Love, Creekwood Read online

  God, I’m so bad at this. Here I am going on about dinosaurs and YouTube and 5-Minute Crafts, when all I really want is to write is I miss you. Because HOLY SHIT, I MISS YOU. You know, I thought I was fine when I boarded the train. But then you texted me our selfie from Shake Shack, and that was it. That picture. It was just so us, with me looking like I was going to burst out laughing, and you with that deer-in-the-headlights, anime-eyes face you get whenever there’s a straw in your mouth. Bram, it destroyed me. Like, it just hit me all of a sudden how that moment is OVER. And we’ll never, ever get it back. (God, even as I’m writing this, I know it’s so weird and over-the-top. Look at me having an existential crisis over a five-minute pit stop at Shake Shack.)

  But I kept thinking about last year, and the year before that, and how being near you was this everyday thing I took completely for granted. And we don’t get to go back. We don’t get to do high school again. And, yeah, I knew that intellectually, but I don’t think I fully processed it until now. I guess being on a literal express train away from you really made it sink in.

  So now I’m back in my room with Kellan and his friend Grover (no REALLY), who has a guitar, and can sing, and is currently playing “Hey There Delilah” for the twentieth time. I think he’s trying to teach it to himself. I feel like I should be annoyed, but I’m just so drained. And now that song’s stuck in my head, and Bram, I don’t know if you know the lyrics to that one, but it’s like . . . too freaking relevant. So now I feel like crying again, but I don’t want to do that in front of a bunch of random straight dudes. Maybe I’m not cut out for this whole roommate thing. Like, I want to know who thought it was a good idea to stick a random guy in my room and have him live there.

  But mark my words, Greenfeld: We’re going to be Kellan-free for fall break. I will make it my life’s fucking mission.

  Twelve more days. God, I miss you. And I love you. I’m, like, preposterously in love with you.

  Love,

  Simon

  FROM: [email protected]

  TO: [email protected]

  DATE: SEP 30 AT 11:21 PM

  SUBJECT: RE: A QUESTION

  I’ve got to say, that’s the weirdest fucking question you’ve ever asked me (AND I LOVE IT). So let’s make sure I’m following this. You want your roommate to leave early for fall break. And for that to happen, you need me (me!) to come up with a list of, and I quote, “clown-centered DC attractions”? WELL THEN.

  First of all, Simon, are we sure clown-centered is a thing? Because it looks like we just found a hot new contender for Most Cursed Adjective (you had a good run, moist). Seriously, though, what does that even mean? Clown-centered? Is that a metaphor? Are we talking about GOP senators, or do you mean literal, actual clowns? And if so, WTF?? Do you just really hate your roommate? I have SO MANY QUESTIONS.

  But yeah! Happy to see if Molly and Cassie have heard of anything . . . clown-centered. They’re at University of Maryland now, though, which is outside the city. Is that okay, or do you need it to be in DC proper? (Seriously, I am DYING to know what your roommate did to deserve this.) Anyway, texting M and C in a sec, and I’ll report back!

  So, other than scheming against your roommate, what on earth are you up to? And how was New York? Leah and I actually heard from Nick this morning, by the way. Can you believe it?? He wanted to know if we’re coming home this weekend (we are, for what it’s worth, in case you were maaaaaybe considering coming down early?).

  Anyway, Nick said he talked to Bram, and he got the impression that you two are kind of struggling with the long-distance stuff, I guess? I don’t want to overstep or anything, but I did want to make sure you’re okay. You always seem so cheerful with me, and that’s great, seriously. But I hope you know I’m here if you ever want to talk through the hard stuff. And same with Leah. We both love you so much, Si.

  (And in happier Bram news, tell him congrats from me on the game!!)

  Anyway, write back soon so I can start sorting through all your clown shit!! MISS YOU!!!

  xoxo

  Abby

  FROM: [email protected]

  TO: [email protected]

  DATE: OCT 1 AT 10:16 AM

  SUBJECT: RE: A QUESTION

  Clown-centered attractions are totally a thing!! I’m thinking circuses, funhouses, clown museums (I feel like clown museums exist, probably?). Anyway, GREAT question, but nope, not a metaphor. And DC suburbs are fine—I think Kellan’s parents actually live in the suburbs, now that you mention it. And by the way, I don’t hate Kellan!! But he says he’s hanging around campus the first part of fall break, and I need him to GTFO and go home early to be with his clowns. He likes clowns. A lot. (Anyway, tell Molly and Cassie thank you from me!)

