P.S. I Like You(13)

“Yes.”

I tickled him. “Good night, Prince Jonah.”

“I thought I was Thing Two.”

“Only when you make messes.” I gently pushed him off my bed with my feet. “Speaking of messes, how is that rabbit of yours?”

“Mom won’t let him sleep in my bed.”

“Mom makes good decisions sometimes. Have you given him a name?”

“Bugs Rabbit.”

“You mean Bugs Bunny?”

He scrunched his lips together. “We call him Bugs Rabbit.”

“Really? But then how are you going to remember it?”

“It’s easy. His name is Bugs and he’s a rabbit.”

“Does nobody in the world use alliteration anymore?”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Will you take us trick-or-treating Friday?”

“That’s right, Friday is Halloween.”

Jonah put his little fists on his hips. “Did you forget?”

“No, but I’m too old for trick-or-treating … so Halloween isn’t such a big deal anymore.”

“I’m never going to get too old for trick-or-treating.”

I ruffled his hair. “Yes, of course I can take you … in exchange for a piece of candy.”

Jonah gave a yelp of joy as he ran out of my room.

“One of the good ones!” I called after him.

I opened my notebook back up to the lyrics I’d been writing, but it was too late. The inspiration was gone. If I tried to write a song right now, it’d be about rabbits, dinosaurs, and Halloween candy. Almost as good as monsters in trees. I’d have to try again later.



“Monsters in trees,” I said to Isabel the next morning when I saw her by our lockers.

“What?”

“That’s what I thought about before going to bed last night. Are we doing this or not?”

She clapped her hands, then bit her lip in thought.

I laughed. “Gabriel, right?”

“Shhh. There was something after that. I’m trying to remember. Oh! Nutella crepes.”

“Now I’m hungry.”

“And I’m confused,” Isabel said, shutting her locker. “Monsters in trees?”

“Fake song idea. But I actually started a real song, one I’ll read to you when I’m done.”

“I’d like that.”

“This is going to be a fun tradition.”

She laughed. “It is. I feel our friendship getting cuter already.”



I may have started the morning tradition with Isabel because I felt guilty about how excited I was to read this letter. The letter that I had retrieved from beneath my desk in Chemistry and was now unfolded on top of my desk.

Track 8 on Blackout’s Blue album? I haven’t listened to that one yet. I only have their first album. And even though it goes against my reverse psychology theory of how I handle life, if you think it’s good, I’ll try it out. Any other bands I should add to my “shutting out the world” playlist? I could use some of that to deal with my life right now. Does that make me sound pathetic? I’m not, most of the time. I’m actually a pretty fun guy when not at home.

Guy? I blinked. My pen pal was a he? My eyes went back to the notes written on the desk—to the line that had made me think he was a girl. It was still there. His claim that he had dibs on wanting to be Lyssa when he grew up. So it had been a joke? He liked to joke.

He was a guy. A guy who liked the same music as me and was bored in Chemistry and had a sense of humor. We were soul mates. I smiled a little, then shook my head. The guy was bored and was writing me letters to pass time. He wasn’t asking me out or anything.

I realized my brain had stopped mid-letter. I read the rest.

So what should we chat about that’s not so depressing? I’m open to suggestions. Perhaps one of the following topics: Death, cancer, global warming (or is it climate change now?), animal cruelty …

I turned over the page, but that was the end. We’d filled up an entire page with our back and forth communication. Which meant I got to keep this page. I folded it nicely and stuck it in my bag.

I stared at the new, clean sheet in front of me, and then wrote: How about we discuss the fact that you’re a guy. Let’s get married and have cute Indie Rock babies.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing and dropped that sheet of paper in my backpack by my feet. I wasn’t even going to mention the fact that he was a he. I was going to pretend I knew all along. Because it changed nothing.

I finally got a chance in the chaos that is my house to listen to The Crooked Brookes. Brilliant. Track 4. I must’ve listened to that one five times in a row. I wasn’t sure I could trust your taste in music before, but you have now proven yourself. I will listen to anything you suggest. I’ll include a list of my favorites at the bottom of this page. Do you play any instruments? I’m a self-taught not-very-good-but-thinks-she-is guitarist. Okay, you’ve convinced me, we can start a band together. Unless you play the guitar, too. Sorry, but I won’t fight you for solo time.

I re-read what I wrote three times. It was me, but I wasn’t sure I should be me. I didn’t have the best track record with guys. But at least on paper he could read it in a smooth, confident voice, not in the way I would’ve delivered it in person: awkwardly.