32
The text said there was a boy in my closet, but all I found is this note.
Dear London,
You snore.
I heard your mom leave, so I escaped. I’ll come back in a while with coffee and officially announce my presence. If she comes back, you might want to tell her I’m coming so she knows we’re okay.
Read up… all of your notes are under your bed.
You were too tired to write a note last night but here are the highlights (I’ll fill in the holes later):
—I begged your forgiveness (you’ll read about why)
—Thankfully, you forgave me
—We spent hours reading your notes— you said that was a great way for me to get to know the real you
—As previously mentioned, you snore… and talk in your sleep
—I promised to reenact certain… other things
Last night was amazing. I wish you could remember it, but I’ll do my best to remind you. Oh, and PS—you are the best kisser ever.
Love,
Luke
“Aren’t we happy this morning?” my mom says when she returns from the grocery store and sees my permagrin. I stuff a bite of a bagel into my mouth, but it doesn’t help, so I just shrug in response.
“Dare I ask?” she says, which is really asking, isn’t it? Mom pours herself some coffee and leans against the counter, gazing at me, mug in hand.
“Luke and I made up,” I say matter-of-factly, once I’ve swallowed the biggest bite imaginable.
“Ahh, I see,” she says with a knowing look.
“He’s coming over this morning,” I add, gesturing to my outfit as if it needed explanation. Every Saturday I can remember is spent in pajamas, until noon at least. “We’re going to hang out today.”
I think I see a touch of hurt flash across my mother’s eyes, but in an instant, it’s gone.
“That’s great, London,” she says, pushing off the countertop and topping off her cup. “Maybe I’ll go into the office and catch up on some work, then.”
“Sounds good,” I say, thrilled that Luke and I might be alone in the house for a while. The notes I read painted a picture of a boy so appealing that I find myself wanting to be unsupervised. Except, of course, that he lied to me, but his note said we made up. I’ll count on him to walk me through the evening minute by minute.
As if on cue, the doorbell rings, and I practically run to the entryway to answer it. Flinging it open, I nearly gasp at the boy standing there in the bright sun.
>I hear the sink running in the kitchen; she must be getting a glass of water. Glancing at the clock, I wonder whether my mom will think it’s weird if I’m asleep just after nine. Maybe. But I have no other way to get rid of her quickly, so I bolt across the room and throw myself under the covers. I try to breathe easier and look peaceful, even though my heart is racing.
Mom’s footsteps are growing louder, and with only seconds left, I whisper a barely audible “shhh” to Luke.
I can’t believe there’s a boy in my closet right now! What am I thinking?
No time to ponder my stupidity. The door opens slowly and I freeze. I’m facing the wall, but I keep my eyes closed anyway, just in case she rushes over to check whether I’m faking.
Highly unlikely.
“Night, London, I love you.” My mom’s whispered words float through the night air so softly that they’re barely there. Is this her nightly ritual? I can’t help but feel a pang of guilt at the deceit that’s happening under her nose.