  So, Bram and me.

  First of all, Abby, you’re not overstepping! I’m sorry I haven’t been more open about stuff. I just feel so weird about the whole thing. I guess I didn’t expect it to be this hard. Which is probably really naive of me? But the thing is, so many couples do this! All the time! And in the grand scheme of things, New York to Philly is nothing. Like, we’re so fucking lucky. I got him a week ago, and I get him back on Friday, and Abby, I don’t know why this is so unbearable. I just miss him so much.

  Anyway, I love you, and thank you, and hug Leah for me, okay? I mean you’re probably already hugging RIGHT THIS SECOND, aren’t you (is “hugging” a euphemism? I don’t know, you tell me!).

  Miss you too, Abby Suso. ♥

  Love,

  Simon

  FROM: [email protected]

  TO: [email protected]

  DATE: OCT 7 AT 1:12 AM

  SUBJECT: RE: THIS IS WEIRD, RIGHT??

  It’s so weird. I keep looking up from my phone expecting you to be there, and nope—it’s just fifty-fucking-million printed manga drawings. You’re too far away. I don’t like it. And I miss you, which I realize makes me downright insufferable. Oh no, I have to sleep in a different room than my girlfriend for three nights. Better cue up the world’s tiniest violin.

  But I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to properly write back. Someone wanted to watch Mamma Mia! again (actually, make that two someones, because apparently Wells knows all the words to Dancing Queen. Who knew?). And you’re on my shit list, Abby Suso, because I *never* cry at this movie. Why is Mamma Mia! hitting so different?? What have you done to me???

  Anyway, tomorrow should be quite the fucking scene. You sure you don’t want us to bring a side dish at least? I think my mom’s really worried your parents will hate her. Like, she keeps talking about how excited she is, but she gets this kind of frantic look when she says it. Just to warn you, she has very little filter when she’s nervous, but I’ll be ready and primed to run interference if necessary. And of course, she and Wells have both gotten the full rundown of what your parents do and don’t know. (I have to say, I kind of love the fact that your parents know I’m your girlfriend. They just don’t know I’m your roommate. And we’ll make sure they continue to not know.)

  So, I’ll see you soon. And until then, I’ll just lie here in my childhood bed, giving over my entire existence to a certain four-letter L word. (Lazy. The word is lazy.) (Among others.)

  Miss you, Suso.

  Cordially,

  LCB

  FROM: [email protected]

  TO: [email protected]

  DATE: OCT 7 AT 9:34 PM

  SUBJECT: RE: THIS IS WEIRD, RIGHT??

  Happy last night without me!!!!!!! Honestly, you should be taking advantage of this. Sow all your non-Abby wild oats and . . . watch a movie with subtitles? Read a bunch of books with bookmarks? Frankly, I don’t even know what you’d do without me. So maybe we scratch the whole wild oats idea and just text each other all night?

  Dinner went well, don’t you think? I’m pretty sure my mom wants to adopt your mom (also, I think she thinks your mom’s, like, twenty-five, which is some interesting math!). Really sorry about the church thing, Leah. I promise she�
��s not trying to make some kind of statement. She’s not even that religious. She just wants to show you off to her church friends (it’s actually pretty cute—she’s already told them all about us, and I think she even cropped Garrett out of some of our prom pictures. Whoops!).

  Definitely a close call, though, when my dad asked about your roommate. Man, you and your mom are such hilarious opposites. She’s sitting there, eyes popping out of their sockets, looking like she just swallowed twenty hot peppers. But you? You just did your little half shrug and said, “She’s nice. We’re actually working on an anatomy project together.” You didn’t even glance at me for a second when you said it. You’re such a goddamn flirt, Leah Burke. YOU DON’T EVEN TAKE ANATOMY. (Also you had me feeling things I should NOT be feeling at my parents’ dinner table, so thanks a fuckton for that, you jerk.)

