other, satisfied. “Isaac’s in my math class,” gushed the blonde to her friend. “He’s so mysterious. I didn’t even know he had a band.”
“Does he have a girlfriend?” her dark-haired friend murmured.
Emily shifted from one foot to the other. They were Catholic school versions of Hanna Marin: super thin, with long, glossy hair, perfect makeup, and matching Coach bags. Emily touched her own limp, chlorine-frizzed hair, and smoothed her Old Navy khakis, which were at least a size too big. She suddenly regretted not putting on any makeup—not that she usually wore it.
There wasn’t, of course, any reason to feel competitive with these girls. It wasn’t like Emily liked this Isaac guy. That electric feeling that had passed through her, and still resonated in her fingertips, had just been a…fluke. A blip. Yep, that was it. Just then, Emily felt a tap on her shoulder. She jumped and turned around.
It was Isaac. And he was smiling at her. “Hi.”
“Uh, hi,” Emily said, ignoring the fluttering in her chest. “I’m Emily.”
“Isaac.” Up close, he smelled a little like Body Shop orange shampoo—the very same stuff Emily had used for years.
“I loved your cover of ‘Nobody’s Home,’” Emily said before she could stop herself. “That song really helped me get through this trip I took to Iowa.”
“Iowa, huh? I guess it can be pretty rough there,” he joked. “I went with my youth group once. Why did you go?”
Emily hesitated, scratching the back of her neck. She could feel the Catholic school girls staring. Maybe it had been a mistake to bring up Iowa—or that she identified with such desperate, hopeless lyrics. “Oh, just visiting family,” she finally answered, fiddling with the plastic top to her coffee cup. “My aunt and uncle live outside of Des Moines.”
“Gotcha,” Isaac said. He stepped aside to let a bunch of kindergarten-age kids playing tag dart past. “I hear you about identifying with the song. I got made fun of when I first started singing about a girl, but I think the song applies to everyone. It’s like…all those feelings of ‘Where do I fit in?’ and ‘Why can’t I find anyone to talk to?’ I think everyone feels that from time to time.”
“Me too,” Emily agreed, feeling grateful that someone else felt the same way she did. She glanced over her shoulder at her mother. She was still deep in conversation with her friends by the coffee kiosk. Which was good—Emily wasn’t sure if she could handle her mother’s scrutiny right now.
Isaac drummed his fingers on the worn church pew next to them. “You don’t go to Holy Trinity.”
Emily shook her head. “Rosewood Day.”
“Ah.” Isaac lowered his eyes shyly. “Listen, I have to go back onstage in a minute, but maybe you’d want to talk about music and stuff some other time? Get dinner? Go for a walk? You know, like a date.”
Emily almost choked on a sip of coffee. Like a… date ? She wanted to correct him—she didn’t date guys—but it was as if the muscles in her mouth didn’t know how to form those words. “A walk, in this weather?” she blurted out instead, gesturing to the piles of snow lining the stained-glass windows.
“Why not?” Isaac shrugged. “Maybe we could go sledding. I have a couple of snow tubes, and there’s a great hill behind Hollis.”
Emily widened her eyes. “You mean the big hill behind the chemistry building?”
Isaac pushed his hair off his forehead and nodded. “That’s the one.”
“I used to drag my friends there all the time.” Some of Emily’s fondest winter memories were of when she, Ali, and the others sledded down Hollis Hill. Ali had deemed sledding dorky after sixth grade, though, and Emily had never found anyone else who wanted to go with her.
After a deep breath, Emily said, “I’d love to go sledding with you.”
Isaac’s eyes gleamed. “Great!”
They exchanged phone numbers, the Holy Trinity girls gaping. As Isaac waved
“Does he have a girlfriend?” her dark-haired friend murmured.
Emily shifted from one foot to the other. They were Catholic school versions of Hanna Marin: super thin, with long, glossy hair, perfect makeup, and matching Coach bags. Emily touched her own limp, chlorine-frizzed hair, and smoothed her Old Navy khakis, which were at least a size too big. She suddenly regretted not putting on any makeup—not that she usually wore it.
There wasn’t, of course, any reason to feel competitive with these girls. It wasn’t like Emily liked this Isaac guy. That electric feeling that had passed through her, and still resonated in her fingertips, had just been a…fluke. A blip. Yep, that was it. Just then, Emily felt a tap on her shoulder. She jumped and turned around.
It was Isaac. And he was smiling at her. “Hi.”
“Uh, hi,” Emily said, ignoring the fluttering in her chest. “I’m Emily.”
“Isaac.” Up close, he smelled a little like Body Shop orange shampoo—the very same stuff Emily had used for years.
“I loved your cover of ‘Nobody’s Home,’” Emily said before she could stop herself. “That song really helped me get through this trip I took to Iowa.”
“Iowa, huh? I guess it can be pretty rough there,” he joked. “I went with my youth group once. Why did you go?”
Emily hesitated, scratching the back of her neck. She could feel the Catholic school girls staring. Maybe it had been a mistake to bring up Iowa—or that she identified with such desperate, hopeless lyrics. “Oh, just visiting family,” she finally answered, fiddling with the plastic top to her coffee cup. “My aunt and uncle live outside of Des Moines.”
“Gotcha,” Isaac said. He stepped aside to let a bunch of kindergarten-age kids playing tag dart past. “I hear you about identifying with the song. I got made fun of when I first started singing about a girl, but I think the song applies to everyone. It’s like…all those feelings of ‘Where do I fit in?’ and ‘Why can’t I find anyone to talk to?’ I think everyone feels that from time to time.”
“Me too,” Emily agreed, feeling grateful that someone else felt the same way she did. She glanced over her shoulder at her mother. She was still deep in conversation with her friends by the coffee kiosk. Which was good—Emily wasn’t sure if she could handle her mother’s scrutiny right now.
Isaac drummed his fingers on the worn church pew next to them. “You don’t go to Holy Trinity.”
Emily shook her head. “Rosewood Day.”
“Ah.” Isaac lowered his eyes shyly. “Listen, I have to go back onstage in a minute, but maybe you’d want to talk about music and stuff some other time? Get dinner? Go for a walk? You know, like a date.”
Emily almost choked on a sip of coffee. Like a… date ? She wanted to correct him—she didn’t date guys—but it was as if the muscles in her mouth didn’t know how to form those words. “A walk, in this weather?” she blurted out instead, gesturing to the piles of snow lining the stained-glass windows.
“Why not?” Isaac shrugged. “Maybe we could go sledding. I have a couple of snow tubes, and there’s a great hill behind Hollis.”
Emily widened her eyes. “You mean the big hill behind the chemistry building?”
Isaac pushed his hair off his forehead and nodded. “That’s the one.”
“I used to drag my friends there all the time.” Some of Emily’s fondest winter memories were of when she, Ali, and the others sledded down Hollis Hill. Ali had deemed sledding dorky after sixth grade, though, and Emily had never found anyone else who wanted to go with her.
After a deep breath, Emily said, “I’d love to go sledding with you.”
Isaac’s eyes gleamed. “Great!”
They exchanged phone numbers, the Holy Trinity girls gaping. As Isaac waved
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