m trying to help.”

I took my hands off my face and looked at her. “I know.”

“Tell me about the competition.”

I propped myself up on my elbows. “It’s through the Herberger Institute,” I began.

Isabel gasped, her dark eyes widening. “Oh wow. That’s really prestigious, Lil!”

I nodded and tugged on a split end of my hair, feeling nervous. “I know. Anyway, there’s a five-thousand-dollar prize, which would be so amazing, of course. But even better, the winner gets a three-week course with one of the professors.”

Isabel smiled. “That’s huge. Knowing a professor could help with admissions, right?”

I nodded. I was trying not to think too much about this fact. Not only would winning the contest get me some money
to help pay for college, something my parents couldn’t afford to do, but it might help me
get
into the college music program that I’d been dreaming about for years.

“So share something with me. One song idea, at least?” Isabel pointed to my green-and-purple notebook that sat on top of my overnight bag on the floor.

I felt a wave of shyness and shrugged. “I have a couple ideas. I need to make them better. I
do
want to share, just not right now.”

She rolled her eyes then stood up to change into her pajamas. “Chicken.”

I threw one of my socks at her then collapsed back on her bed again, the ceiling poster taking over my view. She was right. I was a total chicken. “I think Einstein is judging me.”

“He probably is. Maybe he read your notebook.”

I laughed and went to get my own pajamas from my bag.

Isabel changed the subject so I didn’t have to. “One movie tonight or two?” That was code for “how long should we stay up?”

I smiled. “Two. We have all night.”

My phone buzzed against my thigh and I sat up on Isabel’s pullout couch, disoriented for a moment. The television hummed blue in front of me. Pale morning light shone through the cracks of the blinds. My phone stopped buzzing, then ten seconds later began again.

“Hello?” I answered groggily.

“Lily.” It was my dad. “Your brother’s last soccer game is today. I know you said you wanted to go to one. Just wanted to give you the opportunity.”

“What time is the game?”

“At eight. As in, thirty minutes from now.”

I yawned. Isabel and I hadn’t fallen asleep until after three a.m. But I tried to pull myself together. “Yes, I want to go.”

“Okay, I’ll pick you up on the way in twenty minutes.”

“Thanks.”

“Who was it?” Isabel moaned from her bed. She sat up, her normally perfectly spiraled black curls smashed flat against her head.

I tried to tame my own hair, which always became more crazy curls than soft waves in the mornings.

“My dad. Go back to sleep. I have to run.”

“What? Why? What about pancakes?”

“Next time. Thing Two has a soccer game I forgot about.”

“He always has a soccer game.”

“I haven’t been to one yet this year. I promised him I would.”

Isabel plopped back down on her pillow, her eyes already closed. “Okay. See you Monday.”

I
t took me four minutes to see it on Monday. I had unloaded my book, pencil, and single sheet of paper. Mr. Ortega had begun his lecture. My eyes went to the lyric I had written on the desk Friday. That’s when I saw a line beneath mine written in blocky handwriting.

For the night will soon bring back its shadows.

It was the next line of the song.
What?
I was confused. Someone else that went to this school had actually heard one of my favorite indie songs? Apparently I wasn’t the only one bored in this class.

I smiled and then quickly wrote beneath the line:

Blackout rocks. I want to be Lyssa Primm when I grow up. I’m impressed you know them.

I wondered how often the janitors wiped down these desks. That message probably wouldn’t even make it to its intended target. It didn’t matter, though; just knowing someone else in this school had excellent taste in music made me happy. I wondered if I knew them. Morris High wasn’t a small school. But only the juniors used the Chemistry room—which ruled out the person I would’ve thought of
right away—Lucas. He seemed like he might’ve been just as into obscure bands as I was. But he was a senior. That was just wishful thinking anyway. The odds it was someone I knew were low.

Mr. Ortega.
What if he had written this message? Mr. Ortega, a Blackout fan? The thought made me laugh. Out loud. My eyes shot to the front of the room, but my teacher was in the middle of a sentence so thankfully he didn’t seem to notice my outburst.

Lauren, sitting next to me, had, as evidenced by the look on her face. I knew that look. It was basically the silent version of
why are you so weird?
I thought about telling her I had pictured Mr. Ortega dancing, but I didn’t think that would help. Besides, I’d already learned my lesson about saying things out of context, so I just shrugged.

Then I glanced back at the writing on my desk.

The rest of class seemed to pass by a little faster than normal.

I caught up to Isabel in the hall.

“Why are you so smiley?” she asked.

“I always smile.”

She laughed then stopped. “Okay, actually, you do smile a lot, just not usually at school.”

“That’s because high school is a crusher of souls.”

“Not to be dramatic or anything,” she said.

“Exactly.” But she was right. I was feeling light now, and I could only think of one reason why. “You know that band I’ve told you about? Blackout?”

We stopped at her locker and she took out some books from her backpack and shoved them inside. “No. What do they sing?”

I quietly sang a few lines of one song and when recognition didn’t light her face, I switched to another. “No?” I had played them for her several times. It surprised me she hadn’t remembered.

“Sorry, but you do like weird music,” Isabel said, closing her locker with a grin.

“I think you mean
awesome
music, but whatever.”

“What about them?”

“Someone else knows who they are.”

“Well, I would hope for the band’s sake that you’re not their only fan.”

I smiled. “No, I mean someone here at school. We exchanged a couple lines of lyrics on the desk. It was cool.”

“You wrote on the desk? Are you trying to get in trouble?”

I sighed. She did not understand the significance of this revelation.

A loud laugh sounded from the opposite end of the hall. I turned to look and saw Cade and his crew. Sasha, the only girl in the group, was holding on to his arm. They must’ve been dating now. Not that it would last long. Cade seemed to have a new girl hanging around every week these days. He was
looking at his phone while Sasha was talking animatedly to him. It brought back memories of his birthday party again.

After Isabel had snapped me out of my awestruck daze over Cade’s entryway that day, I had followed her into the kitchen, which was at least three times as big as mine. The island was lined with silver food warming-trays that people in white jackets and bowties were removing the lids from. Who had a fourteenth birthday party catered? Cade had leaned against a far counter and was scrolling through his phone like he couldn’t be bothered with his own party. It was Isabel on his arm that he was easily ignoring that day. She’d whispered something to him after a moment and he shoved his phone in his pocket as though angry at having been interrupted. The expression didn’t last long; a second later he’d put on his fake smile and said, “Eat while it’s hot, everyone.” I’d nodded to the trays and said, “Most people serve pizza and cake.” He’d looked at me with that smug arrogance of his and said, “I’m not like most people.”

I’d said something rude back. Something like, “Thank goodness.”

“Can’t you just ignore him? Be nice?” Isabel had pleaded.

That day I couldn’t ignore him, not after how he’d been treating Isabel. Today, I was going to prove to Isabel that I could. As we headed his way, toward the only way out of the building, I would not respond to whatever abuse he threw my way. But he just gave Isabel a dazzling and confident Cade smile, not acknowledging me at all. She returned it. I realized
I was glaring, so I smoothed out my features and kept my mouth shut. It was harder than I had imagined.