There’s plenty of sweet things I remember him doing. Volunteering at a youth clinic over the summer for underprivileged kids. Making sure to be a good big brother to his younger sister. But I guess there’s small stuff you can miss even after almost a year of dating.
“Aw. Do you always get your mom a gift for Valentine’s Day?”
“Yeah, usually I buy her flowers, but since we’re here, I figured you can help me. You’re a girl and all—I’m assuming she’ll like something you choose.”
I smile. “That’s so sweet of you. I’d be happy to help.”
But as we walk over to the hot chocolate line, it takes everything in me to keep my cool. If Pete gets his mom a valentine every year, he really might be my mystery admirer after all. I already knew he was thoughtful, but this proves it yet again.
Then there’s another part of me that wants to push this thought out of my head. This is my first real date. I shouldn’t be trying to find out if he’s my paper-hearts admirer now. Why am I even thinking about that? I should be enjoying Pete’s company.
The snow is still falling so gently, like it’s just kissing the ground. It makes me wonder if Pete will try to kiss me when he walks me to my doorstep tonight.
Pete smiles and then grabs my hand again as he leads me inside the barn and then to the hot chocolate line.
We stand in line and I think about telling him about the Hot Chocolate Theory, but then get mad at myself for indirectly thinking about Andy again.
Suddenly, we are first in line. I reach for my wallet, but he pays for two hot chocolates. When he hands me mine, my heart melts like the marshmallows floating on top.
“Thanks,” I say. For the hot chocolate, and the paper hearts, I think.
With his free hand, he grabs mine and we begin walking again.
And I can’t help but think that maybe we hold hands because it’s the closest thing we can do to hold on to the moment. In a second, all the good memories come back to me like they never left. Dancing at homecoming together and not caring that everyone was watching. Cheering at his basketball games from the bleachers with his number that Carmen painted on my cheek. Finding him waiting by my locker in between classes to surprise me. Walking to the coffee shop during our free period even though he didn’t like coffee—he said he just wanted to be with me. At the time, I just wanted to be with him too. What happened?
“Is everything okay?” he asks, releasing my hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to rush you.”
I shake my head. “No, it’s not you. I just…I just struggle being with you without thinking about before.” I pause and look him in the eye. “I just wish there was a way to take back the weeks I lost,” I say, directly quoting the first message from my admirer. “You know, to figure out what I was thinking.”
I hope to gauge some sort of reaction from Pete, but all he does is blink and he does it so fast, I don’t know if it’s because of what I said. I sigh.
“Look, El. I know that feeling. I mean, do you believe I don’t think about us every time I see you at school? I tried to get over you, but when you reached out and said you wanted to talk…I just felt like maybe after everything, I could give us a second chance like you wanted after the accident,” he reminds me.
I feel myself blush at the memory. I remember asking for him back, like it would be simple. But it wasn’t simple then and it isn’t now either. His eyes are different this time, though—they look hopeful.
My eyes widen.
“Shoot. I’ve already said too much,” he says quickly. “What I’m trying to say is that we had great memories but I want to make new ones. So let’s not think about the past or anything tonight. Let’s stay in the moment and have a great real date like we always talked about.”
He smiles at me now. I don’t know what to say, so I take his hand back and his smile becomes even bigger.
Pete leads me to an open bench by the live band playing old 90s country music. There’s a crowd forming around them but we stay off to the side, not really paying attention to the music. I think Pete may be nervous about having a great real date as much as I am because he starts rambling off stories—stories, I realize by the third one, that I’m not a part of because I’ve been MIA this year, missing every single senior prank and skip day. But Pete’s a great storyteller. He waves his arms in excitement and sets the scene so you feel like you’re there. I sip my hot chocolate, listening to him.
Carmen has been telling me I’ve been missing everything for months now, but for the first time, it really hits. I didn’t just lose those eleven weeks. I’ve lost more. I’ve lost my senior year from recovering and feeling sorry for myself because for the first time, my life wasn’t perfect. But maybe the fact that I even felt that way is the saddest part of all.
Once we finish our hot chocolate, we wander around the local vendors for gifts. I’m tempted to drop more hints about the paper hearts, but I try to listen to Pete and stay in the moment.
“What about this?” Pete asks, holding up a picture frame made of pieces of glass in different shades of pink. “I can tell her to save it for the photo we take together at Senior Day.”
“That’s perfect,” I say. “She’ll love it.”
“You think so?”
“Definitely. You’ll win Son of the Year,” I say, forcing a smile before Pete heads to the cashier. Student government doesn’t have a Senior Day with parents, but there’s always a small party for the graduating class at the end of the year that the planning committee throws. We would make photo albums with all the memorable moments. It took hours of cutting and pasting on top of finding the best pictures, but it was always worth it in the end to see how happy the graduating seniors were. It suddenly dawns on me that nobody will be making one for me.
You had to quit, I remind myself.