  Text me when you’re up. ♥

  xoxo,

  Abby

  FROM: [email protected]

  TO: [email protected]

  DATE: OCT 7 AT 10:11 PM

  SUBJECT: RE: PRETTY SURE I MISS YOU MORE

  Dear Jacques,

  Well, I’m home. And I’ve been staring at this email for about twenty minutes, grasping around for something upbeat to say. But I’m coming up empty. It’s just getting harder and harder. I can’t believe I woke up this morning with your head in the crook of my neck, your hand on my chest. Simon, I can’t even tell you how empty my room feels. I want to be back in Philly, looking at all the trees by the duck pond, and kissing you behind Drinker House, because apparently it really does exist (and for the record, if kissing you is my punishment, I’ll happily lose every bet we ever make).

  Anyway, I know you’re attempting to go to bed early (and probably failing miserably. I don’t know how anyone sleeps before a six a.m. flight). Did Kellan leave yet? I’m actually really glad I got to meet him. I like him! He’s definitely an odd duck, but it’s endearing. I mean, he clearly believes in ghosts, and I don’t really get the clown thing. But he’s living his truth, and I have to respect that. Also, it was really cool of him to crash in Grover’s room all weekend. ☺

  So, is it weird knowing you’ll be home tomorrow? I’m sure your parents are going to buy out the entire Oreo display at Publix. It’s pretty wild that they managed to hide the whole thing from Nora. Who knew your dad had it in him? Can’t wait to hear how she reacts when she sees you—and tell her happy birthday from me, okay? I really hate that I’m not coming with you. I still can’t believe you have a full week off, and I’m just stuck here (with two essays due on Friday, no less). But apparently I’m doing an escape room with Ella and her friend Miriam on Saturday (she swears it’s fun, and she thinks I’ll be good at it? I guess we’ll find out!). And then I’ve got a game on Sunday.

  Simon, I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you about soccer. And I’m sorry I had such a hard time explaining in person. I don’t even have a good explanation. I guess I was weirdly embarrassed about it being an intramural league and not the school team. Which is ridiculous, I realize, for so many reasons, beginning with the fact that you’re the literal last person who’d judge me for that (Simon, I’m not even sure you know what intramural sports are). But I felt so self-conscious about it anyway, like maybe I’m not really the soccer kid you fell in love with. And then there were the logistical factors, like how a lot of the games are on Sundays. I didn’t want you to feel like we had to plan our trips around my games (my team knows I’ll have to miss a few, and everyone’s cool with it, I promise).

  And, Simon, I think the part that feels shittiest is the fact that I’m actually really, really liking it. Which makes me feel like a terrible boyfriend. I don’t know if that even makes sense. I guess it just feels like if I’m happy here, I’m basically throwing up a giant middle finger at our relationship. I know that’s completely illogical, and I PROMISE it has nothing to do with anything you’ve ever said or done. It’s just my brain being glitchy, like it always is. I don’t think I’ve told you about that first year after we moved, but it was the same kind of thing. I was in this brand new school, in this brand new town, and every decent moment felt like a betrayal of my old life.

  I just don’t want you to think I miss you any less, okay? Soccer’s a nice distraction, but you’re the love of my life.

  Love,

  Blue

  FROM: [email protected]

  TO: [email protected]

  DATE: OCT 8 AT 12:10 PM

  SUBJECT: THE SOCCER KID I FELL IN LOVE WITH

  So, I’ve been thinking about your email all morning. God. I don’t even know what to say. I’m just gutted, Bram. I’m so fucking sorry. The fact that you found something good, and I made you feel like you couldn’t tell me. I’m the worst boyfriend on earth. But let me be totally clear: I want you to be happy. And if that’s in New York or New Zealand or Antarctica or Jupiter, so be it. Bram, I love that you’re playing soccer. I love that you’re loving it. I love that you’re happy. I love you, okay? And that’s it. That’s the whole entire point.

  So tell me everything. I want to know about your teammates, and whether you get to wear those cute little knee socks, and if you’ll get a trophy with an upside-down gold guy kicking a soccer ball. I want to know if it feels different than it did at Creekwood. Oh, and for the record, I DO know what intramurals are, thank you very much. Did you know I played intramural basketball for six months in middle school? WE EVEN WON A GAME (okay, technically the other team had to forfeit, but it was STILL A WIN).

