—
“A flying newton?” Gina says when you’ve given her the rose and spilled your guts. She smiles, but it isn’t a real Gina smile.
You’ve just told her everything: Vinny. Your stupidity. The way you gave her secret away. The fraudulent flower for Marco.
Everything.
You’re both standing in the hall next to the door of her apartment, because you told her you weren’t coming in until you said what you had to say. Because after that she might not want you to come in.
“You mean like—a Fig Newton?” she says. “I don’t think I get it.”
“Yeah. A flying Fig Newton. From now on I’m just building my world, piece by piece, like in the apocalypse game. No creeps allowed. And I was wondering if you still want to be in my world, if you can be my friend, after what I did. Because—I love you. You’re a good friend, a real friend. And I really want a friend like you. And I want to be one.”
Gina stares at you for a second. Then she says, “That’s super. Can we go back to the part where you flat-out betrayed me?”
“You’ll never know how sorry I am. Never.”
“You’re sorry?”
“I spent this whole day thinking about it, about why. I’ve been a total zombie since yesterday, trying to figure out who I am. Why I would do this.”
“Wow. You spent a whole day thinking about it, huh? After you stomped all over the most important thing in my life? A whole day? You must be so wise now.”
“I know it sounds stupid. And I’m not saying I have life all figured out. All I know is that nothing like this will happen again. I know I can be a better friend.”
“Better than telling my deepest secret to a girl who is basically evil personified? Letting her humiliate me in front of someone I love deeply and pretty much want to spend my life with? How are you going to top that? Friend-wise, I mean?”
You want to tell her about this morning at the copy shop: the man in the suede shirt walking away, checking his phone. His whole life behind him, his whole life ahead of him. That’s you. That’s everyone. You and Gina can choose to be friends for life, right here and now, even if you’re still learning how to be one. Of course, she might decide to walk away instead. But you think you’re probably being weird enough already, so you don’t say any of that. You just say, “I don’t expect you to ever really understand why I told Vinny. It’s a long story. I doubt you want to hear it.”
“Oh, I definitely need to hear it,” Gina says.
“Really?” That gives you hope.
“You know, you aren’t the first person to experience this. I had a couple of semi-evil friends, in middle school.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. I have some things I could tell you too.” Gina puts her hands on her hips and then slides them into her pockets. “If you want to come in.”
You hug her, pinning her arms because her fists are still in her pockets. “Hey!” She laughs. “My hands are stuck!”
“I know,” you tell her. “This is a one-way hug.”
“Just don’t knock me over.”
“I won’t.”
—
The first thing Gina tells you is that Marco didn’t get Vinny’s flower.
“Wait a minute. So I didn’t ruin your life?”
“Well, not yet.”
She’s pretty sure. She and Marco walked home together, and she teased him all the way about his big bunch of red carnations, and he let her read all the cards that came with them. She said he seemed like the regular Marco, beautiful and funny and completely oblivious to her feelings.
“Wow. I wonder what happened?”
“Are you sure she put the card in the box?” Gina asks. “Maybe she chickened out.”
Vinny is not a chicken. But you didn’t actually see the card go in. You’d stormed away from her, across the lobby, your chest full of words and hurt and helplessness. Maybe she ripped it up. Maybe she shoved the dollar back into her pocket. Maybe the Vinny you used to know isn’t quite gone. If she’s still in there, you thank her, silently. And say goodbye.
SHERM
February 14
Dear Nonno Gio,
I know this is a lot of letters to get at once.
I wasn’t sure whether to send them or not, but I decided to do it. I asked Dad for your address.
We are all fine. Write back if you want to. Or text me.
Sherm
P.S. Happy birthday.
EPILOGUE
Two Years Later
Afterward, they never agreed. They both remembered waking up that morning in the fall of ninth grade, absolutely sure. They both remembered meeting as soon as they could after school, at the top of the subway stairs, and the excitement they felt, one waiting on the sidewalk, one sprinting up the steps.
They both remembered that the Dollar-Eight Diner felt like a room full of eyes seeing them and knowing that something had changed. They both remembered thinking that it must have been obvious to anyone who bothered to look.
They both remembered deciding to stop for a minute on the way to Sherm’s house, sitting together on a stoop. They both remembered being the first to reach for the other.
Bridge had always worried that it might be awful to kiss Sherm. It might be as if everything they had already been to each other wouldn’t matter anymore. It might be like starting all over from nothing, like closing a book and opening another one.
But it wasn’t like that. Kissing Sherm was like saying “And…and…and…”
Kissing Sherm didn’t feel anything like the end.
ENORMOUS THANKS
to my generous and inexhaustible readers: Daphne Benedis-Grab, Judy Blundell, Kristin Cashore, Donna Freitas, Caroline Gertler, Deborah Heiligman, Randi Kish, Eli and Jack O’Brien, Deborah Stead, and Cleo Watson.
to ab-fab editor Wendy Lamb, assistant editor Dana Carey, and their thoughful readers: Sarah Eckstein, Teria Jennings, and Hannah Weverka.
to the stunning Random House team, including John Adamo, Dominique Cimina, Colleen Fellingham, Kate Gartner, Judith Haut, Casey Lloyd, Alison Kolani, Barbara Marcus, Adrienne Waintraub, and Isabel Warren-Lynch.
to my shining agent, Faye Bender.
to my friends and my family,
who show me every day what love really means.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rebecca Stead is the author of three previous books for children. When You Reach Me, a New York Times bestseller, won the Newbery Medal and the Boston Globe–Horn Book Award for Fiction. Liar & Spy, also a bestseller, was named a notable book by the New York Times Book Review and won the Guardian Prize for Children’s Fiction. Her first novel, First Light, was named a Best Book for Teens by the New York Public Library. Rebecca lives in New York City with her family.
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