Chapter 20
TWENTY
Sara
“—and listen to your teacher!” Dad’s saying as I’m leaving for school the next morning.
“I always do. I’m a perfect angel,” I call over my shoulder.
When I joined him in the living room yesterday, he taught me a few chords to Queen’s “Crazy Little Thing Called Love.” Once I got the hang of it, he swayed his hips and waved his hands high in the air as if pretending he was front row at a concert.
He’s happiest when he’s listening to his favorite music and, as corny as he may be, I love that he’s my dad.
We never get the chance to bond anymore, not with his hectic work schedule and my after-school tutoring sessions, so I enjoyed his impromptu lesson.
Now that I’m older, he gets stumped on how to connect with me.
It’s not like he can propose a zoo day or schedule a playdate—I’m not six.
But I appreciate that he tries. Even when I’m in a bad mood, I know he makes a conscious effort to hang out with me, all because he cares.
Once he googled a plethora of K-pop stars and brought them up at dinner, asking me my opinions on each person.
It was really funny, and I ended up educating him for an entire hour.
After we jammed together last night, I went back to my room inspired.
That was when I decided to write an article about the local music events happening at our community center.
I found a list of concerts online and researched all the artists involved, then I pulled together an entertaining article, making sure all my sentences were clear, concise, and polished—though I did add my own Sara Lin flair.
That’s important, I’ve learned. Having a point of view in your writing and using creativity to make it your own.
You have to get the message across—the who, what, when, where, why—but you also don’t want to sound like a total snoozefest.
Anyway, I think I succeeded.
“Sara Lin?”
I yank my key from the lock and swivel around. There, right before my very eyes, is none other than Joe Yang.
My throat shrinks, its pathway as narrow as a straw. “Joe?”
I can’t help but gape as I look up at him. What is he doing here? How does he even know where I live? Oh my gosh—did he text Rose to find out? Maybe he came all this way to walk me to school. I try not to audibly swoon at this thought.
He grins that brilliant megawatt smile. “I can’t believe you live across from me.”
Uh—what? Across from him? Or does he mean diagonally across from him in the other apartments on the opposite side of my hall?
As I try to slot these puzzle pieces together, he just stares at me. Right. This is a conversation. I have to say something.
“Uh, yeah.” I release an awkward laugh. “So, uh—strange!”
“Hey, you wanna walk to school together?” He adjusts his backpack straps. “I’m just waiting for my little brother. He’ll be out in a sec.”
Aw, that’s so cute. I wonder if he goes to the elementary school a few blocks over, the one I went to before attending Eagle Gate. Of course Joe would walk him there—because he’s kind and noble and generous.
“You have a brother?” I say, then resist the urge to slap a palm to my forehead. He just said that.
Joe doesn’t seem to notice. “Yeah, his name’s Oliver.”
It’s suddenly thirty degrees hotter in the hallway. My face flares, skin reddening. Perspiration gathers on the back of my neck.
No, no, NO! How could this happen? Joe lives with Oliver. Oliver, his brother.
Subwayboy Oliver.
I spin on my heel and face my door so he can’t see me panicking. “Um, I forgot—something! I should—”
Too late. The door behind me creaks open.
“There he is,” Joe says cheerfully.
I turn around, the scene playing out in slow motion. Subwayboy pushes a sweep of golden hair away from his face, his eyes landing on mine as he pulls the door closed. Then, as understanding sinks in, his expression softens in surprise.
Joe loops an arm around his shoulders, tugging him in close.
“Sara, this is my younger brother, Oliver.” He introduces us. “Oliver, Sara goes to our school too. What a coincidence, right?”
They’re almost the same height, but they couldn’t appear more different. Joe’s flop of dark hair is like night to Oliver’s lighter strands. Joe’s bright smile, full sunshine compared to Oliver’s darkening grimace.
I’ve never seen Oliver look this caught off guard, but a second later, his walls are back up. He looks miffed as he takes Joe’s hand and tosses it from around him, stepping to the side and bolting to the elevator.
Well. Okay.
