How are you?
R
Within an hour, I get his response.
It’s been a rough two days. Apparently, I may not be the only person out there like this. Which is hard to think about.
A
And just like that, I feel myself being drawn in again. I start to write a response—a long response—but after a few paragraphs I think, No. Stop. I thought there would be distance, but there isn’t any distance. I know that if I involve myself again right now, it will be the same as before. And it can’t be.
I hold off. I call Rebecca and talk about other things.
I need to build a life without A before I let him back in.
Chapter Thirty-One
My friends gather around me. In school. After school. On the phone at night.
Will effortlessly joins our circle. He and Preston look so happy together. And I’m happy for them. I am. But I’m also angry, because Will can join us so effortlessly, in a way A never could.
Nobody mentions my Mystery Man anymore. Rebecca must have told them not to.
Part of me still expects him to show up. Expects the universe to send him into the classroom next to mine. Or into Rebecca’s body. Or Steve’s. Just to say hello. Just to be near.
But I can’t think that way. I know I can’t.
I find myself looking into people’s eyes more than I ever did before. And I realize, that’s where we stop being a certain gender or color. Just look right into the center of the eye.
I know I haven’t answered him. It weighs on me. I know I’m not being fair. There’s no point in spending all this time thinking about A without answering. I have to be honest and clear about where it can go. That’s all. That’s it.
First thing Thursday morning, I write.
I want to see you, but I’m not sure if we should do that. I want to hear about what’s going on, but I’m afraid that will only start everything again. I love you—I do—but I am afraid of making that love too important. Because you’re always going to leave me, A. We can’t deny it. You’re always going to leave.
R
All through the day, there’s no response. And I think, fine, I deserve that.
But it’s still disappointing.
Then, Friday at lunch, a response.
I understand. Can we please meet at the bookstore this afternoon, after school?
A
To which I say:
Of course.
R
I’m nervous as I drive over. Everything’s changed, and nothing’s changed. This is going to be hard, but it feels so easy. Mostly, I want to see him. Talk to him. Have him be in my life.
All the other obstacles have fallen away. I am even starting to believe, deep in my heart, that if I told my friends the truth, if they met A the way I met A, on multiple days, they would believe it, too.
The only obstacle, really, is his life.
Which I know is too big an obstacle. But in the rush to see him, it doesn’t seem as big as maybe it should.
I get there first. I scan the café and know that none of these people could be him. If he were here, he’d be looking for me. He’d know when I arrived.
So I sit down. I wait. And the minute he walks through the door, I know. Like there’s a shiver of lightning between us. Today he’s this thin Asian guy wearing a blue T-shirt with Cookie Monster on it. When A sees me, his smile is wider than Cookie Monster’s.
“Hey,” he says.
And this time I say it back gladly. “Hey.”
So here we are. I’m trying to remind myself to not fall back into it, to not start thinking it’s possible. But with him right here, that’s hard.
“I have an idea,” he says.
“What?”
He smiles again. “Let’s pretend this is the first time we’ve ever met. Let’s pretend you were here to get a book, and I happened to bump into you. We struck up a conversation. I like you. You like me. Now we’re sitting down to coffee. It feels right. You don’t know that I switch bodies every day. I don’t know about your ex or anything else. We’re just two people meeting for the first time.”
The lie we want to believe. That feels dangerous.
“But why?” I ask.
“So we don’t have to talk about everything else. So we can just be with each other. Enjoy it.”
I have to tell him, “I don’t see the point—”
“No past. No future. Just present. Give it a chance.”
I want to. I know I want to. So I will. I know it’s not as easy as that, but it can at least start by being as easy as that.
“It’s very nice to meet you,” I tell him. I feel like I’m a bad actress in a bad movie.
But he likes it. “It’s very nice to meet you, as well,” he says. “Where should we go?”
“You decide,” I tell him. “What’s your favorite place?”
He thinks about it for a second. Whether he’s inside his own thoughts or this boy’s thoughts, I don’t know. His smile gets wider.
“I know just the place,” he says. “But first we’ll need groceries.”
“Well, luckily, there’s a food store down the street.”
“My, how lucky we are!”
I laugh.
“What?” he asks.
“ ‘My, how lucky we are!’ You’re such a goofball.”
“I am happy to be your ball of goof.”
“You sound like Preston.”
“Who’s Preston?”