The Me I Meant to Be

by Sophie Jordan

  I took a seat at the bottom of the bleachers and picked out Zach on the field. He was practicing a drill with two other players.

  He kicked the ball, and it must have been good because it got him high-fives. I clapped and cheered his name. That seemed to be the thing to do. The other onlookers were doing it . . . showing their support.

  That’s what I wanted to do for him. Show my support. Be there for him. Stop being so afraid to show him how I felt.

  I wanted to start living, just as he had challenged me to do.

  He must have heard my voice. His head swung around and his gaze found me. He grabbed his helmet and pulled it off his head as though to see more clearly. Even across the distance I felt the intensity of his stare. Heat slapped my cheeks and I knew I must be red-faced.

  Suddenly he dropped his helmet to the turf. He was moving, jogging across the field toward the bleachers. Heading right for me.

  A coach blew the whistle and shouted, “Tucker! Where the hell are you going? Get back here!”

  Zach ignored him. Everyone was watching. The entire team and coaching staff. The people in the stands.

  I didn’t care.

  They could stare.

  He crossed the field and pulled himself up over the bleachers stand like it was nothing. My stomach went wild, invaded by a thousand butterflies as he landed heavily on his cleats on the steel floor in front of me.

  “Tucker!” his coach shouted again.

  “What are you doing here?” He was slightly out of breath.

  I smiled and shrugged lightly. “I came to watch your practice.”

  “You hate football.”

  “But I love you.”

  There.

  I’d said it.

  The words dropped like immense stones into the thick space between us.

  He stared at me for a long moment, unsmiling, his eyes deep, devouring me where I sat. I pointed at the field. “They’re calling you. You might get in trouble.”

  “I don’t care.” He stepped forward and grabbed me, hauling me up against his big, sweaty, pad-protected body.

  He kissed me. At school. In full daylight. With the whole world watching.

  In the distance, I heard a whistle blowing madly. We were probably both going to get detention. PDA alone guaranteed it.

  He pulled back to look at me. “You’re not scared anymore?”

  “Are you kidding? I’m terrified.” I was in love with this beautiful boy and life was scary. Every risk exposed you to possible pain.

  He laughed softly. “Brave girl.” He brushed his fingers down my cheek. “We can be scared together.”

  “Tuckerrrr!” Several curses from the coach followed this shout.

  “I think your coach is about to have a coronary.”

  “Right.” He nodded swiftly. “You’ll be here?” He pointed where I sat. “We’ll go home together?”

  “You’re my ride.” I grinned. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  He smiled widely and nodded. After pressing a quick kiss on my lips, he jumped off the bleachers. Running backwards over the field, he spread his arms wide and shouted at me, “I love you, Willa Evans.”

  GIRL CODE #32:

  When your friends let you down, it’s up to you to decide what hurts less: forgiving them or living without them.

  Flor

  I opened the door to my apartment, expecting to see Dana. She’d bought a bunch of questionable wall décor, but she had insisted that it was fabulous and that I should hang it on my walls.

  Only Dana didn’t stand there.

  Grayson grinned at me and held up two brown paper bags sporting grease stains that promised all kinds of unhealthy goodness.

  I leaned against the doorjamb and smiled. I couldn’t help myself. The sight of him lit me up like a tiki torch. Despite everything, I was happy. “Oh, um. Sorry. I didn’t order a heart attack in a bag.”

  “Oh, this?” He glanced inside one bag. “You didn’t want a cheeseburger with two sides of French fries and onion rings?” He blinked in mock innocence, his lashes lush behind the lenses of his glasses.

  I half snorted, half laughed. “Oh, is that all? You better get inside here before Dana catches wind of what you brought. She’ll force kale down me all week as penance.” I opened the door wide so he could enter.

  “Place is looking nice,” he remarked, setting the bags on my coffee table. He’d helped me move most of my stuff in yes-terday.

  “I’m mostly settled.”

  His gaze went to the TV. “House Hunters?” he asked.

  “Better than that. House Hunters International.”

  We settled onto my rug in front of the coffee table and pulled our food out of the bags. For the next half hour we pigged out and watched a couple debate whether they wanted a tiny flat on a fifth floor (no elevator!) or a place with a nonexistent kitchen forty minutes away from where the husband had to work.

