“Like he’d even notice.” I rip my eyes away from the view to look at John, who’s leaning against the wall next to me. “I’ve always wanted to live here.”
“Word?”
“Yeah, for a long time.”
“Is that why you moved?”
How am I supposed to answer that? I mean, it is and it isn’t. If I didn’t want to live in New York so much, would I have followed Scott here?
“Not exactly,” I say.
John doesn’t push me to explain. He says, “You’re different now from when you first got here. You were ... It’s like you’re softer or something.”
“Thanks a lot!”
“You know you had an edge when we first met. Now it’s not as sharp.”
He’s right. It’s the energy. All of this possibility makes me want to be a better person.
Back in New Jersey, I never felt like I was really home. I was restless for the excitement of city life. Now I’m surrounded by everything I wished for. And best of all, I feel like I’ve finally found where I belong.
Seventeen
The call from Mom goes like this.
Mom: How are your grades?
Me: I told you. We don’t get report cards until next week.
Mom: That’s no reason not to know how you’re doing. Can’t you ask your teachers?
Me: [exasperated sigh] No one does that. Teachers don’t want to be bothered.
Mom: It’s not a bother. It’s their job.
Me: I’ll just wait for my report card.
Mom: You must have some idea of how you’re doing. Didn’t you say you’re a tutor now? Aren’t there grade requirements for that?
Me: Yes, and I’m getting my grades up, so—
Mom: Up from what?
Me: [pause] The first marking period wasn’t the best.
Mom: How bad was it?
Me: Not great.
Mom: First you tell me you want to move because a better academic environment would motivate you. Now you’re telling me a different story.
Me: [silence]
Mom: Next you’re going to tell me that living with your father is working out.
Me: It’s fine.
Mom: [snorts] Somehow I find that hard to believe.
There’s no way I’m telling her the truth about me and Dad. All of the hurt that lies underneath the glossy surfaces of my new room. All of the things we don’t say, covered by polite conversation.
We’re all hiding something. Even Scott’s family, which seems completely standard from the outside, has a burning secret. There’s a reason that out of all the people he could have told, he told me about Ross. Scott knows he can trust me. He needs me just as much as I need him. I want him to know that I’ll always be here for him. That we can help each other in ways no one else can.
That we belong together.
I take out my wish box and read all of the notes I’ve written to myself. Most of these were written way before I got here. And now here I am. With Scott right down the street. Part of me wants to keep why I’m here a secret and just see how things develop between us. I’m really afraid to tell him. I’m afraid that he won’t feel the same way and then we won’t even be friends. But then I remember The Knowing.
Now more than ever, I know that we belong together.
Suddenly, I’m overcome by this sense of urgency. I can’t leave my room fast enough. I run out with that electrifying Fridaynight feeling pushing me forward. Slicing through the night down his street with my heart racing. All that matters is finally being together.
When I get to his block, I slow down. I smooth my hair. I attempt to regulate my breathing.
I ring his bell.
My heart speeds up again. I take a few deep breaths.
“Who is it?” his voice crackles over the intercom.
“It’s me, Brooke.”
The door buzzes to let me in. Except I can’t go in. His parents are probably home. There’s no way I can say what I have to say in front of them. One thing about New York apartments is that there’s zero privacy. Even going to the bathroom without everyone knowing your business is a challenge. I can’t risk telling Scott in his room anyway. What if he doesn’t feel the same way? Being able to escape quickly is essential.
I ring his bell again.
“Is the door not working?” Scott crackles.
“Can you come down?”
“Oh, yeah. Give me a minute.”
Fabulous. I probably interrupted a profound conversation he was having with Leslie. She might even be up there with him. Maybe I should leave. I could always tell him I forgot that I had to be somewhere.
Scott opens the door. My stomach turns over.
“Hey, neighbor,” he says.
I open my mouth to say hi. Nothing comes out.
He’s like, “What’s up?”
This is it. This is the It that was supposed to be the It at the junior picnic last year. This is the It that’s long overdue.
“Is Leslie your girlfriend?” I ask. I was not planning to start with that. It just came out.
“Not exactly,” he says. “It’s complicated.”
“How complicated?”
Scott thinks. “Let’s just say we’re not looking at things the same way.”
This could either be really good or really bad. Does he mean that he’s the one who’s more serious about things? Or that Leslie is? If I had to guess, I’d say that Leslie is the one who’s more serious.
Let’s hope I’m right.
“I came here for you,” I say.
“Um ... yeah, cool. So did you want to get a sandwich, or ... ?”
“No, I mean ... I came to New York for you. I moved here to be with you.”
“You moved here for me?”
I nod.
“Why?”
“Because ... okay, I know this sounds weird since we didn’t even know each other before. But ... I just felt like if you got to know me, you’d see that we belong together.”
“But we hardly know each other.”
“No, I know. I know it’s weird.”
