by Kasie West
You think songwriting is a realistic dream? That was a joke, right? Like you said, it’s hard to tell from a letter. But yes, I am passionate about it. Now, if only I could actually write a complete song, I might feel like I could call myself a songwriter. For now, I’m just a far-fetched dreamer like you. It might stay that way until I get out of my house. It’s impossible to write there.
What is this far-fetched dream of yours anyway? Something your home life prevents, like mine? How are things at home? Any improvement with your mom or dad? You said your dad left and you haven’t seen him in a while, but you have talked to him, right?
Ugh, now Mr. Ortega is asking US to complete the worksheets. Gotta go too.
Twenty-four hours was a long time to think about what answers my pen pal would give to my questions. I found myself worried about him the rest of the day and that night, wondering what his far-fetched dreams were that he didn’t feel he could believe in.
The next day, his reply read:
My dad calls me once a year around my birthday. I think he may have forgotten the exact date. It was hard the first couple years, now it’s kind of amusing. I make a bet with myself about how close to the real date he’ll actually get. His closest so far has been within two days. Not bad. This last year I was a jerk to him. I felt guilty and then I felt guilty for feeling guilty. If that makes any sense. I’ve written him off. Now he’s just someone that used to be in my life. He actually pays child support, which is big of him, right? Maybe that makes him feel better about himself. It felt nice for me when my mom let me buy a car with some of it. The unfortunate side effect of this choice is that now every time I drive, I’m reminded of him.
And that’s enough whining for one letter. You’ll stop writing me if all I ever do is complain. And then where will I be? Stuck listening to Mr. Ortega again? So what about you? I think I need some more complaining on your end.
I frowned down at the letter, my heart hurting. His dad had forgotten exactly when his birthday was? What kind of father did that? The kind that would move five states away and never visit.
Something about the way my pen pal wrote made him easy to open up to. I found myself doing just that as I wrote back.
Complaining? My complaints seem minor now compared to what you have to deal with. And again, I have no sage words of wisdom to offer. Hang in there? Chin up. What are some other cheesy, not-helpful slogans?
My main complaint about my own life is that I have no time to myself, at all. My whole family seems to dictate every second of my day. When I go out, eat, think. I’m living a collective life. Everyone around me decides my fate and sometimes I feel like I’m just along for the ride.
I see what you mean about a maximum quota of whining per letter. I feel like I just reached mine. I need to end with something lighter. Today is Friday. That’s good, right? Although, by the time you read this it will be Monday and Mondays suck. So that’s not a happy letter-ender at all. How about the fact that there are only three more weeks of school before Thanksgiving break, when we get a week off? Happy thought for you, or no? I can’t decide if I were you if I’d rather be at school or at home? I’m sorry, that was insensitive. I’m really not doing well here. Music. That’s the universal language, one I usually can’t mess up. Go listen to a band called Dead’s the New Alive. Track 9 off their new album. That will help. At least, for three minutes and forty-four seconds.
I folded the note, finding myself a little depressed as I stuck it in its place. Fridays were the worst. I had to wait all weekend before I’d get a reply. Was I really already looking forward to Monday? That was backward thinking. I should’ve been excited about the football game that night. The one my mom had said I could go to. David. Yes, I could get excited about seeing David. That would make Isabel happy. And maybe I’d get some more clues as to whether his name belonged on my Suspects list or not.
The night was my favorite kind of night—cool enough for a jacket, but warm enough for it to be a thin one. Now, if only we weren’t headed for a stadium full of screaming fans. Watching a football game wasn’t exactly my favorite activity.
Gabriel and Isabel were a couple steps ahead, arm in arm, talking too quietly for me to hear. I wondered if they were plotting the after-game activity where they expected David and me to fall madly in love.
Isabel noticed I had fallen behind and slowed down, hooking her free arm in mine. “This is going to be awesome,” she said as we reached the ticket booth.
“I guess,” I said. We paid and headed inside, climbing the steps to the stadium. Some of the kids were all decked out in paint and holding signs. I was glad Isabel hadn’t insisted we do that. When we reached the top, the noise that had somehow seemed muffled on the way up hit me like it was a living, breathing force.
“There’s the band,” Isabel said.
Gabriel looked at me, like I should have a response to that.
“Cool hats,” was the only thing I could think of.
It was five minutes to halftime when Gabriel said, “We should get food before David’s thing.”
“You guys go ahead. I’m good.” I loved Isabel and Gabriel, but I needed a break from the overdose of affection the two of them were displaying.
“Are you sure?” Isabel asked.
“Positive.”
They left for the food vendors. I sat back and looked for lyrics in the sights around me. Lights in the blackness. Waiting for the score. Putting on a face. Flirt a little more.
That last line, unfortunately, had been inspired by Cade. I’d happened to see him chatting with some girl. When he noticed me looking over, he caught my eye and winked. Ugh. I stood, deciding I wanted a drink after all, and pivoted toward the aisle to catch up with Isabel. I nearly ran face first into a chest. Even over the noise of the crowd, this close to him, I could just make out the beat coming from Lucas’s earbuds.
