P.S. I Like You - Kasie West Page 0,15

real song, one I’ll read to you when I’m done.”

“I’d like that.”

“This is going to be a fun tradition.”

She laughed. “It is. I feel our friendship getting cuter already.”

I may have started the morning tradition with Isabel because I felt guilty about how excited I was to read this letter. The letter that I had retrieved from beneath my desk in Chemistry and was now unfolded on top of my desk.

Track 8 on Blackout’s Blue album? I haven’t listened to that one yet. I only have their first album. And even though it goes against my reverse psychology theory of how I handle life, if you think it’s good, I’ll try it out. Any other bands I should add to my “shutting out the world” playlist? I could use some of that to deal with my life right now. Does that make me sound pathetic? I’m not, most of the time. I’m actually a pretty fun guy when not at home.

Guy? I blinked. My pen pal was a he? My eyes went back to the notes written on the desk—to the line that had made me think he was a girl. It was still there. His claim that he had dibs on wanting to be Lyssa when he grew up. So it had been a joke? He liked to joke.

He was a guy. A guy who liked the same music as me and was bored in Chemistry and had a sense of humor. We were soul mates. I smiled a little, then shook my head. The guy was bored and was writing me letters to pass time. He wasn’t asking me out or anything.

I realized my brain had stopped mid-letter. I read the rest.

So what should we chat about that’s not so depressing? I’m open to suggestions. Perhaps one of the following topics: Death, cancer, global warming (or is it climate change now?), animal cruelty …

I turned over the page, but that was the end. We’d filled up an entire page with our back and forth communication. Which meant I got to keep this page. I folded it nicely and stuck it in my bag.

I stared at the new, clean sheet in front of me, and then wrote:

How about we discuss the fact that you’re a guy. Let’s get married and have cute Indie Rock babies.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing and dropped that sheet of paper in my backpack by my feet. I wasn’t even going to mention the fact that he was a he. I was going to pretend I knew all along. Because it changed nothing.

I finally got a chance in the chaos that is my house to listen to The Crooked Brookes. Brilliant. Track 4. I must’ve listened to that one five times in a row. I wasn’t sure I could trust your taste in music before, but you have now proven yourself. I will listen to anything you suggest. I’ll include a list of my favorites at the bottom of this page. Do you play any instruments? I’m a self-taught not-very-good-but-thinks-she-is guitarist. Okay, you’ve convinced me, we can start a band together. Unless you play the guitar, too. Sorry, but I won’t fight you for solo time.

I re-read what I wrote three times. It was me, but I wasn’t sure I should be me. I didn’t have the best track record with guys. But at least on paper he could read it in a smooth, confident voice, not in the way I would’ve delivered it in person: awkwardly.

It didn’t matter. Why was I suddenly worried about how he would perceive me? I wished I hadn’t found out he was a guy. This had been fun until I learned that piece of information. I had actually been looking forward to Chemistry for the last week. Something that had never happened before. And I would continue to look forward to it. We still had anonymity on our side.

I opened another drawer of my dresser and flung several shirts onto my bed.

Where is it? I wondered in frustration.

I was the organized one in this room. I didn’t misplace my favorite shirt. Especially when I saved it specifically for nights like tonight—nights where I’d be hanging out with Isabel, her boyfriend, and a bunch of his friends I didn’t know.

I pulled the dirty laundry basket out of my closet and dumped it on the floor, then sifted through the pile of clothes. When I came up empty, I let out a growl. That’s when