Tell Me Three Things(67)

Three simple words: “Are you Ethan?”

Ethan, Ethan, Ethan.

The new mantra in my head, happily replacing whoreslutfatuglybitch.

Was the lie that simple? A sister substituted for a brother? And how could I have not even considered it? How blind I have been to everyone and everything around me.

Ethan, Ethan, Ethan.

I didn’t even dare to hope. I barely dare to hope now.

I put my phone away. Shake my head to redirect my thoughts. I’ve been wrong once. I shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Wait. See.

But. Ethan.

“Are you okay?” Theo asks me. “You look a little green.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Fine.”



SN: did you know that there isn’t a Waffle House in the entire state of California? we have to go to Arizona.

Me: Why do we have to do that?

SN: WAFFLES. your favorite word. my favorite food. kismet. thought it would have a certain amount of poetic charm for us to meet in one.

Me: Yeah, appreciate the sentiment, but not going to Arizona with you.

SN: fine. then let’s meet at IHOP. what are pancakes if not waffles in another form?

Me: Are you this weird in person?

SN: just you wait.

Me: I’ve been waiting. I have my theories about you, by the way. New theories.



Are you Ethan? Please. Be. Ethan. But I don’t say this. When I really think about it, we’ve grown so good at talking around things, never drilling straight to the point. I think about studying with Ethan, our chats at Starbucks, wondering if he’s dropped a single clue. No, nothing that I can think of, even with twenty-twenty hindsight.

I click back to some of Ethan’s old messages. Crap. He uses proper punctuation. Capitalizes the beginning of each sentence.

I lie on my bed, close my eyes. Send out a wish to the universe. Not to God, because if he exists, he’s ignored me too many times before.



SN: you do? hope I’m not a disappointment.

Me: Ha. Hope you’re not too.

SN: you’ve always said this arrangement is unfair—me knowing who you are but not vice versa—but when we meet, I don’t know. I think everything will suddenly flip.

Me: So when are we doing this flipping? And don’t you dare waffle.

SN: Tomorrow after school?



My heart sinks. I already have plans with Ethan tomorrow after school to work on “The Waste Land.” Is this some sort of trick? To see which version of him I’ll pick? No, maybe I have it all wrong. Maybe Ethan is not SN after all. The disappointment begins its slow bloom.



Me: Can’t. Have plans already for a school thing. Have to work Tuesday. Wednesday?

SN: you are a busy woman, but I know you’re worth the wait.

Me: I am. Are you?



Again, there it is. That weird flirty tone I used to use when we first started writing but have largely dropped since. The voice that isn’t mine, that creeps in only when I’m trying too hard. Have we lost it already, our comfortable rapport, because I’m too nervous to be normal around a guy I could actually care about? No. I rub my finger along the ninja that is now stuck to the back of my laptop. I will not be afraid. This is SN. This, whatever this is, whoever this is—Ethan-or-not-probably-not—is worth fighting for.





CHAPTER 32


“What?” Ethan asks after he hands me my latte and I haven’t offered to pay, like I practiced in my head. We are sitting on the stuffed chairs at Starbucks, Ethan directly across from me. I’m having trouble forming words, because I’m too busy trying to sort this all out. I feel stupid for assuming SN was Caleb. I don’t want to make the same mistake twice.

“What-what? I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re looking at me funny. Do I have something on my face?” Ethan begins to swat at his lips, which do have a tiny crumb stuck to them from his blueberry muffin, but that’s not why I’m staring.

“Sorry. Just a little out of it today.” I hold on tight to my cup, both hands cradling it like it’s something fragile: an injured baby bird. “I guess I’m tired from the weekend.”

“How was it?” Ethan asks, and smiles, as if he really wants to know. Which makes me think he’s SN, because SN always wants to know everything. And which, of course, also makes me think he’s definitely not SN, because SN already knows how my weekend was.

But most of all, I think he can’t be SN because I want him to be SN, and that’s the quickest way for it to not happen: for me to want it badly.

“Great. I mean, a little rocky at first. Long story. But then it was great. It was hard to leave,” I say, which is true and untrue. It was hard to leave and it would have been hard to stay. Not feeling like I belong anywhere has made me crave constant motion; standing still feels risky, like asking to be a target. Maybe that’s why Ethan doesn’t sleep, come to think of it. Eight hours in one place is dangerous.

“Yeah, I bet. Is that sticker new?” Ethan points to my ninja, and I realize that though I’ve had it on my computer all day at school, he’s the first to notice. Even Gem didn’t see it, because her only jab today was to call me “sweaty.” Not that creative, considering it’s ninety degrees in November.

“Yeah. My best friend from home, Scarlett, made it for me. They’re supposed to be like tattoos. I’m kind of in love with them.”