The Way I Used to Be (8 page)

“Eh-hem.” He does it again. “Eh-hem!” I look up, wondering if he's choking or something. And he's turned toward me—facing me—smiling.

“Oh,” I say, not really knowing what else there is to say. “What?” I whisper. Maybe he said something to me and I just spaced.

“What?” he repeats.

“Oh. Did you say something?”

“No.”

“Oh, okay.” I start to go back to my doodling.

“I mean, I didn't
say
anything,” he whispers.

I look at him. He leans toward me. So I lean toward him slightly and try to listen as hard as I can. That's when I notice his eyes. They're this intense brown, so deep it makes me want to just fall all the way into them. “What?” I ask again.

He laughs too loud. His jock people turn around and stare at me for a few seconds before returning to each other. “I said, I didn't say anything. I was just trying to get your attention.”

“Oh.” I pause. “Why?”

“I don't know.” He shrugs. “To say hi.”

“Oh. Hi?” I say it like a question, only because I'm really confused about what's going on here.

“Hi,” he laughs the word.

I look down at my planner. The word “Smile” stares at me through the scribbles. So I look at him again, and give him the smile that had been working for me so far this year. He inches his whole desk closer to me, making a screeching noise against the floor, again drawing the attention of his friends.

“So,” he whispers. “Are you new?”

“New?” I repeat.

“New this year, I mean?” he asks.

“No.”

“Seriously?”

I nod.

“Oh. Wow, okay.” He narrows his eyes at me and turns his head slightly, like he doesn't quite believe me.

That's when I realize he has absolutely no idea who I am. No idea I was that girl he nearly ran over in the hall last year. No idea how he grabbed my arm and asked me if I was okay. No idea that I ever existed. And somehow, I really like the way that feels. I smile again.

He smiles back. “What's your name?”

“E—den.” I almost say Edy but stop myself just in time. “Eden,” I repeat, clearer. Because I can be anyone to this guy. I can truly be this new person. Because he knows nothing different.

“Eden?” he verifies. And it suddenly sounds like the best name in the world.

“Yeah.” I smile. I start sifting through the collection of random facts—these small things that I know about him. Like his name and the fact that he's a senior and a basketball star and has had previous cheerleader girlfriends. The term scholar-athlete comes to mind. I know who he is, of course; it would be impossible to not know something like that. Like when his name comes up in the morning announcements for leading the boys' varsity team to victory over blah, blah, blah, or for scoring x number of points in whatever quarter in last night's game against whomever, I obviously have an image in my head of who it is they're talking about. But it's different, somehow, actually sitting next to him.

His eyes meet mine. I'm staring. I look down and think: Chocolate. That's what his eyes remind me of. I look up again. The color of dark chocolate. And I realize that those small random facts don't really add up to anything when you're up close like this. When someone like him is looking at you the way he's looking at me.

“Josh,” he tells me. And then does something just . . . insane. He reaches across the aisle, extending his hand toward me for a handshake. It seems a little silly, but I raise my hand to meet his. His skin is warm, just like his voice and his eyes and his laugh. It seems like we're holding each other's hands for way too long, but he just smiles like there's nothing weird about this at all.

But then the bell screams. I drop his hand, shocked back into a world not composed solely of this guy's chocolate eyes. I gather my things quickly so I can get out of there, because I don't know what just happened—what's happening. I don't know if it's scary or exhilarating. I don't dare look back at him. I rush for the door.

THE NEXT DAY IT'S
like my entire world revolves around preparing for study hall, even though I know it's the least important part of the day. I should be worrying about my trig quiz next week, and the fact that I have no clue how to even properly work my calculator yet. I can't tell if I'm obsessing over seeing Josh again because I'm dreading it or because I can't wait. Or both, somehow.

When I get there, he's already sitting with his friends. I stand in the doorway, not knowing what to do. I can't go over and just sit there. But then if I sit somewhere else, I don't want it to seem like I don't want to sit with him again. He's laughing with the guy in front of him, who's turned around in his chair, gesturing wildly.

But then the second bells rings. People are still filing in, and they push past me as I stand in the way. My heart starts racing as I try to make the decision. If he would just look over here and give me a sign that I'm invited to sit back there again. But he's not paying attention. He doesn't see me. He probably doesn't even remember yesterday.

“Okay, find your seats, everyone!” the teacher yells. So I sink into the seat closest to the door. I keep my eyes glued on the back of the kid's neck in front of me while the teacher takes roll call. I am the biggest coward in the universe.

“Eden McCrorey?”

I raise my arm, but he overlooks me.

“Eden McCrorey?” he repeats, louder.

“Here,” I call back. And I can't help myself; I look behind me to the back corner of the room where he's sitting. He's looking at me. I turn back around quickly. When the teacher finishes taking attendance, I hurry to the front of the room to have him sign my pass for the library. When I turn around to head for the door, Josh waves at me and points his thumb toward the empty desk next to his. As I get closer he motions for me to come over there. I really just want to run, though. But I remember about acting normal and smiling, so I walk over to him. His friends turn to look at me; it's like they're evaluating me—inspecting me for flaws. Quietly, Josh says, “Hey, Eden, I saved your spot.”

“Oh. Well, thanks. I'm going to the library though.”

He looks disappointed. “Tomorrow then,” he says with a shrug, brushing it off.

“Sure.”

And then he looks up at me with his smile, and I can feel his eyes watching me as I leave. I'm barely breathing. My heart feels light and fast—too fast.

