Back When You Were Easier to Love by Wing Smith Emily Read Free Book Online Page B

“best friend,” but I hardly knew Noah Talbot. He and Zan lived next door to each other—had forever—which is why they were friends. Proximity. Other than that, they had nothing in common.
    I shifted the package from one hand to the other. From the size and shape, I could tell it was a book. “Oh. Well ... thanks for bringing it for him.”
    Noah licked his upper lip. It was subtle, but he looked anxious to leave. He probably hadn’t even wanted to be here. No other Soccer Lovin’ Kids were at the party, as far as I knew.
    I was sure Noah was going to leave, but instead he said, “Joy, I know you don’t like me.”
    And it was true. I didn’t like him. But it wasn’t an active kind of dislike. He was a popular kid, and I didn’t feel comfortable around the popular kids.
    It was more than that, though. I didn’t like any of the Soccer Lovin’ Kids, just by essence of them being Soccer Lovin’ Kids. I didn’t like how easy it was for all of them, how they all were Haven. They knew the sport they were supposed to play, so they did. They knew what they were supposed to look like, so they did. They knew what they were supposed to believe, so they did. But none of them were real to me. Noah wasn’t real to me.
    “I don’t really know you,” is what I said.
    “We’ll have to change that,” he said, smiling at me. It was a Haven smile: white, straight teeth, dimples, eye contact. Friendly, yet completely hollow.
    “Sure, yeah,” I said. But it’s like in the summer when you run into someone from school and say, “Let’s hang out sometime.” It’s just what you say—no one has any intention of really acting on it.
    “Joy.” He reached out and shook my hand, which was weird, even for him. “I hope you have a really great birthday. And I hope this is a really great year.”
    “Um . . . thanks.” I tried to smile. “You’re welcome to stay and hang out, have something to drink.” There was a big tub of ice next to me, filled with soda. It was mostly Sprite and I half smiled, thinking of how much Zan would hate this if he were here.
    Noah grabbed a can. “I’ll see you around,” he said, shaking off the melted ice before he turned to leave.
    “See ya,” I said. “Let’s hang out sometime.”

DREAM SEQUENCE
    I believe that a person should try to understand dreams and take warning from them, which is why I keep coming up crazy on these psychological “personality inventories” Mattia’s always making me take online. Supposedly, these tests are designed to tell you who’s certifiable and who isn’t.
    I am.
    I’ve dreamed of Zan each night since he’s left. He’s got a hold on me harder now than he did when we were together.
    I dream Zan is in the school, staring into the cheap vending machine, deciding on his sugar-snack of choice. I am on the other side of the school, running to him, hoping to get there before he can make the wrong selection. By the time I reach him, panting, it’s too late. He’s chomping on a Reese’s cup, convincing me not to worry.
    Of course I do anyway. I know Zan so well he’s an extension of me. His needs are my needs. I know the truth about him.
    He’s allergic to peanuts.
    I wake—cold above me, cold below me, face wet from tears or dew or sweat. Around me there’s no sound but sleeping, no smell but outside. Go back to sleep.
    I don’t sleep. Every shadow I see is Zan. The hand I warm with my hand is Zan’s, even if it is connected to my body.
    A person should try to understand dreams. A person should take warning from them.

AND THE COLD HARD TRUTH IS
    I’m going to Claremont with Noah.
I saw it in a dream.
I don’t want to believe it.
But that’s what the dream said to do.

HOMECOMING
    On Saturday night my parents have a reservation at Bonjourno, the only nice restaurant in Haven, and I have a reservation with my biology textbook. Bonjourno will no doubt be packed with Homecoming couples tonight, and I hope it won’t make Mom and Dad feel