P.S. I Like You

by Kasie West

  Don’t apologize. You’ve made me laugh plenty. You’re not my free entertainment or anything. You can whine as much as you want. You get at least a hundred free passes. And of course that’s not too much to ask of your father. He’s your father. If your dad does decide to get on a plane and fly out here, can I punch him? I really want to. That might not be good for your relationship with him, so maybe I can resist. I don’t know what to say except I’m so sorry.

  I was dying to read Cade’s letter the next day, hoping it would be a happier one. I’d thought about him a lot the night before, wondering if I needed to think of another excuse to go visit him, check on him. I had talked myself out of it, remembering how poorly my last visit to his house had gone. I didn’t want to make him feel worse.

  So when I slid into my seat in Chemistry, I let my hand immediately go to the bottom of the desk.

  I found nothing there.

  One strategic pencil drop later produced the same result. There was no letter today. My first thought was that Sasha had taken it. But she wasn’t here yet. Lauren was looking through her review packet from the day before, and Mr. Ortega, the only other suspect, was writing on the whiteboard.

  Cade must’ve stayed home from school. I considered several horrible reasons for his absence, but I forced myself to settle on the idea that he was probably just sick. There was nothing to worry about. People stayed home sick all the time.

  I wrote him a get-well-soon note, which included a turtle soup bowl. Tomorrow, everything would be back to normal.

  Only everything wasn’t back to normal the next day. There was still no note—only my old letter from the day before. I was tempted to ask Sasha where Cade was, but thought better of it.

  I left yet another note, telling him he was really ruining Chemistry for me by being selfishly sick and I hoped that was really all it was.

  “Remember the final is tomorrow,” Mr. Ortega said, just as I slipped my latest note under the desk. “Make sure you study your review packet and be ready.”

  Was Cade going to miss the final? Did he remember it was the final?

  Sasha would tell him. He wasn’t my responsibility.

  After school, while Isabel and I were talking about plans for the coming weekend, I saw Cade throw his backpack in his locker and pull out a duffel bag. My heart jumped.

  “He was here today?” I asked out loud.

  Isabel turned to see what I saw.

  “Who?” Isabel asked.

  “Cade. He wasn’t in Chemistry.”

  “He was in Chemistry.”

  Her statement hit me like a punch to the gut. He was in Chemistry, just apparently not writing me back. Had he figured out that his pen pal wasn’t Sasha? That it was actually me?

  I grabbed Isabel’s elbow and hustled her out of school before Cade could see me.

  The noises coming from the back patio weren’t unusual, but the voices accompanying those noises were. My mom and dad were out there together pounding something with a nail and hammer.

  I opened the back door and saw that half of a large cage was assembled. Not just any cage, but a two story one, complete with ramps and ledges and all sorts of things a rabbit would enjoy. The kind of cage I knew my dad had specially designed, and had taken a long time designing.

  Dad stood proudly by the cage. I raised my eyebrows at him.

  “Really?” I said. “You’ve been possessed with bunny love now, too?”

  My mom laughed, put down the hammer, and patted his shoulder. “He’s just a really good dad.”

  “Apparently our family has room for all who wish to reside here,” Dad said, studying the papers he held.

  “And you asked the rabbit if he actually wanted to reside here?” I smiled.

  “Who wouldn’t?” His tone was teasing, but I knew my dad really believed that there was no one in the world who wouldn’t want to be part of our family.

  I laughed and looked at the rabbit, who seemed to be watching the progress in anticipation from his old small cage. I wasn’t sure that little creature would ever win me over.

  I waved to my parents, went back inside, and took an apple off the counter as I headed for my room. The house was quiet today. A heaviness rested on my chest and I had no idea why. Well, maybe I knew why but I was trying to convince myself that it didn’t matter. That he didn’t matter.

  I pulled out my phone and scrolled until I found Lucas’s phone number. I hadn’t seen him at school since we’d been back from Thanksgiving break. I hadn’t really been looking either.

  Hey! Did you find out the name of that guitar repair girl for me? I wrote.

  His response came within a few minutes.

  Yes. She works at guitar center. I can meet you there tomorrow after school if you want.

  I have detention. How about 4:30?

  See you then.

  I would see Lucas tomorrow. That would help. It had to.

  I took the bottom half of my guitar out of its case. If I held the strings right below the broken section, I could pluck out a bit of a melody. It was horribly out of tune and not even close to sounding right, but it lightened my mood a little.

  “I’ve woken up to find / that I’ve been Left Behind.” I sang the words quietly, doing a really good job of feeling sorry for myself.

  Ashley came in the room at that moment. “What are you doing?”

  “Just practicing a song.”

  She looked at my guitar—my corpse of a guitar. “This is the most pathetic scene I’ve ever witnessed in my life.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You need a sister intervention.”

  “I don’t. I need alone time. I just want to be alone for a while.”

  “In this house?” She laughed and pulled me up by my arms.

  “A shack in the woods. A hut on a mountaintop. A submarine ten thousand leagues under the sea.”

  “All things you’ll never have?” Ashley said. “Come on. Let’s go out for pizza. I’ll tell Mom and Dad.”

