by Seven Steps
The weekend passed quickly, thanks to a Game of Thrones marathon on HBO, and I arrived back at school ready for my new letter and some human contact.
I snatched my locker open and peered inside.
Odd.
There wasn’t a white envelope.
But there was always a white envelope.
I felt around my locker, even though I could clearly see inside.
Nothing.
For three years, I’d always gotten a Monday letter. Now it wasn’t here.
Had he lost interest? Had he moved away? Was he dead?
I frowned, took out a few books, and closed my locker. My heart raced with worry.
I squeezed my books to my chest and leaned against the cool metal.
Is he okay? Please, God, wherever he is, please let him be okay.
“What’s with the face?” John, my older brother, asked. His thick arm was wrapped around Moira’s shoulder, while Michael, my younger brother, held hands with Angela.
I consciously wiped the frown from my face and blinked away the worry in my eyes.
“Nothing,” I lied. It felt like someone cancelled Christmas morning.
“Wendy, come on.” John narrowed his dark eyes at me. He was an expert at reading people and, right then, he was reading me. “What’s the matter? Still thinking about that douche hole, James?”
John released Moira and hit Michael in the chest with the back of his hand. “Come on, we’ll bring Wendy back one of his teeth.”
Michael, who’s always ready for a fight, brightens. “Alright!”
I raise my hand, stopping my brothers before they run off and start a war. “Wait. I just… I usually get a letter on Mondays. There’s no letter.”
John, Moira, Michael and Angela knew about the letters. They’d known since I started receiving them. We weren’t ones to keep secrets from each other. Especially big ones like this.
“Ooh,” Moira said. “Secret admirer drama.”
I rolled my eyes at her.
John leans against my locker, and Moira steps into his arms. She pulls his ever present gray cap down over his eyes and he smiles.
“Just remember,” John said, “if this douche ever contacts you for real, he has to go through the two Darling brothers first.”
Michael, stockier then John, but just as tall, pumped his fist. “Here, here.”
I groaned. “Don’t call him a douche. Besides, if he hasn’t contacted me in three years, I doubt he’ll contact me now.”
Michael runs his fingers through his dark, curly hair. Angela bats his hands away and starts restyling it into a perfect bed head look.
“How do you know it’s a he?” Michael asked. He pulls Angela’s fingers from fussing with his hair and kisses the back of her hand. This is his way to tell her to knock off whatever she’s doing. “Maybe he’s a she. Ever think of that?”
This is Michael’s favorite theory about my secret admirer. I, obviously, don’t agree with it. The way the author expresses himself is so masculine. Simple sentences and thoughts. Not floral and pretty, the way a girl would write.
“Shut up. It’s not a girl.”
Angela pulls her hands from Michael’s grip and claps them excitedly. A sure sign that she’s just thought of something.
“What if we could find out for sure?” Her eyes widened with glee.
We all turn to her.
“How?” I asked.
“We just need a student roster. If you’ve been getting the letters for three years, then this guy—”
“Or girl,” Michael chimed in.
Angela continued like she hasn’t heard him, “—must be a junior. And the fact that they talk about stuff you’ve done means that they have classes with you, right?”
I nodded.
“So, we get the roster for the junior class and start digging.” Her face lights up with her new plan and she claps her hands at hummingbird speed.
Angela loves investigative work. One time she thought Michael was cheating on her, and she followed him for a solid week before she realized he was working extra shifts at Dad’s car dealership to buy her a present. When he presented the present—diamond earrings—she managed to look surprised, even though she’d seen him purchase them at the jewelry store.
I frowned. “But we don’t know anything about him—except maybe his initials.”
“Initials?” Moira asked.
“Yeah. He writes a P.S. at the bottom of his letters. I’m not sure if P.S. is ‘post script’ or his name, but it’s a start.”
Michael squinted at me, “Why don’t you just get a fingerprint kit or something?” He turned to Angela. “Isn’t your dad a detective, babe?”
Angela nodded. “Yes, babe, but we don’t have to get all CSI yet. If this P.S. guy—”
“Or girl,” Michael chimed in.
Angela hit him with the back of her hand. “If he’s not in the system, we’re out of luck. We can’t track him through fingerprints unless he has a criminal record.”
“He better not have a criminal record,” John muttered. He jerked his chin at me. “If he’s a felon, I’ll have to break his fingers.”
I groaned.
“Look,” Angela said, “I have a contact in the office. I can get the student roster by lunch.”
A confident grin slid onto her face. It made me grin too.
“Get ready,” she said. “We’re about to out your secret admirer.”
5
WENDY
At lunch, Angela scrolled through an excel spreadsheet on her pink, rhinestone phone.
I was pretty sure our “research” was against the rules, but my desire to discover P.S.’s identity overshadowed the urge to stay out of detention.
Angel passed around the phone so the five of us could all see it. “Here’s a list of all of the kids in school, sorted by grade and last name,”
John squeezed his arm around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder. “Babe, how’d you get this?”
“I told you. I have contacts in the office.”
