Cade was definitely not someone who would balance me out. He made me my most unbalanced self.
Why did I go into that classroom? I asked myself, furious, as I tore down the hall. Why hadn’t I found someone to make the delivery for me? I could never unknow this. I could never go back to getting anonymous, perfect letters again. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to go back in there and tell Cade that he wasn’t allowed to be two different people.
I found the nearest bathroom to get my emotions under control. I refused to cry. Cade Jennings didn’t get to have this much power over me.
I leaned back against the tile wall, letting its coolness seep through my shirt and chill me out. Across the room, on the opposite wall, was a full-length mirror. My hair was a wavy mess today, a little more unruly than normal. I wore a plain brown tee with a pair of skinny jeans and white high-tops with hand-drawn pictures on them. It was one of my more plain outfits. I took off the necklace I wore, one Ashley had made me ages ago, and looked at the charms—a butterfly, a cat, a flower, a music note. There was no rhyme or reason to the things she’d picked to put on the necklace. Just everything she’d thought was cute when she was ten. She made fun of me for wearing it now, but I loved it.
I squeezed the necklace in my fist, hoping to gain some sort of positive energy or something from it. But my sister was right, it was pointless.
I slid down the wall and hugged my knees to my chest. I hated Cade Jennings. Now more than ever.
Why does he always have to ruin everything?
I knew that thought made no sense. The fact that Cade Jennings wrote the letters should’ve made me realize he wasn’t the person I’d always thought he was. But I’d never understand how the person in the letters could be the same person who mocked those he considered beneath him, who’d mistreated me and my friend. He wasn’t. He wasn’t the same person.
Two girls came into the bathroom, laughing. They both stopped when they saw me. I stood, brushed off my jeans, and left.
In Chemistry I very slowly pulled his letter out from under the desk. I was shaking. For the first time ever, I dreaded reading it.
Humming on a Monday? Has that ever happened before in the history of Mondays? I’ll take the blame for that if you’ll take the blame for making me laugh in the middle of a Chemistry lecture.
Too bad there’s not a way for us to exchange letters during break. A week is a long time. I mean, your idea of airplanes carrying our messages was a good one, but I was referring to that new thing some kids do these days called texting. What do you think? Or am I just the guy who keeps you entertained during Chemistry? I’m totally fine with that title, by the way. Chemistry entertainer. No, that was bad. You’ll think of a better name for me I’m sure, being the word girl. Word girl? I think maybe you were right about banning me from writing lyrics.
The letter should’ve made me laugh but it only made me want to punch something. I refolded it exactly like he had and stuck it back under the desk. Cade didn’t know he was writing to me. So as far as he knew, the recipient of his notes wasn’t in school today. And I wouldn’t be in school for the rest of the year. I was not going to write back to Cade Jennings. Ever.
When class was over, I got up to leave. “Lily,” Mr. Ortega called. “I need to speak with you.”
My heart stopped. Had he figured out the letter-writing thing? Was I about to get in trouble for writing on the desktop and wasting my time in class? Was Cade about to be the bane of my existence again? If I could’ve I would’ve grabbed the letter I’d left tucked under the desk and made a run for it. I didn’t want Mr. Ortega reading it. As the class emptied out, I slowly walked to the front where Mr. Ortega sat behind a long table.
He cleared his throat. “I got a not-so-glowing report from the sub yesterday. I have to say, I’m very disappointed.”
“What?” I asked.
“He said not only were you and Lauren talking the entire class but that you gave someone a rude gesture, and then picked on another student after class.”
It took me too long to realize that the sub, because of our seating mix-up, thought I was Sasha. “Oh. We changed seats,” I said. “He thinks I was someone else.”
“He also said a young man came in at the end of class, pulling a prank. He was one of your friends, but you wouldn’t tell him who it was.”
“He is not one of my friends,” I said, my face flushing. I pictured the note stuck under the desk.
“Then who was it?”
Why wouldn’t I just tell him? I owed Cade nothing. Nothing at all.
“It’s not my place to say.”