On the first day of school this year, there was an informational meeting for everyone who wanted to join student government, as always. When I arrived, only two sophomore girls had gotten to the classroom before me. They were chatting as two best friends might when they think nobody else is around, and they didn’t stop because they didn’t see me at the doorway.
One of them jokingly asked if the other thought I’d be as much of a dictator this year or if a bump to the head knocked some niceness into me.
Everything about what she said was hypocritical—she wasn’t exactly being nice talking about me behind my back. It was also a little too soon to be making fun of my accident, if you asked me. The old me would’ve probably called her out right then and there. The new me was struggling, though. When people used to stare at me in the hall, I knew it was for one of two reasons. Either they thought I was pretty, or they wanted to see who was lucky enough to date Pete Yearling. On that first day of school, all I could do was wonder what people were thinking. My accident was old news, and it wasn’t like people could see the scars underneath my perfect first-day outfit, although I was still constantly tugging at my sleeves.
As if I wasn’t self-conscious enough, I couldn’t help but think about the get-well cards—the ones that made me realize what people actually thought of me.
As these girls laughed at me in the student government room, I remembered the fake letters they had sent me hoping to see me back at school soon. The thought made me nauseous.
So, I backed away from the classroom door without looking back.
When I got home my mom raised her eyebrows and asked why I was back so early. I told her that I wasn’t doing student government this year but left out what I had overheard. I think when she was examining my face, though, she detected a sadness. That’s why over the next couple of weeks she would ask if I had changed my mind. I hadn’t, and the fact that she kept bringing it up was only making it worse. I suddenly realized what it must feel like to be Ashley—before she picked up the guitar, my mom was always insisting that she join a club after
school. Maybe that’s why by the hundredth time my mom asked if I was considering rejoining student government, Ashley stood up for me, telling her no and to leave me alone. In that moment, I had an appreciation for her in a way I hadn’t in a long time. It was a moment that reminded me that despite our differences, we have each other’s backs.
But thinking about Senior Day now, a part of me wonders if my mom was right. Should I have just tried to stick with it instead of feeling sorry for myself? Maybe that’s really what my admirer is trying to tell me. Is that why they’re sending me on all these adventures? So I can actually do things again and live my life?
Well, if that’s the case, they’re right.
I watch Pete receive the paper bag with the frame wrapped inside.
“Ready?” Pete asks once he turns around.
“Ready,” I answer…and I mean it in more than one way.
* * *
As Pete drives me home, I wonder again if he’s going to kiss me.
We had such a great night. I reach into my gift bag and find the paperweight I purchased for my dad. It’s in the shape of an actual human heart—so realistic you can see all the veins and other parts of the heart—the aorta, the pulmonary valve, and more that I know, thanks to my dad being a science professor. This is the type of Valentine’s Day present he’ll appreciate.
My fingers trail over the paper weight in the same path the blood takes. People think the heart is on the left side of the body because that’s where you can feel the left ventricle pumping blood to the lungs. But it’s really in the middle. I’m sure there’s some scientific reason for that but my theory is because our hearts are at the center of everything we do.
“I’m so happy you found that,” Pete says. I look over and his eyes are on me. I wonder how long he has been watching. “My mom’s going to love her gift too.”
“She will. She’s lucky to have such a thoughtful son.”
Pete smiles. “It’s the least I could do. She brought me into this world.”
It’s like everything that comes out of his mouth is so impossibly nice. Every second that goes by, the surer I am that my mystery admirer is Pete. It has to be someone caring to go through so much trouble.
After we picked out our gifts, we found the fried dough station, and he told me stories about his teammates and family members. He even told me an embarrassing story about himself when he was younger to even out the score since my dad had already told him one of mine. It was beyond endearing—just like all of the paper hearts have been. It just has to be him, I think as we reach my driveway.
“I’ll walk you to your door,” he says once we’re parked.
The snow is still falling, enough of it sticking to the driveway so that our shoes make footprints as we walk.
When we make it to the steps, I just put one bootie on the wood, forgetting all about the ice underneath the fallen snow. I lose my balance just a little, but Pete’s there to steady me.
“Sorry—I should’ve reminded you it’s icy,” he says, holding my arms. I can’t believe he’s apologizing to me when I’m the one being a klutz. Before I can say anything, we’re at my doorstep. “I hope this was the first date you imagined,” he says. I nod. Then he bends down and kisses me.
My lips remember his. They feel so warm now compared to the cold air, and I press harder. It’s only for a few seconds, though. Soon he pulls away. He’s probably too much of a gentleman to kiss me deeply with my dad right inside, but I would’ve liked to see if a real kiss with Pete would give me butterflies. When he pulls back, he smiles widely before walking down the steps.
“Good night, Ella.”
“Good night,” I say, smiling back. And just like that my first real date is over.
