Before bed I search for a fresh notebook I’ve been saving for Something Important. This definitely qualifies.
Once I have it, I crawl into bed and begin scribbling down the list of possibilities for my mystery admirer. It has to be someone who knows me well—or at least well enough that they knew what I did last February. Whoever it was also must be thoughtful and caring and a good planner, like me, to carry this out.
Pete—My first real boyfriend. But why would he try to help me after I broke his heart?
Adam—My first crush. I have no reason to include him other than wishful thinking.
Carmen???—A scavenger hunt has Carmen written all over it. But she seemed exceptionally mad at me tonight when I skipped the game. She didn’t even send a hundred sad faces. When I finally told her I didn’t feel like going all she responded was K.
Someone who really is just a secret admirer—Welp, that could be anybody.
I stare at my list over and over again, almost like if I do, the right answer will magically appear. Right now my heart wants the admirer to be a boy, but my gut says Carmen.
There have been other times, though, that I can’t forget—like when we both got admission emails to our dream school, Columbia. I got in early decision, and when she found out she was wait-listed, I was immediately worried she was going to be devastated—but she acted like she was over it in minutes. Whatever, I don’t even care if I don’t get in. I’ll have way more fun at NYU, she declared, which could be completely true.
But that night she organized a spur-of-the-moment scavenger hunt for our favorite seniors vs. juniors. I had been anxious about going because it would be a lot of girls crammed into one SUV, but I’m so glad I did because now it’s one of my favorite memories. At the end of the night we were all looking at the photo evidence of who checked what off the list. Take a picture of yourself kissing someone in the old phone booth at the Daily Planet. Take a picture of yourself getting a piggyback from a freshman. Bonus point if you get video of them carrying you across the football field. It was a hilarious night all around, but one of the funnier parts was when our teams showed each other what we did.
I still remember being completely shocked that the juniors managed to get a photo with a teacher—one girl just happened to be neighbors with Ms. Cawfield and snapped a selfie with her in the background taking out the trash. I remember giggling with everyone until I looked over at Carmen. She was silent, her lips pressed together like she was thinking about something else entirely. When she caught my eye, she smiled like everything was fine, but in that moment, I realized what the entire night was about. Why the times she seems like she’s having the most fun, she’s really trying to keep it together. I grabbed her hand—the one with our friendship bracelet still dangling from her wrist—and squeezed hard, like I’d never let go.
We don’t talk about it, but I know she hates that we’ll all be going to different schools in the fall. Maybe she doesn’t say anything because she thinks I’ll follow her, like I always do. I shake that thought out of my head now as I focus on what I’m going to say.
Still, we’ve been distant lately so I’m not positive. I go from scanning my notebook to scrolling through social media to see if there are any boys I’m not thinking of. I’m stalking a quiet but cute guy in my physics class who liked the last photo of mine, when a new message pops up from someone named AndrewG on Facebook. I’m confused until I scroll through the feed and see pictures of Library Boy.
Wow. I didn’t expect to hear from him again, especially when he didn’t ask for my number.
Maybe it’s because I adore the sound of love mystery adventure that I type back right away.
I’m planning on catching a ride with Ashley as she goes to work. I close out and continue scrolling through Physics Class Guy’s page, when I see that Andy messaged me again. I don’t have to open it to see the two-word response.
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.”