“And you?” he asked.
“I’m not sick right now so I can’t help you.”
“N-no, I meant the bullet points thing,” he stammered.
I blinked. Okay, maybe I was blushing a little. “Oh. Right. You’ve been to my house so you know like eight of mine. But let’s see, besides the guitar and the siblings and the crazy house, I like to sew. I shop at thrift stores and have no problem buying used shoes. I talk to myself too much and at school they call me—”
“Magnet,” he finished for me. “Why?”
“Long story. Basically the school jerk, who for some reason is popular, bestowed the name upon me because I’m horrible at P.E.—oh, there’s another bullet, I’m horrible at P.E.—and it stuck.”
“Who’s the school jerk?”
“You don’t know? Do people really not know? You go to our school.” Remembering how Cade had pulled Lucas aside, I gritted my teeth. “He’s actually probably warned you to stay away from me.” Cade seemed to be on a one-man mission to do just that.
David shook his head no.
“Who do you think the school jerk might be?” I held up his hat again when it seemed like he wasn’t going to answer the question. “You’re telling me that you walk around wearing this and you’ve never been picked on?”
He laughed. “Are you making fun of me?”
“No. Hey, I would totally wear this hat to school if it went with my outfit.”
“You would, wouldn’t you? But you’re confident like that.”
I gasped and then coughed. “That’s funny.”
“You don’t seem to care what anyone thinks of you,” David said seriously.
“Just because I wear weird clothes doesn’t mean I’m not worried people aren’t judging me for them. Now, stop trying to avoid the question. Who is the biggest jerk?”
“Pete Wise.”
“That big water polo guy?”
“Yes.”
I growled. “Okay, second-biggest jerk then.”
“Lyle Penner.”
“Really? Lyle’s your number two? How about third?”
David’s eyes widened. “How many people do you think pick on me?”
I laughed. “I don’t know. I figure we’re at least tied. But you still haven’t named the biggest offender. He picks on everyone. If you’re walking around in this hat, there’s no way he hasn’t given you a name.”
“I only wear this to games, Lily,” David said.
I sensed I had told one too many hat jokes. “Fine. Never mind. I’m supposed to be pretending he doesn’t exist anyway.”
“You’re going to leave me in suspense?”
I still couldn’t believe he hadn’t guessed. “Cade Jennings.”
“Cade? He named you Magnet?”
“Yes. He’s a jerk.”
David seemed to consider that label then said, “I guess I can see how he’d come off like that. He’s a little full of himself.”
“A little?”
“And he’s loud and over the top. But he’s never been mean to me like Pete or Lyle.”
“Well, he’s been mean to me,” I said. “And always when there’s an audience. He’s the worst kind of jerk, the kind that pretends he’s doing something for your benefit, including you in some funny joke, when really he’s making you the butt of a joke.”
David nodded and I could practically see the memories of all the times Cade had done just that to many people, working their way through his mind.
From across the playground where I could’ve sworn Isabel and Gabriel had been too concerned with each other to worry about us, Isabel yelled, “Stop talking about Cade, Lily!”
“Mind your own Bs, Isabel!” I yelled with a laugh.
“I take it this isn’t a new discussion,” David said.
No, it wasn’t. And I really shouldn’t have been dwelling on it. “You want to race down the bumpy slides?”
He looked down at his uniform. “It might not be a fair race. This material makes a super slick surface.”
I laughed. “I’m willing to take my chances.”
He smiled and led the way to the slides, where after a few races, I really had forgotten about Cade and how he’d embarrassed me in front of Lucas at the football game. Maybe a guy I couldn’t talk to wasn’t the right guy for me, anyway.
When we all left the park together, Isabel dropped me off first and I wondered if David would walk me to the door. I’d had a really fun night. But David didn’t even move toward his handle when the car stopped. I climbed out and walked the path alone.
The next week of notes in Chemistry were amazing and I counted my days by them.
Monday from him:
Dead’s the New Alive is something I listen to once a week. I can’t believe you know that band. We speak the same music language. Is that rare? How many people have you met that speak your same music language? I have met maybe one other. (That sounds like a song, right? You speak my music language, baby. You have to admit that would make an awesome lyric.) Okay, so since you gave me a music coping strategy for my parental problems, here is my cure for your overbearing family. Track 11 of Serendipity. This one will make you feel like you are in the middle of a forest completely alone.
To answer your other question: I am pro Thanksgiving break. As pathetic as I’ve obviously made my home life seem, a break from school is a break from school. I don’t usually hang out at home anyway. I go out with friends, drive, walk, read. Now, as for Thanksgiving day, when I’m forced to stay home and celebrate, that’s a joke. My mom and stepdad order a bunch of “homemade” food, my grandparents come over, their friends come over. Someone ends up yelling, usually the stepdad, my mom ends up drinking too much wine, and we all wish we would’ve pretended it was just any other day. What about yours? Hopefully your Thanksgiving traditions are better than mine.
My response:
Is being crazy considered a tradition? Because that’s what our tradition is. Okay, we actually have a real one: The double-blind taste test. First, both my mom and dad make pumpkin pies. Different ones, mind you, but both pumpkin. Then they cut the pies in the other room and put pieces on different plates. One each for everyone there. Then they force us—force us—to eat it blindfolded. Then we have to tell them whose is better. We can’t say they both taste the same or they are equally good. Nope. We HAVE to choose a side. It’s quite obnoxious. So my siblings and I have a little competition of our own. We always try to even up the score so someone has to be the tiebreaker. But anyway, the winning parent brags about it the entire year. My parents are strange.
Other than that, it’s loud and disorganized and exhausting. But the food is actually homemade and we do laugh a lot. So I think I win. But … hang in there.
I’m convinced we do speak the same music language because Track 11 on Serendipity is on my favorites list. (As for your “song” about us speaking the same music language. Just … no.) I wonder if we compared our playlists what percentage would be the same. I wouldn’t want it to be one hundred percent because that’s too similar. You have to bring something new to the table to help balance out my music tastes or I’ll learn nothing. You did introduce me to The Crooked Brookes so I think we’re safe for now.