So Much Closer Page 3

  It feels like I’ve been searching for Scott’s place forever. He is nowhere. Eventually, I find this little cobblestone road that looks like it belongs in a different century. I slowly go down it, passing windows with warm lamps in them, families having dinner, people mesmerized by their computers. It’s so different here. Back home, everyone closed their curtains at night. Here you can see right into almost every apartment. It’s like New Yorkers are saying, Look all you want. We know we rule.

  Suddenly, there’s a highway, and then the Hudson River. I stood at my window on the other side of that river so many times, staring at the distant skyline like it held endless possibilities for a better life. Wishing to be on this side of things. And now I’m here. I’ve made it to the other side. And it’s all because of Scott Abrams. He gave me a reason to leave my whole world behind.

  There’s a path by the river where a few people are walking their dogs or running or riding bikes. The air smells like fresh-cut grass. Everything looks new and clean. A sign says:

  HUDSON RIVER PARK

  OPEN UNTIL 1:00 A.M.

  I’m exhausted from all the walking. I just want to sit somewhere and fold this piece of paper I found.

  What I love most about origami is that there’s always something new. You can never master everything there is to know, whether it’s a harder design than the one you just did or a completely new one nobody’s thought of yet. You can always do better than you did before.

  You always get another chance.

  I find this area with tall grasses and flowers and simple wooden benches. It’s like some kind of Zen garden. I sit on a bench looking out at the river. Then I smooth out the wrinkles in my paper. Found paper is way more challenging than perfectly square precut origami paper. Found paper is real life. Real life isn’t confined by exact dimensions. It extends beyond the boundaries. It comes with flaws. Things are never easy, especially when you expect them to be. Like when people disappoint you by turning out to be entirely different from who you thought they were.

  People can be really corroded sometimes.

  Recently, I mastered the origami giraffe. Now I’m trying a rhinoceros. It’s hard to stay focused for more than a few minutes, though. This park is amazing. There’s so much going on, even though it’s getting late. All the people here and in boats on the river, tons of lit-up windows in the surrounding buildings, cars zooming by on the highway. No matter what time it is, there are always people getting stuff done in New York. Back in suburbia, everyone’s probably inside watching TV right now, getting sleepy. They’ll all go to bed around the same time and get up around the same time. But here, you can be free of those constraints. You can live this totally unique life that’s all your own.

  Just outside the Zen garden, there’s a row of benches along the river. A girl is sitting on one of them, sketching something. It makes me really happy to be around people who are smart and artistic even if I don’t know them. Just knowing that all of these creative types came to New York to follow their dreams is inspiring.

  This girl looks like she’s my age, so she probably grew up here. She’s probably lived here her whole life. A pang of jealousy stabs at me. She’s like this Sparkly City Girl who knows all these cool secrets about this place. Does she even know how lucky she is? Does she appreciate everything she has?

  This is ridiculous. I’m jealous of a girl I don’t even know.

  I concentrate on my paper folds. But after a while, I look up again.

  Under the glow of the streetlamp, I can see her profile. We both have the same shade of medium brown hair. Hers is really curly while mine’s only wavy. And I think we both have brown eyes. If I could change one thing about myself, it would be my eye color. My eyes are that boring shade of brown with nothing interesting going on. Sparkly City Girl probably has gold flecks in hers. She probably has a lot of things I don’t have.

  Whatever. I may never have all of the things I want, but one thing I do have is a fresh start. And it’s up to me to decide what happens next.

  Five

  The class Scott and I have together is called Outside the Box. It sort of sounds like it might be fun. A class that’s actually fun would be an entirely new experience for me. Supposedly, it’s this combination of logic and creative thinking and something Mr. Peterson calls “noodle cleaning.” Someone asked what noodle cleaning was. Mr. Peterson was like, “When it happens, you’ll know.” He seems pretty cool for a fifty-something teacher. He has this mellow vibe, like maybe he was a beatnik back in the day.

  We didn’t have any classes like this at my old school. I didn’t even know you were allowed to have classes like this. If more interesting classes existed, then maybe the school system wouldn’t be such a profound disappointment.

  But this is still a class.

  Which is part of school.

  Which is evil.

  The only reason I don’t mind sitting in the front row is because I get to sit next to Scott Abrams. Normally, I avoid the front row. Sitting in the front makes you a target. Teachers call on you more. It’s harder to avoid eye contact with them when you’re exposed like that. And they assume that you’re into participating if you choose to sit there, which in my case could not be further from the truth.

  Sitting next to Scott means I get to watch how he writes. He presses down hard, scratching out quick little letters. When he turns to the next page in his notebook you can see the imprints of the words from the previous page. He’s always fidgeting with his pen. He does this twirly thing with it where he quickly flips it over his hand. If I tried that, my pen would probably fly across the room and stab someone’s eye out. Scott sits with one sneaker up against his chair rung. He’s kind of too tall for his desk. He has this way of flipping pages in his book like he’s trying to rip them out or something. He flips pages roughly, with purpose. I never sat close enough to notice that before. The closest I’ve ever gotten to Scott was last year when I sat two rows behind him in English.

