City Love Page 4

  “I have a confession to make,” I start. “You might think this is too mainstream. But.” I lean in conspiratorially. “It is my unwavering belief . . . that the musical sound of Ethan Cross rules.”

  “OMG you like him?” Sadie yells. At first I think she means it in a way like How can you like him? But then she says, “I’ve been obsessed with him since ninth grade!”

  “Um, excuse me, he’s been my husband since eighth grade,” Rosanna interjects.

  “Take a number, ladies,” I say. “He’s all mine.”

  Hardcore fangirling ensues. This sisterhood was meant to be.

  SIX

  ROSANNA

  DARCY ISN’T AS BAD AS I thought. She might not even be bad at all. It was really generous of her to treat us to dinner last night. I peeked at the check while she was writing in the tip. There’s no way I could have afforded to pay my share. Especially considering that the muffin and coffee I splurged on this morning practically required me to take out an additional student loan. I thought the cashier at the café was joking when she told me the total.

  Back in high school, I was pressured by rich kids to spend money I didn’t have in certain situations like group dinners. Group dinners are the worst. They always end up costing more than they should. Everyone should only pay for what they ordered, plus their portion of the tip. But it never turns out that way. You end up paying like twice as much as what you actually owe. And when everyone else agreed to split the bill however many ways, it was embarrassing to be the only one at the table disagreeing.

  It’s good to know that I could take out another student loan if I ran out of money. Not that I’m going to run out of money. And not that I want to be in debt until I’m eighty. But it’s comforting that I could still cover housing if I had to resort to Plan D. Having a Plan D is part of my survival strategy. The thing about Plan D is, even though I know I won’t need it, having it waiting to catch me like a trapeze safety net is reassuring. Plan D helps me breathe easier when I’m feeling anxious about the future. Like about how I’m going to pay for everything. Or about putting myself through four years of college in one of the most expensive cities in the world. When the anxiety becomes unbearable, I construct as many alternative backup plans as I need to. One particularly excruciating night I had to go all the way down to Plan Q before I could breathe again.

  Darcy is a sweetheart. She seemed way more relaxed at dinner than she did when she burst into the apartment yesterday, wired and chucking her clothes all over the place. She could have just been delirious from her long flight. Or dealing with something completely unrelated. There’s no reason to assume she snapped at me because of anything I did. I definitely judged her too harshly. My cynical side has been known to flare up. Trusting people more would probably be a good thing. I could start working on that right now with this trust activity we’re doing.

  “Trust that your fellow counselors will catch you,” our camp orientation director tells us. “They will not let you fall. Your eyes will be closed when you let yourself fall back. You won’t be able to see them. But trust that they will be there with their arms outstretched, ready to catch you and protect you.”

  This trust activity is one of the many activities we’ve done today. It’s our first day of orientation as camp counselors. The campers don’t start until next week, after public schools get out, but I love this day camp already. It’s on the Lower East Side. This area is very 70s New York City. Or at least what I imagine 70s New York City was like. I saw some guys rocking tube socks and those vintage red short-shorts with the white racer stripes down the sides. One girl I passed on my walk from the subway had a huge ’fro. Adidas circa 1982 were spotted along with tremendous headphones. The Lower East Side is classic New York in the best possible way, as if time could be preserved here forever like in one of those amber bubbles on Fringe.

  Mica is up next for the trust activity. We clicked right away over the best conversation at lunch. I was ranting about some lacking behavior I saw on the subway that morning.

  “This guy lunged for the only empty seat,” I was saying, “as if he didn’t see the lady with a baby heading for the seat first. He just dove right into it.”

  “Unacceptable,” Mica agreed.

  “I know, right?”

  “Why can’t people be nicer to one another? Did he really need to sit down that bad?”

  “He didn’t look sick or anything. And all of his limbs were working.”

  “Did you give up your seat?”

  “I would have, but I was standing. Another guy let her have his seat, though.”

  “We need more guys like him. Can you imagine how beautiful the world would be if everyone acted the way they’re supposed to?”

  “Seriously. How hard is it to treat others the way you want to be treated?”

  “I’m saying.”

  It was the best first conversation I’d ever had with anyone. Mica totally gets me. We were obviously meant to be friends.

  Mica stands with her back to us. We’re gathered behind her in two lines, one on either side of her. I stretch my arms out with one crossed over the other and grasp hands with the boy across from me. This lattice structure we’re making is strong enough to catch everyone as long as we work together. One counselor is standing at the far end to grab Mica’s shoulders if she slides back too far. When we’re ready, Mica crosses her arms over her chest, closes her eyes, and lets herself fall back while keeping her body as straight as possible. We catch her.

  Mica will also be a freshman at UNY. I’ve heard that college is where you establish lifelong friendships. I can’t wait to get started. My friends in high school weren’t exactly the kind of friends I wanted to have. They were a decent group, but I didn’t feel like any of them really got me. College is my chance to meet new people who will truly understand me.

  On the subway ride home, I take out my book and lose myself in another world. I left off at one of those really good parts where you don’t want to stop reading but you have to because real life is demanding your attention. I’m so absorbed in the story that I don’t realize the lady next to me is reading over my shoulder.

