P.S. I Like You(20)

I took out a fresh sheet of paper because now that we were saying more personal things, I didn’t want someone to find a long exchange under the desk. If discovered, it was better to have less.

We’re already to the swallowing-paper-for-each-other commitment level? You may be moving a little fast for me. And yes, your lyrics could use some work. What are these other musical skills you mentioned? Maybe we can integrate them somehow.

That is some serious material for lyrics. It will make a great song. Capitalizing on your sad life is cool, right? But seriously, I’m sorry. I don’t know if I can help much, but feel free to vent. I’m a good listener. Especially in letters, because I have no other choice.

You want to hear about a sad life? My best friend brought a guy to my house, kind of like a setup, and he basically ran away screaming. That’s how crazy my family is. Has your family ever accomplished such a feat? I doubt it.

I wasn’t sure that making light of his situation was the way to go, but he seemed like the type who appreciated humor. And it felt good to get my frustration about the weekend off my chest. I couldn’t vent about it to Isabel because I knew she’d just tell me that it was fine and that nobody thought my family was crazy—even though I was sure they all did.

I folded the letter and carefully placed it back in its spot. Now I had to wait twenty-four hours for a response. This was so much less gratifying than texting.

No, that wasn’t true. There was something about the secrecy and the anticipation and the possibility of getting caught that made it much more exciting than texting.



The next day I was just as excited when I pulled his response from beneath the desk.

No, I can’t say that my family has ever sent anyone away screaming. That would require them actually being involved in my life in some way. My parents divorced seven years ago and my dad moved. He moved to get away from her and me. If my mom hadn’t mentioned where he moved a couple times, I wouldn’t even know. Also, he might be dating someone four years older than me. I only know this because my mom screamed it into the phone about a year ago. I think she got remarried to make my dad mad, because there is no way she likes the jerk of a guy she married. He is impossible to impress. Everything has to be better and more and perfect for him.

How’s that for venting? Remember, you asked for it. I don’t know if I buy your “good listening because it’s a letter” thing though. Technically you could just skip to the end of a letter and pretend you read it. Is that what you did? Here, I’ll give you some key words so that you can fake a response: five-state buffer zone, man cougar, loveless marriage. (Those sound like song lyrics. Look at that, I’m getting so much better. I’m back on for lyricist.) I was going to call him just a plain cougar, but they only use that term for women, right? That’s sexist. What do you call men in their fifties who date women who are practically teenagers?

I hid my smile so Lauren wouldn’t notice. My pen pal had this way of making even the saddest things funny somehow. I looked up at Mr. Ortega. I had to pay attention for five minutes before I could write back. It was my method of secrecy—listen, write, listen, write …

I think they’re called perverts. And I’m sorry. I wish I were more than a good listener who reads entire letters and not just the highlights. I wish I had awesome advice to give you about how trials make you stronger or build character or something like that, but I know that doesn’t help. So if you want advice, you’ll have to find some other desk defacer. Me, I’ll just wallow with you.

I’m impressed you’ve kept a sense of humor through all this. You haven’t let it make you a bitter, angry person. Or have you? Do you walk around punching lockers and kicking small animals? Or writing angry songs (for real)? That’s how this whole topic started, right? We’re going to use the injustices against you to make some awesome songs! Okay, so the first one can be called “Left Behind.” I’ll try to figure out how we can use the words man cougar in it.

I hoped he was okay with me trying to make his sad topics funny too. Because before I’d added the last sentence, I’d stared at that song title for a few minutes. “Left Behind.” The title that represented his father leaving him without looking back, and a pit formed in my stomach that I’d had to combat.

I folded the letter and secured it beneath the desk.





I hadn’t been serious about writing a song inspired by my pen pal’s life. It was supposed to be like the jokes I’d always made with Isabel about writing a book based on her dating situations. But that wasn’t what happened. What happened was that the title “Left Behind,” along with his words, brought so many images into my mind that I found myself that night, notebook on knees, writing.

First I’d filled in the margins with notes about what he’d said about his life. Then I’d let those words inspire lyrics.

I’ve turned waiting into a form of art.

Tied twisted lines around my broken heart.

Because I always thought you’d be back one day.

The door swung open and Ashley walked in and dropped onto her bed with a loud sigh.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I just completely and totally humiliated myself in front of the guy I have a crush on at work.”

“How?”

She showed me her teeth. “See that?”