He tugged on the cord, freeing them. “Sorry … Lily, right?”
His presence here shocked me silent. Although to be fair, his presence always seemed to do that. But what was he doing at a football game? I didn’t know a lot about him but I did know this wasn’t his scene.
I tried to answer, to think of something clever … or just something … to say, but my mind was blank. I managed to shut my mouth, which had been open for at least one second too long.
“You okay?” Lucas asked. “Did I hit you?”
I shook my head no. His earbuds were dangling near his shoulders and I was so tempted to pick one up and put it to my ear and finally learn what music he was always listening to, but thankfully I stopped myself. I was already acting crazy enough. Quick, brain, think of something clever to say. My thoughts were flying around, uncatchable.
Lucas smiled, a perfect, gorgeous, disarming smile. All the tension that was holding my thoughts captive eased out of my body. I was going to talk. I was going to say something funny and clever. Finally. I took a deep breath and opened my mouth.
“Lucas.” Cade appeared at his side. “Can I interest you in a friendly wager?”
“What?” The irritation on Lucas’s face as he glanced at Cade made me like him even more.
“Trust me, this is better than anything going on over here.” He nodded his head toward the game, and for some reason that worked. Lucas followed him away, leaving me with only a small wave.
Cade had just led away my first real chance at talking to Lucas. Even more reason to hate him.
“Nachos?” Gabriel asked, holding up a tray of chips and gooey cheese. Where had he come from?
Isabel tugged on my arm, carrying a drink in her free hand. “You’re missing the show.”
Oh. Right. I sat back down, trying to make out David on the field. But the whole time I was fuming about Cade and Lucas.
After the game was over, Isabel, David, Gabriel, and I went to a park near Isabel’s house. Gabriel was pushing Isabel on a swing and David and I were sitting on a picnic table.
I picked up David’s marching band hat that he had
set next to him. It had a long black feather on top. “What’s with the feather?”
“It makes us taller.” He was still wearing his full band uniform and it looked uncomfortable and sweaty. But cute.
“Really? I should probably wear one of these all the time then.” I placed it on my head.
“I think it really has to do with the history of marching bands,” David explained. “Marching bands used to be used in wars. The musicians wore certain uniforms so the opposing army could identify who not to shoot or something like that.”
“Nice. I’m glad you won’t get shot in a war.”
David smiled and shook his head. “Now it’s just tradition.”
I tipped my head back so I could see under the brim of the hat. “Do you like being in the marching band?”
“Sometimes. It’s a lot of work.”
“It looked good tonight even though I couldn’t really see you out there.” I wasn’t sure that came out right. “I mean, you did a good job … I think. I guess what I mean is that no one stood out, which is what you want, right? It’s supposed to look all … uniform.” How come when faced with Lucas, no words came out, and for David, I had no filter?
“Yes. Thanks.”
David wasn’t much of a talker and I still couldn’t decide if it was because he was shy or because he really didn’t want to be here. I took the hat off, twisted it once between my palms, and set it back down.
“So, I know nothing about you,” I blurted. “Except that you play the clarinet and you hate Chemistry. What else is there to know about David … ” I paused. “I don’t even know your last name.”
“Feldman.”
“Okay, David Feldman, give me the bullet points.”
“The bullet points?”
“You know, your life in ten points or less.”
“Okay, um … my parents are divorced. I have a much older brother and a sister. They’re both married and moved out. My favorite books are Harry Potter.”
“That counts as seven.”
“Really?”
“No, but that’s awesome. I love Potter, too.”
He smiled and with it I decided that he was just shy.
“Keep going,” I said.
“I haven’t been sick since the seventh grade and—”
“Wait, that one needs some expounding. Do you have a super immune system or do you just mean you haven’t thrown up in that long?”
“I haven’t had a cold or the flu since the seventh grade.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “I take lots of vitamin C.”
“Text me your diet and habits please.” I was kidding but he pulled out his phone like I’d been serious and handed it to me. I assumed he wanted me to enter my number so I did.
“Is that ten yet?” he asked when I handed it back.
“If you’re done it is, but I think I interrupted you in the middle of one.”
“I was just going to say that I hadn’t missed a day of school since seventh. One of the bad side effects of never being sick.”
“True. Plus, how can you ever appreciate your health when you’re always healthy? Maybe you should try to purposely get sick. Go around kissing sick people or something.”
Why had I said the word kiss? His cheeks darkened. Had he never been kissed? Not that I was all that experienced in the kissing department, but I had done it before. And I could at least say the word without blushing.
“And you?” he asked.
“I’m not sick right now so I can’t help you.”
“N-no, I meant the bullet points thing,” he stammered.
I blinked. Okay, maybe I was blushing a little. “Oh. Right. You’ve been to my house so you know like eight of mine. But let’s see, besides the guitar and the siblings and the crazy house, I like to sew. I shop at thrift stores and have no problem buying used shoes. I talk to myself too much and at school they call me—”
“Magnet,” he finished for me. “Why?”
“Long story. Basically the school jerk, who for some reason is popular, bestowed the name upon me because I’m horrible at P.E.—oh, there’s another bullet, I’m horrible at P.E.—and it stuck.”