  This is so much better.

  When the bell rings, everyone scrambles. This is our last class of the day. It would be pretty easy to talk to Scott now. Or I could just see if he talks to me first. I take my time putting my things away. Who knew this pencil was so fascinating?

  “Hey,” Scott goes.

  “Hey.”

  “Can you believe this class?”

  “I know.”

  “It would be practically illegal to have something like this back in Jersey.”

  “Seriously.” I moved here for you. We belong together.

  “So,” he says, “see you Monday?”

  “If not before.”

  “Right, in the nabe! Which reminds me—are you going to RiverFlicks?”

  “What’s that?”

  “You don’t know about RiverFlicks?”

  “I just got here, remember?”

  “Sorry.” Scott flashes a smile that makes girls stare at him from across the room. “I’ve had the whole summer to investigate. It’s this thing over at Hudson River Park—”

  “I was just there last night!”

  “Oh, cool. They do these outdoor movies all summer and tonight’s the last one.”

  “What is it?”

  “Excellent question.” Scott considers this. “I forget, but it’s a good one. I’m going.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. You should come check it out.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  What does that mean, exactly? You should come check it out. Is he saying I should go just because I’d like it? Or was that supposed to be some low-key way of asking me out?

  The movie screen is enormous. I can see the movie starting from all the way down the street. I didn’t want to get here early. I didn’t want to seem as desperate as I am.

  That was a mistake.

  Pier 54 is packed. There’s a section of folding chairs set up right in front of the screen with space to sit on the grass behind them. Every single chair is taken. The grass is crammed with
people. There’s no way I could squeeze myself in. I keep searching for a free space along the edge of the crowd.

  I don’t see Scott anywhere. He should be here already. Maybe he’s waiting for me. He might be saving me a seat.

  This would be the perfect place to tell him. Outdoor movie. Moonlight on the river. The streetlights of our hometown glowing somewhere in the distance.

  I carefully step over a leg, pressing up against the railing along the edge of the pier. I slink closer to the front, trying not to block anyone’s view.

  Then I see him. I had tons of practice memorizing the back of Scott’s head from all that time staring at it in English last year, so I totally recognize him. He’s sitting in the fourth row. It would be impossible to get all the way up there on this side of the pier, but there’s a bit more space on the other side.

  I cut across behind the chair section, ducking. Now I can see that Scott didn’t save a seat for me. Maybe he tried. Once the movie starts, you probably have to give up the seat you’re saving if the person you’re saving it for isn’t here yet. I hope he doesn’t think I’m not coming.

  Some folding chairs are leaning against each other on a cart. I don’t know if you’re allowed to take one. I should go for it. If I take a chair up to Scott’s row, he could switch seats with the person at the end. We could still sit together.

  I slide a chair off the cart. Before I realize what’s happening, all the other chairs fall over. There’s this huge clatter of metal chairs clanging against concrete.

  Everyone turns away from the movie.

  They all look at me.

  Including Scott.

  And the girl sitting next to him. Who is touching his shoulder.

  He’s with her. They’re together.

  He’s here with another girl.

  This totally goes in the Of Course file. Because of course Scott Abrams is here with another girl. Of course he wasn’t asking me out.

  Could I be a bigger reject?

  After I make my way back behind the crowd, I start running. Three blocks away, I realize that I’m still holding the chair.

  “Uuuhhh!” is all I can say when April picks up.

  “Brooke?”

  “Hi.”

  “You sound weird.”

  “Yeah, I usually sound weird after I’ve been mortified in front of the whole entire world.”

  “What happened?”

  I tell her.

  “Are you sure Scott was with her?” April says.

  “Yes. She had her hand on his shoulder.”

  “That could have been—”

  “He was with her.”

  “Blerg.”

  “I thought he wanted to go with me!”

  “Who was she?”

  “How should I know? I just got here.”

  “Have you seen her at school?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t go there.”

  “Maybe she’s Scott’s girlfriend.”

  “She could have just been a friend.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I could tell.” It wasn’t as strong as The Knowing, but I immediately got this horrible sinking feeling in my stomach when I saw them together, like they’ve been going out all summer and I’m a complete fool for thinking I ever had a chance with him. “I could not have looked more ridiculous. Scott saw everything. Oh, and I stole a chair.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. I can’t believe I was hoping this could work.”

  “You don’t even know what he’s thinking. He probably thinks it’s funny.”

  “Do you think it’s funny?”

  “Um ... it might be a little funny.”

  “This is so not funny.”

  “I know,” April says.

