by Kasie West
“Nice.”
“You’re in Chemistry,” I said.
“Second time’s a charm.”
“You’re taking Chemistry … ”
My phone buzzed in my pocket again. I was sure it was Isabel. Lucas must’ve heard it as well because his attention was drawn there.
“Isabel is waiting for me.”
He smiled again and nodded as if I was trying to get out of this conversation. That wasn’t my intent. But now I felt like I should follow through with that.
“I’ll—I’ll see you around,” I stammered.
“Sure.” He stuck his earphones back in as I walked away.
My whole body felt like it was soaring. Lucas could really be … no. I wasn’t going to let my brain give me some unrealistic scenario just because I wanted it to be true. But … it could’ve been true. I could now add Lucas to the list of possibilities at least. I flipped to the back of my notebook and added his name, big and bold. As I went over all the clues it made much more sense than anyone who I’d written there before. My heart jumped in my chest. This could work. We could work.
I woke up the next morning smiling and didn’t stop even when I got to school. I was determined to write a letter in Chemistry suggesting that my pen pal and I meet in person. He seemed to be hinting at that and I was ready now, too. It would be perfect. I’d even tell him where we should meet that day after school, by the composition room. It would symbolize what had brought us together in the first place—music.
I let out a happy sigh, imagining Lucas waiting for me by the composition room. Then I went back to sorting mail into the teacher’s boxes in the main office. This was one of my regular duties as office aide fourth period. A pretty mindless duty, lending itself to daydreaming. Although, really, what didn’t lend itself to daydreaming?
Mrs. Clark came in holding a cardboard box. “Lily, I need you to deliver these to Mr. Ortega. They’re his review packets he wanted printed off.”
“Right now?”
She smiled. “No, next period when you’re not here. Of course right now.”
“But Mr. Ortega has class right now. Next period is his free one. Maybe the next office aide should take them.”
Mrs. Clark shook her head. “He needs them right now. He’s using them. Right now.”
“Oh.”
She pushed them into my arms. “Quickly please.”
I stood, the box throwing me off-balance for a moment. I was almost certain that my pen pal was in second-period Chemistry. Still, I felt a surge of nervousness.
I made my way out of the office, through the halls and to the C building. Then I entered the Chemistry room where I now stood at the back, not wanting to take another step forward. I could see Isabel in the front row. The front row was not a very good vantage point for observations. And in the back row, in my seat, was a boy, his head bent low, writing. Maybe just taking notes. He was taking notes.
Mr. Ortega waved me forward and pointed to his desk. I rushed there and set the box down.
“Thanks,” the teacher said, and continued his lecture.
Isabel smiled and waved at me. I tried to return the gesture and began walking toward the door. I could see the front of the boy in the back row now, his hair flopped over his forehead as he furiously wrote on his paper. He was so obvious about it. Why wasn’t Mr. Ortega calling him out? Because he was just taking notes, I told myself. Really intense … apparently funny … Chemistry notes.
I was good at pretending.
I could also pretend it wasn’t Cade Jennings even though that was just as obvious as the fact that he wasn’t taking notes.
All my pretending had to stop when I watched him fold up the paper into fourths and tuck it beneath the desk. I rushed out of the room before he saw me and didn’t look back.
Cade couldn’t be my pen pal.
He couldn’t.
Cade was an insensitive, selfish, arrogant jerk. He was not a funny, thoughtful guy with exceptionally good taste in music. Lucas was supposed to be my pen pal. I had all but convinced myself of that the night before.
Cade was definitely not someone who would balance me out. He made me my most unbalanced self.
Why did I go into that classroom? I asked myself, furious, as I tore down the hall. Why hadn’t I found someone to make the delivery for me? I could never unknow this. I could never go back to getting anonymous, perfect letters again. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to go back in there and tell Cade that he wasn’t allowed to be two different people.
I found the nearest bathroom to get my emotions under control. I refused to cry. Cade Jennings didn’t get to have this much power over me.
I leaned back against the tile wall, letting its coolness seep through my shirt and chill me out. Across the room, on the opposite wall, was a full-length mirror. My hair was a wavy mess today, a little more unruly than normal. I wore a plain brown tee with a pair of skinny jeans and white high-tops with hand-drawn pictures on them. It was one of my more plain outfits. I took off the necklace I wore, one Ashley had made me ages ago, and looked at the charms—a butterfly, a cat, a flower, a music note. There was no rhyme or reason to the things she’d picked to put on the necklace. Just everything she’d thought was cute when she was ten. She made fun of me for wearing it now, but I loved it.
I squeezed the necklace in my fist, hoping to gain some sort of positive energy or something from it. But my sister was right, it was pointless.
I slid down the wall and hugged my knees to my chest. I hated Cade Jennings. Now more than ever.
Why does he always have to ruin everything?
I knew that thought made no sense. The fact that Cade Jennings wrote the letters should’ve made me realize he wasn’t the person I’d always thought he was. But I’d never understand how the person in the letters could be the same person who mocked those he considered beneath him, who’d mistreated me and my friend. He wasn’t. He wasn’t the same person.
