by Kasie West
This was it. His last letter that I’d read. So it was okay to smile a little at the contents of it. But then remembering his “fluent in jerk” comment the day before at lunch made me angry again. Then rereading the letter made me soften. This was so messed up.
I couldn’t help but wonder how he was doing. We’d spent the last few letters talking about me. I wondered if he hoped every holiday season that his dad would call. What an awful feeling to be abandoned like that by someone who is supposed to love you. And here I was, preparing to abandon him.
I shook my head. I hated him for making me feel sorry for him. For showing me a different side to him. I had a feeling that this—the person in the letters—was his real side. But what good was knowing that? He’d never reveal that side in public. I wrote back.
You know, your awesome advice was just what I needed. I’m now hanging in there and the second I put my chin up I felt one hundred percent better. Who knew those bits of advice actually worked? Also, “made” is such a strong word. I think I merely suggested that you listen to that song. If my suggestion creates an undying desire to act, that’s on you.
No, really, I feel a little better today. My friend and I made up this morning. I think we’re good. If not all the way, we will be soon, I’m sure. My brother and I are at a standoff. I know I’ll soften soon because he’s the prince of the house and as aggravating as he is, I love his face. He still won’t admit to what he did, though. I have a hard time with people who do one thing in one situation and a completely different thing in another. Once he aligns himself, I’ll feel much better.
Okay so that was a totally passive-aggressive statement but I couldn’t help it. I needed to get that off my chest. I stuck the letter in its home and was actually able to focus on Chemistry the rest of class.
“Your detention is really making my life hard.”
“Hi, Ashley, nice to see you, too.” I shut the car door and my sister peeled out of the parking lot. “What’s the hurry?”
“I have to get to work.”
“Then why didn’t Mom pick me up?”
“She has some craft fair out of town.”
“On a Thursday afternoon?”
“I don’t know all the details. Ask her.”
I stopped talking. I could tell my sister was done. I reached up and pulled out the elastic band holding my hair back then ran my fingers through my waves.
“Mom said somebody is picking up Wyatt in a little bit for his first club baseball practice,” Ashley added, “so make sure he eats something right away.”
“Okay.”
“And I guess dinner is whatever you want.”
That meant cold cereal. “Okay.”
She barely stopped enough for me to climb out of the car before she was off again. “Thanks for the ride,” I said to her taillights.
Inside, I yelled into the TV room, “Wyatt, eat. You have baseball practice.” Then I went to my room and changed my jeans for a pair of loose shorts, my blouse for a tank top and my flats for a pair of wool socks that went up to my knees—the socks because I wanted to dress like it was summer when technically it was heading toward winter. Arizona winter, but still. I felt better until I tripped over the edge of my guitar case. I snarled at it and kicked it all the way under the bed. My door creaked open.
“Uh, knock, please,” I said. When I turned around I could see Jonah standing in the small opening.
He pushed open the door but didn’t breach the threshold. I should’ve opened my arms and let him run to me but I didn’t. I offered him a stiff smile. “Yes?”
“Can you get me some cereal?”
“You know how to get your own cereal, buddy.”
He frowned at the space under my bed. “I didn’t do it.”
I sighed. “Jonah. It’s important to take responsibility when we do the wrong thing. If you can’t tell me what you did, then how am I supposed to believe that you’re sorry?”
His bottom lip stuck out. “I’m sorry that you hate me.”
I sighed. “I’m mad that my guitar is broken and I’m mad that you touch my things without asking. But I don’t hate you. I will never hate you.”
“I didn’t do it.”
It was a lost cause. One day the truth would come out. And even then, it wouldn’t matter. My guitar would still be broken. “Okay, go eat.”
I sat down on my bed and docked my phone on my stereo, turning it up as loud as I could stand. Listening to Blackout didn’t necessarily accomplish its intended purpose of relaxing me—because now they made me think of Cade and the letters. But I would not let him ruin my favorite band for me. I turned the music up another notch.
I opened my notebook and stared down a sketch I had started in detention. I wasn’t sure what I wasn’t liking about the design.
Jonah appeared at my door, his mouth moving but only music sounding. I switched off the song.
“Someone’s at the door,” he said.
“Oh, okay.” I stood up. I figured it was the mom of one of Wyatt’s teammates, coming to pick him up.
When I rounded the corner though, Cade Jennings was standing in the open doorway.
I’m sure my face fell in shock. Cade’s expression was also one of utter surprise.
I was so shocked, in fact, that I slammed the door in his face.
What was Cade doing here? Did he figure out the truth about the letters? My heart was pounding. It was probably too late to go run and change my clothes. He’d already seen me and my knee high socks. I took one step back and then I heard Cade knock three times. I tried to pat down my crazy hair once before giving up and opening the door again.
Cade’s initial look of shock had softened to his normal look of smugness. He took in my hair and outfit.
“Shut up,” I said.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did.”
“Really? And what did my face say?”
“You know what your face said.”
He laughed a little and shrugged.
“Why are you here?” I demanded.
“I’m Wyatt’s club coach. We have practice today.”
