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?