“Who’s the school jerk?”
“You don’t know? Do people really not know? You go to our school.” Remembering how Cade had pulled Lucas aside, I gritted my teeth. “He’s actually probably warned you to stay away from me.” Cade seemed to be on a one-man mission to do just that.
David shook his head no.
“Who do you think the school jerk might be?” I held up his hat again when it seemed like he wasn’t going to answer the question. “You’re telling me that you walk around wearing this and you’ve never been picked on?”
He laughed. “Are you making fun of me?”
“No. Hey, I would totally wear this hat to school if it went with my outfit.”
“You would, wouldn’t you? But you’re confident like that.”
I gasped and then coughed. “That’s funny.”
“You don’t seem to care what anyone thinks of you,” David said seriously.
“Just because I wear weird clothes doesn’t mean I’m not worried people aren’t judging me for them. Now, stop trying to avoid the question. Who is the biggest jerk?”
“Pete Wise.”
“That big water polo guy?”
“Yes.”
I growled. “Okay, second-biggest jerk then.”
“Lyle Penner.”
“Really? Lyle’s your number two? How about third?”
David’s eyes widened. “How many people do you think pick on me?”
I laughed. “I don’t know. I figure we’re at least tied. But you still haven’t named the biggest offender. He picks on everyone. If you’re walking around in this hat, there’s no way he hasn’t given you a name.”
“I only wear this to games, Lily,” David said.
I sensed I had told one too many hat jokes. “Fine. Never mind. I’m supposed to be pretending he doesn’t exist anyway.”
“You’re going to leave me in suspense?”
I still couldn’t believe he hadn’t guessed. “Cade Jennings.”
“Cade? He named you Magnet?”
“Yes. He’s a jerk.”
David seemed to consider that label then said, “I guess I can see how he’d come off like that. He’s a little full of himself.”
“A little?”
“And he’s loud and over the top. But he’s never been mean to me like Pete or Lyle.”
“Well, he’s been mean to me,” I said. “And always when there’s an audience. He’s the worst kind of jerk, the kind that pretends he’s doing something for your benefit, including you in some funny joke, when really he’s making you the butt of a joke.”
David nodded and I could practically see the memories of all the times Cade had done just that to many people, working their way through his mind.
From across the playground where I could’ve sworn Isabel and Gabriel had been too concerned with each other to worry about us, Isabel yelled, “Stop talking about Cade, Lily!”
“Mind your own Bs, Isabel!” I yelled with a laugh.
“I take it this isn’t a new discussion,” David said.
No, it wasn’t. And I really shouldn’t have been dwelling on it. “You want to race down the bumpy slides?”
He looked down at his uniform. “It might not be a fair race. This material makes a super slick surface.”
I laughed. “I’m willing to take my chances.”
He smiled and led the way to the slides, where after a few races, I really had forgotten about Cade and how he’d embarrassed me in front of Lucas at the football game. Maybe a guy I couldn’t talk to wasn’t the right guy for me, anyway.
When we all left the park together, Isabel dropped me off first and I wondered if David would walk me to the door. I’d had a really fun night. But David didn’t even move toward his handle when the car stopped. I climbed out and walked the path alone.
The next week of notes in Chemistry were amazing and I counted my days by them.
Monday from him:
Dead’s the New Alive is something I listen to once a week. I can’t believe you know that band. We speak the same music language. Is that rare? How many people have you met that speak your same music language? I have met maybe one other. (That sounds like a song, right? You speak my music language, baby. You have to admit that would make an awesome lyric.) Okay, so since you gave me a music coping strategy for my parental problems, here is my cure for your overbearing family. Track 11 of Serendipity. This one will make you feel like you are in the middle of a forest completely alone.
To answer your other question: I am pro Thanksgiving break. As pathetic as I’ve obviously made my home life seem, a break from school is a break from school. I don’t usually hang out at home anyway. I go out with friends, drive, walk, read. Now, as for Thanksgiving day, when I’m forced to stay home and celebrate, that’s a joke. My mom and stepdad order a bunch of “homemade” food, my grandparents come over, their friends come over. Someone ends up yelling, usually the stepdad, my mom ends up drinking too much wine, and we all wish we would’ve pretended it was just any other day. What about yours? Hopefully your Thanksgiving traditions are better than mine.
My response:
Is being crazy considered a tradition? Because that’s what our tradition is. Okay, we actually have a real one: The double-blind taste test. First, both my mom and dad make pumpkin pies. Different ones, mind you, but both pumpkin. Then they cut the pies in the other room and put pieces on different plates. One each for everyone there. Then they force us—force us—to eat it blindfolded. Then we have to tell them whose is better. We can’t say they both taste the same or they are equally good. Nope. We HAVE to choose a side. It’s quite obnoxious. So my siblings and I have a little competition of our own. We always try to even up the score so someone has to be the tiebreaker. But anyway, the winning parent brags about it the entire year. My parents are strange.
Other than that, it’s loud and disorganized and exhausting. But the food is actually homemade and we do laugh a lot. So I think I win. But … hang in there.