  So. Freaking. Rude.

  There are levels of inappropriate behavior. Throwing a plastic bottle in the regular garbage when a recycling bin is right there is bad. Not looking to see if someone is coming up behind you before you let the door swing shut is worse. Talking too loudly on your phone in a confined space with other people is straight-up offensive. But reading over someone’s shoulder? That’s borderline harassment. From the casual look on her face, I can tell the lady sitting next to me is completely oblivious.

  Someone sat down on the other side of her at the last stop. Which she naturally took as an invitation to scrunch closer to me. Now she’s all wedged up against me, invading my personal space.

  I don’t think so.

  I lean away from her a tiny bit.

  She leans in closer to me by the same amount.

  I lean away some more.

  She leans in some more.

  When she’s practically in my lap, I suddenly yank the book away. She almost falls flat on her face.

  A grandma sitting across from us gives me a knowing smile. I’m sure she’s endured more than her share of subway offenses over the years.

  People are looking at the lady next to me. She should be mortified. But she plays it off like nothing happened. She doesn’t apologize for getting all up in my book. She doesn’t even look at me.

  When I get off at my stop and climb the subway station stairs into the summer evening light, my frustration melts away. I already feel like New York is my true home, which doesn’t surprise me. Somehow I knew I belonged here way before I arrived.

  I’m telling the annoying-lady subway story to Sadie and Darcy in my head as I walk home. They will think it’s hilarious. I’m lucky that I get to go home to my people tonight. New York City may be home to millions of people, but without your people it’s easy to feel alone.
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  SEVEN

  SADIE

  “EXCUSE ME,” A GUY’S VOICE says from the entrance to my cubicle. “Have you seen Parker?”

  I look up from the array of brightly colored Post-its spread out on my desk.

  Oh my god. It’s him.

  “Not yet,” I say. “Maybe he’s in his office?”

  “I already looked.” He holds up a folder. “More paperwork on the checklist. I handed it in late last year and got the worst placement.”

  Is it possible to be starstruck by someone you just met yesterday? Not even met. Drooled over from across the room. Get it together, Sadie. Help the boy figure out where Parker is. “The checklist for . . . ?”

  “Oh, sorry. Upperclassmen have field-study placements for the last four weeks of internship. We get to list our top three choices of where we want to be placed, but we have to write essays about why each agency is a good fit for us. Last year I got stuck at the housing authority. Let’s just say their snack station didn’t include triple-filtered water. Not that they had a snack station.”

  Austin has perfect arms.

  “So what are your top three choices?” I ask.

  “Delos Living is number one, of course. Ed Kopel also does a lot of LEED-certified construction. And BKSK Architects. They did Twenty-Five Bond Street. Have you heard of it?”

  And those eyes.

  “No,” I say.

  “Seven people purchased the property together. Then they worked with the architects to create an apartment building with lots of common areas. It was kind of conceived as a big house.”

  He’s so hot I can’t even look at him.

  “Anyway,” Austin says. “Sorry to bother you. Parker has to be around here somewhere.” He turns like he’s about to leave. Then he turns back. “You’re a freshman¸ right?”

  I nod.

  “Do you have an area of interest yet?”

  “Urban design. Same as you.”

  “Nice. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

  “I wanted to thank you for your presentation. I’m really loving the environmental side of design now.”

  “Oh, good.” Austin gestures toward the Post-its. “That looks interesting.”

  “Not sure how interesting, but definitely necessary. I can’t believe everything I have to get done this week. The Post-it technique is a desperate attempt to salvage my sanity.”

  He takes a step inside my cubicle. “What are you working on?”

  “Spires.”

  “Dude. I love spires.”

  “I know! How awesome is the rotating LED light on One World Trade?”

  “The beacon of hope. Freaking amazing. Isn’t it visible for like fifty miles?”

  “That’s what I heard.”

  We smile at each other. I don’t know what it is. Something about this boy feels really familiar . . . almost like we’ve met before. But there’s no way I would forget meeting him.

  “I’m Austin.” He extends his hand to me.

  “I’m Sadie.” We shake.

  Austin looks around my cubicle at the bare walls and ancient filing cabinet. “Not too cozy, is it?”

  “Yeah, it’s a bit on the stark side now? But we’ll be redecorating next week.”

  “Really?”

  “No.” I laugh. He laughs, too. “At least we’re allowed to bring in whatever we want to brighten things up.” I point at my replica of the LOVE sculpture I brought in today. It sits right above my keyboard to remind me of what’s most important. As soon as I pulled it out of my bag, it was official. My cube had been personalized.

  “The least they can do to offset the torture of endless paperwork.” Austin taps his folder against his fingers.

  A Post-it gets stuck to my arm. I must have been fidgeting without realizing it. “Paperwork is just a test of how bad you want it,” I say, casually brushing off the Post-it and hoping Austin isn’t picking up on how nervous I am.

  “Judging from the amount of paperwork they’re testing me with, I’d say I want it pretty bad.”

  “Then I have no doubt you’ll get placed at Delos. You obviously belong there.”

