So Much Closer Read online

  I couldn’t just move to New York without telling Candice why. Especially since she’d heard that Scott was moving here. So I told her I started liking him right before she did, but that I’d been holding myself back because I knew she liked him, too. She didn’t seem mad about it at all. She even helped me pack.

  “But you liked him two years ago,” I remind her.

  “So what?” Candice snaps. “You knew I liked him. Who goes after a boy her friend likes?”

  “I didn’t know you were mad about this. Why didn’t you say anything when I told you why I was moving?”

  “Because I was trying to be a good friend. But then you left and it was real and now you’re both ... Why did you even move there? Did you really think Scott would suddenly notice you after all this time?”

  Hearing Candice talk to me this way makes the guilt I was feeling instantly vanish. She obviously doesn’t understand how important Scott is to me. And I seriously doubt I can make her understand.

  “Talk about warped logic,” she mumbles.

  “I didn’t think it would be a big deal,” I explain. “You liked him a long time ago. He didn’t like you back. End of story.”

  “Here’s a flash: the world isn’t black and white. There are shades of gray. You should try being more compassionate sometime.”

  “And you should try supporting your friends. I gave up senior year with you guys. That’s how much this means to me. Why can’t you understand that?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I tend to have a problem supporting my friends being backstabbing liars.”

  “When did I lie?”

  “You didn’t tell me you liked Scott. That’s the same as lying.”

  “I told you before I moved.”

  “That doesn’t count. The whole time you liked Scott, you never told me.”

  “Because I knew you liked him!”

  “So how do you think it feels that you followed him to New York?”

  “It doesn’t ... I’m sorry, but I can’t protect your feelings forever. I have to live my life.”

  “Go live it then,” Candice says.

  And then she’s gone.

  Ten

  I like it here in the Zen garden. There’s no sign or anything saying it’s a Zen garden. That’s just the impression it makes. I like the tall grasses, the minimalist wooden benches, the stepping-stones. I like how it manages to be secluded in the middle of everything while street life rushes by all around. Sitting here in the stillness, I think about everyone back home.

  After Candice hung up on me last night, I felt so alone. April texted me after to say don’t worry and that Candice will get over it. I’m not convinced. She’s never been this angry before. But I really hope April is right. They’re pretty much the only friends I have. I guess you could count Sadie as a new friend, but it’s not the same. We don’t have a shared history. I didn’t realize how important that was until I left it all behind.

  Everything is so different here. You cannot believe how many stores there are on one block. When I first got here I just stood on Bleecker Street, astounded by the abundance. You can pretty much get whatever you want within a few blocks of your place. It’s unreal. And no one ever drives anywhere. New Yorkers take the subway or ride buses. They walk a lot. I’ve basically walked everywhere since I got here, which is a radical change. If you walked around back home, people would wonder what’s wrong with your car. But here it’s standard. People walk by you on the street remarkably fast, usually without even noticing you. Which is fine by me. I appreciate the anonymity. It’s awesome that I could be anyone, that I don’t have to be me when I’m sick of me.

  But at the same time, it’s kind of lonely. Dad’s hardly ever home. I don’t really know anyone at school. Things with Scott aren’t the way I’d hoped. I miss my mom. We’ve talked a few times since I left, but it’s not the same. Even though we weren’t really getting along, having her home every day mattered. Seeing my friends every day mattered. I really miss April and Candice. I miss the things we used to do.

  No more riding around in April’s new car, singing over the music.

  No more hanging out at Bean There after school, laughing about whatever.

  No more scamming on boys down the shore all summer.

  I take out my cell and call April.

  “Hello?”

  “Remember that guy down the shore who always put blue sunblock on his nose?”

  “Who?”

  “The guy with the blue nose. What was his name again?”

  “I don’t even know who you’re talking about.”

  “Yes you do! He dropped his funnel cake on your towel.”

  “Oh.” April’s voice fades, like she’s pulling away from the phone. “I remember now.”

  “Are you busy? I can call back later.”

  “No, I have way too much homework. Later is not an option.”

  Then there’s this awkward silence. Here in the Zen garden, tall grasses rustle in the breeze. I wonder what’s happening on April’s side. I wish I could be in two places at once. Do I have to leave my old life behind completely just because I moved away?

  “So how’d it go with Robby Miller?” I ask.

  “It didn’t. I’m still deciding what to say.”

  “But you want to go out with him, right?”

  April sighs. I recognize that sigh. It’s the one she does when she feels overwhelmed.

  “I don’t know,” she says.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m just ... tired.”

  Something’s not right. April and I can always talk, even when there’s not much to actually talk about. I was hoping for one of our fun gossip sessions to pull me out of my mood. But it doesn’t sound like April wants to talk about anything fun. Or even talk at all.

  Candice has already moved on. Will April do the same?

  “I should go,” April says. “I’m never going to finish this homework. Call me tomorrow?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  “Of course! We’re still us, it’s ... sorry I’m being antisocial. It’s just the exhaustion.”

  “I hear you. Talk to you tomorrow.”

