P.S. I Like You(68)

If I thought back over the past several weeks I could trace the days where lyrics came easy to me. Those were the days when some emotional height was reached. Days when the letter I found in Chemistry was funny or heartfelt or sad. Or the day when I discovered the letter writer was Cade. Those were the days the lyrics seemed to pour out of me in a wave of emotion.

Now, only days after kissing Cade for the first time, but with less than a week left to finish up a song for the contest, tension was definitely not an emotion that was helping at all. My sister wasn’t being helpful either. She was singing pop songs she loved at the top of her lungs while telling me I should try to make my song more like whatever song she was singing.

“Please. I beg of you. Can you be quiet?” I had bought a guitar from Craigslist with the money she gave me and was feeling very ungrateful that I now wanted to kick her out of the room. I’d already come up with what I thought was a good tune, and her singing was only throwing me off. All I had to do was finish the lyrics.

“I will do your laundry for a week if you give me an hour alone.”

“You’ll shrink my stuff on purpose so you can wear it,” Ashley said.

That wasn’t a bad idea. I stood up, pulled her up by her arms, which was harder than I thought it would be, and deposited her outside of the room. “One hour.”

She didn’t fight it as I heard her sing her way down the hall. I sank onto my bed and picked up the guitar again. The silence was supposed to bring me inspiration but my mind went blank. I picked up my phone and shot off a text:

I need inspiration.

Cade sent me back a selfie—him making a smoldering face—and I laughed.

Yeah. That didn’t work.

That’s all I have to work with, he replied. You’re out of luck. You writing a song?

Trying to. One week left.

You’ll figure it out. Don’t you have a whole notebook full of lyrics? Is there something you can use in there?

I stared at that notebook on my nightstand. My favorite song was the one I’d first written about him. “Left Behind.” I couldn’t use that. I had no right to assign emotions and words to his experience.

I’ll figure something out, I wrote back. Now leave me alone, I’m trying to write!

He sent me another model-face selfie and I laughed and tucked my phone away.



Cade came up behind me in the school parking lot Monday morning and picked me up in a hug. I let out a surprised yelp. He kissed my cheek and put me down. My cheeks were hot as he grabbed my hand and we continued walking.

“Did that embarrass you?” he asked.

“No. Just surprised me.”

He studied my face for a moment. “Are you not okay with being public about this?”

I had been more worried that he wouldn’t be. I was fine. “Of course I’m okay with this.”

“I’m not ruining your hipster vibe?”

I laughed. “My hipster vibe? I didn’t know I had one of those.”

“Oh, you do. You’re casually cool. Uniquely different. And I’m totally throwing that off.” He gestured to himself. His smile made it seem like a joke but I wondered if he really was worried.

I stopped, turned toward him, and kissed him in the middle of the crowded parking lot. “You’re my favorite mainstream boy in the world. Don’t forget it.”

This time he blushed a little. “Good. Because I am pretty great. I just wanted to make sure you appreciated that.” He winked at me, his confidence back.

I rolled my eyes and pulled him forward along with me. “Oh, I do.”

“Did you find your inspiration over the weekend?”

I growled.

“That good, huh?”

“I wrote and erased five lines.”

“When can I hear your songs?”

“When Blackout lets me write for them.”

He laughed. “I have an idea for inspiration. How about you actually come to the rally today?”

“The school rally? The one they do in the gym with screaming people and chanting and school spirit? And … wait, how do you know I don’t go to rallies?”

“I notice you, Lily Abbott.”

I smiled. “I’m still not going to the rally.”

“Just today. They’re doing some big thing for the football team and then introducing the post–winter break sports. That’s me. You want to be supportive and stuff, right? And I actually expect you to come to some of my baseball games in the spring.”

“I’m super supportive. I’m going to be there. At the rally and at your games. You watch me. I will be the best girlfriend ever.” I said the word before I realized I said it then quickly backtracked. “I mean, not necessarily girlfriend. Dating person. The person you go out with … and kiss … and, I’m sorry I’m still weird.”

“You are adorable. And I didn’t think I needed to ask. I thought it was assumed. But I’ll ask.” Then he did the most embarrassing thing in the world. He threw his hands in the air as we were approaching the commons and screamed, “Lily, will you be my girlfriend?”

“Not after that I won’t,” I said.

“Really?”

“Of course I will. Now put your hands down and stop being so … ”