“Oh.” Ugh. Cade was my brother’s coach? No wonder he’d been surprised to see me. He probably hadn’t realized I was Wyatt’s sister. “Okay. Just be nice to my brother … please,” I added.
I wouldn’t have felt the need to add that if the real-life Cade was like the one in the letters. But he wasn’t, so I did.
Cade shrugged with a smirk. “I will. He can’t help who his sister is.”
I let out an exasperated sigh. “Right. I’ll go get him.”
I hoped Cade would stay by the door but instead he followed me into the kitchen. Wyatt wasn’t there, though; only Jonah sat at the table, eating his cereal.
I glanced back at Cade, and saw that he was looking at the underside of his expensive sneaker. He’d clearly stepped on the crunched-up pile of Fruity Pebbles on the floor. Great. I watched as he brushed his foot against the kitchen tile, then leaned against the counter, almost knocking over a bunch of bowls that were still half-full of milk.
I groaned inwardly. Cade was in my house judging me all over again with new criteria to add to his list. I stacked the bowls and set them in the sink.
Wyatt came running into the kitchen. “Hi, Coach!” he said to Cade. “I’m ready!”
“You must be Wyatt.”
My brother nodded, then glanced at me. “What’s wrong, Lily?” he asked. “You look mad.”
“I do?”
“Are you still mad that Jonah—”
“Ate all the Lucky Charms?” I quickly interrupted. “Yes. I am.”
“I didn’t eat all the Lucky Charms!” Jonah protested from the table.
“Then where are they?”
Jonah hummed an “I don’t know” and kept eating his cereal.
Wyatt scrunched up his nose and was probably about to contradict me when I said, “You better be on your way. You don’t want to be late.”
/>
Cade headed for the door and I stopped Wyatt. “Hey,” I whispered. “Don’t mention my broken guitar to your coach, okay?”
“Why not?” Wyatt whispered back.
Because if he thought about it too hard, he might figure out that my brother breaking my guitar was too similar to a certain letter he’d read recently. “Because I don’t want him to think badly of Jonah.”
“He wouldn’t like Jonah if he knew?” Wyatt asked.
“We just don’t need to talk badly about Jonah to people.”
“Okay,” Wyatt said, and hurried out the door.
For two hours I waited anxiously for my brother to get home. I tried to distract myself with sewing and then writing and then sketching, but each attempt was useless. When I saw Cade’s car pull up around seven thirty, I opened the front door and stood on the porch as Wyatt came running up. I waited for him to turn and wave to Cade. As soon as Cade drove away, I said, “So? How was it?”
Wyatt was beaming. “It was great! I love baseball. We all got nicknames. Want to know mine?”
Of course Cade would give them all nicknames. “Yes,” I said, already worried.
“Pink Lightning!”
“Pink? Lightning?”
Wyatt held up one foot. Across the side of his baseball cleat was a hot pink Nike swoosh. My mom must’ve picked them up at the thrift store like she did a lot of things.
“Yeah. The kids thought it was funny when Coach Cade said it. They laughed. But then everyone was cool with it.”
I swallowed the anger in my throat for my brother’s sake. I did not want him to feel bad. That was a name everyone was going to laugh at every single week and have to keep remembering they were cool with.
“That’s a fun nickname,” I said at last.
“Yeah. It’s good.”
“Well, go shower.”
He started to walk away then stopped. “Lily?”
“Wyatt?”
He looked down at his feet. “Um … never mind.”
I frowned. Had Cade made him feel stupid? I didn’t want to ask him that if it wasn’t true. But I wanted my brother to be able to talk about it with me. For him to know he wasn’t alone in that feeling.
“Are you sure you don’t need to tell me something?” I asked gently.
Wyatt nodded slowly. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
Wyatt may not have needed to talk about it, but I was going to talk about it. With the source.
I searched the halls before school on Friday, not sure what Cade’s morning routine was. I’d seen his car in the parking lot, so I knew he was here. I usually tried to avoid him. Today would be the opposite. My blood was on fire. Even my eyes were hot.
He was standing alone at his locker, staring at it, like he’d forgotten the combination or something.
I marched straight up to him and poked his shoulder with my finger. “How dare you.”
He turned to me, a tired look on his face. “What do you want?”
“You named my brother Pink Lightning? Let those kids mock him?”
Cade’s eyebrows went up. “Is that what he said? That the kids were mocking him?”
“Yes. He said they laughed at him.”
“For one second.”
“Well they wouldn’t have at all if you hadn’t given him that nickname,” I spat out.
“Really? That’s what you think? Did you see the sneakers your brother was wearing? I knew they would make fun of him. I needed to cut them off at the pass.”
“By beating them to it?”
“By making it seem purposeful. Cool, even.”
The next words I’d planned, whatever those were, left my brain. I stood staring at Cade.
“You’re welcome,” he said. “Are we done? Have you rid the world of all your perceived injustice?” Before I could respond he started to walk away. Then he turned and added, “Who bought him those cleats, anyway? They’re the person you should be yelling at.” He didn’t wait for my answer before walking off again.