  I’m not sure if I believe April about being tired. Whatever’s going on with her, one thing is clear. The days of sharing my life with the only good friends I’ve ever known are over.

  It’s time to create a new life all on my own.

  The girl who was out here sketching before is back. She’s on the same bench as last time, looking up. I try to find what she’s looking at. The moon is huge and bright.

  Some people are running on the path between us. This is where Dad and I ran together the first Sunday I was here. He said how he needs to get back into running and I like to run, so we should run together every Sunday. That will be our thing. It’s cool that it’s only been two weeks and we already have a thing. We didn’t get to run last Sunday because of the rain, though.

  “Hey, Brooke!” a girl yells, running along the path. I recognize her from school, but I can’t remember her name. I wave back.

  The girl on the bench looks over. This jolt goes through me when we make eye contact. I’ve passed so many people on the street who zip by looking anywhere but at me. People racing by while walking their dogs or gripping their coffee cups or on their phones or speaking different languages with their friends. I don’t know what everyone’s in such a rush for. When someone does glance at me, they quickly look away if my eyes meet theirs. It’s almost like there’s this rule that you’re not allowed to make eye contact with anyone for longer than two seconds.

  Seeing someone and actually having them see me back makes an impact. Unlike the other New Yorkers I’ve encountered, this girl doesn’t immediately look away. She smiles with friendly eyes. Then she goes back to sketching.

  Maybe it’s because I’m lonely. Or maybe there’s something about her that I’m already connecting with on a subconscious level. Whatever the reason, I want to talk to her. I go over and sit
on the bench next to hers.

  “Hey,” she says. “Do you go to Eames?”

  “No.”

  “Oh. I thought I recognized you. I’m Rhiannon, but everyone calls me Ree.”

  “I’m Brooke.”

  “I heard. That’s my sister’s name.”

  Now that I’m closer, I can see the charcoal moon in progress on her sketch pad. Ree’s moon has all these detailed craters that I can’t even see when I look at the real moon.

  “You’re really good,” I say.

  “Thanks. It helps me unwind.”

  “Origami does the same for me.”

  I never talk this much to someone I don’t know. I can feel some kind of magic happening. It’s like the city energy makes anything possible.

  “Do you live around here?” Ree asks.

  “Yeah, over on Perry Street.”

  “Oh, sweet. I’m on West 11th.”

  She lives on Scott’s street. That’s one for the Of Course file. Maybe she’s seen him around. She might even know where he lives. But how weird would that be, asking about some boy when we just met?

  “I just moved here,” I say.

  “From where?”

  “New Jersey.” The skyline of Jersey City glitters in the night. I love its shimmery reflection on the water. I try to look in the exact direction of my town, somewhere behind that glowing line of light. But I can’t figure out which way I’m from.

  Ree still gives me a pang of jealousy, with her warm social skills and her Sparkly City Girl ways. She’s had all these years to absorb the energy I’d been longing for. Being here is a given for her. I wonder if she takes it for granted. Or does she appreciate being here as much as I do?

  “How’s it going so far?” she asks.

  “Good. I’ve wanted to live here for a long time. I’m living with my dad now.”

  “It must be nice having him around.”

  “I wouldn’t know. He’s never home.” It happened again tonight. Dad didn’t even call or leave a note this time. This working-late thing is obviously a permanent condition. He tried to be around more the first few days I was here, but then quickly retreated back into his normal routine. It makes me feel like I’m not even here, like he’s not trying to make me a part of his life the way he said he wanted to.

  “Same with mine,” Ree says. “Is yours an investment banker?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “They’re all like that.”

  I guess her life isn’t as sparkly as I thought. Both of our dads ignore us. But I hope her dad didn’t do the horrible things mine did.

  When I get home, Dad hardly looks up from his laptop.

  “Hey there, kiddo,” he says like nothing’s wrong. “How was school?”

  “Fine.”

  “Good.”

  And that’s it. He just goes back to his laptop. No apology for not bothering to tell me he was working late again.

  It’s really annoying how he can change my mood from mellow to snarly in two seconds.

  I breeze past him on the way to the bathroom. I dump my clothes in the hamper and yank my robe on. I try to keep my anger under control while I take out my contacts. One of them almost gets ripped in half. Then I wash my face, remembering how peaceful everything was in the Zen garden, trying to think relaxing thoughts. Rage bubbles under the surface. Maybe I’ll just go to bed early and escape.

  But I can’t. Because I ran out earlier without eating anything, so now I’m really hungry. I encounter a problem in the kitchen. I’m craving cereal, but there’s no milk. What I’m craving even more is a home-cooked meal. Missing Mom’s cooking is the last thing I expected to be doing, but there you go. Takeout was fun for a while. Now it’s sort of sad.

  My craving clamors for a bowl of Froot Loops. If I don’t run out to the deli for milk, my craving will clamor even more. So I put on my glasses, throw my hair into a distressed ponytail, and pull on some old sweatpants with my vintage Late Night with David Letterman tee. I can’t be bothered to put on any makeup.

