Chapter 11
ELEVEN
Sara
My eyes are heavy at breakfast the next morning, a general tiredness hanging in my bones. How is it only Tuesday? The week just started and it already feels never-ending.
I’m taking a bite of toast when Dad peers over his coffee, studying me.
A crinkle of dissatisfaction deepens across his forehead.
He was at the office late last night—which isn’t shocking, considering he often works long hours.
I’m never sure how he manages to summon enough energy in the mornings after crunching numbers for so long.
It’s a shame I didn’t inherit his mathematics capabilities. If I had, I wouldn’t have to go to calculus tutoring with Subwayboy.
“When did you go to bed last night?”
“Huh?” I take a bite, toast crumbles falling on my skirt. I brush them away. “Sure.”
He uses his thumb and forefinger to pinch his forehead, like I’m giving him a headache. “That’s not what I asked. Were you out late with that boy Patrick again?”
My eyes jump to his. I set down my toast. “Hm?”
“You know I don’t like you hanging out with him so much.”
“Daaad,” I groan. Ugh, he’s so overprotective sometimes. “It’s fine. We were just eating dinner.”
“What happened to all those girlfriends you used to have at school?” He sets his coffee on the table. “Jane, Tammy—oh! Bon Bon?”
I snort. “Who the heck’s Bon Bon?”
“You know, the little magician girl!”
“Who, Lulu?” For the record, Lulu’s into tarot and palm readings, not amateur magic tricks. “Dad, that wasn’t even close!”
“Well, whatever.” He scoops some eggs onto his fork. “I think you can do so much better than Patrick as a boyfriend. I’m just saying.”
“Dad?! What the heck, I’m not dating Patrick.” I resist the urge to smack my forehead. How many times have I told him this? “Besides, I already know he’s not interested, okay?”
“How do you know that?”
I drop my gaze to my plate. “He said so himself.”
I remember his exact words. Um, how do I say this? Sorry, Sara. I don’t feel the same.
That happened a year ago, toward the end of junior year.
The embarrassment could’ve eaten me alive, but Patrick didn’t let it.
Instead, we pretended I’d never brought it up and, in hindsight, I’m grateful.
The last thing I wanted was to lose his friendship, and he made sure there wasn’t any lingering weirdness between us.
We carried on like normal—him with his teasing and me with volleying smart retorts in his face—and nothing between us changed.
Sure, Patrick can act like a troll sometimes, and maybe he jokes around too much for some people’s liking, but I appreciate his humor. It’s how we first became friends.
I know, maybe we seem like an unlikely pairing, but during our very first Eagle Gate assembly, Lulu—not Bon Bon—and I sat together.
We’d been close friends in middle school, so it was nice to have familiar company.
I remember looking around and thinking half the girls looked like they were already in college, but Lulu reminded me that they were seniors, and we’d look like that, too, when we were older.
I thought about that, and I couldn’t picture it—this seemed light-years away—and as I was trying to imagine myself taller with glossier hair, a crumpled ball of paper hit me square in the forehead.
A few seats over, a brunet boy with a cropped haircut snickered. This was Patrick, of course.
“Read it,” he whisper-hissed as the guy next to him elbowed him and said, “Hey!”
Lulu rolled her eyes. “Don’t read it.”
But I’d snatched the paper from the floor and uncrumpled it because I was curious. In heavy black ink it said Do you want to be my girlfriend?
My face flamed, my skin growing warmer by the second. I didn’t even know this guy and he was asking me out? It didn’t make any sense. Maybe he thought I was cute? Nobody had ever thought I was cute before, so for someone to single me out made me feel kinda special.
“No, that’s not for you,” the guy next to him said. “Pass it down!”
Oh. Right. Why would I assume it was for me? So I did what he asked, which made Patrick the Instigator laugh harder. So glad he found my humiliation hilarious.
He made sure to really let the joke sink in when he found me after school that day.
Lulu had ditched me for the artsy crowd.
They were all gathered in a huddle near the exit, and I was too intimidated to introduce myself, so I started down the sidewalk without her, accepting I’d have to walk home alone.
“Hey, you!”
I turned to see Assembly Boy striding confidently onto the sidewalk behind me, a wicked grin on his face.
“Watch out for stalker boys asking you out on your way home!” he hollered, laughing.
For the second time that day, my face flushed. But I wasn’t about to let him have the last word, so I placed my hands on my hips and yelled, “You mean, you? You freak.”
This only made him laugh harder. What a weirdo. What was his deal, anyway? Did I have a sign on my back that said Make me the butt of your joke, please! I’m begging!
“Hey,” I went on. “What’s your name, anyway?”
He cupped his ear. “What?”
He hadn’t bother to come closer, so I wrapped my hands around my mouth and shouted, “You have a name? Or should I call you Gigglebox?”
“Oh, it’s Patrick!” he offered, waving.
I wasn’t amused.
“Well, shut up, Patrick!” I tossed back, then whirled on my heel and headed home. I heard him laughing as I rounded the corner.
But then he started sitting across from me at lunch.
He wouldn’t even say hi—just plop his lunch tray down and start rambling about science homework or the weather or the best place to eat hot pot like we’d already been in the middle of a conversation.
That’s how I discovered he liked karaoke and soccer and stand-up comedy.
I also learned he had a younger sister named Pearl, who went to the middle school that was my former school’s biggest rival.
Patrick had gone there, too, which is why I hadn’t met him before.
After a few weeks, my guard lowered. Our friendship blossomed.
I started looking forward to him joining me for lunch and for our walk home after school.
Since he lived two streets down from me, we began making the journey together.
One of us would always wait for the other to emerge from the building, and then we’d set off.
Soon enough, we were inseparable. I helped him with his English essays, tweaking his vocabulary and syntax, and he helped walk me through balancing chemical equations.
We did everything together—school projects and marathoning our favorite shows and wandering around town when we were bored.
Maybe I’d started liking him as more than a friend because we’d grown so close over the years.
I’d been pretty heartbroken when he’d turned me down, but at least that hadn’t affected our friendship.
“Well, good,” Dad says, wiping his moustache with his napkin. “Don’t need boys distracting you this year.”
I shovel the rest of my toast into my mouth to avoid answering. Note to self: Do not bring up New Boy Joe around Dad. Ever.
“Okay.” I spring to my feet. “I’m leaving for school.”
“Tell Bon Bon I say hi.”
I clear my plate at the sink and turn back to the table. “Oh my god, Dad. You’re ridiculous.”
I grab my bag and head for the door, swinging it open just as Subwayboy emerges from his apartment. I gasp and slam the door so fast you’d think I was preventing a swarm of hornets from invading our home.
Dad swivels around. “Forget something?”
“Um—no, I—” I panic. “I forgot to tell you to have a good day!”
“Oh, okay.” He levels his gaze. “Have a good day. Don’t forget to focus in calculus.”
“Yep.” I wonder if enough time has passed. Is he still out there? “Absolutely.”
I don’t move.
Dad raises his brows. “Are you sure everything’s—?”
Faintly, I hear the elevator doors close.
My hand flies to the doorknob. “Everything’s dandy!” I chirp, even though this is the furthest thing from the truth. Oh no, is this going to become my new routine? Waiting until the coast is clear? “Just super! Love you. Bye!”