I growled then looked at his locker, the one he hadn’t opened. Had he forgotten since I interrupted him or had he gotten something out before I came? If so, why had he been standing there staring at it when I walked up? No, I was not going to worry about Cade. He didn’t need my worrying. He took care of himself just fine.
Picturing Cade’s face now as I read his letters was both infuriating and oddly satisfying. Infuriating because he was cute and he knew it, which made me angry. Satisfying because it was nice to put a face with words. It made them more personal.
Even if that face infuriated me …
Have you and your brother made up yet? It is almost Thanksgiving. I don’t know what that has to do with making up with your brother but the holidays always seem like a good time to do … well, anything, I guess. It’s the Fourth of July, let’s eat and get the family together. It’s Easter, we better make up with the neighbor who ruined our fence. It’s Presidents’ Day, let’s buy a couch. My mom actually did buy a couch last Presidents’ Day. I didn’t even know we needed a couch. I really think she bought it just because it was a holiday. Anyway, I’m going off the path here. My point? It’s Thanksgiving (almost). Time to do that thing you’ve been meaning to do. I’ll do my thing, too.
And that’s how he ended the letter. In that vague way that left me dying to know what his thing was. What had he been meaning to do?
I bit my lip. Hadn’t I sworn I wasn’t going to write him back? But what was one more exchange really? In the scheme of things.
What thing have you been meaning to do? Listen to the entire Pink Floyd library in one sitting? I’ve been meaning to do that. Maybe that needs to be my Thanksgiving thing because my brother and I have sort of made up. Or at least I’ve accepted that he’ll never admit to what he did, but he is my brother. So yeah. All that’s left in the make up is the official hug-it-out. That has to be part of every make up because hugs are full of magical healing powers.
Also, I didn’t know we were supposed to buy couches on Presidents’ Day. My family has some catching up to do. Speaking of catching up … How are you? Everything okay?
I tucked the letter into place, angry at myself. I felt like some addict who couldn’t kick a habit. And this made me even angrier at Cade. But this was the last day before Thanksgiving break. A weeklong break would surely cure me of my need. It would be like a detox. An even better detox, I thought with a smile, would be going out with Lucas. In about eight hours, I’d be doing just that.
Day four of detention. Only six more days to go. It hadn’t been too bad so far, I thought as I opened the door to start my time.
And then I walked in and saw Sasha sitting in the seat I normally sat in, toward the back of the room.
Of course she’d steal my seat. It’s what she did.
I wondered what she’d done to land in detention today. She should’ve been the one here all along considering I was fulfilling her sentence.
I claimed a seat on the opposite side of the room. There was a pretty senior girl sitting next to Sasha. I didn’t know her name but the two of them were chattering away. I tried to drown them out by sketching a shirt design into my book. Shirts were much harder to sew than skirts, but I was ready to try my hand at it. I’d come up with a cute wide-necked crop-top idea. I had pulled out my sewing machine the night before and found the best material in my scraps. I just needed to figure out how to piece it all together.
I was doing an excellent job in my goal of shutting out Sasha’s loud voice when I heard her speak his name: Cade.
My ears pricked up.
“Are you and Cade together now?” the senior girl asked Sasha.
I was curious about that as well. My pencil paused on the bow I was drawing.
“Yes,” Sasha said happily.
“How’d that happen?”
“The other day, out of the blue, he asked me out. It was adorable.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did he ask you out?
”
“Why not? You should be asking what took him so long. He finally realized what he was missing.”
I continued drawing. Fine. Great. Sasha and Cade were together. The world was now well ordered. Cade had found his perfect match.
The band, Frequent Stops, was loud but awesome. I would definitely be downloading some of their songs when I got home. I wondered if Cade had ever heard of them before. I’d have to write to him and tell him to add Frequent Stops to his playlist—
No. I wouldn’t do that. What was wrong with me?
I glanced at Lucas. His club wardrobe wasn’t much different than his school one, minus the earbuds—jeans and a tee. We’d been here for an hour. Gabriel and Isabel had driven down to Phoenix with me, Isabel talking the entire time, seeming to know how nervous I was. The nerves were mostly unfounded. Lucas was waiting for me outside, with his adorable shaggy, long hair, and he’d given me a slow smile. I’d introduced him to Isabel and Gabriel and we’d all gone inside together, a red underage bracelet attached to each of our wrists.
Now we all stood fifteen feet back from the stage, a little too close to the speakers to hold a normal conversation. I told myself that I hadn’t led us there on purpose.
I’d prove it by talking. “Do you like the band?” I yelled to Lucas.
“What?” He put a hand to his ear and leaned closer.
“Do you like the band?”
He nodded.
“Do you listen to a lot of this kind of music?”
“What?”
“Is this your taste in music?” I asked when he leaned in again, his shoulder brushing mine.
“I like variety,” he replied.
“I wonder how similar our playlists are.”
“What?”
“Never mind.” Maybe I had placed us here on purpose.
Isabel tapped my arm then mimed drinking from a cup. “Getting water. Be right back.”
