that doesn’t mean Ethan’s an addict too.” I wonder what that must have been like for Ethan, watching one of his bandmates slowly kill himself. Whether he felt as helpless as I did when I watched my mom fight against an invisible army of spreading cancer cells.
“Xander was Ethan’s older brother.”
“What?” I ask, even though of course I heard him the first time. It’s just that I never put a name to what I recognized of myself in Ethan’s eyes—that look on his face when he stares out the window, the shell shock, the insomnia. Grief. “Ethan’s brother died? From a heroin overdose?”
I say it out loud, just so it seeps in and starts to make sense. Because a thought is forming in my mind, and if I’m right, it will change everything. I am a ninja, and I’ll be stealthy and slow and deliberate. Fight for what I want. But I am not a ninja, and I am confused and spinning. It’s starting to come together too fast, and my heart is barely beating, too slow, and I whip out my phone because I want to ask SN outright, not wait until our big meeting.
Three simple words: “Are you Ethan?”
Ethan, Ethan, Ethan.
The new mantra in my head, happily replacing whoreslutfatuglybitch.
Was the lie that simple? A sister substituted for a brother? And how could I have not even considered it? How blind I have been to everyone and everything around me.
Ethan, Ethan, Ethan.
I didn’t even dare to hope. I barely dare to hope now.
I put my phone away. Shake my head to redirect my thoughts. I’ve been wrong once. I shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Wait. See.
But. Ethan.
“Are you okay?” Theo asks me. “You look a little green.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Fine.”
SN: did you know that there isn’t a Waffle House in the entire state of California? we have to go to Arizona.
Me: Why do we have to do that?
SN: WAFFLES. your favorite word. my favorite food. kismet. thought it would have a certain amount of poetic charm for us to meet in one.
Me: Yeah, appreciate the sentiment, but not going to Arizona with you.
SN: fine. then let’s meet at IHOP. what are pancakes if not waffles in another form?
Me: Are you this weird in person?
SN: just you wait.
Me: I’ve been waiting. I have my theories about you, by the way. New theories.
Are you Ethan? Please. Be. Ethan. But I don’t say this. When I really think about it, we’ve grown so good at talking around things, never drilling straight to the point. I think about studying with Ethan, our chats at Starbucks, wondering if he’s dropped a single clue. No, nothing that I can think of, even with twenty-twenty hindsight.
I click back to some of Ethan’s old messages. Crap. He uses proper punctuation. Capitalizes the beginning of each sentence.
I lie on my bed, close my eyes. Send out a wish to the universe. Not to God, because if he exists, he’s ignored me too many times before.
SN: you do? hope I’m not a disappointment.
Me: Ha. Hope you’re not too.
SN: you’ve always said this arrangement is unfair—me knowing who you are but not vice versa—but when we meet, I don’t know. I think everything will suddenly flip.
Me: So when are we doing this flipping? And don’t you dare waffle.
SN: Tomorrow after school?
My heart sinks. I already have plans with Ethan tomorrow after school to work on “The Waste Land.” Is this some sort of trick? To see which version of him I’ll pick? No, maybe I have it all wrong. Maybe Ethan is not SN after all. The disappointment begins its slow bloom.
Me: Can’t. Have plans already for a school thing. Have to work Tuesday. Wednesday?
SN: you are a busy woman, but I know you’re worth the wait.
Me: I am. Are you?
Again, there it is. That weird flirty tone I used to use when we first started writing but have largely dropped since. The voice that isn’t mine, that creeps in only when I’m trying too hard. Have we lost it already, our comfortable rapport, because I’m too nervous to be normal around a guy I could actually care about? No. I rub my finger along the ninja that is now stuck to the back of my laptop. I will not be afraid. This is SN. This, whatever this is, whoever this is—Ethan-or-not-probably-not—is worth fighting for.
CHAPTER 32
“What?” Ethan asks after he hands me my latte and I haven’t offered to pay, like I practiced in my head. We are sitting on the