The Best Possible Answer(25)

His hands are warm around mine, and I don’t want to let go.

Stop it, Viviana, I think. Learn from your past mistakes.

I pull my hands out of his grip and scoot a few inches away.

“So, my dad has rules, too,” Evan says. I’m thankful that he’s the first to break the silence. “First one: No crying. My dad likes to say ‘CEOs don’t cry, son.’ Like he would know what a CEO does or doesn’t do. He’s low-level management at H&R Block.”

“You cry?” I ask.

“Not anymore. I used to. At sad movies and things like that. And certain songs.”

“Like what?”

“‘Eleanor Rigby,’” he says with a smile. “Every time.” He sings a few lines for me. He has a beautiful voice. I really wish he didn’t have such a beautiful voice.

“They have crying salons in Japan now,” I say. “Like you can pay to sit in a room that’s not your house so you can watch sad movies and cry.” I feel like I’m just saying words, trying to distract us from whatever it is that’s happening.

“I might actually love that. Except that they could just play Beatles songs and I’d be fine.”

“But you wouldn’t be allowed,” I say. “It’s women only.”

“Sexist bastards.”

“Yup.” I laugh.

Evan looks at me. “I’m sorry your dad is such a jerk.”

“Me, too. About yours, I mean.”

“I just know that when I’m a dad, I’m going to be completely different. My kids will get to follow their hearts, no strings attached.”

I smile. “That’s awesome.”

The sky fills up with lightning, and then, without pause, the close roaring of thunder, as though to punctuate this thought. The rumbling storm surrounds us, and I feel like we’re both trying not to reach out to each other. At least, I know I’m trying.

“Why were you such a jerk to Sammie?” I ask, partly to bring his attention back to Sammie, partly because I’m curious.

“What are you talking about?”

“The whole horoscope thing. It wasn’t very nice. Why were you antagonizing her like that?”

He looks shocked—and hurt. “Was I? Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a jerk.”

“Then why were you? What was that about?”

He smiles. “I guess I was trying to antagonize you.”

“Why would you try to do that?”

“I already told you. I like you. I liked the fact that you were finally talking to me. I was trying to get your attention.”

Great. I was trying bring thoughts of Sammie back into the room, and we end up here again.

Evan turns around and starts tracing circles on the foggy windows. He doesn’t say anything else for a good minute, and I’m not sure how to respond, where to even begin.

Finally, he looks at me. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

My heart leaps into my throat. “What do you mean?”

“Anne Boyd’s birthday party.” He bites his lip. “I think I was a freshman? You were in middle school, right?”

I don’t know what to say. What to admit. What would I say if Sammie were here? Where is she?

I stumble to check my phone.

It’s 6:55.

Nothing from Sammie.

“Do you remember me?”

I look up at him, totally and completely stumped for words.

“It took me a few days to place where I knew you from. But then, when I did, it all came back to me.” He smiles. “That was a really good kiss.”

My phone lights up.

“Viviana, didn’t you hear me?”

I look up. “What? Sorry. Text from Sammie.” I stand up and throw my phone in my bag. “Turns out she’s not going to make it. The storm has flooded the roads and they’re stuck on Western Avenue or something.”

Evan looks confused, but he doesn’t say it again; he doesn’t ask again. Instead, he gets up, too.

“And I didn’t realize how late it is. I’ve really got to get downstairs, or my mom’s going to kill me.” I look out the window. The storm is rolling away, but the sky is turning dark with the setting sun.

“Okay. Sure. Yeah.” Evan grabs his backpack and throws it over his shoulder.

After all that sharing and avoidance, the silence in the elevator isn’t just awkward; it’s painful.

I get off at my floor and say a quick good-bye.

Thankfully, Evan doesn’t say anything else. The doors close, and it’s over.

For now.





College Admissions Tip #6

Applying to college can be stressful! While going through the process, be sure to find a creative outlet, some kind of distraction, that will help you deal with the worries about your future.


I decide not to say anything to Sammie about what happened on the roof. After giving it some thought, I figure that because I didn’t respond to him, Evan got the message loud and clear that I’m not into him.

Or rather, the lie that I’m not into him.

Every time I think about our conversation, how nice it was to talk to him about my parents, to hear about his dad, to talk to someone who understands how hard it can be, I’m shaken. And then I think about what he said to me, about how pretty he thinks I am, about that stupidly amazing fifteen-second kiss that happened more than four years ago, and I know it’s a lie.