No you aren’t, I think, but don’t bother responding yet. I’m too tired to come up with a witty way to say not happening. Tonight was fun, but I need to follow these paper hearts on my own. Isn’t that the point?
As I’m scanning the list of potential admirers over again, I hear a knock on my door.
“Come in,” I say, putting my notebook on the nightstand next to my phone.
The door cracks open and my dad peeks his head in. Lately, his hair has been getting grayer, but according to him that just means he’s getting wiser.
“I just came in to say good night,” he says. His eyes are slightly shut, like he’s really tired. He must have waited to go to bed until we got home safe.
I give him a small smile. “You didn’t have to stay up,” I say, but he brushes his hand to the side like it’s no big deal.
“Did you have fun tonight with Ashley?”
“Yeah,” I say. Lying by omission was easier than this. Now I feel a twinge of guilt. Maybe Andy was right to call me a Goody Two-shoes.
“That’s great, El. It makes me so happy to see the two of you doing stuff together again.”
The little guilt I had before suddenly increases. “Er…yeah. Me too,” I say. My stomach feels queasy, and I know if he keeps asking questions, I’m going to tell him the truth.
“And I’m glad you’re getting yourself out there again,” my dad says in a very Dad Way that makes even him smile. “But I know you don’t need to hear that from me.”
I nod. “No, I get it. I’m glad too.”
“Can I ask another Dad Thing?” he asks.
I smile. “Sure.”
“How’s everything been going? Do you feel all caught up with school?”
“Yep. Nothing out of the ordinary,” I say.
He nods. “Ordinary is good.”
He’s right. Ordinary has been welcome these days, at least until I found the paper hearts.
But I’m going to keep those a secret, like my loose floorboard.
“Good night,” I say.
“Sweet dreams.”
Chapter 9
The next morning, I try to dress like I could be meeting my mystery admirer.
I have eight more paper hearts to go, so there’s no chance of that, but it’s still fun to think about. Even when there are things in your life that feel out of control, outfits are one thing you can. Planning what you’re wearing is kind of like planning for an event. You have to think about colors that clash and what will make the right statement.
Trying to look effortlessly pretty ironically can sometimes take the most effort, though. Soon I’ve tried on practically everything I own in front of my standing mirror before settling on a sweater with black pants that are stretchy enough to ice-skate in.
I send a picture of my outfit to Carmen with multiple SOS emojis, but she doesn’t answer. At first I see three dots like she’s going to respond, and then nothing. I hope she’s not still mad at me.
I sit on my bed, waiting for a response that never comes. I tell myself to be patient. That she’s just busy doing something and she’ll text me any second. But I don’t want Ashley to leave without me on her way to work. She started working when she wanted to be able to pay for guitar lessons. Two years later she still has the same job, and she’s pretty good at the guitar too. Sometimes I think she’s listening to music and it’s just her practicing in her room.
When Carmen doesn’t respond, I decide I’m going to have to make this outfit call on my own. At least not yoga pants and UGGs, I think, remembering Andy’s remark before I head downstairs.
Ashley’s sitting at the kitchen table, eating cereal. She nods at me when she sees me to say good morning as she continues crunching loudly. It would be a fine exchange if it wasn’t for the fact that she’s not in her usual barista outfit—all black with a hat that says cool beans. Instead, she’s in Under Armour, and her puff ski jacket is draped around her chair. But I guess it doesn’t matter so long as she drives me first.
“I need a ride to the ice-skating rink,” I say, thinking my best approach is to just ask.
She takes a sip of the milk. “Can’t. Me and Steve are playing hooky and going snowboarding.”
“Okay, so you’re not working. Even more reason you can drive me.”
I don’t even bother asking her when she started snowboarding. We always ski together, but maybe this was another thing she thinks is stupid.
Ashley shakes her head. “Steve is going to be here any second,” she says.
“Ashley, I need a ride! Can Steve take me?”
She shakes her head, mouth full of cereal. Her phone starts buzzing, so she shoves a last bite into her mouth before carrying it to the sink. “Not today, Ella.”
I stare, dumbfounded, thinking about what to do next. Both of my parents work on Saturdays. Should I kill her with kindness? Bribe her? Now is the time I wish I had some cool piece of jewelry to offer her, but we have such different styles she wouldn’t bite even if I did.
She must see how anxious I feel, because she scowls at me like it isn’t her fault I’m feeling this way. “Can’t you just ask Carmen?” she asks.
“She must be busy. She hasn’t texted me back all morning,” I say, mentally debating whether now would be a good time to start pouting. I’m not above it, especially when my plans are at stake.
“No offense,” she says looking at me. “But this is an example of why you should just get over this not-driving thing.”
I glare at her. “Offense taken.”
“Sorry, girlie,” she says, but she’s not sorry. She’s just making it clear she’s not going to do it.
I’m about to beg. My brain starts thinking of all the ways I can say please, please, please, please! without sounding as desperate as I feel. I could tell her about the paper hearts, but would she even care? It doesn’t seem like it.
I storm over to the key ring on the wall and take the keys to the car. They’re the same ones I used to drive the car with, except Ashley has replaced my floral key chain with a retro-looking one of a mix tape. When it opens up, it fits her AirPods inside. Well, hopefully she’s not trying to listen to music today, because I’m driving.
Honestly, I don’t even care if she does. I can’t believe her right now. Why is she being so difficult?
I make my way out to the driveway, where the car is parked, and open the driver’s side. As soon as I sit, my butt is cold on the leather. I have the urge to get out of the car—and being freezing isn’t the only reason.