So Much Closer Read Free Page A

you. I just want to go to a better school.”
    “It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind,” she said. “It’s not like I can force you to stay. So if that’s what you want, fine. Let him deal with raising his daughter for a change.”
    “I just want to do what’s best for my future,” I said quietly.
    “I don’t like this.”
    “You don’t have to.”

    So now I’m here. Staying with my dad. Going to a new school that starts in two days. All so I can be closer to Scott Abrams.
    “My interior designer did a fantastic job,” Dad says. “I can’t believe this was my home office.”
    “She worked really quickly.”
    “That’s what you get when you pay for the best.”
    I nod as if I can relate.
    “My file cabinet used to be here.” Dad gestures at a big dresser. It has that new-wood smell.
    “I love it!”
    “She thought you would. It’s from Crate and Barrel.”
    “It’s awesome. I totally needed more drawers.”
    Dad and I are off to a good start considering this is the first time I’ve seen him in six years. I think we’re both trying to make things work. The way I see it, there’s no reason for unnecessary drama after all this time. Which is probably why we’re being extra polite to each other. And why my dad is giving me this incredible room.
    He explains the other changes his interior designer made. I have a new desk and bookcase and night table, all in matching glossy white. The closet was redone so there’s a section to hang clothes and another section that’s all drawers and shelves and shoe cubbies. Light pours in from the two big, south-facing windows, a breeze puffing against the white cotton curtains. My bed is also from Crate and Barrel. It’s way higher than my bed at home, with drawers underneath.
    Obviously, I love my new room. I keep noticing more details. A round rug with bright stripes in the middle of the hardwood floor. Pillows on the window bench in colors that match the stripes. An apple-green beanbag chair. A shiny red stapler on the glossy white desk. A magnetic strip by the door with cool glitter magnets.
    “I’m glad you like it,” Dad says.
    “Thanks for letting me stay.”
    “This is your home, too. It’s great having you here, kiddo.”
    Kiddo punches me in the gut. That’s what he used to call me. Back when he was a real dad.
    Not that there’s any point in getting angry about things that can’t be undone.

    I can’t believe I’m actually here. After all that time wishing I could live here one day, this is suddenly real. Excitement fizzes through me, making me feel alive in a way I never have before.
    It doesn’t take long to unpack. I left a lot of my stuff back home. I mainly just brought clothes and books. And my wish box.
    My wish box is the most secret thing about me. No one knows it exists. Not even April. I would feel like a huge dork explaining what it’s all about. The box works like this: I put notes with my wishes in it. Then I hope. It’s the only thing that keeps me sane, keeps me believing in the possibility of things that probably won’t come true. But I have to hold on to that hope anyway. Hope is what keeps me going.

Three
    I moved here for a boy I don’t know how to find.
    At least we live in the same neighborhood. That’s what I heard from Chad when I ran into him at the Gas ’n’ Sip right before I moved. So you’d think finding Scott wouldn’t be that hard. Only, this is New York. There are like a zillion people on every block. We could live here our whole lives and never see each other.
    My stomach is churning. I’m so afflicted that I can’t even tell if I’m just nervous or also hungry. Before Dad left for work, he gave me money for the week. Then he told me where to get the best bagel and coffee—the most important survival tip, according to him. It was weird how he assumed I drink coffee instead of saying I wasn’t allowed, like Mom. The stomach churn prevented me from eating before school. Now I wish