“Wow. That’s ... a lot.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to ... overwhelm you.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“That’s okay.” Tears sting my eyes. “I’ll just ... I should go.”
If Scott wants to be with me, he would be telling me right now. But he’s not saying anything. He’s just standing there. Looking anywhere but at me.
I.
Am.
Mortified.
“You don’t have to go,” Scott says.
“Yeah. I kind of do.”
I cannot get home any faster. I want to run, but I’m crying. Running and crying don’t mix very well. I learned that the hard way.
So this is what it feels like when your heart shatters.
I can’t believe The Knowing betrayed me. Everything I thought was true is a lie. Not that I should be surprised. This being the story of my life and all.
It’s hard to tell how much time has passed when you want the world to go away. I just want to hide out here in my room forever. I’ve already cried through half a box of tissues. Dad not coming home until way later is a good thing this time.
The doorbell rings.
There’s no way I can answer the door. I’ve been crying so hard that my face is all puffy and my eyes are red. If I ignore whoever it is, they’ll go away.
Except they don’t. The doorbell keeps ringing. So irritating. Why can’t they just leave me alone? What does everyone want from me?
When the doorbell rings for the billionth time, I pound down the stairs and yank the front door open, not even asking who it is.
It’s Scott.
He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. He puts his arms around me and pulls me close to him.
And when he kisses me, every one of my wishes comes true.
Eighteen
Scott Abrams kissed me last night.
I have t
o keep replaying the kiss to convince myself that it really happened. Not that I could think about anything else. Scott actually came over. Scott actually kissed me.
The Knowing was right all along.
After he kissed me, I didn’t invite him in or anything. I was too overwhelmed by the enormity of it all to access my thinking skills. He just said, “See you tomorrow.” Then I watched him walk away. Eventually, he turned to see if I was still there. I was. I could see his goofy smile from halfway down the block.
As if that weren’t awesome enough? We’re going out tonight. Okay, it’s not exactly a date. We’re doing something for school. With Sadie and John. It’s this project for the Box in which we’re researching how knowledge of pop culture creates social bonds. I got the idea from John. He goes to trivia nights at this coffeehouse called The Situation Room. When John was telling me how his team couldn’t get together for this month’s trivia night and you need a minimum of four people to play, I thought it would be perfect if the four of us went as a team.
Sadie and I were supposed to walk over together, but she called to say she’d meet us there instead. She didn’t say why. I’m hoping it’s because she’s at Rite Aid asking Carlos out. That would be hot because then we could double-date. But it’s annoying because I wanted to tell her about Scott on the way there. It was too late to call her last night and I’m dying to tell her everything, starting from two years ago.
I’m already waiting on Scott’s stoop when he comes out.
“Nice,” he says.
Ever since Scott kissed me, I’ve been wondering when he’s going to kiss me again. Actually, I’ve been more than wondering. I’ve been obsessing. It could be right now! In case it is right now, I’ve already crunched a bunch of mints. My breath is all tingly with spearminty freshness. The Situation Room is only like five blocks away. We don’t have a lot of time if he wants to kiss me again before we get there. Or if he wants to hold my hand. Why isn’t he trying to hold my hand?
“So,” Scott says. “I’m glad you came over last night.”
“I’m glad you came over.”
“Yeah?”
“Totally.”
“I just thought ... when you told me about moving here and everything, that was ... huge. No one’s ever done anything like that for me.”
“Well, I couldn’t help it. I care about you.”
“See, that amazes me. We didn’t really know each other back home.”
“You didn’t know me at all.”
“I knew you did origami.”
“True.”
“And I knew you were pretty.”
“Were pretty?”
“Are pretty.”
“Really? ”
Scott looks at me. “Really.” He brushes a wisp of hair away from my face. Which is almost as good as holding hands.
John saved a table for us. He’s waving at us frantically, wedged between two crowded tables packed with rowdy trivia addicts.
“Do you see John anywhere?” Scott goes, trying not to smile.
John waves even more frantically.
“Who, John? Um, no. Why, is he here yet?”
“I don’t think so.”
We keep looking everywhere but at John. He’s out of his chair now, narrowly missing some girl’s head as his arm flies over her in desperation.
“Oh wait, there he is,” I say.
“Funny,” John snarks when we get to the table. “They weren’t letting me hold the table anymore. We could have lost it.”
“Sorry,” I tell him. “Are we late?”
John consults his watch. “Three minutes,” he grumbles.
“Didn’t know they were so strict,” Scott says.
John’s like, “Where’s Sadie?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “But she told me she’d meet us here, so no worries.”
“If she’s not here in about two seconds we’ll have to forfeit.”
“Chill,” Scott says. “She’ll be here.”
“But what if—”
Sadie bursts in, pushing her way toward us through the crowd. “Sorry, sorry! I was—”
“Welcome one and all to trivia night at The Situation Room!” the moderator booms into the mic. He’s at a podium next to the front counter. The podium has a little reading light clamped to it. His stick-on name tag says, HI! MY NAME IS BILL. “My capable assistant, Amanda, will be coming around to register teams of four to six players. Four to six players, boys and girls! Be sure to get your team’s answer form and pencils from her.”