  “I’d pick the place in the country.”

  “Course,” Grayson replied. “I bet you could see lots of stars out there.”

  I looked at him, my heart fluttering. He remembered that conversation we’d had that night in his car.

  I took another bite of my cheeseburger and moaned. “This is so good. Where did you get this? I’ve got to tell Willa about—” I stopped abruptly, mentally cursing myself. We might not have talked all week, but she still kept creeping into my thoughts.

  “Why don’t you call her?”

  “Who?” I asked.

  Grayson gave me a disappointed look. “You know who.”

  I shrugged and turned my attention back to the TV. The wife was complaining about the lack of closet space.

  “It’s Amsterdam!” Grayson addressed the wife on TV, waving his burger in the air. “Don’t worry about closet space.”

  I smiled. “You know she can’t hear you, right?”

  He stared somberly back at me. “I believe I have the power to influence the outcome of this.”

  “Really? It’s a rerun, you know.”

  He threw an onion ring at me. It went down the front of my hoodie. I shrieked as he dove after it. We ended up wrestling and laughing.

  Then we ended up making out until we were hot and breathless and our mouths were too busy to laugh.

  I’m not sure what apartment the couple ended up choosing.

  GIRL CODE #33:

  Remember true friends are forever.

  IT was dusk when Flor pulled into the deserted parking lot.

  She told herself she’d stopped because it was on her way home from soccer practice. But that wasn’t true. She’d stopped because she wanted to. Because this place called to her. Because she’d been thinking about a lot of things this past week—​about all the things that were wrong in her life and all the things that were right.

  Things like the A she’d gotten on her math test. Things like soccer. Things like Grayson. A soft smile curled her lips. He was an unexpected gift. She’d decided it was up to her if she wanted more gifts in her life. She had to make room for them and let them in.

  The sun had almost descended below the rooflines of the nearby houses. The air was an orangey pink. She stared at the Fielding Elementary playground for several moments. It felt both familiar and oddly foreign.

  It was like looking at a photo of yourself from years ago, when you didn’t remember the shirt you had on or even where you were in the snapshot . . . but you knew it was you.

  The playground seemed smaller. The slides, the swings, the rock wall where she’d lost her foothold and slipped and chipped her tooth in fifth grade. The yellow monkey bars were not nearly as daunting as when she was eight, when she was always falling off them and scraping her knees. Now she could climb them without falling.

  Her gaze drifted to the faded purple bench. She almost expected to see Mrs. Grossman standing over it, glowering at her as she held out another worksheet for Flor to do while all the other kids played.

  She wasn’t there, of course. But someone el
se was.

  A shadowy figure sat on the bench.

  Flor squinted through the windshield, studying the figure, recognizing the shape of her head, the angle to her shoulders. She didn’t need to see her face to know.

  Of course she’s here.

  She studied her for a long moment, a dull ache starting in her chest.

  Flor shut off the car, pocketed her keys, and stepped out. Her cleats clattered over the concrete as she walked to the playground. Her coach would hate that. Cleats were supposed to be for the field only. She came up on the faded purple bench and rounded it to sink down beside her.

  Willa surveyed Flor, grass-stained and rumpled, and then went back to staring at the playground, suddenly nervous. She had been imagining this playground full of kids, running and playing, not worried about anything except the moment and what was for lunch.

  Flor stretched her legs out in front of her, crossing her ankles as she, too, stared out at the playground.

  Willa looked down at Flor’s legs. “You need to bleach your socks. You’re never going to get those grass stains outs.”

  “They’re just my practice socks.”

  Willa nodded.

  Silence swam between them in the fading day. Acorns broke loose and popped to the ground around them.

  Flor flexed her fingers around the edge of the wood bench. “So you’re with Zach now?” She asked even though she knew. It was all over school that they were together. Flor had seen them in the halls, too. Holding hands.

  Everyone at school watched Flor wherever she went like they expected her to go all Carrie. They did this even though she wasn’t walking the halls alone either. She had Grayson at her side, his hand in her hand.

  But Flor had to ask. Had to hear it from Willa.