  I wish April was here. I’m not used to being by myself at night, and it’s getting lonely. Dad had to work late. This morning I found money and a note on the kitchen counter, saying that I should order whatever I want for dinner. Dad was already gone by the time I woke up. He said he’d probably have to work late a few more nights, but that it’s just temporary craziness. Some big client needs his attention or something. But how could he work late and not even come home for dinner when I just got here?

  I shouldn’t have moved. This was a ginormous mistake. I’m all alone. I don’t know where anything is. I’m a total outsider at school. I don’t know anyone. Scott doesn’t count. He didn’t even recognize me at first. I’m obviously thinking about him way more than he’s thinking about me. And I really don’t see that changing anytime soon. Because how do you convince a boy that you belong together when he’s going out with someone else?

  Six

  I’ve discovered the best coffeehouse ever. It’s called Joe the Art of Coffee and it’s only a few blocks away. Mom didn’t let me drink coffee back home. But I would drink it anyway when April and Candice and I hung out at Bean There. What I now realize is that the stuff at Bean There was merely masquerading as coffee. Joe has shown me what real coffee tastes like. It is seriously delicious. They even make these swirly designs on top of the lattes that look like fancy leaf decorations.

  The first time I came here, I felt intimidated. New Yorkers are all so entrenched in their routines in this way that makes you want to run out and get your own routine. Everyone has these automatic motions, ways that are totally ingrained into their daily lives. I feel like a foreigner just watching them. So the first time I came to Joe, it was awkward. I didn’t know where to stand after I ordered. I didn’t know where the napkins were. And were you supposed to leave your mug on the table when you’re done or put it in a bin somewhere?

  Things are different now. I’m really comfortable here. I could totally sit here all day reading or doing origami. I even snagged the prized window table today. I’m attempting to dull the pain of seeing Scott with another girl by sipping my latte and reading a good book. It’s about a woman who suspects that her husband is having an affair. I like books with plots about infidelity or divorce. I like being able to relate to the story I’m reading. It makes me feel less alone. All those books about shiny happy people are such a load. Real life is nothing like that. The best books make me feel hopeful when the characters’ problems work out in the end realistically, not conveniently tied up with a big, red bow. Big, red bows are such a lie.

  The little bell over the door chimes when a girl comes in. She squeals, “Leslie?!”

  Something makes me look over to see who Leslie is.

  It’s her.

  The girl from last night.

  Scott’s girl.

  I really, really want to leave. But I just got here. I’m not about to give up my prized window table and bother the barista to pour my latte into a paper cup just because she’s here. That would completely ruin the fancy leaf decoration.

  I try to focus on my book.

  A boy is watching me. He’s at the other window table across the room. Every time I look over, he looks back down at his laptop. He seems a little older than me, like he might be in college. New York University is nearby. Maybe he goes there.

  Eventually, the girl who yelled Leslie’s name leaves. I’ve been keeping my head down while reading my book so Leslie won’t notice me. She probably wouldn’t even recognize me, though. It was dark out there. She only saw me for a few seconds before I ran off with my chair. I could have been anybody.

  When Leslie gets up to leave, I slink down.

  “Hey,” she says to me.

  Game over.

  “Hey,” I say back.

  “Weren’t you at RiverFlicks last night?”

  “Huh?”

  “I Love You, Man.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The movie.”

  “Oh. Yeah, no. I mean, I stopped by to see what was playing, but then I had to go.”

  Leslie glares at me. A piece of hair is stuck to her gooey lip gloss.

  “Scott said you guys went to the same sc
hool before you moved here,” she informs me.

  “He did?”

  “Yeah. He did.”

  Sweet! This means he talked about me last night. He didn’t just turn back around, watch the movie, and forget he ever saw me. Which is actually what I was hoping he’d do. But this is so much better. He talked about me. To the girl he was with.

  Leslie is not as excited about this revelation.

  She’s all, “Just so you know? We’re together.”

  “Okay ...”

  “I go to Eames Academy so people at your school might not know Scott has a girlfriend yet? But he does.”

  If she’s trying to impress with the whole Eames Academy thing, it’s not working. I don’t even know what that is. I’m just relieved she doesn’t go to West Village Community with me and Scott.

  “What does that have to do with me?” I ask.

  Leslie smirks. “I met Scott right when he moved here. We’ve been together for two months.”

  Could she be any more insecure? She’s a total train wreck.

  Note to self: do not be intimidated by Leslie.

  I sit all the way up in my chair.

  “Congratulations,” I say. “I’m sure you’ll be very happy together.”

  She smirks some more. “Yeah, Scott said you were like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “You know. Angry.”

  Scott said I was angry? I find that hard to believe. He doesn’t even know me. How would he know how I am?

  I throw my book in my bag and get up. A power couple armed with a fat newspaper and a laptop lunge at the table before I even step away from it.