“Don’t mind him, he gets like that sometimes,” Joe tells me. “You ready?”
“Uh.” I swallow. What else am I going to do? “Sure.”
The elevator doors open right as we catch up to Oliver. The three of us step inside, and Joe reaches out to press the Lobby button. Oliver tightens his grip on his backpack straps while Joe stares happily at the elevator doors.
I can’t believe it. Joe lives right across the hall? This doesn’t happen in real life. Not to me, anyway. No, this is something straight from a rom-com.
But that’s what I wanted, right? A change!
A way to romanticize my life! I’d tried to do this last night when I wrote my article.
I pictured myself as a young Carrie Bradshaw, gazing out the window and pouring my heart and soul into this piece.
And now this! A love interest right across the way, us bumping into each other this morning.
Not only that, but I held an entire conversation with Joe. All by myself!
Eeep! Wait until I tell Patrick. He’s never going to believe me. Good thing I have those texts with Joe from last night as proof.
So what if he has a sourpuss brother who hates my guts? That’s irrelevant. What really matters is allowing this to work in my favor.
Oliver shifts, glaring down at me. How the heck are they even related? And why didn’t he inherit an eighth of the people skills Joe has? If he was friendly like his brother, maybe we’d get on better.
“Isn’t it wild I was texting you last night about Newspaper Club, and now we find out that we’re neighbors?” Joe beams at me. “The world is such a small place!”
I grin, because it’s easy to be in a good mood around him. He’s so positive.
“It really is.”
“I joined Newspaper Club at my old school,” he continues. “I was a features reporter.”
“Really? That’s so cool. Oh—” I reach inside my bag and retrieve my article. “Speaking of, I have my application piece for you.”
“Awesome.” Joe takes it from me and scans the headline. “Wow, looks great. I honestly can’t wait to read it.”
I flush. He’s easy to talk to. Why was I scared?
“I’ve been trying to convince Oliver to join.
” Joe elbows him as we lurch downward. This elevator is ancient, which means it’s slower than my grandmother driving through a school zone.
“Right, Oliver? But he keeps saying he’s too busy tutoring after school.
I’m going to keep trying, though, because I think he’s a pretty good writer. ”
Oliver only pops in his earbuds. “I can’t hear you.”
Joe chucks a thumb at him. “He can totally hear me. He’s just too humble to admit he excels at writing.”
Of course. I mean, is there anything Oliver isn’t good at? Aside from all human interactions? Maybe Joe could give him smile lessons in his downtime.
The elevator doors ding open. Oliver darts out like someone’s dropped the gnarliest stink bomb.
“He’s adjusting,” Joe says as we’re exiting our building.
Oliver’s made a conscious effort to stay at least twenty feet ahead of us.
“It’s been hard for him. I’m a pretty social guy, but he’s an introvert.
Always listening to music—actually, do you play guitar?
I thought I heard Queen coming from your place last night. ”
Another embarrassed flush takes over my cheeks, but Joe doesn’t seem annoyed. Whew. As it turns out, he’s curious. So that’s how I end up telling him about my dad, and how he fixed his record player and bought a guitar, and how all that inspired me to write my article.
Joe’s eyes light up as he listens, nodding enthusiastically and interjecting with things like “Queen is the best,” and “What kind of guitar?” And then he tells me they also live with their dad—Mr. Yang, I had no idea he had kids!
—although they’d lived with their mom before this, and how she’s been getting serious with a guy Oliver hates.
Joe doesn’t hate anyone, which is easy to believe, but he says this guy isn’t exactly friendly.
He also tells me about his sister, Meg, who ended up staying with their mom because it would have been awkward if they all left together.
I’m enraptured by these details, so immersed in his life I don’t even realize we’re approaching the school’s double doors.
My eyes must have transformed into two gigantic hearts that were trained on Joe this entire time, but whatever.
I talked to him! For twenty whole minutes, even!
And he’s nicer than I imagined. How can I not have a crush on him?
He holds the door open for me—and I swoon.
This is the best day of my life.