“This is cool,” John said, clearly impressed with his girlfriend’s snooping abilities. “I feel like I’m in a cop show or something.”
“You’re silly.” Angela shook her head and smiled. “Anyway, there are only three boys in the junior class with the initials P.S.”
“Who?” I asked. I wished she would just get to the point.
She held up three fingers and counted off the names. “Previt Singh, Paul Smalls, and Peter Swift.”
I hurriedly wrote down each of the names. Now we were getting somewhere.
Moira scrunched her eyebrows. “I’ve never heard of any of those guys.”
“Previt Singh is in the chess club,” John said. “He tutored me in math last month.”
Moira’s eyes went wide. “A junior tutored you in math?”
He lifted his hands in a defensive position. “He’s smart, and I suck at math.”
“Does he seem like the type to write letters?” I asked.
John shook his head. “Not really. He was really into religion. You know, he wore that head wrap. Plus, he’s not in our lunch period.”
“Fine,” Angela said. “We’ll scratch Previt off the list.”
I drew a line through his name. “What about Paul Smalls? Does anyone know him?”
“He’s in art with me, I think,” Moira said, tilting her head in contemplation. “Yeah, he’s tall, and he paints, I think.” She shrugged. “I guess he could write this stuff.”
“A definite maybe.” I put a check next to Paul. “What about Peter?”
“Track team,” John said. “He won some meets last year. His picture is in the trophy case next to the gym.”
“Yeah,” Michael said. “He’s a jock, but not like a jock jock. It could be him, I guess.”
I put a check next to Peter’s name. “Okay. So, two possible. Now we just have to find them.”
I frowned. I’d never heard of any of these guys until now, but I mostly hung out with
Michael, Moira, John, and Angela. Maybe I should look into expanding my circle of friends.
“I have their class schedules.” Angela pulled three sheets of paper from her bookbag and handed them to me just as the bell rang. “Previt has English with Mrs. Mackey, but he’s out of the race, so we can trash that. Paul has French with Mr. Coggs, and Peter has government with Mr. Goldblum.”
“What do they even look like?” I asked.
My question was answered when I took a closer look at the paper. Beneath each schedule was a school ID card. I stared at Previt, Paul and Peter.
They were all handsome in their own way, but there was something about Peter’s brown eyes. They sparkled with mischief. His brown hair was longish and swept to the side, and his ears were a little too big for his face. He smiled in his picture, unlike the other two. It was a wide, happy smile.
I smiled back.
“Wendy!” Angela called.
I looked up from gazing at Peter. They were already halfway to the double doors.
“Hurry up!” Angela said. “We can get to Mr. Mackey’s class before the bell if we’re fast enough.”
I nodded, took one last look at Peter’s smile, stuffed the papers into my jeans pocket, and rushed out of the cafeteria.
6
PETER
I should’ve been expelled.
I’d caused thousands of dollars worth of water damage to the school, not to mention I’d aggravated Mr. Mann. But, my dad is on the schoolboard and works as the school’s attorney.
I got a week’s suspension instead. That meant no phone, no friends, and no Playstation. Just me and TV for a week straight.
Perfect.
I turned on MTV and glanced at my notebook. This was the first time in three years I hadn’t been able to deliver a letter to Wendy.
Had she noticed? Did she care? I didn’t know. I could only hope she had. My big proposal was supposed to be the start of us, but all I got was a kick in the pants. Literally. Every time I thought about it, it physically hurt.
I wrote my letter anyway, flipped on the television, and watched a few hours of MTV. A Teen Wolf marathon was playing.
What was it like to be extraordinary? To have powers? To have strength?
If I had all the power in the world, would Wendy notice me? Was being extraordinary enough for a girl like her?
7
WENDY
We hadn’t been able to locate Peter Swift yet, but we were able to locate his twin brothers. They both had tall, athletic frames, and they both wore the same blue sweatshirt and dark jeans. It was like they wanted people to confuse them.
I stood in front of the boys, with Angela and Moira at my back. John and Michael had lost interest in our mission and had gone to start the car.
“You’re Peter’s brothers?” I asked.
The nodded in sync.
The one to the right put his hand on his chest.
“I’m Xander.” He pointed to his brother. “This is Xavier.”
I smiled at them, and took a step closer.
“Nice to meet you, Xander and Xavier. Now, can you tell me where your brother is?”
“He’s suspended,” Xander, the one to the right, said.
“For how long?” I asked.
“For the rest of the week.”
Xander’s voice was deep. Strong. He was definitely the spokesman of the two. The other one, Xavier, looked at me with a mixture of guilt and awe.
Angela stepped next to me, hands on hips, eyes narrowed. “Why’d he get suspended?”
The brothers looked at each other, then back at her.
“I can’t say.”
Moira spoke up from behind me. “Does this have something to do with the lame sign he was holding up?” he asked.
“Sign?” I asked. “What sign?”
The brother’s faces turned red, and they took a step back.
“I saw him on Friday with a sign that said, ‘Wendy, please choose me’. And these two losers had roses. I told him that you weren’t interested.”