  And in other news, I’m home! Though getting here was a bit of a shitshow. I don’t know why I picked a flight that landed in the middle of Atlanta morning rush hour (okay, I do know why, it was cheap, but GOD. What a mess). Also, my dad took the morning off work to pick me up, and we were going to stop at the Varsity for frosted oranges. But then the Varsity wasn’t even open yet, because apparently Simon and Jack Spier are the only two dumbasses who want milkshakes at ass o’clock in the morning. But Nora’s still at school, of course. Maybe I’ll hide in her room with Bieber and spring up from the bed or something when she walks in there. Is that creepy, genius, or both?

  Anyway, soccer kid, go be happy this week. Kick a ball around, hang with Ella, take the subway down to Brooklyn. Fall in love with New York. (And, for the love of god, go to the dining hall! You’re an athlete, go eat some real food!)

  I love you more than anything, okay?

  Love,

  Simon

  FROM: [email protected]

  TO: [email protected]

  DATE: OCT 14 AT 4:55 PM

  SUBJECT: BACK IN PHILLY!!

  Hey! Just letting you know I made it (and sorry for all the frantic texts). Holy shit, that was way too close for comfort. I’m surprised they even let me board. I totally had to do the walk of plane shame, where everyone’s just blatantly hoping I won’t take the extra seat they apparently now feel is their birthright. But I’m here, and it’s weirdly nice to be back in my room again. It’s even good to see Kellan. He’s funny, he just asked me how my trip to Shady Creek was, like it’s a normal city people have heard of. Kind of sweet that he remembered that, I guess?

  It was just so, so great to see you guys—wish I could have stayed the whole weekend. I’ve never really just wandered around Athens before, and I’m pretty jealous of you now, because it’s the coolest fucking city on earth. Like that record shop, with all the album art on the wall and all the vintage R.E.M. posters. Leah, I could lock myself inside that store and be happy for the rest of my life.

  And thanks for letting me spiral about the Bram thing. I know it’s going to be fine. It’s already fine. I just feel bad I made him feel like he has to hate New York to prove he misses me. And I don’t want him to be sad just because I’m sad.

  I mean, I don’t hate it here. It’s just that everything feels so muted without him. It’s so hard to explain it. It’s like, I’m happy sometimes, but there’s a ceiling. Without Bram, I’m never m
ore than 75 percent okay. And, Leah, I’m so scared I’m not up for four years of this. Maybe I made the wrong choice. I do love this school. It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen in real life. And I like my customs group. But I also don’t really feel close to any of them. And it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why. I’m not fully present. I’ve got one foot in New York.

  Sorry, I know that’s a lot. You don’t have to reply to any of that. I’m just being a mopehead (my new favorite Nora-ism—can you believe our girl was today years old when she learned that the word’s actually “moped”? I worry about Georgia public schools, I really do). Anyway, good luck with sociology. You’re going to ace the freaking fuck out of it, of course, because you’re you, and because you’re adorably obsessed with that class.

  Miss you, Leah.

  Love,

  Simon

  FROM: [email protected]

  TO: [email protected]

  DATE: OCT 16 AT 10:01 AM

  SUBJECT: RE: BACK IN PHILLY!!

  Right, so what’s actually adorable is the thought of you sitting on your little dorm bed typing the words “freaking fuck.” I don’t want to turn your world upside down, Spier, but the whole point of freaking is to avoid saying fuck. Freaking fuck is like ordering a Diet Coke and twenty donuts. Just say fuck, you know? Own it. Live your truth. (I did, by the way, ace the fucking fuck out of that quiz.)

  Simon, listen to me: I am always, always up for a spiral. Don’t apologize. This is a massive change for you guys, and I can’t begin to imagine what that must feel like. Obviously, my situation right now is the opposite of long-distance, but I’ve definitely thought about the whole being-fully-present thing. My mom always used to talk about how she never really had an Immersive College Experience (aka Baby Me was a cockblock). Anyway, she always said she liked the idea of me starting with a total blank slate—no babies, no relationships. Don’t get me wrong, she’s totally all-in on Abby. But I guess I must have internalized the whole idea of it at some point, because every so often, I find myself asking what parties I’m saying no to because I’d rather stay in with my girlfriend. (And then I remember I’m perfectly fucking fine saying no to parties, girlfriend or no girlfriend.)