You know that there is this thing that magically takes words and sends them through the air and delivers them to a recipient. It’s kind of new so I didn’t know if you’d heard about it. But you use it for its speed.
He wrote back immediately.
Like an airplane that attaches words to its tail? I thought those only advertised sales and things. I wonder how much they charge per word.
My cheeks hurt. He must’ve read my letters as much as I’d read his.
You’re my favorite, I replied.
I need your letters back, btw. They belong to me.
The class had gone quiet and I silently cursed. I looked up to see if everyone was staring at me, but they weren’t. Mr. Ortega was just writing something on the board. It was my lucky day.
A lyric came into my mind: You’re my favorite way to pass the time. But time stands still when you’re on my mind. I reached inside my backpack to write it down, but couldn’t find my notebook. I must’ve left it on my nightstand the night before. That was new and kind of refreshing. I smiled a little and jotted the note on the corner of a scrap paper instead. The clock told me I still had thirty minutes left of class. Then it was the rally. Another thing I never thought I’d look forward to.
I hadn’t been to a rally in a while. It was loud.
Isabel leaned close as we sat in the bleachers. “The things we do for your boyfriend,” she said with a smile.
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
We had gotten to the point in the rally where the football team had just been congratulated for its amazing season. The sports teams we were now supposed to direct all our fan efforts toward were standing across the stage. I smiled at Cade, who had caught my eye.
One of the coaches tapped the microphone and asked, “Is this thing on?” It was definitely on.
Sasha, who must’ve been a tennis player or a swimmer or on some sort of spring team, walked across the stage to the coach holding the microphone. She said something too quiet for all of us to hear.
“Nobody told me about that,” the coach responded back, loud and clear in the mic.
She said something else.
“A poetry contest?”
She leaned into the mic so that she could be heard, too. “This school isn’t entirely about sports, right? We were supposed to announce the winner of the poetry contest.”
“What is she talking about?” Isabel asked.
I shrugged. “No idea. Maybe she’s the president of a poetry club.” Though I couldn’t quite see that.
“That’s not on the agenda,” the coach said. “Please take a seat, Sasha.”
“Coach Davis,” Sasha replied, her voice louder now. “I wouldn’t want a social media blowup about how Morris High only cares about their sports teams.”
The coach looked around as if expecting someone to jump to his rescue. When nobody did, he handed the microphone to Sasha. “Make it quick.”
She put on a wide smile and faced the gym. “Hello, Morris High!”
This brought a loud cheer.
“As many of you know, if you read the school paper, we held a poetry contest this first semester. I’m here to read the winning entry to you. You are all going to love this.” That’s when she took off her backpack that I hadn’t noticed before and pulled out my notebook. I recognized it from across the gym—the two-tone purple and green with my black doodles penned all over it.
My stomach fell in horror.
Noooo.
Isabel gasped. She obviously recognized my notebook, too.
“This poem was written by junior Lily Abbott, dedicated to Cade Jennings.”
It seemed like the whole room let out a collective “Aww.”
“What are you going to do?” Isabel asked.
I was frozen, half ready to jump up and tackle Sasha, half ready to run out of the gym. My eyes darted to Cade. He had a confused smile on.
“I know,” Sasha continued, “Cute, right? Well, what many of you don’t know is that Cade’s dad left him and his family several years back. A tragedy really. And Lily wrote an amazing poem about it.”
This was a nightmare.
I hadn’t written Cade’s name on any of the pages but the one she’d already read in detention. She was assuming this song was about Cade. Assuming because of the other lyrics. Assuming because of all the notes I’d written in the margins. She was assuming because she wanted to hurt me … and probably him.
I shook my head at Cade and mouthed the words stop her. He was much closer to Sasha than I was. He was on the stage with her. But he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at Sasha in horror. He seemed to be as frozen as I was. I couldn’t let this happen.
I stood and began working my way down the bleachers—through students and over backpacks. But Sasha was already reading my lyrics to “Left Behind” out loud. Cade’s very private life was now echoing through the suddenly completely silent gym.