love poem before, and now it turns out it was plagiarized. A knockoff.
“Don’t be pissed. I think it’s funny! Clearly he was trying to impress you.”
I should’ve known Peter didn’t write it. He hardly ever reads in his spare time, much less writes
poetry. “Well, the necklace is real, at least,” I say.
“Are you sure?”
I shoot her a dirty look.
When Peter and I talk on the phone that night, I’m all set to confront him about the poem, to at least
tease him about it. But then we get to talking about his upcoming away game on Friday. “You’re
coming, right?” he says.
“I want to, but I promised Stormy I’d dye her hair on Friday night.”
“Can’t you just do it on Saturday?”
“I can’t, the time capsule party is on Saturday, and she has a date that night. That’s why her hair
needs to be done on Friday... .” It sounds like a weak excuse, I know. But I promised. And also... I
wouldn’t be able to ride on the bus with Peter, and I don’t feel comfortable driving forty-five minutes
away to a school I’ve never been to. He doesn’t need me there anyway. Not like Stormy needs me.
He’s silent.
“I’ll come to the next one, I promise,” I say.
Peter bursts out, “Gabe’s girlfriend comes to every single game and she paints his jersey number
on her face every game day. She doesn’t even go to our school!”
“There have only been four games and I’ve gone to two!” Now I’m annoyed. I know lacrosse is
important to him, but it’s no less important than my commitments at Belleview. “And you know what?
I know you didn’t write that poem for me on Valentine’s Day. You copied it off of Edgar Allan Poe!”
“I never said I wrote it,” he hedges.
“Yes you did. You acted like you wrote it.”
“I wasn’t going to, but then you were so happy about it! Sorry for trying to make you happy.”
“You know what? I was going to bake you lemon cookies on game day, and now I don’t know.”
“Fine, then I don’t know if I’m going to make it to your tree-house party on Saturday. I might be too
tired from the game.”
I gasp. “You’d better be there!” This party is small as it is, and Chris isn’t the most reliable
person. It can’t just be me and Trevor and John. Three people does not a party make.
Peter makes a harrumph sound. “Well, then I’d better see some lemon cookies in my locker come
game day.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
On Friday I bring his lemon cookies and wear his jersey number on my cheek, which delights Peter.
He grabs me and throws me in the air, and his smile is so big. It makes me feel guilty for not doing it
sooner, because it took so very little on my part to make him happy. I can see now that it’s the little
things, the small efforts, that keep a relationship going. And I know now too that in some small
measure I have the power to hurt him and also the power to make it better. This discovery leaves me