My chest tightened.
Peter was going to ask me to choose him at the choosing ceremony and Moira just blew him off. How could she do that? Since when did she start making decisions for me?
I let out a breath. There was no time to think about Moira’s presumptuousness now. I had to find Peter, and finally get the truth about the letters.
I narrowed my eyes at Xavier and watched his face turn beet red.
“Peter’s spoken to you about me?”
He bit the inside of his cheek, refusing to look at me, and I knew I was on to something.
“Spill,” I said. “Did Peter write me letters?”
His eyes shot to his brother, but I put my hand on Xavier’s shoulder, drawing his attention back to me. “You’re going to tell me everything I want to know.”
“What’s in it for us?” Xander asked. I looked at him and he cleared his throat. “I’m not above ratting out my brother, but I come at a price. What’s in it for us?”
“What do you want?”
“Alana Swimworthy.” The words roll off his tongue like they’d been waiting for someone to ask him.
I frowned and turned to Angela and Moira.
“A freshman,” Moira said. “Ariel Swimworthy’s sister. Michael and I went to their party a few weeks ago.”
She gave me a look that said to get on with it.
I turned back to Xander. “I can promise one date with Alana. Just one.”
“One’s all I need,” Xander said. “What do you want to know?”
I placed my other hand on Xander’s shoulder, and the twins and I form a triangle of intrigue. “Everything.”
8
Peter
It was only Monday, but being at home alone all day already sucked.
It was one thing to be sick and sleeping all day, but another entirely to be perfectly healthy and only have a television to connect to the outside world. I’d forgotten how much I checked my phone throughout the day. Sometimes, my fingers twitched and moved as if scrolling through something. Did that mean I was addicted? Maybe.
I paced the living room. It was too cold to go outside. That meant I was trapped like a rat. Nothing was on television, and I didn’t feel like reading or catching up on homework. I was two seconds away from searching my brother’s room for an electronic device when there was a knock on my front door. Finally. Another human being.
I jogged over to the door and snatched it open.
My heart stopped.
My mouth dropped open.
My heart leapt into my throat.
I could only stare in amazement.
There she was.
In my doorway.
Wendy Darling.
Was this real? Was I dreaming? Was she actually here?
I scanned her entire body, from her wavy brown hair to her blue eyes and puffy jacket, all the way down to her black boots. God, she was beautiful.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in, Peter?” she asked.
I sucked in a breath and closed my gaping mouth. I’d been gawking at her for a full minute. She must’ve thought I was some sort of psycho or something.
“Yeah, of course. Sorry. Come in.”
I pulled the door open, then wiped my suddenly sweaty hands on my jogging pants and cupped them in front of my mouth to check my breath. I’d brushed my teeth today. Thank God!
She walked down the short hallway and into the large living room. Her eyes took in the spiral staircase, the high windows, the black leather couches, and expensive rugs. Then, she turned to me.
“You weren’t in school today,” she said.
I blinked several times, still not able to believe Wendy Darling was really in my house.
“Yeah, I, uh, I got expelled.”
“Why?” she asked, taking a step closer. Her eyes were open and expectant.
I put one hand in my pocket, and threw the other in the air.
“It, uh, it was a stupid prank.
I, uh, I set the chem lab on fire.”
A brief look of disappointment crossed her face, then she smiled at me.
“Oh. Well, I can see that you’re busy.” She looked around the living room again, then her eyes returned to me. “I just came to collect my letter.”
My stomach twisted until I thought I was going to barf. I swallowed hard to keep my lunch down.
“Le-le-letters?” I croaked.
“Yes. You’ve been writing me letters every Monday, haven’t you?”
My eyes opened so wide they ached. I thought I was ready to reveal myself to Wendy but, right now, I just wanted to go hide under a rock. “I, uh—”
“Well, have you or haven’t you?”
What would she say if I told her I was her secret letter writer? What would she say if I said I wasn’t? Would either answer make me less nervous then I was right at this very second? This seemed so much easier when I was planning it out, but now that she was in front of me, my heart felt like it was jumping between my throat and my gut.
“I, uh…”
There was that look again. Disappointment. She put her hands into her coat pockets and sighed. “I see. I guess you’re not him. He’s brave. Articulate. If he was here, he’d tell me how much he loved me.” She examined me, waiting for something. Then, she took a step back. “I shouldn’t have come. I’d better go.”
I stood frozen as the girl of my dreams walked away.
The girl I’d spilled my guts to every Monday morning.
The girl that had rooted herself deep in my soul without saying a word.
She opened the door, and was gone.
Gone.
I swallowed and pushed my fingers through my hair.
What was I doing?
Why was I standing here?
I couldn’t let her get away. If I did, I’d be a coward, and she didn’t deserve that. She deserved someone extraordinary.
My brain finally woke from its stupor and screamed at me, “Move, you idiot!”
I dashed into my room, grabbed the letter from my desk, stuffed my feet into my boots, pulled on my coat, and ran out of my apartment to see Wendy stepping into the elevator.