  Getting pizza with Ashley did help. I didn’t confide in her about Cade and the letters, but it was nice to get out of my head for a while.

  The next day, I no longer cared that there wasn’t a new letter under the desk, even though I had seen Cade again in the parking lot that morning. It’s for the best, I told myself. He was doing me a favor by cutting off the letters cold turkey.

  Maybe Sasha had told him that I was writing the letters, and he’d freaked out. It was me, after all, with the awkwardness and the crazy family and the weird clothes. Letters were one thing, but his reputation might not survive more than the occasional parking lot conversation with Lily Abbott.

  I collected my two letters that were still in place. Mr. Ortega was passing out the final and I tried to forget about letters and everything else and concentrate on the test.

  The letter exchanges were really and truly over. The end.

  I stood at the counter in the music store waiting to hear the verdict on my guitar’s fate. I had gone home after detention, collected its carcass, and met Lucas at the store. Now he stood in another section checking out guitar straps while I was watching the worker in front of me carefully examine the break.

  “Wow. What happened to it?” she asked. She was pretty, with tattoos on her arms and black-framed glasses.

  “A little brother,” I explained.

  “Not cool,” she said with a sympathetic nod. “When the neck is broken like this, the integrity of the entire body is messed up. Too bad it didn’t break up here.” She pointed to the top where the headstock was. “That’s much easier to repair. That said, this isn’t completely lost. I can’t guarantee it will ever sound like it used to, but we can try.” She turned it over. “Do you have every single fragment of the splintered wood?”

  “I don’t know. I gathered as much as I could.”

  “Well, I can try.”

  Her words gave me hope, but …

  “How much will it cost?” That was the magic question.

&nb
sp; She studied the guitar again. “It just depends on how much time it takes. A couple hundred dollars at the most.”

  I swallowed the lump that immediately sprang into my throat. “Okay. I’ll have to think about it then.” I collected the broken pieces, laid my guitar back in its coffin, and buckled it closed.

  “Here’s my card if you decide you want to go ahead.” She handed me a plain white business card. I shoved it in the back pocket of my jeans and headed for the door before I cried.

  Lucas could meet me outside.

  A few minutes later, he did, carrying a plastic bag.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  I shrugged because speaking wasn’t an option given how tight my throat was.

  “What happened?”

  My guitar case felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

  Mom’s minivan was parked in the front row of the parking lot so I nodded toward it and we headed there. Next door to the guitar repair was an In-N-Out and a stream of cars were waiting in the drive-through line. I opened the back of the minivan, set the guitar down, and sat in the open back myself. Lucas sat next to me. I just needed a minute before I could speak. He seemed to understand this and thankfully didn’t say anything.

  I watched the line of cars at the drive-through, trying to think of lyrics like I normally did when I observed things. But I hadn’t been able to think of decent lyrics in a while. And it wouldn’t matter if I did, anyway. That contest was out of reach for me. I needed to accept that.

  When my throat had loosened I said, “She’s not sure she can fix it. And I’m not sure I can spend the money on the hope that she can.”

  “Bummer.”

  “Yes. It is.” I wanted to talk the tightness out of my chest but I couldn’t. As I stared at Lucas I realized how little I knew him, how little he knew me. I didn’t feel comfortable sharing more than I already had.

  “You want to go get something to eat?” he asked, nodding toward the In-N-Out. “Get your mind off of this?”

  A few weeks ago, the idea of having burgers and shakes with Lucas would have been like a dream come true. Now, I shook my head. “Not really. I just want to go home.”

  “I understand. Some other time?”

  I tried to digest this. Lucas had asked me out. And when I put him off, he had asked me again. I should’ve been over the moon about this, but all I felt was sadness. A sadness that had settled across my shoulders and was weighing on me.

  And I was sure the sadness was about a lot more than my stupid broken guitar.

  “I’ve done something stupid,” I blurted.

  Lucas frowned. “You have?”

  “I asked you out for all the wrong reasons.”

  Both times when I’d found the courage to talk to Lucas, it was to spite Cade. For two years, I’d admired Lucas from a distance. I liked the idea of him but the reality was, I knew nothing about him. And I realized, right now at least, I didn’t want to. Maybe when someone else that had no business being in my head was out of it, I would feel differently.

  “I need some time,” I added, glancing down. “I’m sorry.”

  “What wrong reasons?” Lucas asked.

  “To get my mind off someone else.”

  “Ouch.”

  “I’m sorry.” I looked up at him guiltily. “I really am.”

  He shrugged. “I get it. Text me when that someone is permanently out of your mind.”

  “I will.”

  Lucas left me there in the back of my van. I watched him get into his car and drive away. He didn’t seem surprised or upset at all. That thought made me both relieved and sad.

  I stood up and hit my head on the roof. I saw stars in my vision, my head light. I leaned against the car to keep myself upright.

  A horn honked to my left followed by a chorus of shouts. I looked over to see Cade’s BMW full of guys in line at the drive-through. Just what I needed. I reached up and pulled down the heavy trunk door of the van.

