Free So Much Closer by Susane Colasanti Page A

always asking me that.”
    “Exactly! Like we’re supposed to automatically know what we’ll be doing for the rest of our lives. Guess I missed the memo on that one.”
    Scott finishes the first half of his sandwich. I stare at his arms. His sleeves are pushed up to right below his elbows. His arms are still tan from summer, all toned with sun-bleached blond hair. I don’t know what it is, but I’m, like, hypnotized by certain parts of his body.
    Note to self: stop staring at Scott’s arms.
    “I’m glad you’re here,” he says.
    Does he mean here in the sandwich shop? Or here in New York?
    “Me, too,” I say, blushing. I never blush. That’s how much power he has over me.
    “Transferring to a new school senior year sucks. Why couldn’t my dad have waited until I was in college?”
    “I thought you said he had to move for his job.”
    “Yeah, but I think he had a choice when to do it. He thought now would be better for everyone.”
    “Except you.”
    “Exactly.”
    Should I tell him? It’s the first time we’ve ever been alone like this. I may not get another chance. Leslie could dig her claws in even deeper and then it would be hopeless. But what if he totally freaks out that I moved here for him? I mean, who does that? Telling him would be a huge risk. It feels like we’ve been getting closer. If I scare him off, I could ruin my chances forever.
    We talk into the night. I dreamed about being with Scott like this so many times, writing notes about him for my wish box, thinking up ways to get him to notice me. Now this night is here. It’s real. And I have a feeling it’s just the beginning.

Eleven
    “ Let’s go to the High Line!” John says with way more excitement than I can take right now. The combination of attempting to navigate my way through the social structure of a new school, actually being required to get work done, and staying up too late has resulted in a catastrophic energy crash. After my sandwich shop interlude with Scott last night, so much adrenaline was zinging through my body that it took forever to fall asleep. I barely had the strength to drag myself to tutoring today. I desperately wanted to go home and take a nap after school, but there’s no way Sadie would have let me get away with that.
    “It’s tutoring time,” I remind John. “As in time for you to be tutored. Did you get that trig test back?”
    “Dude. It’s precisely because it’s tutoring time that we have to get out of here! What’s the first rule of tutoring again?”
    “Throw out all previous rules.”
    “Yes! Who says we have to stay in here all the time?”
    “Mr. Peterson.”
    “Mr. Peterson also said we could relocate if we were so inclined.”
    “Really? He didn’t tell me that.”
    “Go ask if you don’t believe me.” John leans back in his chair, putting in one earbud and firing up his music. His expression says, I’ll wait .
    I go find Mr. Peterson. He confirms that we can have tutoring somewhere else as long as actual work is getting done. He’s counting on me to make that happen.
    “We can go,” I report back to John.
    “Like I said. Why would we even want to stay inside? Soon it’ll be way too cold to go out and what kind of absurd waste of a perfectly good High Line would that be?”
    “Just one question.”
    “Hit me.”
    “What’s the High Line?”
    John slams back against his chair so hard I think it’s going to tip over. He drops his iPod, yanking the earbud out of his ear.
    “‘What’s the High Line?’” he breathes, all incredulous.
    “I’m new, remember?”
    John puts his hand up like, Give me a minute . He struggles for composure.
    “I’ll tell you on the way,” he says.
    As we walk northwest (or “up and over,” as John described), he tells me all about the High Line. It’s a park, but it used to be an old branch of elevated train tracks that hadn’t been used in a long time. The train tracks are still there, except now trees and flowers are growing