I walk through the doors of the library, quietly making my way to her office. I see her sitting at her desk going through some papers. I knock softly.

“Eden, come on in!” She smiles, her voice warm.

I sit down in one of her chairs. “Hi, Miss Sullivan.”

“So, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I just wanted to say hi.” I just needed a place to hide. Again.

“That's so sweet. Thank you, Eden.” There's this pause—this silence that lasts too long. Thankfully, she fills it. “You know, I was just thinking back to last year. I remember you had initially wanted to volunteer?”

“Oh yeah, I did.” I'd nearly forgotten.

“Well, there're still some spots open . . . if you're interested, that is.”

“Really? Yeah, I am. I mean, yes. Definitely!”

“Okay. When are you free?” she asks, pulling up the schedule on her computer.

“Now, I guess. I have study hall, and then directly after I have lunch, so I could even volunteer third and fourth periods. I mean, if you need me. If you need help, I mean.”

“Well, I do need help, but I want you,” she says pointedly, tracing her finger along the boxes of her calendar. “Okay! We're in luck; it looks like that's going to work out perfectly!”

“Great. When do I start?”

“No time like the present,” she says, opening her arms in this welcoming gesture. Miss Sullivan takes me through the checkout process and teaches me about the database and how to locate the books on the shelves. She watches while I check out my first customer.

“You're a natural!” she tells me. I smile back at her, not with my new smile but my real one. I'm glad to be around her again—she makes me feel like maybe I really am normal. Like things really will be okay.

“SO, SOMETHING REALLY WEIRD
happened yesterday,” I tell Mara as we begin our walk home from school.

“Oooh, what?” she asks eagerly.

“So, do you know that guy Josh Miller? He's a senior on the basketball team?”

“Of course.”

“Yeah. Of course. Well, he was talking to me. Like
talking
to me. It almost seemed like . . . I don't know. No, forget it. It's stupid.” I laugh.

“No, what? You have to tell me now—I'm hooked!”

“Okay. But first, believe me, I know full well exactly how stupid this is going to sound,” I warn her.

“Oh. My. God—just tell me!” she demands, laughing.

“Well, you know how I dropped band? So, I got put in this study hall instead. And he's in there—Josh—and he gave up the seat next to him so I could sit there. And then he was trying to talk to me, almost like he was actually . . . interested.” I wait for her to start laughing, but she just continues to look at me. “Interested in me, I mean,” I clarify.

“Okay, first of all, why would you think I would think that's stupid? And second of all . . . WOOO-HOOOO!” she screams, jumping up and down right in the middle of the street. “YEEEEESSSS!”

“Oh my gosh, stop! You're crazy!” I yell. But we're both laughing uncontrollably.

“So what happened next?” she asks, her laugh fading as she tries to catch her breath.

“What do you mean? Nothing. Was something supposed to happen next?”

“I mean, how did you leave things? What exactly did he say to you?”

“He said he was going to save me a seat tomorrow.”

“Perfect!” she shouts. “So then tomorrow you—”

“Wait.” I interrupt her. “I'm not actually going to be there tomorrow, though.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I kind of volunteered in the library for that period,” I admit.

She stares into my eyes, unblinking, her smile fading rapidly. “I'm sorry, did you suffer a blow to the head?”

“You think I should've stayed in the study hall?”

“Duh-uh!” she yells. “Of course, Edy. Have you learned nothing this summer?”

I think about it for several minutes as we walk. Mara keeps letting out these small exasperated breaths, and looking at me and shaking her head, periodically sighing. “Oh, Edy.”

“You're right,” I tell her once we reach the corner where we need to part. “You're totally right. I don't know why I did that. I just got scared, I guess.”

“Scared of what? It's Joshua Miller—this is a great thing, Edy.”

I just shrug. Because I can't tell her exactly what I mean. And I know she wouldn't be able to understand even if I could.

I HAVE BEEN WORKING
in the library for a full week. I like being around Miss Sullivan again. And I have nearly forgotten all about Josh Miller and the seat he was saving for me. Forgotten everything except for those eyes, that is.

I'm nice and safe in this little corner of the world. It's like a break from life. I realize quickly I actually love shelving the books, putting things back in the proper order. Everything has a place—a right way to be. Here, I don't have to worry about who I am or if I'm being it right. No one bothers me, not even myself.

“You're a very hard person to find, you know that?” someone says, suddenly very close to me.

I turn around. I almost can't believe it. It's him. Josh. And his eyes, looking at me. He leans against the bookshelf and smiles. I didn't realize how tall he was when we were sitting together, and that day in the hall I guess I was too crazed to realize much at all. To realize how irresistible he is when he stands in front of me like this. We're so close to each other, tucked away in this quiet aisle; it's like there's no one else in the entire world. Still, I take a small step toward him because it's like he's some kind of magnet, and I can't not move closer.

“You were trying to find me?” I ask.

“Well, I've been saving that seat for you, and people were starting to look at me funny.” He grins, that small lopsided smile again. “I kinda started thinking you were never coming back.” He looks around the library and then at the stack of books in my arms. “I guess I was right?”

“I didn't think you were serious about that.” I feel my grasp on the books tighten as my heart begins to speed up.

“Why don't people ever think I'm being serious?” he asks with a laugh.

Maybe because you look like that, I want to say. Maybe because you always have that ridiculously charming smile on your face. Maybe people don't want to take you seriously because then you're real. Then you're not just Number 12. Or maybe that's just me. “I don't know,” I tell him instead.