  Every night I search the neighborhood, hoping to find Scott. I’ve walked up and down his street so many times I know those buildings better than I knew the ones on my old street. But I never just go out looking for Scott without getting ready. Before I leave, I usually try on at least five different outfits. I check myself in the mirror way too many times. The possibility of finding him is always so exciting. Besides sitting next to Scott in class, it’s the best part of my day.

  But tonight, all I want to do is grab some milk and come back home and eat cereal and go to bed. I don’t think about what I’m wearing. I don’t think about how I look.

  So of course this is when I find Scott.

  I’m just leaving the deli when it happens. He’s kind of hard to miss. Since I smack right into him and all.

  “Hey!” he goes.

  I clutch my deli bag, saving the milk from falling at the last second. I do not look up. I cannot see Scott right now. More specifically, Scott cannot see me right now. I couldn’t possibly look any worse.

  “Um.” I focus on the sidewalk. “Hey,” I tell a passing car.

  “On your way home?”

  “Yeah, I was just ... running out for something.”

  “That’s cool.”

  “What about you?”

  “I just got back from bowling practice. I know, it sounds lame. It’s just there’s no lacrosse team here, so I had to get creative.”

  “Makes you miss suburbia.”

  “Not exactly.” Scott looks at my deli bag. “You hungry? I’m getting a sandwich—I found this phenomenal place.”

  “I didn’t know sandwiches could be phenomenal.”

  “Are you kidding? Sandwiches rule.”

  Even though I must look like something that just crawled out of a gutter, Scott doesn’t seem repulsed.

  “So,” he goes, “you in?”

  “That depends. Would you mind if I went home real quick? I’m ...” I gesture at my glasses and sweatpants. “Not exactly presentable.”

  “You look good to me,” Scott says. He looks right at me when he says it.

  This.

  Is.

  Happening.

  We walk to my place. I try not to freak out that Scott Abrams is walking me home in this whole new city that I followed him to. I run upstairs, commencing the fastest reconstruction job ever. I’m not sure how much better I look five minutes later, but at least I’m presentable enough for a phenomenal sandwich.

  On my way out, Dad glances in my general direction. “Going out again?” he asks.

  “Just for a little while. I ran into a friend from school.”

  “Where are you guys going?”

  “Down the street. For a sandwich.”

  Dad’s already back on his laptop. “Have fun. Not too late, okay?”

  “Okay,” I agree. Even though I don’t know what “too late” is. We skipped the rules part of this arrangement when I moved in. Apparently, a lot of basic information gets left unsaid when there’s so much else you’re not saying.

  “Ready?” Scott says when I come out.

  “Starving.”

  He’s right about the sandwich shop. My BLT extra B is seriously delicious. Scott’s club sandwich is huge. It’s so huge that I can’t believe he can keep it from falling apart.

  “That has to be the biggest sandwich ever,” I say. “Is there anything not in it?”

  “Potato chips.”

  “Oh.”

  “And cereal.”

  Of course he said cereal.

  “Did you hear about that guy who dislocated his jaw biting into a big sandwich?” I ask.

  “Nuh-uh.”

  “Yeah, in Georgia. They’re even naming the sandwich after him.”

  “I bet the sandwiches here are even bigger.”

  “This place is awesome.”

  “I know. How nice is it having more options than the fricking Gas ’n’ Sip?”

  So true. Back home, there was
never anything to do. Everywhere closed early. Here the possibilities are endless. I like knowing I’m not the only one who’s impressed that a sandwich place is open this late. The fact that I could see a movie at midnight—a quality indie movie—blows my mind. Or how crowded the streets are at two in the morning. Not that I’ve been out that late. I leave my windows open, so I can hear all the people outside. I love street noise. The sounds of traffic soothe me to sleep.

  “So have you acclimated to West Village Community yet?” Scott asks facetiously.

  “Hardly.”

  “Didn’t you join that peer-tutoring thing?”

  “How do you know?”

  “Leslie told me. She’s friends with a tutor who knows Sadie.”

  “Oh.” I don’t know which is more disturbing—that Leslie knows my personal business or that she told Scott about it. I want to ask if he’s going out with Leslie, but it’s obvious he is.

  “She told me you guys ran into each other at some coffeehouse?”

  Okay. This is strange. Why is she telling him all this stuff about me?

  “Yeah,” I say. “Sort of.”

  “That’s cool about tutoring. At least you have goals. I have no clue where my life is going.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “Really?”

  “Why, does it seem like I do?”

  Scott nods. “You come off like you have it all together.”

  “Yeah, right,” I harrumph. “I wish I knew what I want to be. It’s so annoying how everyone’s always asking me that.”

  “Exactly! Like we’re supposed to automatically know what we’ll be doing for the rest of our lives. Guess I missed the memo on that one.”

  Scott finishes the first half of his sandwich. I stare at his arms. His sleeves are pushed up to right below his elbows. His arms are still tan from summer, all toned with sun-bleached blond hair. I don’t know what it is, but I’m, like, hypnotized by certain parts of his body.

  Note to self: stop staring at Scott’s arms.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” he says.

  Does he mean here in the sandwich shop? Or here in New York?