Friday, him:
You don’t share your songs with anyone? As in, no one has read any of your song lyrics? How are we supposed to write songs if you don’t want anyone to hear them? We must work on this.
I loved Flight and Fight. They only have three songs though. Unless I’m missing something. Tell me that they have more hidden songs somewhere. And I’m with you on measuring this week in letters and the two-day drought we are about to experience. If only there was a way to transport letters faster, through some sort of electronic device that codes messages and sends them through the air. But that’s just crazy talk.
Friday from me:
Sending letters through the sky? Like when airplanes attach notes to their tails? I thought they only advertised for going-out-of-business sales. But perhaps our letters would be okay up there as well. I wonder how much they charge per word.
Nope, no hidden songs from Flight and Fight, unfortunately. Maybe you should offer them some of your lyrics for their next song. Considering how awesome your lyrics are, I’m sure they’ll accept. I should stop teasing you about that, considering I won’t share lyrics with you … or anyone. You’re right, it is something I need to work on. Confidence. I’m bad at it. I get too self-conscious. Especially about things that mean a lot to me. I feel like if I hold things close, never share, then I never give anyone the opportunity to judge me.
I sat on my bed, strangling the neck of my guitar and staring down at the lyrics I had finally been able to write. I was now trying to find the perfect melody for them: I’ve turned waiting into a form of art.
Tied twisted lines around my broken heart.
To keep me hanging on for one more day.
I’ve painted on a crooked smile.
Hung the tears to dry awhile.
Because I knew that you’d come back to stay.
But my … arms are empty.
And my … heart’s in pieces.
And my … soul is twisting.
And my … throat is aching.
Because I’ve finally woken up to find:
That I’ve been Left Behind.
The song wasn’t finished, but I was satisfied with the first verse and chorus. I patted the newspaper clipping on my wall.
“I’m getting closer,” I told it.
Now I only had to work up the nerve to actually let someone else hear the song. One step at a time.
An image had worked its way into my mind as I wrote. It had inspired the crooked smile line. Lucas. The way he’d looked at me at the football game. I knew he wasn’t my letter writer—as a senior, he didn’t take Chemistry—and therefore not who this song was about. But his face was inspiring me. That, and the letters. Apparently my pen pal was good luck. His letters put me in the mood to write songs. And even with the interruptions constantly happening at my house, if I would reread one of his letters, I was back in the moment. It was amazing. It made time fly by. I didn’t even mind that Isabel was out of town and that I stayed home all weekend. I got to stay in my little bubble of writing and daydreaming.
If I hummed in the school halls on a Monday, would I get kicked for it? Mondays weren’t for humming. It was probably better to keep the song in my head. My heart was singing too, bouncing around in my chest as I headed to Chemistry. When I walked into the classroom, a wall of noise hit me. People were chatting, texting, laughing. My eyes went to the front of the classroom to see a substitute. Then my eyes were on my seat. Sasha, who normally sat in the second row, was sitting next to Lauren.
My heart dropped.
I reminded myself that we had a seating chart that the sub would have to use to take roll. So I went to claim my place. Sasha and Lauren were in the middle of a conversation I couldn’t help but overhear.
“I tried that,” Sasha said. “It didn’t work. What else does he like? I swear I’ve never had to work this hard for a guy to ask me out in my life.”
“Why don’t you ask him out?” Lauren suggested.
“I tried that, too. He laughed it off. Like I was joking or something.”
Were they talking about Cade? Maybe Isabel was right. Maybe he and Sasha weren’t dating yet.
I reached the girls and cleared my throat. I offered Sasha a smile when she looked up at me.
“Oh, hi, Lily,” Sasha said. “Let’s switch. Mine is row two, fourth seat over.”
“I’m sure Mr. Ortega left the sub the chart.”
She shrugged. “We’re both here so it won’t matter. It’s not like he’ll know which one of us is which.”
“Right.” I just wanted to read my letter. I could see the penciled words on the desk, as obvious as if they’d been written in neon lights. That arrow pointing to the bottom of the desk, basically showing her there was something waiting there, was as obvious as ever. Why hadn’t I erased the desktop?
She widened her eyes at me. “What?”