“Er, thanks,” I said, handing the clipboard back to him.
He passed me the bouquet, which I now saw was full of real red roses, and produced a white envelope from his back pocket. “This is for you, too,” he said. “You’re a lucky girl. It’s not often I get to make a delivery like this to someone your age.” He smiled. “Young love.”
Young love? God, I had to fight the urge to correct him. To give him my long speech about how teenagers don’t fall in love. But he was still talking.
“Your boyfriend must really be a keeper. Not many boys are so thoughtful at that age.”
I stared down at the roses and said, “You’re probably right.” Was Toby still trying to cheer me up? God, he was so nice. Too bad I didn’t deserve all of the kindness.
After thanking the delivery guy, I closed the door. I felt guilty for considering my situation a love triangle. It was just me and Toby, and Wesley danced along the outskirts, far away from us… or that’s how it should have been. That’s how Toby deserved for it to be.
I put the bouquet on the kitchen table and opened the envelope, expecting to find a sappy but perfectly worded letter from my flawless boyfriend. It was the kind of thing I’d normally scoff at, but I’d let Toby get away with it. He really did have a way with words sometimes. That would help when he became a famous politician.
But the handwriting on the letter was the same as the note in my back pocket. This time, however, there was much more to absorb.
Bianca,
Since you keep running away from me at school, and, if I remember correctly, the sound of my voice causes you to have suicidal thoughts, I decided a letter might be the best way to tell you how I feel. Just hear me out.
I’m not going to deny that you were right. Everything you said the other day was true. But my fear of being alone is not the reason I’m pursuing you. I know how cynical you are, and you’re probably going to come up with some snarky reply when you read this, but the truth is, I’m chasing you because I really think I am falling in love with you.
You are the first girl who has ever seen right through me. You’re the only girl who has ever called me on my bullshit. You put me in my place, but, at the same time, you understand me better than anyone ever has. You are the only person brave enough to criticize me. Maybe the only person who looks close enough to find my faults—and, clearly, you’ve found many.
I called my parents. They’re coming home this weekend to talk to Amy and me. I was afraid to do this at first, but you inspired me. Without you, I never could have done that.
I think about you much more than any self-respecting man would like to admit, and I’m insanely jealous of Tucker—something I never thought I’d say. Moving on after you is impossible. No other girl can keep me on my toes the way you can. No one else makes me WANT to embarrass myself by writing sappy letters like this one.
Only you.
But I know that I’m right, too. I know you’re in love with me, even if you are dating Tucker. You can lie to yourself if you want, but reality is going to catch up with you. I’ll be waiting when it does… whether you like it or not.
Love,
Wesley
p.s.: I know you’re rolling your eyes right now, but I don’t care. Honestly, it’s always been kind of a turn-on.
I stared down at the letter for a long moment, finally understanding what Amy had been thanking me for. Wesley was trying to fix things… because of me. Because of what I’d said. I’d actually managed to get through that thick skull of his. That was absolutely shocking to me.
It took a second for the other surprises to sink in. Words like love and only leapt off the page at me. It was my first love letter—not that I’d ever wanted one, but still—and it wasn’t even from my boyfriend. The wrong guy had given it to me. The wrong guy wanted me. Wesley was the wrong guy.
Or was he exactly the right guy?
I was so consumed with my thoughts that I jumped when the phone rang, and I scurried across the linoleum in an effort to answer it. “Hello?”
“Hi, Bianca,” Toby said.
My heart sped up and pumped shame through my veins. Wesley’s letter, which I still held, burned the fingers of my right hand, but I managed to sound normal when I said, “Hey, Toby. Are you on your way over?”
“No,” he sighed. “Dad has errands for me to run, so I can’t come by this afternoon. I’m really sorry.”
“That’s okay.” I shouldn’t have felt relieved, but I was. Seeing Toby would have meant hiding the flowers and entering a potential web of lies, and we all know what a shitty liar I am. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Thanks for being so understanding. But I was really looking forward to spending a little time with you. We just don’t get much time together at school.” He paused. “Do you have plans tomorrow night?”
“Nope.”
“Then do you want to go on a date? A band is playing at the Nest, and I thought we could go. Of course your friends can come, too. Would you like that?”
“Sounds great.” See, little lies like that I could pull off. I hated live music, and I despised the Nest, but pretending the opposite would make Toby happy, and Casey would be thrilled to be invited along. So why not? White lies were easy enough, but anything bigger and I was screwed.
“Cool,” Toby said. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”
“Okay. Bye, Toby.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Bianca.”
I hung up the phone, but my feet refused to move. The letter still blazed against my skin, and I found myself staring down at the tempting words. Why wasn’t this easier? Why did Wesley have to come along and make me question everything? I felt like I was betraying Toby with every sentence I read. Like I was cheating on him.
But now I knew that every time I kissed Toby, I was hurting Wesley.
“Arrrrrgh!” With a scream that exploded in my chest and clawed its way through my lungs, I wadded the letter into a tight ball and hurled it across the room as hard as I could. It moved through the air slowly before bouncing delicately off the floral wallpaper and landing on the floor.
Finally, with my throat aching, I sank to the floor, buried my face in my hands, and—I admit it—cried. I cried out of frustration and confusion, but mostly for myself, for being caught in such a position, like the selfish little girl I was.
I thought of Cathy Earnshaw, the spoiled, selfish heroine in Wuthering Heights, and I remembered the passage I’d been reading before the doorbell rang. But when the words drifted through my brain, they were slightly different.
“My love for Toby is like the foliage in the woods. Time will change it, I’m well aware, as winter changes the trees—my love for Wesley resembles the eternal rocks beneath—a source of little visible delight, but necessary.”
My head shook back and forth feverishly. Like, I corrected myself. My like for Wesley is blah, blah, blah. I wiped my eyes and got to my feet, trying to calm my ragged breathing. Then I turned and walked back upstairs.
All of a sudden I wanted to know how the book ended.
26
After staying up all night to read—and folding my clothes at least ten times—I discovered that Wuthering Heights doesn’t have a happy ending. Because of stupid, spoiled, selfish Cathy (yeah, I have no room to talk, but still), everyone winds up miserable. Her choice ruins the lives of the people she cares most about. Because she picked propriety over passion. Head over heart. Linton over Heathcliff.
Toby over Wesley.
This, I decided as I dragged my tired ass to school the next morning, was not a good omen. Normally, I don’t believe in omens or signs or any of that destiny crap, but the similarities between my and Cathy Earnshaw’s situations were too eerie to ignore. I couldn’t help but wonder if the book was trying to tell me something.