So Much Closer (22 page)

My phone rings. I’m not surprised at all when the screen tells me that Dad’s calling. I let it go to voice mail. He left a bunch of messages last night while I was at John’s. He was obviously worried for a change, so I texted him that I was okay and was sleeping over at a friend’s. I’m still not ready to talk to him.

I open my notebook to the section with all of my research. There’s tons of information I found online about urban planning, running on adrenaline from my night at NYU. And after the college advisor helped me, I had a much better idea of where to find answers.

“So to be an urban planner,” I start, “I’ll need a master’s degree.”

“What does your bachelor’s have to be in?”

“It can be in a few different areas, but I like environmental studies the best. Then I can focus on how green building design helps improve people’s emotional and physical health.”

Sadie lurches off her chair, checking for something outside.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She sits back down. “I was just checking to make sure the rest of reality was still out there.”

“Why, because I’m talking about college? So is everyone else.”

“No, everyone else was talking about college when apps were due. Remember? Back when you haphazardly applied to random colleges just because they’re here?”

“Well excuse me for not wanting to leave New York. It took me forever to get here. Leaving would be stupid.”

“I’m not saying you should leave. There has to be a program here that fits what you want. Have you researched which colleges have rolling admissions? Or later deadlines?”

Flipping the page triumphantly, I pass the notebook over to Sadie. “Done and done.” I wish I had better choices, but the important thing is that I start using education as a way to get where I want to go.

She takes a look at my list. “Nice. You have to hurry, though.”

“I know, I’m sending in my apps this week. And they all have majors that work, so ...”

Sadie beams at me. “How proud am I?”

“Stop.”

“No, I’m serious. This is ... John always says how you could be doing so much more with your life, and I have to agree. It’s like you finally get it.”

Espresso Boy is sneaking looks at me. I take a flyer for guitar lessons that someone left on the table and start folding a butterfly.

“I don’t think you need my help,” Sadie says. “It looks like you already have everything planned out.”

“No, I need you for something.”

“What?”

“To tell me I can do this. Am I too late?”

“Absolutely not. It’s never too late to turn your life around.”

I really hope she’s right.

Before Sadie leaves, I slide a note into her bag. I wrote her a warm fuzzy after I woke up at John’s this morning, overcome by a sense of urgency. I need the people who support me to know how much they mean to me. I wish Sadie didn’t have to go, but she has to get ready for this meet-and-greet thing tonight. One of the colleges she applied to is having an open house. Their philosophy seems to be that if they offer up snacks, people will be more likely to go there if they get in.

Sadie’s always so busy. If she’s not killing herself over school, she’s tutoring or doing random-acts-of-kindness outreach or reading to kids at the hospital or a zillion other things. I don’t know how she does it all. Just thinking about her packed schedule makes me exhausted. At the same time, it makes me want to do more. There are so many possibilities waiting to be discovered. Any of them could shape my future.

After my origami butterfly is done, I prop it up against the windowsill. I love finding creative energy in unexpected places. Like these little stick figures that are painted on some street corners in my neighborhood. I’ve seen a few of them in different colors. Even though I have no idea what they represent, to someone else they mean something and that’s awesome. I wonder what the next person who sits here will think of my butterfly. Will they even notice it’s there? Will they pick it up, wonder who made it and why it was left behind? If the right person finds it, it might count as a random act of kindness.

When I leave, Espresso Boy doesn’t even look up from his book. It’s not until I’m halfway down the block that he comes running after me.

“Wait up,” he says. “I’m ... I was in Joe.”

“I know.”

We stop walking. Then we’re just standing there, looking at each other.

“Did you get my note?” he asks.

“Yeah. It was really nice of you. Sorry I didn’t call.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Honestly?”

“Go for it.”

“I was interested in someone else. And I knew you wouldn’t want to hear that.”

He nods slowly, looking miserable. “It would have been nice to at least know what was going on with you. It took me forever to write that note, which I know sounds crazy since it was so short, but it took me a long time to get those few words right.”

I try to think of what I should say. But I don’t really know what that is.

“Even after I wrote it, I wasn’t sure I’d have the courage to give it to you. Every day you didn’t call was like this growing disappointment. I had to know if there was a chance for me, which is why you now have a crazy guy following you down the street.”

How wild is this? I was so wrapped up in my own drama that I was completely oblivious someone else was having drama about me. I never thought I could be a major issue in someone else’s life that way. Which is strange because look at the whole Scott thing. He was completely oblivious to how much he meant to me. It’s unbelievable how you can affect someone else so deeply and never know.

I had no idea how much courage it took Espresso Boy to give me that note.

“You must think I’m deranged,” he says.

“No I don’t. It’s just that I can’t get into another relationship right now. My boyfriend and I broke up three days ago.”

“Oh. Sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered you. Timing is everything, huh?”

When Espresso Boy goes back inside, I watch him sitting down at his table through the window. And that’s when I realize that I don’t know his name. He wrote it on his note, but I forget what it is. I didn’t even ask.

I make a resolution to never let something like this happen again. Even if I’m not interested in someone who likes me, the least I can do is ask what their name is. I want deeper connections with the people around me. I need to reach out more. Because not everyone leaves. Sometimes if you reach out, the person you’re trying to reach will be right there waiting.

