P.S. I Like You(12)

For a moment I couldn’t believe I had written that to a total stranger. I even considered not folding the paper back up and putting it under the desk. But two things made me do it. One: When talking about music, I always found myself opening up more than I might have otherwise. People who appreciated music like I did seemed to understand that. I sensed my pen pal would. Two, anonymity was freeing. I could say a lot when I didn’t have to sign my name at the end. And I didn’t.

I stuffed the note back into place under the desk and got to work on a few Chemistry notes that I was still required to show Mr. Ortega at the end of each period.

I must’ve still felt a little guilty about the letter exchange because at lunch, I blurted out to Isabel, “She wrote me a letter.”

Isabel, known for her drastic subject changes, didn’t follow mine. “What?”

We were walking back from the food trucks with our burritos and sodas. Isabel loved getting “fake Mexican food,” as she called it, even though her dad made the best real Mexican food on earth. Maybe it was her form of teenage rebellion.

“Remember I told you about writing back and forth with that girl in Chemistry?” I began as we started toward the outdoor student commons. “The one who likes the same band as me?”

“Yes,” Isabel said. “I thought it was a guy.”

“No. She wrote something about wanting to be Lyssa Primm when she grows up.”

“Who’s Lyssa Primm?”

“The lead singer of Blackout.”

“Aw, how cute, you found a new weird pen pal. The two of you are like the same person.” She hip checked me.

“Two of me? Our school couldn’t handle that.”

“So true.”

“But anyway, she left me a longer letter under the desk this time and I wrote back.”

Isabel let out a hum. “Who do you think she is?”

“I don’t know.”

“Aren’t you curious? Maybe it’s someone you already know. It’s obviously someone you’d get along with.” She scanned the commons. Students were clustered in groups, divided by grade, eating and laughing and throwing balled-up napkins at each other. I spotted Lucas sitting with his friends, and tried not to stare. Especially since I got caught by Isabel last time. “We should find out.”

“No.” I knew it was silly to feel insecure about what others thought of me, but I couldn’t help it. I was worried if this girl found out who I was, she wouldn’t find me cool enough for her. Besides that, I’d already decided that anonymity made writing so much easier. And this letter exchange was my sanity in Chemistry. “It’s just a fun distraction. I really don’t want to know.”

Isabel shrugged. “Okay. Fine. If it were me, my curiosity wouldn’t be able to leave it alone.”

And I wondered if her curiosity would be able to leave it alone even though it wasn’t her. I gave her my best “we are not pursuing this” look and let it go.

“No anniversary lunches today, right?” I asked.

She smiled. “Yes, it’s our two-month-and-five-day anniversary. You understand, right?”

We settled into our spot under a tree. I hadn’t picked this spot because it had the best view of Lucas—that was just a happy coincidence. My eyes scanned the commons again. Maybe my letter writer was someone I already knew. But who?





I scribbled in my notebook as The Crooked Brookes blasted through my headphones. I couldn’t wait to write to my Chemistry friend the next day and tell her how awesome this music was. The song was raw and unapologetic and oh-so-depressing. But for whatever reason, it had inspired me. A song about secrets was twisting its way through my head and out of my pen.

If I tell you my secrets, will you just tell me lies?

If I say I believe you, does that make it all right?

It’s hard to place my trust in someone new, But that doesn’t mean

A tapping on my back interrupted my thought. I looked over to see my brother, Jonah, standing by my bed.

I clicked off the music. “Hey, Thing Two, what’s up?”

“Will you read me a story?” He was already holding the book.

“You can read.”

“I like it when you read.”

My notebook was begging me to continue, pleading with me as it sat there on my pillow.

“Sure, buddy,” I said. “Come on up.” I shut my notebook and Jonah climbed onto my bed with a smile.

He handed me the first Harry Potter. “And do the voices, too.”

“So demanding.”

I had been reading for twenty minutes when Jonah’s attention wavered. His finger tapped the perfectly cut-out newspaper article about the songwriting competition I had pinned to my wall. “What’s that?”

“That’s just me dreaming … like always.”

“Dreaming is fun,” Jonah said. “I dreamed about dinosaurs last night. What did you dream about?”

My eyes darted to the notebook I had abandoned on my pillow, then back to my brother. “I dreamed about a little prince named Jonah who had three older siblings who always gave him whatever he wanted because he was the most spoiled prince in all the land.”

Jonah stuck out his lower lip. “I am not.”

“I wasn’t talking about you. I was talking about Prince Jonah, from my dream. Do you think everyone is talking about you all the time?”