Read Online Back When You Were Easier to Love by Wing Smith Emily - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Wing Smith Emily
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That always seems to work on TV.”
“Thanks, Char.”
“You need this, Joy.” I know she really gets it. “But why don’t you just tell your parents you’re going to Claremont with Noah? You know, so you wouldn’t have to lie.” She’s not saying it like a judgment; she’s just saying it because she knows that generally I’m in favor of telling the truth. “I mean, aren’t you worried they’re going to find out? And they seem cool.”
And for the most part, they are cool. That’s the problem. I like my parents. I care what they think. If I told them I was going to visit colleges, they’d be hurt that I didn’t want them to come along. If I told them I was going to find Zan, I don’t know if they’d disapprove or not, but I know without a doubt they’d think less of me. I just can’t handle that right now. Then, throw Noah into the whole equation and . . . “It’s too complicated.”
“More complicated than this?” She looks unconvinced.
“Just trust me.”
“I do,” she says. “That’s the problem. I think I might be the only one.”
MONDAY NIGHT
I am dreaming. It is that point in a dream when you know it’s a dream. You know it’s temporary. You know it isn’t real. But you still don’t wake yourself.
It is lunchtime and Zan and I are outside the Haven High library. There is me; there is Zan; there is silence. A sophomore punk is cursing the stuck Milky Way in the cheap vending machine, and I know I should hear him, but I don’t. I only hear Zan. Zan says: “Joy, when did you love me?”
I am swimming in his eyes, in his hot-chocolate eyes. “Now, Zan. I love you now.”
Mattia and Charlotte and Kristine walk by, and I know they’re laughing, but I can’t hear them. They don’t see me. They don’t see Zan.
“When did you love me?” Zan asks, more urgent this time. “When did you love me?”
I don’t want to answer, so I start kissing him instead. I kiss him hard—too hard, maybe. He pushes me away from him, and I stumble backward, into Noah.
“Joy?” Noah says it in a voice much deeper than his regular one. “What’s going on? I thought you two had broken up.”
Broken up. Broken up. Broken up. The words swirl around my head until they sound foreign. Broken up. Broken up.
The bell rings, and I don’t hear it, I feel it. I can’t move. Broken up. Broken up. Broken up.
Now the bell is loud enough to hear and I hear it but I still can’t move. Broken up. Broken up.
It’s not the bell. It’s the alarm clock.
Time for school.
THE PLAN
Who: JA, NT
What: College Visit
Code name: Operation Closure
When: Thursday morning through Sunday night. Conveniently scheduled to coincide with UEA break. Days absent from school: 0.
Where: Claremont, CA
How: NT’s classic SAAB 900 (JA will pay her share of the gas $$$)
**THIS INFORMATION IS CONFIDENTIAL**
TUESDAY AFTERNOON: DETAIL # 2
After school I go to Phil’s Market. Slightly dangerous, since approximately eighty-two percent of Haven High’s student body works at Phil’s.
I purchase Pop-Tarts and trail mix and Chips Ahoy! and granola bars and potato chips and pretzels and cheese and crackers. I buy tiny bottles of orange juice and big bottles of Sprite.
“Having a party?” the checker says, scanning my items. I recognize him from school, think his name is Chris. His name tag reads: I’M JOSE, HOW CAN I HELP YOU?
This roundup of road-trip food would make for a pretty lame party, even by Haven High standards, but I just smile; just keep a low profile. “Party weekend,” I say, nodding, trying out my “enthusiastic look.”
“Don’t I know it!” Either the look’s pure gold or Chris/ Jose is pure clueless. “Paper or plastic?”
LATER TUESDAY AFTERNOON: DETAIL #3
“I got your note,” says Noah. “Way to be old school, having Mattia deliver it during calculus.”
I stop packing the groceries in my pink gym duffel and readjust my phone, which is slipping off my shoulder.
“Thanks, Char.”
“You need this, Joy.” I know she really gets it. “But why don’t you just tell your parents you’re going to Claremont with Noah? You know, so you wouldn’t have to lie.” She’s not saying it like a judgment; she’s just saying it because she knows that generally I’m in favor of telling the truth. “I mean, aren’t you worried they’re going to find out? And they seem cool.”
And for the most part, they are cool. That’s the problem. I like my parents. I care what they think. If I told them I was going to visit colleges, they’d be hurt that I didn’t want them to come along. If I told them I was going to find Zan, I don’t know if they’d disapprove or not, but I know without a doubt they’d think less of me. I just can’t handle that right now. Then, throw Noah into the whole equation and . . . “It’s too complicated.”
“More complicated than this?” She looks unconvinced.
“Just trust me.”
“I do,” she says. “That’s the problem. I think I might be the only one.”
MONDAY NIGHT
I am dreaming. It is that point in a dream when you know it’s a dream. You know it’s temporary. You know it isn’t real. But you still don’t wake yourself.
It is lunchtime and Zan and I are outside the Haven High library. There is me; there is Zan; there is silence. A sophomore punk is cursing the stuck Milky Way in the cheap vending machine, and I know I should hear him, but I don’t. I only hear Zan. Zan says: “Joy, when did you love me?”
I am swimming in his eyes, in his hot-chocolate eyes. “Now, Zan. I love you now.”
Mattia and Charlotte and Kristine walk by, and I know they’re laughing, but I can’t hear them. They don’t see me. They don’t see Zan.
“When did you love me?” Zan asks, more urgent this time. “When did you love me?”
I don’t want to answer, so I start kissing him instead. I kiss him hard—too hard, maybe. He pushes me away from him, and I stumble backward, into Noah.
“Joy?” Noah says it in a voice much deeper than his regular one. “What’s going on? I thought you two had broken up.”
Broken up. Broken up. Broken up. The words swirl around my head until they sound foreign. Broken up. Broken up.
The bell rings, and I don’t hear it, I feel it. I can’t move. Broken up. Broken up. Broken up.
Now the bell is loud enough to hear and I hear it but I still can’t move. Broken up. Broken up.
It’s not the bell. It’s the alarm clock.
Time for school.
THE PLAN
Who: JA, NT
What: College Visit
Code name: Operation Closure
When: Thursday morning through Sunday night. Conveniently scheduled to coincide with UEA break. Days absent from school: 0.
Where: Claremont, CA
How: NT’s classic SAAB 900 (JA will pay her share of the gas $$$)
**THIS INFORMATION IS CONFIDENTIAL**
TUESDAY AFTERNOON: DETAIL # 2
After school I go to Phil’s Market. Slightly dangerous, since approximately eighty-two percent of Haven High’s student body works at Phil’s.
I purchase Pop-Tarts and trail mix and Chips Ahoy! and granola bars and potato chips and pretzels and cheese and crackers. I buy tiny bottles of orange juice and big bottles of Sprite.
“Having a party?” the checker says, scanning my items. I recognize him from school, think his name is Chris. His name tag reads: I’M JOSE, HOW CAN I HELP YOU?
This roundup of road-trip food would make for a pretty lame party, even by Haven High standards, but I just smile; just keep a low profile. “Party weekend,” I say, nodding, trying out my “enthusiastic look.”
“Don’t I know it!” Either the look’s pure gold or Chris/ Jose is pure clueless. “Paper or plastic?”
LATER TUESDAY AFTERNOON: DETAIL #3
“I got your note,” says Noah. “Way to be old school, having Mattia deliver it during calculus.”
I stop packing the groceries in my pink gym duffel and readjust my phone, which is slipping off my shoulder.
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