  Willa turned and looked at her. Flor met her gaze.

  Their faces were as familiar to each other as their own. Maybe more. Every line and hollow. Every curve and freckle.

  “Yeah. We are,” Willa answered. No point lying or denying. Apologizing felt too late . . . and somehow insincere. “We are.”

  Nodding, Flor looked out at the playground again. “You need to let me do your eyebrows. They’re out of control.”

  It wasn’t meanness. Flor always let her know when she thought her eyebrows had gone jungle. This was comfortingly normal.

  Willa let loose a single laugh. “Okay.”

  More silence. More acorns fell. The air had turned murky, the sun lost behind trees and houses.

  “So did I mention that my father kicked me out? He had me move into the apartment over the garage.”

  Willa gasped, her heart twisting. “No!”

  “Yep. Lovebirds need their space, I guess.” Flor shrugged like it was just one of those things that happened in life.

  “Asshole,” Willa muttered. It had to have hurt. And it hurt Willa if it hurt Flor. That would never change.

  Flor chuckled. She hardly ever heard Willa curse. “It’s okay now. I mean . . . I wasn’t okay with it at first, but I’m okay with it now. Dana and I talked. She’s not a total witch, I guess. Just wants her space with my father. The apartment is pretty big. I got to pick out new furniture for it. They even offered me an entertainment center.”

  “Oh. Well then.” Willa blinked like she wasn’t entirely convinced. Something like that would have crushed her, but if Flor claimed it was okay, the last thing she wanted to do was make her feel bad about it.

  There had been enough feeling bad lately.

  “I plan on buying the most expensive entertainment center I can find.”

  “Of course,” Willa agreed. “As you do.” A whimsical smile brushed her lips. She stared down at her fingers wrapped tightly around the edge of the purple bench. The wood was dry and cracked, in some spots not purple at all anymore. Just a weathered gray-brown in those places where there had once been color. Everything changes. Adjusts and becomes something else. This bench had been in this spot for a long time. She imagined it would be here for many years more, even if it looked different from when it had been fresh and new.

  “You walk here?” Flor asked.

  Willa nodded.

  “Want a ride home?” Flor offered.

  Willa looked at her, hesitating only a moment before answering, “Sure.”

  Flor nodded once. “C’mon.”

  They stood and left the bench, their arms brushing as they walked side by side, leaving the playground behind.

  Acknowledgments

  Acknowledgments are a tricky thing. There are always people you worry about leaving out, but here goes:

  Thank you to my agent, Maura Kye-Casella, for never giving up on me or any book idea I have—especially this one! Thank you for the trust. You’re a dream agent.

  No book writes itself. Yes, there’s me in the chair typing away, but also all my wonderful and supportive friends right alongside me: Sarah MacLean, Ally Carter, Kimberly Derting, Lark Brennan, Lindsay Marsh, Shana Galen, Lily Dalton, Nicole Flockton, Mary Lindsey, and Tera Lynn Childs.

  Of course, this book would never have happened without my team at HMH: Elizabeth Bewley, who first read the proposal for The Me I Meant to Be and said the all-important YES. For my editor extraordinaire, Lily Kessinger, who has seen this book through every stage and variation—I’m so awed and humbled by the attention you gave to this book. THANK YOU! For Tara Shanahan, thank you for helping bring this book to the public—and for making me blush with your praise of that first draft! And thank you to Opal Roengchai for coming up with the perfect packaging for Flor’s and Willa’s stories.

  And last—but first in my heart—love and gratitude goes to my family for putting up with me through all my deadline panics. You might not know which book I’m working on, but you know me and my quirks, and you let me do my thing.

  www.hmhteen.com

  About the Author

  Photo by Country Park Portraits

  SOPHIE JORDAN grew up in the Texas Hill Country where she wove fantasies of dragons, warriors, and princesses. A former high school English teacher, she’s a New York Times, USA Today, and international best-selling author of over thirty novels. She now lives in Houston with her family. When she’s not writing, she spends her time overloading on caffeine (lattes preferred), talking plotlines with anyone who will listen (including her kids), and cramming her DVR with true-crime and reality TV shows.

  Visit her online at sophiejordan.net

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