How’s that for venting? Remember, you asked for it. I don’t know if I buy your “good listening because it’s a letter” thing though. Technically you could just skip to the end of a letter and pretend you read it. Is that what you did? Here, I’ll give you some key words so that you can fake a response: five-state buffer zone, man cougar, loveless marriage. (Those sound like song lyrics. Look at that, I’m getting so much better. I’m back on for lyricist.) I was going to call him just a plain cougar, but they only use that term for women, right? That’s sexist. What do you call men in their fifties who date women who are practically teenagers?
I hid my smile so Lauren wouldn’t notice. My pen pal had this way of making even the saddest things funny somehow. I looked up at Mr. Ortega. I had to pay attention for five minutes before I could write back. It was my method of secrecy—listen, write, listen, write …
I think they’re called perverts. And I’m sorry. I wish I were more than a good listener who reads entire letters and not just the highlights. I wish I had awesome advice to give you about how trials make you stronger or build character or something like that, but I know that doesn’t help. So if you want advice, you’ll have to find some other desk defacer. Me, I’ll just wallow with you.
I’m impressed you’ve kept a sense of humor through all this. You haven’t let it make you a bitter, angry person. Or have you? Do you walk around punching lockers and kicking small animals? Or writing angry songs (for real)? That’s how this whole topic started, right? We’re going to use the injustices against you to make some awesome songs! Okay, so the first one can be called “Left Behind.” I’ll try to figure out how we can use the words man cougar in it.
I hoped he was okay with me trying to make his sad topics funny too. Because before I’d added the last sentence, I’d stared at that song title for a few minutes. “Left Behind.” The title that represented his father leaving him without looking back, and a pit formed in my stomach that I’d had to combat.
I folded the letter and secured it beneath the desk.
I hadn’t been serious about writing a song inspired by my pen pal’s life. It was supposed to be like the jokes I’d always made with Isabel about writing a book based on her dating situations. But that wasn’t what happened. What happened was that the title “Left Behind,” along with his words, brought so many images into my mind that I found myself that night, notebook on knees, writing.
First I’d filled in the margins with notes about what he’d said about his life. Then I’d let those words inspire lyrics.
I’ve turned waiting into a form of art.
Tied twisted lines around my broken heart.
Because I always thought you’d be back one day.
The door swung open and Ashley walked in and dropped onto her bed with a loud sigh.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I just completely and totally humiliated myself in front of the guy I have a crush on at work.”
“How?”
She showed me her teeth. “See that?”
“No.”
“Exactly. Earlier there was a big, huge food chunk right here.” She pointed at her front tooth. “And nobody told me. Nobody. Oh wait, Mark told me after I’d been talking to him for five minutes.”
I laughed.
“You would’ve told me, right? Tricia should have told me. It’s girl code. I think Tricia likes Mark, too. That’s the problem here.”
“Maybe she didn’t see the food.”
“Lil, people on the space station saw this chunk of food. It was massive. And right on my front tooth.”
“That was rude of the people on the space station not to tell you about it.”
“Ha-ha.”
“He probably thought it was funny,” I said.
Ashley groaned. “That’s exactly what he thought. That’s why this is a nightmare. If you want a romantic relationship with a guy, first he has to find you mysterious, then intriguing, then funny. In that order. If it’s in any different order, you are forever labeled friend.”
I frowned. “That’s an interesting theory.”
“Tried and proven. And the funny has to be intentional. None of this making a fool of yourself business.”
Huh. Maybe that’s why I’d never had a romantic relationship. I was always making a fool of myself.
Ashley rolled off her bed, crawled forward, and sat on the floor with her back facing me. “Braid my hair. I want it to be wavy tomorrow. Plus, it will make me feel better.”
“You’re so needy.” Sometimes, it felt like Ashley was the younger sister.
“Please? I’ll straighten yours for you.”
“Get me a brush.”
She hopped up and walked out of the room.
I looked at my notebook. “We’ll never have enough alone time together, will we?” I asked it with a sigh. “It’s as if people are trying to keep us apart.”
My sister came back in swinging a hairbrush like a pendulum between her thumb and forefinger, a straightener tucked under her other arm. “Who are you talking to?”
“Myself.”
“You do that a lot.”
“I know. I’m the only one who understands me.”
Ashley threw the brush at me, narrowly missing my leg, then plugged in the straightener and positioned herself on the floor by my bed. I begrudgingly closed my notebook.