Phoebe: That’s a hefty accusation.
But we’re talking about Freddie. Who, if he were a banana, didn’t fall far from the tree. Did Dad read my diary? No. He wouldn’t have done that, but there are new holes in my version of the story that I’m not sure how to fill.
Me: Moving on. If my crush on Chase were a seed, it took root in chemistry.
Phoebe: Nothing like questionable, noxious fumes to make things grow.
Mr. Halverson did have quite a reputation as being a mad scientist. I wouldn’t be surprised if he concocted a love potion.
Me: On little more than smiles exchanged in the corridors and hope, it sprouted. Then Chase asked me to sit with him at lunch.
Phoebe: This is a very poetic account. Don’t kill the sprout. You’ll make me cry.
Me: We both know the sprout didn’t die. It struggled, but somehow it persevered through harsh conditions (pranks, teasing, and disappointment).
Phoebe: Are you going to say that after ten years it finally bloomed?
I pause because I have to think about this. Was last night the fruition of a long-term crush? No. It was random. Chance. Chase and I danced. It was fun. Our mothers thought we’d make a good match. He’s polite and suggested we go on a date. But we won’t and that’s for the best. All the same, I have an item to add to The Crush List. Chase said I’m adorable. If the way my body zings with heart fluffies is any indication, the crush is alive and well.
Me: I’m not sure if there are flowers, but...
Phoebe: And that’s what I call a love story.
Me: Did Mum tell you she and Mrs. Collins want us to get married?
Phoebe: Scratch that, it’s a tragedy. Everyone knows arranged marriages don’t work.
Me: Maybe not for you and Boxy.
Phoebe: You’re giving me whiplash, sis. You have an undying crush on the guy, yet he made the latter half of senior year miserable for you. Even so, you’ve never let him go and measure everyone you’ve dated against him.
Me: I can count the number of guys I’ve dated on one hand.
But Phoebe has a point. It doesn’t make sense. But neither did my dad’s comment about the banana, Phoebe’s caginess about her feelings for Boxy, or the secret ingredient in Concordia’s chocolate cake that makes it so rich and creamy, yet dense and fudgy. Not that I’d know, but boy, I’d like to.
I suppose some things remain a mystery, especially things closest to the heart. I can’t claim to understand why my crush on Chase has endured, only that it has. That must mean something.
The train rolls into the station at Intherness, the capital of Concordia. The flags are raised high, blowing gently in the wind. The brass is polished as it always is. The blue sky is as deep as ever. The clocks are synced and on time. Everyone moves in an orderly fashion.
I can finally breathe.
Nothing has changed. Perhaps I did step into an alternate dimension and am only now returning to reality.
If that’s the case, it’s fine. I’ve endured the crush for over ten years. No matter what my mother has in mind, my life is here.Chase is in London or Boston or somewhere that isn’t this small island nation.
The weekend was a fantasy, an escape from my regular, mostly normal life.
A tourist stops me to ask for directions on the corner of Ruby Strasse and Broadview Boulevard. I gesture east toward the train station when I whack someone in the head, er, in the balloons. Someone was walking by with a balloon bouquet and I hit one. The string tangles around my arm and then floats loose. The others follow as I make my apologies, quickly realizing that my weird luck followed me home.
14
CHASE
After leaving the Smythe’s house, I go to the same hotel as my parents but stay down the hall.
Mom has a major case of fizzy post-party excitement and can’t stop gushing about my courtship and future bride.
The upside is she adores Pippa. The downside is she’s still off-limits.
