The Boy Next Door - Weebly

about me to her friends and colleagues, because a group of them demanded to meet me.
I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, Why on earth did he go?
And I can't tell you why I went. When she asked me about it, it was in front of my office
building, where she seemed to appear as if from nowhere. I was so shocked to see her--so
scared someone was going to call me by my name--that I think I froze, even though it was
about a hundred degrees outside. The sun was shining, and there was noise and confusion
everywhere, and suddenly, she was just there, with her hair shining all around her head
like a halo, and her big blue eyes blinking up at me. I think I would have said yes if she'd
asked me to eat glass out of the palm of her hand. And then there was nothing I could do about
it. I mean, I had already said yes. I couldn't cancel on her. So I ran around in a panic,
trying to figure out if Max knew anybody at the Journal. And I was actually relieved when he
said he didn't. Relieved! As if I was ever going to be able to pull this off in the first place.
So I went and I met them and they were suspicious but for Mel they pretended not to be,
since she is clearly someone they adore. By the end of the evening, we were all the best of
friends. But only because the one woman who actually knows Max didn't show up.
I didn't find that out, of course, until I got there, and Mel said, Oh, Dolly Vargas--you
know Dolly--she couldn't make it, on account of how she's got ballet tickets tonight. But
she says hi. See? See how close I came? It's only a matter of time. So what do I do? If I tell
her, she'll hate me, and I'll never see her again. If I don't tell her, eventually she'll find
out, and then she'll hate me, and I'll never see her again. After her friends had left, Mel
proposed we walk a bit before catching a cab back to our building. We walked along Tenth
Street, which, if you'll remember from before you and Jason fled for the suburbs, is a shady
residential street, filled with old brownstones, the front windows of which are always lit up at
night, so you can see the people inside, reading or watching TV or doing whatever it is people do
in their homes after dark. And as we walked, she took my hand, and we just strolled along like
that, and as we strolled, I was struck by this horrible realization: that never in my life had I
walked along the street holding a girl's hand and felt like I did then...which was happy.
And that's because every other time a girl has grabbed my hand, it's been to drag me
towards a store window so she could point to something she wanted me to buy her.
Every other time. I know it sounds horrible, like I'm feeling sorry for myself, or whatever,
but I'm not. I'm just telling you the truth. That's actually the horrible part, Stace.
That it's true. And now I'm supposed to tell her? Tell her who I am?
I don't think I can. Could you?
John
To: Jason Trent
From: Stacy Trent >
Subject: John
There's nothing wrong with your brother, silly. He's in love, that's all.
Stacy