  A car door slammed shut and then another. Cade and one of his friends were trading places, his friend taking over the driving. Then Cade jogged my way and my heart picked up speed. Why was my heart such a traitor?

  “Nice ride,” he said, patting the side of the minivan.

  I wanted to ask him why he’d stopped writing. Why he was acting so normal when he’d left me in the cold for the last few days with not a single explanation. I was supposed to be the one to stop writing first. Not him.

  “I don’t need to see you right now,” I said through gritted teeth. Cade was just another representation of something I wanted but couldn’t have. And I knew that now—I wanted him. We’d been exchanging notes for weeks and I’d fallen for that guy. The one in the letters. And sometimes even the one not in the letters. But I also knew that, just like my broken guitar, it would never work right. Cade had dated my best friend. We didn’t get along. He’d treated me badly. He hung with a completely different crowd. I was too odd for him. It was impossible.

  “I just have one question,” Cade said, “and then I’ll leave you alone.”

  I turned to face him. “What?” I snapped.

  He held up both hands. “Whoa. No need to get angry with me.”

  “I’m not.” I like you and that makes me angry with myself. “What?”

  “My friends want man bracelets. How much does your mom sell them for? I need like four more.”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Of course he’d make man bracelets cool. “I’ll ask her.” I pulled on the door handle but it was locked. I reached into my pocket but it was empty. Where had I put the keys? The trunk maybe?

  “Hey,” he said softly. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I’m fine.”

  “Is it Lucas? I saw him leave.”

  “Can you just not.”

  “Not what?”

  “Not be nice right now. I need you to be mean. It helps.”

  “It helps with what?”

  It helps me keep my feelings at bay. “Go be with your friends, Cade. They’re waiting.”

  He left, just like I wanted him to. Just like I didn’t want him to. But by the time I had opened the trunk, retrieved the keys, and unlocked the van door, he was back.

  “They’re not waiting anymore. Oh … and I’ll need a ride home.”

  We stood face-to-face by the driver’s side door, the largeness of the minivan blocking us from the view of the drive-through line. His phone rang, the ringtone a song from The Crooked Brookes, reminding me of our connection. He stopped the song after a few notes but didn’t answer it. I kept my mouth shut about knowing the song. It had only been a few notes anyway; maybe it wasn’t the song I thought it was.

  “Three-hour truce?” he asked.

  A sob crept up on me, getting out before I could stop it. “I’m not supposed to cry.”

  “Why not?”

  That was someone’s rule. I wasn’t even sure whose anymore. No crying before date three. It didn’t matter; we’d never have a date three. Rules were stupid anyway. They didn’t work.

  He stepped forward, so close I could smell his breath-stealing scent again. “Talk to me, Lily.”

  I leaned forward, put my forehead on his chest, and let myself be sad for a moment about what I couldn’t have that was standing right in front of me. I didn’t let my arms go around him like they wanted to. I didn’t let the rest of my body melt into him or even my cheek find its way against his soft cotton shirt. No, just my forehead and only a few tears.

  “I’ll be done before they leave,” I promised.

  He chuckled and wrapped his arms around me. “You have three hours. No need to rush.”

  He pulled me closer, but my arms were still crossed over my chest, creating a very necessary barrier between us. I had once told him in a letter that hugs were magical, and they were. Hearing his breath in my ear, feeling his heart beat against me, the warmth of his body seeping into mine, sent tingles throughout my entire being. He’d bent down a little, his head filling in the
space next to mine. I could swallow my objections for three hours. Live in this perfect moment for as long as possible. I didn’t have to think about the past or Sasha or Isabel …

  No, I had to think about Isabel. She was more important to me.

  I pushed my arms against him and he released his hold. I wiped at my cheeks with my sleeves. “Thanks, but I’m good now.”

  “Too late. They already left.”

  I watched as his BMW pulled out of the parking lot and drove away. “You let your friends drive your car?”

  “I’m not as attached to it as you might imagine.”

  Because it was bought with his father’s money, I remembered him saying in one of the letters. I knew more about him than he realized.

  “Okay. I’ll take you home.” I sniffled, embarrassed by the embrace we had just shared.

  “Can we stop somewhere first?” He rounded the van and got in the passenger seat before I’d answered.

  When I was in as well I asked, “Do I have a choice?”

  “Truce. We called a truce.”

  I managed a small smile. “All right. Where to?”

  “I do actually have to be home at some point tonight.”

  “We’re almost there.”

  We were listening to awful music on the radio. I couldn’t play the kind of music I would normally be listening to without giving everything away. It was dark and I had no idea where we were, but I knew we were at least twenty minutes from my house.

  “Turn right here on seventh,” Cade instructed.

  I turned and my guitar case in the back slid and hit the wall.

  “What was that?” he asked.

  “The dead body I keep back there.”

  “Nice.” He pointed. “Okay, up ahead there on the left turn into the main drive.”

  “Of the Land’s End? You’re taking me to a hotel? I’m not that kind of girl.”

  He laughed. “I’m not taking you to the hotel … Well, I am taking you to the hotel, but not like that.”