Chapter 6
SIX
Sara
Later, as I’m walking home from school, I make the mistake of calling my dad as he’s heading home from the office.
But I’d rather not get a lecture from him at the dinner table tonight, so why not rip the bandage off with a phone call?
“Am I going to have to start restricting outings if you can’t focus on your grades?” he’s saying. “I can’t believe this!”
“Dad,” I whine. “I already told you—I got a tutor. Everything’s going to be okay!”
In between leaving Mr. Day’s classroom and starting this walk home, I decided I gave up on the romanticizing thing too soon.
Tammy was right. It was my first rejection!
So what? Am I going to let a silly boy’s opinion stop me from living my best life?
Who the heck cares about what some random thinks about me, anyway?
Clearly Subwayboy was not the right boy. He’s probably a terrible kisser, which means there’s someone better out there for me. Someone taller, cuter—wiser.
Besides, in all those classic rom-coms, the main character gets to know someone, starts falling for them, and then experiences a magical, out-of-body kiss that changes their life.
And that’s what I really want. I can’t just skip ahead to the kissing part!
I have to complete the knowing part—the love part.
It’s integral. This makes the kiss mean something.
“Please take tutoring seriously, Sara. Don’t get distracted now—it’s your senior year.” He sighs, and I hear the concern in his tone. He’s probably wondering why I’m not more like Vicky. Vicky’s great at math—and a great, wonderful human in general. “Are you on your way home?”
“Almost there,” I say, the worry already creeping back in. Am I too daydreamy? Ugh, he might be right. “See you soon.”
Once we hang up, it’s like a storm cloud looms over me. I can’t believe I have a tutor. Why can’t calculus click for me like it does for everyone else? This stinks. I freaking hate school—well, the hard parts, anyway—and now I have to do more school after school?
I could cry.
Actually—no. I don’t want to cry in public.
That isn’t a good way to romanticize. Besides, there’s a guy from school walking ahead of me, backpack slung over his shoulders.
The last thing I need is for him to see me bawling my eyes out, then tell the whole school that I’m some crying weirdo who’s bad at math.
I’ll save the waterworks for when I’m in my room, thank you very much.
It’s the least I can do to repair my dignity.
My gaze drops and—wait a second. Those shoes. The Sambas from yesterday. The hoodie tugged over his head!
It’s not him, is it? I mean, plenty of people have those shoes. Including me.
But then he turns his head just slightly, glancing to the right, and now I can see he’s on the phone.
“Yeah, I know—” he’s saying.
Oh no. It is him.
Subwayboy.
This cannot be happening to me.
So I do the first thing that pops into my bad-at-math brain: I veer aside and jump into an overgrown evergreen shrub.
Twigs snap and crack, and brush tangles in my hair as I duck out of sight. I crouch low as I peer through the leaves. Subwayboy pauses. Did he hear me? Please, please say no. I can’t handle this on top of everything else right now.
But no. He only glances around, then resumes walking.
What the ever-loving heck is he doing here?
I was never supposed to see him again! In fact, as Patrick, Vicky, and I sprinted onto the oncoming train and the doors closed, leaving him in the dust, I thought, Whew!
At least we didn’t continue this awkward encounter in the same car!
I even pressed my forehead against the window, watching him grow smaller and smaller as we took off, thinking, Goodbye, forever, Subwayboy with good taste in shoes!
Ha-ha-ha, do you hear that sarcastic laughter? Because my life is one gigantic joke. Subwayboy is here, in my neighborhood, and he’s—
No. You are kidding me.
He’s walking into my building.
Tell me I’m hallucinating. This isn’t real life. As I leap from my hidden position in the bush, dusting dirt and leaves from my uniform skirt, I get a better look. Yep. He’s definitely heading into my building.
I dart after him, because what is going on? Did he find out where I live? Is he coming to confront me in person? No, there’s no way—right?
The automatic doors slide open as I grow closer. That’s when I see he’s already entering the elevator.
No chance am I pressing the button and risking the elevator doors opening too soon, guaranteeing a face-to-face encounter.
(See? Maybe I am smart.) So instead I race to the stairwell and take the steps two at a time.
This building is enormous. There’s no way I’ll run into him again, but I can’t risk it.
All I have to do is get to my floor as fast as I can, dash to my door, unlock it, and hide inside forever and ever.
Seems reasonable enough.
Right as I’m pushing the stairwell door open, the elevator down the hall lets out an idyllic ding! My pulse trips. I hop back into the stairwell and tug the door partially closed, peeking through the crack.
Agh, no!
Subwayboy exits the elevator and starts down the hallway, using a key to unlock the door to apartment forty-one. Then he disappears inside, the door slamming behind him.
This is not ideal, seeing as the unit he just entered is right across from my apartment.
I slap my palm against forehead and inwardly cringe. Subwayboy lives directly across the hall.
Why me?