Two girls came into the bathroom, laughing. They both stopped when they saw me. I stood, brushed off my jeans, and left.
In Chemistry I very slowly pulled his letter out from under the desk. I was shaking. For the first time ever, I dreaded reading it.
Humming on a Monday? Has that ever happened before in the history of Mondays? I’ll take the blame for that if you’ll take the blame for making me laugh in the middle of a Chemistry lecture.
Too bad there’s not a way for us to exchange letters during break. A week is a long time. I mean, your idea of airplanes carrying our messages was a good one, but I was referring to that new thing some kids do these days called texting. What do you think? Or am I just the guy who keeps you entertained during Chemistry? I’m totally fine with that title, by the way. Chemistry entertainer. No, that was bad. You’ll think of a better name for me I’m sure, being the word girl. Word girl? I think maybe you were right about banning me from writing lyrics.
The letter should’ve made me laugh but it only made me want to punch something. I refolded it exactly like he had and stuck it back under the desk. Cade didn’t know he was writing to me. So as far as he knew, the recipient of his notes wasn’t in school today. And I wouldn’t be in school for the rest of the year. I was not going to write back to Cade Jennings. Ever.
When class was over, I got up to leave. “Lily,” Mr. Ortega called. “I need to speak with you.”
My heart stopped. Had he figured out the letter-writing thing? Was I about to get in trouble for writing on the desktop and wasting my time in class? Was Cade about to be the bane of my existence again? If I could’ve I would’ve grabbed the letter I’d left tucked under the desk and made a run for it. I didn’t want Mr. Ortega reading it. As the class emptied out, I slowly walked to the front where Mr. Ortega sat behind a long table.
He cleared his throat. “I got a not-so-glowing report from the sub yesterday. I have to say, I’m very disappointed.”
“What?” I asked.
“He said not only were y
ou and Lauren talking the entire class but that you gave someone a rude gesture, and then picked on another student after class.”
It took me too long to realize that the sub, because of our seating mix-up, thought I was Sasha. “Oh. We changed seats,” I said. “He thinks I was someone else.”
“He also said a young man came in at the end of class, pulling a prank. He was one of your friends, but you wouldn’t tell him who it was.”
“He is not one of my friends,” I said, my face flushing. I pictured the note stuck under the desk.
“Then who was it?”
Why wouldn’t I just tell him? I owed Cade nothing. Nothing at all.
“It’s not my place to say.”
Mr. Ortega frowned. “I’m very disappointed. After-school detention for two weeks. I’ll shorten it to one if you change your mind about coming clean and taking responsibility for your actions.”
“But—”
“That’ll be all.”
“What’s wrong?” Isabel asked me at lunch.
All I wanted to do was tell her what had happened. It was all I could think about. But I didn’t know how she’d react. What would I even say? I imagined how our conversation would go.
Remember that pen pal I told you about in Chemistry? It’s your ex. I’ve been exchanging letters with your ex.
The one you hate?
Yes, the one you broke up with because he hated me and I hated him. The one I still hate. Apparently we’re okay on paper. Perfect, actually. So maybe I’ll date him through letters the rest of our lives. Cool?
Of course it’s cool, I mean, I’ve made out with him and talked to him for hours on end for months on end, but hey, he’s all yours now.
No. That wasn’t how it would go at all. It would be better to have this delicate conversation off school grounds. Just in case I did cry, or if she punched me or something equally as dramatic.
“Can we talk later?” I asked Isabel. “After school. I need to tell you something.”
Her brown eyes grew concerned. “That sounds so cryptic. Are you okay?”
“Later. I’ll tell you later.”
She squeezed my hand. “Okay. Later.”
The already-long day ended an hour later than usual because of detention.
Ashley looked over at me as she pulled into our driveway. “You’re mopey today. Detention isn’t a big deal. I was in there like every other month. It’s a great time to get homework done.”
I didn’t want to tell her this had nothing to do with detention and everything to do with my letter-writing world being shattered.
“Good idea,” I muttered.
“Guess who asked me out?” Ashley asked brightly.
Like I wanted to hear about her—or anyone’s—love life at the moment. “Who?”
“Mark. The boy who saw the food in my teeth. Apparently I’d already made it through the first two stages. Thank goodness.”
“He told you that?” I glanced at my sister. “He said, ‘Ashley, first I found you mysterious, then I found you intriguing, and then when that food was on your tooth, I found you adorably funny. So now I can ask you out?’ ”
Ashley grinned. “Yes, that is basically what he said.”
“How?”
“By asking me out.”
I grabbed my backpack and climbed out of the car. “It probably went more like this: ‘Huh, that girl is cute, I should go out with her. Because guys don’t care about anything else. They don’t care about personality or intrigue.’ ” I could hear the bitterness in my voice but I didn’t try to stop it.
“Wow.” Ashley raised her eyebrows at me. “Jaded?”
“Yes, I’ve unlocked that achievement. Leveled up.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” I headed for my room, needing some time to unwind on my guitar before I called Isabel.