“What do you think the categories will be?” I ask John. I’ve heard so much about his trivia nights that I already know how they work. There are ten rounds of questions. Each round has its own category. Some categories are general, like Geography, while others are quirky specific, like European Castles. There are usually two pop-culture categories, which justifies using this for our project.
“Each round consists of ten questions, for a grand total of one hundred mind-bending mystifiers,” Bill explains. “Anyone on your team can record your final answer on the answer form. Only answers on the answer form will be counted. If more than one answer is recorded in a response space, neither answer will be counted.”
“What do we win?” some guy shouts from the back.
“Prizes!” Bill shouts back. “First prize is a round of free drinks for everyone on your team, plus everyone gets a Situation Room T-shirt!”
Hoots abound. What a bunch of geeks. Who else would get so excited about a low-rent shirt and some coffee?
“The runners-up will receive free drinks and Cracker Jack prizes!” Bill continues. “And third prize is a tasty snack.”
“Do we have to split the snack?” the guy in the back shouts.
Bill’s all, “Sounds like it’s time to turn on those brain cells!”
John is excited. When John gets worked up, it’s even harder for him to sit still. It’s like all of his nervous energy whips up into a frenzy that’s impossible to contain. He’s jiggling his leg, which is making his chair rattle.
He passes our team answer form to me. “Want to do the honors? Write our names in?”
In the box at the top, I write:
Scott Abrams
Brooke Greene
Sadie Hall
John Dalton
“What do we put for our team name?” I ask John.
“What do you want to put?”
“I don’t know. What’s your regular team’s name?”
“Endoplasmic Reticulum.”
I look at Scott and Sadie. “What do you guys think it should be?”
“Blood Sugars?” Sadie suggests.
“Why?”
“Because I love that band. And it sounds cool.”
“I think our name should have more significance,” John says. “It should be something that describes all of us.”
Scott goes, “So ... what are we?”
That’s a question I’m dying to ask him. Here we are, sitting with our friends who don’t even know about us yet. Why isn’t Scott telling them that we’re together? Does he want to keep it a secret? He hasn’t even touched me the whole time we’ve been here, except for one second when his elbow accidentally jabbed my arm.
“We’re two New Yorkers and two New Jerseyans,” Sadie decides.
“How about Two New?” Scott says.
John considers this. “Tell you what. Let’s put that down for now, and if we think of anything better we can change it.”
“Works for me,” I say, writing it in.
“First round!” Bill booms into the mic. The mic retaliates with a high-pitched whine of feedback. “The category is ... Top Tens.”
The first few questions are crazy obscure. John writes in a few answers. The rest of us are completely lost.
Then Bill goes, “Question four has two parts. Which eighties television show featured nightly top ten lists and what year did it premiere? ”
“Letterman!” Sadie hisses.
; “The Late Show,” Scott adds, reaching for John’s pencil.
“No!” I say too loudly. Then I hunch over the table. The tables are clustered so closely together that other teams could be spying on us. “It wasn’t called that before,” I explain, lowering my voice. “It was Late Night with David Letterman.”
“Are you sure?” John asks.
“I own this one.” I write it in, buzzing on adrenaline over knowing an answer. “It came on in 1982.”
“Righteous,” John goes. “I had no idea.”
“This is disturbingly hard,” Sadie says.
Scott leans over to me and whispers, “That’s what she said.”
I crack up. Sadie and John look at us.
“What?” John says.
“It’s an Office thing,” I tell him. I smack Scott’s arm.
“Ow,” he goes.
“As if.”
“As if,” he mocks. I don’t know why he’s acting so immature instead of acting like part of a couple. I want to jump up on the table, command Bill to shine a spotlight on me, and announce to everyone that Scott and I are together. But I don’t think Scott would do any of that.
After the first five rounds, there’s an intermission. People line up at the counter for more drinks. A few baristas go around clearing empty mugs and glasses from the tables. One of them reaches for my mug from across the table.
“Beer me that mug,” Scott says.
I pass it to him, all giggly. I don’t know who this mug-passing giggly girl is. I just know that I love our inside Office jokes. It’s like we have our own private language or something.
“Is there a reason you guys are keeping all the good jokes to yourselves?” Sadie asks.
I really want to tell them about us. I give Scott a look like, Can I tell them? He shrugs, all casual about it.
“Um.” I mash my lips together to quit giggling. “We’re ... together now.”
“Like ... together together?” Sadie says.
“Together together,” I confirm.
“When did this happen?” John asks.
“Last night,” I say, gazing at Scott. I can feel myself getting girlier by the second. I still can’t believe this is real.
“That’s awesome!” Sadie gushes. “You guys are so cute together!”
So Much Closer Page 11