Spinning around, I find the key in my pocket and let myself into my warm home. Once I’m inside, I remove my gloves and then check my phone. I didn’t have the urge to check it once on our date. But the smile still on my face quickly disappears when I see a string of texts from Andy.
Did you figure out your next paper heart yet? If not, I can help.
I hope that last text didn’t sound patronizing. I’m a #feminist.
OK. There’s no way this date of yours is taking this long. This guy does not look like he has anything interesting to say.
I text back immediately.
How do you know if he looks interesting???
In seconds I see three dots and then a new message appears.
Maybe I looked him up in our library system and saw his picture on his library card…
I laugh and type back one word.
Stalker.
His rebuttal is fast.
Excuse me. I thought after all these paper hearts, you were into this sort of thing.
It makes me laugh.
If you imply the paper hearts are creepy again, you won’t get to go on the next adventure with me.
I wait for him to reply right away like he has been doing, but he doesn’t. Maybe I was too harsh? Whatever, it’s true. He thinks he knows everything. My conversations with Pete were interesting. I enjoyed hearing his stories—or at least I thought I did. Why am I letting Andy make me doubt myself? Contrary to what he may believe with Hot Chocolate Theory and all, I’m not the kind of girl who just wants the romance. I do want love. I just haven’t found it yet. I groan and head upstairs.
When I get to my bedroom, I crouch down on the floor, peeling back the fuzzy rug next to the bed to my secret hideaway.
The hot chocolates Pete and I drank had those paper sleeves wrapped around them. I had discretely snuck mine into my purse when Pete wasn’t looking before we threw our empty cups out in the recycling bin.
I open the floorboard now to put my first-date sleeve inside. It’s been a while since I’ve had anything new to add.
Out of habit, I look at my three mystery items. The flower, the Polaroid photo, and the key. Something about seeing my smile in the Polaroid makes me sigh. I so want to be that happy again. Why couldn’t I just figure out what this all means?
I flip the photo over in my hands and see the handwriting scrawled on the back.
NYC 2/8
I have a flashback to the last time I was in the city. Not the time on 2/8—I don’t remember that—but the time before, when I went to see a Broadway play with Ashley and my mom. It was right after the holidays, and there were snowcapped towers, and lights shining in every window.
Suddenly, I think back to the paper heart I haven’t been able to solve. See a castle from a view as beautiful as you. Could the castle be in New York City?
I whip out my phone and google castles in Manhattan. The first thing that comes up is a place called Belvedere Castle. It’s in the middle of Central Park.
I start scrolling through all the images on Google until I see the lamppost outside the stone walls. I zoom in, my hand shaking excitedly. It’s the same one from the Polaroid. Just when I don’t think my heart can beat any faster, I hear a knock on my door.
“Just a second!” I say, scrambling to shove the photo and everything else under the floorboard and throwing the rug back over it. “Come in,” I say once I’m sitting on my bed.
My mom pops her head in. “Just wanted to say good night. How’d the date go? We missed Pete.”
“Great,” I say, my heart still beating fast.
“Okay, okay, we don’t need to talk about it. Good night.”
“Good night.”
When the door shuts behind her, I let out a sigh of relief. That was close. But not as close as I feel to answers. I look at my items again, this time seeing them in a new light.
The rose must be from the florist I went to after the first paper heart. The photo was taken at Belvedere Castle. Now I just need to figure out the key—it must lead to something important. I take my key chain out o
f my purse. I haven’t driven in almost a year but I still carry it around because other important things are on it like my school ID and the keys to my house. I slide the new key onto my chain—maybe one day soon I’ll know what it’s for.
I pull out my phone to look at pictures of the castle again when I see a new text from Andy.
Please forgive me. I’d really like to go on this adventure with you.
“I’m going tomorrow,” I type back. And I need to know that number now, I think.
When? Does this mean you solved it?
Yes. 9 AM
I see the three dots appear and then his reply.
It’s a date.
I know he’s just teasing, so I send a joking text right back.
I can’t date you Sherlock. I’m a professional.
As long as that’s your only excuse.
I don’t know if it was meant to be as flirty as it seems, but I can’t help blushing before I type back.
See you tomorrow and bring that paper heart.
Chapter 14
“Why can’t you just download your ticket like everyone else?”
Andy and I have just arrived at the train station and he insists on purchasing a physical copy. He starts pressing the buttons on the screen.
“I thought you’d appreciate old-school, Miss Paper Hearts Girl.”
“That’s different,” I say. “This is a waste of time. We could be on the train already.”
“Go check the track, will ya?” he says, smiling. “You’re making me anxious.”
“Fine,” I say, leaving him as he reaches for his wallet.
The train station is normally busy on weekends and today is not an exception. I zigzag through a Girl Scout troop and a large family wearing matching New York Knicks beanies. When I make it to the screens listing the train tracks, I crane my neck to read it before looking back down at the person standing next to me. It’s Sarah.
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