P.S. I Like You(7)

It was Friday night and we were at her house about to watch a scary movie. I had held in this announcement since I’d read about the contest the day before, turning it over in my mind. Now I’d said it out loud. That meant I’d have to follow through. I would follow through.

“You are?” Her voice held more than a little skepticism.

I threw myself back onto her queen-size bed and stared at the poster of Einstein pinned to her ceiling. I wondered, like I always did, how she could sleep with him staring down at her like that. I always had a hard time.

But I still loved sleeping over at Isabel’s. She was an only child, so her house was like an oasis of calm for me. We would eat dinner with her parents—tonight it was delicious homemade tamales with rice and beans—and then we’d come upstairs to hang out in her giant room, with its own pullout sofa, TV, and tiny refrigerator for stashing Diet Cokes and ice cream.

“You don’t think I can?” I asked her now, frowning.

“It’s not that, Lil. I’m sure your songs are great,” Isabel replied, pulling her pajamas out of her dresser drawer. “I’d be able to tell you for sure if you would actually share one with me—you know, your best friend in the whole world.”

I groaned. “I know. I’m sorry. I don’t have one finished yet.”

“That’s what you always say. How are you going to enter a contest when you won’t even share a song with me?”

I covered my face with my hands. “I don’t know.”

She sat next to me on the bed. “I’m sorry. I know you can do it, Lil. You just need to believe in yourself.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Don’t be a brat. I’m trying to help.”

I took my hands off my face and looked at her. “I know.”

“Tell me about the competition.”

I propped myself up on my elbows. “It’s through the Herberger Institute,” I began.

Isabel gasped, her dark eyes widening. “Oh wow. That’s really prestigious, Lil!”

I nodded and tugged on a split end of my hair, feeling nervous. “I know. Anyway, there’s a five-thousand-dollar prize, which would be so amazing, of course. But even better, the winner gets a three-week course with one of the professors.”

Isabel smiled. “That’s huge. Knowing a professor could help with admissions, right?”

I nodded. I was trying not to think too much about this fact. Not only would winning the contest get me some money to help pay for college, something my parents couldn’t afford to do, but it might help me get into the college music program that I’d been dreaming about for years.

“So share something with me. One song idea, at least?” Isabel pointed to my green-and-purple notebook that sat on top of my overnight bag on the floor.

I felt a wave of shyness and shrugged. “I have a couple ideas. I need to make them better. I do want to share, just not right now.”

She rolled her eyes then stood up to change into her pajamas. “Chicken.”

I threw one of my socks at her then collapsed back on her bed again, the ceiling poster taking over my view. She was right. I was a total chicken. “I think Einstein is judging me.”

“He probably is. Maybe he read your notebook.”

I laughed and went to get my own pajamas from my bag.

Isabel changed the subject so I didn’t have to. “One movie tonight or two?” That was code for “how long should we stay up?”

I smiled. “Two. We have all night.”



My phone buzzed against my thigh and I sat up on Isabel’s pullout couch, disoriented for a moment. The television hummed blue in front of me. Pale morning light shone through the cracks of the blinds. My phone stopped buzzing, then ten seconds later began again.

“Hello?” I answered groggily.

“Lily.” It was my dad. “Your brother’s last soccer game is today. I know you said you wanted to go to one. Just wanted to give you the opportunity.”

“What time is the game?”

“At eight. As in, thirty minutes from now.”

I yawned. Isabel and I hadn’t fallen asleep until after three a.m. But I tried to pull myself together. “Yes, I want to go.”

“Okay, I’ll pick you up on the way in twenty minutes.”

“Thanks.”

“Who was it?” Isabel moaned from her bed. She sat up, her normally perfectly spiraled black curls smashed flat against her head.

I tried to tame my own hair, which always became more crazy curls than soft waves in the mornings.

“My dad. Go back to sleep. I have to run.”

“What? Why? What about pancakes?”

“Next time. Thing Two has a soccer game I forgot about.”

“He always has a soccer game.”

“I haven’t been to one yet this year. I promised him I would.”

Isabel plopped back down on her pillow, her eyes already closed. “Okay. See you Monday.”





It took me four minutes to see it on Monday. I had unloaded my book, pencil, and single sheet of paper. Mr. Ortega had begun his lecture. My eyes went to the lyric I had written on the desk Friday. That’s when I saw a line beneath mine written in blocky handwriting.

For the night will soon bring back its shadows.