Regret is a nasty thing. I hate that I wasted all those years rebelling against a system I could have used to my advantage. If my grades were what they should have been, I wouldn’t be worrying over colleges right now. I’d be able to kick back and enjoy the ride. Instead, I’m scared that I might not get in anywhere. I know what the college advisor said about my SAT score, but I doubt they’re going to care that my grades improved last marking period or that I’m a peer tutor. Acceptance committees look at all four years of high school, especially junior year. Of course that’s when I was the angriest. I can’t believe I was so stupid. All of my rebellion did absolutely nothing for me or anyone else. I hardly remember how I thought I could change things. Having a tangible goal I feel passionate about makes all the difference.

So, yeah. It’s time for an overhaul of priorities. Working toward my future career. Using my talents to help people. Creating a life that means something. The Knowing tells me that these things are possible.

I take out my wish box. Sifting through the notes I’ve written, I can’t believe how many of them have to do with Scott. What about what I wanted, just for me? Didn’t I want anything unrelated to some boy?

Apparently not. I take out every single note I’ve ever written about Scott. Then I rip each one into tiny pieces.

Tonight is all about making new wishes. On my way home, I went to Kate’s Paperie and got this gorgeous stationery. It’s a pack of handmade papers in all different patterns. Each paper has something unique about it, like cool patterns or pressed flowers or frayed edges. It’s exactly the kind of special paper I want to use for my renovated wish box.

I also bought a pack of Gelly Roll Lightning pens. I uncap the green one and start writing about my future. I write about how I want next year to be. I write about how I want the rest of this year to be, starting now. About the kind of boy I want to be with. Although I don’t think I’ll want to be with anyone for a really long time. Being with a boy isn’t the most important thing, anyway. The most important thing is that I’m figuring out who I am. When I can accept who I am instead of fighting it, then I’ll be ready for a real relationship.

After I carefully arrange all of the new notes in my wish box, I examine the box itself. Decorating the outside of your wish box is crucial. Most of the images I taped on are of Scott and New York. I keep the New York ones on, peeling off the pictures of Scott. I rip those up and throw them away. Then I go online to look for images of green spaces, the High Line, city lights, skylines, rooftops, water towers ... all of the things that speak to me. My heart keeps hurting as I do all this, but the distraction makes it hurt a little less.

When the phone rings, I check the time. I’m shocked that I’ve been working on my wish box for over three hours.

“Hello?”

“I found him,” Sadie says.

“Who?”

“Who do you think? Carlos!”

“Where?”

“You know that meet-and-greet I went to?”

“Yeah.”

“He was there.”

“Dude!”

“I know. Too bad I was a complete dumbass about it.”

“Doubtful. He’s probably in love with you already.”

“Not after what I did. I saw him standing by the refreshment table and ... okay, at first I couldn’t believe it was really him. So I went up to him and I was like, ‘Carlos?’ And he goes, ‘How do I know you?’ So I said that I sometimes go into Rite Aid and he was like, ‘I knew I knew you.’ Then I asked—I could
not
be more mortified—I asked if he was working at the meet-and-greet. I thought he was with the caterer or something.”

“Oooh.”

“He was like, ‘Uh, no. I applied here.’ Can you believe it? We might actually be going to the same college! Not like it matters. Could I have
been
more insulting?”

“You didn’t know. I’m sure it was nothing.”

“Oh, it was something. I spent the whole time apologizing for my dumbass ways. I was such a freak about it that he didn’t even ask for my number.”

“Blerg.”

“Good thing I asked for his. And he gave it to me!”

“Sweet! See, I told you he didn’t care. When are you calling him?”

“How long should I wait?”

“No games. You should call him when you want to call him.”

“Oh, so, like, every second?”

“Where’s your boy confidence?”

“Just because I whipped up a speck of boy confidence to ask for his number doesn’t mean it came with the manual. These things are tricky. If I call him right away, that might be a turnoff. But if I wait too long, he could be going out with someone else. So what’s the perfect amount of waiting time?”

“You’re asking the wrong person.” Clearly, I know nothing about boys. I’m the last person anyone should be asking for boy advice.

But life advice? For the first time ever, I think I might have some to offer.

Sunday nights always
come with a sinking feeling of impending doom. That’s why Mondays intrinsically suck. Everyone’s drained and cranky, just waiting for it to be Friday again. As if Mondays weren’t bad enough, of course we’re working in pairs today in the Box. It’s a shame that what used to be the best class is now the worst. All it took was one person to ruin everything. Because of Scott, every part of school sucks worse than it did before. Which makes it really hard to keep up my new academically motivated attitude.

It’s absurd how I would have given anything to be with Scott before and now I hate that I’m stuck with him. Meanwhile, Scott seems fine.

Underneath all of the effort I’m making to turn my life around, I’m a mess. It’s only been six days since we broke up. I’ve tried to fill the void with new priorities, new plans, new goals. And I’m actually excited about my future. But my heart still hurts. It’s like this constant ache that dulls everything else. I can’t imagine feeling normal again.

“So ...” Scott looks over the project sheet we’re supposed to be working on. “What do you think?”

Here’s what I think:

“I think you’re going back to Leslie,” I say.

I don’t know where that came from. I’ve been worrying that part of the reason Scott broke up with me is so he could get back together with Leslie. It would make sense. Leslie is fun. I’m serious. Leslie is simple. I come with baggage. Leslie isn’t as stressed about where things are going. She’s just happy to be going anywhere at all.