So Much Closer (2 page)

Then Scott goes over to the drinks table.

Alone.

This is my chance. I’m almost too nervous to take it. The thing is, it might be the only chance I get all day, and if I don’t take it I might not see him until next year. So I force myself to go over to him.

He’s rummaging through a cooler.

“Seen any Mountain Dew?” he says.

I turn around to see who he’s talking to.

We’re the only ones here.

Scott Abrams is talking to me.

“Um.” I scan the soda cans. “No. Sorry.”

He grabs a ginger ale.

Whenever I’m near Scott, he has this extreme power over me. He doesn’t even have to be within visual range for me to get all flushed. Just knowing he’s in the same building reduces me to a jangle of nerves. Being this close to him makes every cell in my body twang with anticipation.

He’s holding the cooler lid open. “Did you want one?”

“Oh! Yeah, right. Sorry.”

Note to self: stop apologizing.

“This is pretty lame,” Scott says. Which means he’s talking to me some more.

“Totally.” I’m the one who’s lame. For some stupid reason I will never figure out, I’m still staring into the cooler trying to decide which drink I want. Which is apparently impossible to do while the boy I’m in love with is watching me.

Focus. Should I just come right out and tell him? Or should I ask if he can talk later?

“You do origami, right?” Scott says.

Wait. How can he possibly know that? I’ve been folding paper for years. My origami fascination started in seventh grade when Mrs. Cadwallader taught us how to make paper cups. I went on to master the penguin, the dinosaur, and the elephant. I’m currently working on a family of octopi.

“Yeah.” I select a ginger ale. Scott closes the cooler. “How do you know that?”

“I’ve noticed you,” he says.

“You have?”

“Didn’t you do those ornaments for Ms. Litchfield last year?”

“Yeah.”

“Those were awesome.”

“Thanks.”

I
cannot
believe he remembers that. And what did he mean by “I’ve noticed you”? I’ve noticed how ordinary you are? Or I’ve noticed you because I’m in love with you, too?

With all the possible things I could talk to Scott Abrams about and all the backup scenarios I’d planned in case an opportunity like this ever came up, I can’t think of one single thing that would keep him interested in this conversation.

It’s time to take a chance.

“Scott, I—”

“Yo, Abrams, pass me a Dew!” Chad yells.

“All out!” Scott yells back.

“Pass me a Sprite!”

Scott throws him one. Of course the throw is perfect. And of course Chad snatches the can out of the air like it’s the easiest thing. These boys aren’t standard jock types, but they have this sporty/preppy physical language I will never be fluent in. I don’t suck at sports, though. I’m flexible and I can run pretty fast. I even went running with my dad a few times, and that was back when I was a lot younger. Some of my mom’s friends describe me as “wiry.” I’m just not team-sports material. You have to trust people to be part of a team.

“Yeah?” Scott goes.

“What?”

“You were saying ... ?”

“Oh no, just ...” What was I thinking? I can’t tell him here. Someone could come over any second. But it’s not like I can ask Scott if he wants to go for a walk or something. That would be weird. This is the first conversation we’ve ever had. If you could even call it that.

“Nothing,” I conclude.

He looks at me. He says, “Too bad we never talked before.”

“We always have next year.”

“No we don’t. Well,
you
do. I’m moving.”

Stop.

Scott Abrams is moving?

Heart.

In.

Pieces.

“You’re ...
moving
?”

“To New York. I hate that I won’t be here next year, but my dad’s job relocated him.”

“When?”

“About three months ago they told him—”

“No, when are you moving?”

“Next week.”

A bunch of kids race by, spraying Super Soakers at each other. My shirt is immediately drenched.

“Bummer,” Scott says, looking at my shirt.

All I can say back is, “You have no idea.”

Dad went above
and beyond.

“I can’t believe it.” I gawk at the room. “This is unreal.”

“So you like it?” Dad asks.

“Are you kidding? I
love
it.” Dad was somehow able to get this room set up for me in a week. Apparently, it was his home office before. Now it’s my new room.

In New York City.

The only thing I could think about all summer was Scott moving away. How he’d never know what he means to me. How he’d never realize that we belong together.

How I’d never find out if he feels the same way.

I keep replaying the things he said at the picnic.
I’ve noticed you. Too bad we never talked before.
A person doesn’t say things like that if they’re not at least a little bit interested in you. And the way he kept looking at me, like he was trying to tell me something. Something I’d want to hear.

I see the potential of us. I see what we could be together. If only I had one more chance.

When my dad left, he bought a two-bedroom apartment in Greenwich Village. I’d never been there, but I’d heard the neighborhood was amazing. It sounded like the kind of place I belong. Even though the New York City skyline was close to my South Jersey town, it still felt so far away. Living in New York had been my dream for a really long time. I always hoped that I’d get to live there eventually, when my real life started. This was a chance for my real life to start way sooner.