  He scans my Post-its. “Can you show me your Post-it technique? I have a feeling I might need it one day.”

  “Sure.” I roll my chair over to the side so he can stand at my desk. While I’m showing him how I organized the Post-its to represent each aspect of the project, our arms touch for a second. I yank my arm away like I was just burned. My mind is only half on what I’m explaining. The other half is wondering when our arms might touch again. Or our legs. Or our hands. Okay, I guess my attention discrepancy is more like 20% explaining, 80% physical contact.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Parker pass by. He scoots back and leans in.

  “There you are,” he says to Austin. “I was looking for you up on five.”

  “I was down here looking for you,” Austin says.

  “You have that paperwork?”

  Austin holds up his folder. “Right here.” A paper slides out of his folder onto the floor. We both reach for it at the same time. I grab the paper and whip back up. My head bangs against his chin.

  “Sorry!” I say. “Are you okay?”

  Austin rubs his chin. “I think I’ll live.” He turns to me as he’s leaving. “Thanks for the tips. I feel more organized already.”

  I smile at him, but inside I’m crushed. Why did Parker have to show up like that? I could have talked to Austin all day. Assuming he’d want to keep talking to me. What if he doesn’t even like me? What if he’s just being nice because I’m new? What if the attraction is all on my side? But what if he does like me? Why would he linger in my cubicle like that if he didn’t like me? And why would he keep looking at me during his presentation yesterday? This running commentary plays on a mental loop while I’m working. By the time it’s my lunch hour, there’s no way I can eat. My stomach is twisted in anxious knots. Uncertainty is the worst.

  I roll out of the office at five as a jittery ball of anticipation. What if I run into Austin in the elevator? Everyone leaves at the same time. It’s totally possible that I’ll see him. I fluff my hair with a shaky hand and try to smooth down some random wrinkles on the side of my sundress. Why is my sundress wrinkly like that? Was it folded under while I was sitting? Okay. I really need to calm down. If I do run into Austin, I doubt he’ll even notice.

  The down button of the elevator has already been pressed. A few people are waiting for it. When the elevator bell dings and the doors slide open, a rush of adrenaline hits me so hard I see dark fuzzy spots for a second. My heart hammers until I realize Austin’s not in the elevator. I get in, the doors slide closed, and my pulse returns to normal.

  But then I see Austin through the lobby windows. He’s outside talking to some guy. Seeing him is all it takes for my nerves to start twanging so hard I’m actually shaking. I attempt some deep breathing. Is there another way out of the building? Probably some back exit with an alarm I would set off. I have no choice but to leave the normal way.

  I glance outside again before pushing through the revolving door. The guy Austin was talking to is gone, but Austin’s still there. Why would he be just standing there alone? Could he be waiting for me?

  “Hey,” Austin says when I come out.

  Right around the corner . . .

  “Hey.” He looks even cuter than he did before. How is that possible?

  “How was the rest of your day? Did the Post-it technique work out for you?”

  “Not exactly.” If he only knew how distracted I’ve been from the second he left. “I’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

  “You definitely will.” He flashes me a smile so bright I’m temporarily blinded. No boy has ever made me this nervous and exhilarated and happy all at once.

  “Well . . . see you tomorrow.”

  “Hey, um . . . do you have plans tonight?”

  I shake my head.

  “Do you . . . I mean, I know this is late notice, but would you maybe
want to do something? It’s so gorgeous out. We could walk around for a while and see what we feel like doing. If you want.”

  “Yeah,” I say in a tone that I hope comes off as casual instead of exposing how hard I am freaking out right now. “Like you said, it’s gorgeous out.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Not yet. Are you?”

  “Nope. But dinner can be part of the outdoor funtivities.”

  “Did you just say ‘funtivities’?”

  “I wanted to snatch it back the second it left my mouth.”

  “No, it’s cute.”

  “Not too dorky?”

  “Just dorky enough.” No boy has ever asked me out this quickly. I didn’t even know this kind of thing happened in real life. There’s a very good chance my chin has hit the floor. I might need a forklift to scrape it up.

  “So . . . is that a yes to dinner outside?”

  “Absolutely. I love eating outside.”

  “Of course you do.” He looks around. “Which way should we go?”

  Austin asked me to dinner and I said yes. That’s officially a date, right? When you eat together? Holy crap. We’re about to have our first date. We could just stand here all night and it would be the best first date ever. But what if this isn’t actually a date? What if it’s just hanging out as friends? I mean, who asks out someone they just met? He’ll probably be at a bar with his friends tomorrow night, laughing about how easily he got a girl to say yes.

  “Come on,” I say. “We’ll do my favorite walk.”

  We walk west toward the Hudson River. There’s something about walking downtown along the water that always gives me an epic feeling. Whenever I’m agitated or sad, I’ll walk along the water and automatically feel better. Walking restores my hope that everything will be okay. Especially at night. The city lights soothe me. The city energy makes me feel like anything is possible. Like all of my dreams will come true if I keep dreaming big. I want to share that energy with Austin. Or at least try to. Making another person feel exactly what you feel is hard. But I think he’ll understand. I can’t wait for it to get dark so the city lights can work their magic on him.