I reached my bedroom. I should’ve known something was wrong when the door was wide open, or when my guitar case was only halfway under my bed. I should’ve, but I didn’t. I pulled the case out, very calm. The latches were undone, but I figured I’d just left them undone the night before. I flipped open the lid.
The first thing I saw were all the strings loose, a couple broken completely. That didn’t have me panicking, just a little angry. Strings were easy to replace. But then I saw the jagged line across the neck of the guitar, close to the body.
“No, no, no, no.” I pulled it out and only the neck came—the end as spiked as a rake. The rest stayed in the case, completely severed. My face drained of all feeling. “No! Mom!”
My mother arrived at my door, breathless. “What? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
I held up the bodiless neck for her to see.
Her expression went from panicked to sympathetic. “Oh no. What happened?”
“What do you mean, what happened?” I exploded, feeling tears threaten. “Jonah happened! I’ve asked you a million times to keep him out of my room.”
Mom frowned. “Jonah did that?”
“Who else? I certainly didn’t do it.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions.”
“I don’t have to jump to anything. I’m holding the conclusion.” I threw the broken piece into the case and sank onto my bed face first.
“Oh, honey. We’ll figure something out.”
“What?” I said, my voice muffled by the mattress. “You can’t afford to buy me a new guitar. This one took me six months to earn. What’s left to figure out?”
“Is it repairable?”
“It’s splintered. It’s not a clean break.”
The mattress sank down as my mom sat next to me. She rubbed my back. I shrugged her hand off. She got the hint.
“I’m sorry, Lil. You can have first dibs on all the fairs,” she said softly. “I’ll help you earn it back.”
I lifted my head, brushing the tears away from my eyes. “Why should I have to earn it back?” I said. “Shouldn’t Jonah be working the fairs to buy me a new one?”
“He’s seven.”
“Old enough to know better.”
“Honey … ”
“Mom? Can you leave? I want to be alone.”
“Okay.”
I didn’t say anything and she stood and left my room. I heard her call for Jonah as she shut my door. Then they had a conversation in the hall. I listened in, my face pressed back into the mattress.
“Jonah, did you break your sister’s guitar?”
“What? No.”
“Did you go in her room and break her guitar?”
“No! I didn’t.”
Right. Give him the chance to say no, Mom. Good call. She should’ve just led with, “I know you broke her guitar.” But whatever. It didn’t matter. It was broken. Jonah admitting it wouldn’t change that fact.
There was a rattling on my handle followed by my mom saying, “Leave her be for now. You can talk to her later.”
Mom must’ve told everyone to leave me be because no one bugged me for the rest of the evening. Not a single person. After years of trying to get some alone time, I finally had it.
I pulled my notebook out and stared at the song I had started. I couldn’t write that song right now. It was about him … about Cade. I shuddered. I could only write one song about Cade. I turned to a fresh page and positioned my pencil.
You claim you want to be heard.
So you write your hollow words.
You fill your life with deception.
Because it’s all about perception.
The world sees you one way.
And they listen to all you say.
You crave their attention.
To feed your addiction.
You have two sides.
Two faces.
You’re trying to hide.
In two places.
And I hate you, Cade, because you’re the biggest jerk in the world and you should go away forever and stop writing me stupid letters where you pretend to be nice and misunderstood.
“Ugh.�
� Even my angry Cade-inspired songs were better than anything I’d written before him. I scratched two deep lines in an X across the words. Then I flipped to the back and crossed out all my suspects. Why couldn’t it have been you? I thought as I x-ed out Lucas’s name.
I reached up, ripped down the newspaper clipping from my wall, and crumpled it into a tight ball. Even if I still could finish any song, I wouldn’t be able to write the guitar part for it. And there was no way I was using a song that had anything to do with Cade. I threw the paper across the room. I was being dramatic, but for once I felt like I was justified. Everything had gone wrong.
I dug my phone out of my pocket and called Isabel.
“Hey, Lil!” she answered.
“Hey.” I thought I’d kept the tears out of my voice but when she added, “What’s wrong?” I realized I hadn’t.
“Jonah destroyed my guitar.”
“Oh no! How?”
“I don’t know. He’s denying it, but it’s broken. Completely broken.”
“I’m so sorry,” Isabel said softly. “I know how much you loved your guitar. How hard you worked to buy it.”
“Yeah.”
“Your mom will probably replace it, right?”
“She can’t afford that, Iz. She couldn’t even afford a spool of thread for me before payday.” Tears came to my eyes again. “This is not a spool of thread.”
“That totally sucks.”
“I know.”
“Aw, Lil. It’ll be okay.”
“It’s just, this was my thing, you know?” The tears fell down my cheeks now and I couldn’t stop them. “It was the one thing I was really good at. The one thing that brought me perfect peace and happiness. I don’t need much, but I need this.” I wondered if I was only talking about my guitar.
“Then you’ll find a way to get another one,” Isabel said with determination. “It might take some time, but you’ll do it.”
I knew she was right. “Yeah.”
“If I could, I’d buy you one.”
I smiled through my tears. “I wouldn’t accept something like that from you, Iz.”
“I know.”
I sniffled and wiped my nose on my sleeve.