It mattered to me so much that I called my dad.

That was a big deal. I hadn’t talked to him since he left. Naturally, he was surprised to hear from me. He tried to keep me in his life when he left, but I didn’t want any part of it. I didn’t return his calls or visit him when he invited me. After a while, he gave up.

Which is why he couldn’t believe I was calling.

“I’m so glad you called,” Dad said. “I’ve missed you.”

“Well ... I know it was a long time ago, but you know how you told Mom I could stay with you?”

“Yep.”

“Is the offer still good?”

“Anytime.”

Of course I didn’t tell him about Scott. Just how I needed a change and how a better school would motivate me academically.

“I really want to transfer schools,” I told him. “I’ve already looked into West Village Community online.”

“It’s one of the best schools in the city.”

“I know.”

“I’d love having you here,” Dad said, all excited.

When forces beyond your control take over, they make you do stupid things. Or crazy things, like the way love was making me twist my whole life around. It felt amazing to even be thinking about moving. I also felt bad, though. I was lying about the whole school thing. Like I care where I go. But it was the only way to convince Dad that I had a valid reason for moving.

And it was the only way to convince Mom to let me go.

“What’s this about?” Mom said, flopping down on the couch. I remembered when Dad used to flop on that same couch, exhausted from his long day at work and hectic commute home. It’s still so weird to be in the same house with the same stuff, without Dad.

I had too much nervous energy to sit. I stayed near the coffee table, swaying a little.

I couldn’t remember the last time I talked to Mom without feeling all tense. Ever since Dad left, it’s like we can’t even watch TV together without Tension cramming in between us like an unwanted guest who says they’ll only be staying for a little while and then never leaves.

“If you don’t feel like talking ...” I said. Not that she ever felt like talking anymore. But I should have known better than to try talking to her when she got home from work. She hates her job. Personally, I don’t think there’s any job she would like. Mom didn’t work when Dad was here. She was a much happier person. Then he left and she turned all bitter and miserable.

“Now’s fine,” she said.

“Because we could talk later.”

“Brooke.” Mom rubbed her temple. “What is it?”

The grandfather clock in the corner ticked. The ticks sounded louder than usual.

“Okay, there’s this thing I want to do and I’ve already planned it out so you don’t even have to do anything. All I need from you is permission.”

“For what?”

There are two topics that infuriate Mom: school and my dad. I avoid these topics as much as possible. But if I wanted to make this happen, I had to bring up both of them.

“It’s nothing bad. I um ... I want to live with Dad for a while, is all. Just for senior year.”

Mom barked out a laugh. “Why would you want to do that after everything he did to us?”

“Basically? I’m not challenged enough at school. And you’re always saying how I need to apply myself more and how I’m not working to my full potential and everything. But I can’t work harder unless I’m motivated. My school sucks. The school in Dad’s neighborhood is excellent.”

“How do you know?”

“I researched it. There’s a lot of money in that area. More money means better schools.”

“Is that really why you want to live with him? To go to a better school?”

“Yes.” I was totally lying again, but I didn’t care. There’s no way she’d let me move to the city and live with Dad just to follow some boy. “I have to show colleges I’m serious about improving my grades. Plus, I can write about my transfer for application essays.”

Mom was skeptical.

“He said I could live with him if I wanted to—”

“I
know
. What he
said
.”

“So ... can I?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Is living with me so bad that you have to go running off to that manipulative bastard?”

Didn’t Mom realize that anger was destroying her life? The Mom I used to know was so different. She used to plant flowers in the front yard every spring and play cards with the neighbors and volunteer at the senior center. She would even surprise me after school sometimes with fresh-baked peanut butter cookies. Those were always my favorite afternoons, sitting in the kitchen doing my homework at the table while she started dinner. It felt really safe, like nothing would ever have to change.

I was so naive back then.

Over the last few years, Mom gradually stopped doing those things. Sometimes I don’t even recognize her.

My leg banged against the coffee table, as if suddenly my brain couldn’t control it anymore. The remote control jumped. I wished it had a button for RESET CONVERSATION.

“He’s not—”

“You only have one more year left. Then you can go anywhere for college.”

“Well, I can’t exactly get in
anywhere
, but—”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

So
irritating. It’s always about her.

“This isn’t about you, Mom. It’s about me.”

“Well, you can forget it,” she retaliated.

“I don’t think so.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not trying to be confrontational. You always think that, but I don’t want to fight with you. I just want to go to a better school.”

“It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind,” she said. “It’s not like I can force you to stay. So if that’s what you want, fine. Let him deal with raising his daughter for a change.”

“I just want to do what’s best for my future,” I said quietly.

“I don’t like this.”

“You don’t have to.”

So now I’m here. Staying with my dad. Going to a new school that starts in two days. All so I can be closer to Scott Abrams.