Love You Better (Better Love 1)

“So, since there’s a good chance there are some unfamiliar faces in the classroom right now, we’re going to do a little activity,” Mrs. Jolie says. “You’re going to be interviewing someone in the class whom you do not already know, and then you’re going to be using what you learn to write an essay about them. Don’t just learn the basics—make your essay interesting. You have sixty seconds to find your partner.”

I immediately look to Ivy. “We don’t really know each other yet since we only just met this morning. Want to be my partner, Table Buddy?”

“I believe I’d like that, Table Buddy.” Zing.

Over the next thirty minutes, Ivy and I take turns asking each other questions. I learn that her middle name is Jean (mine’s Allen); her name means “ivy plant,” which she says is boring (mine is Irish and was my great gran’s last name, which Ivy says is cool); she has a four-year-old brother named Jacob (I’m an only child); she loves horror films (I hate them, but I didn’t tell her that because I don’t want her to think I’m a wuss); her favorite subject is math because she’s really good at it (mine’s history because I like how it answers a lot of my questions); her favorite dessert is everything (I told her she had to pick one and she threatened to break up our new friendship because she refuses to discriminate against dessert) and her family just moved into a house two neighborhoods from mine.

When she told me she lives in the Crenshaw Village neighborhood, I was thankful she was writing in her notebook so she didn’t see the momentary shock on my face.

Crenshaw Village is, well, not nice. It’s not bad, but it’s kind of junky, and the houses and yards are smaller and usually not well-maintained, and there are no sidewalks, and most of the streetlights don’t work. Crenshaw isn’t far from my neighborhood—I can easily ride my bike there—but it couldn’t be more different.

I do a quick survey of her outfit: ratty black Chucks, plain jeans, a plain blue t-shirt, plain black-framed glasses. Except for the shoes, there’s not a single label on any of her clothes that I can see. It’s polar opposite to my brand-new Under Armour shirt, brand-new Abercrombie jeans, and brand-new Under Armour slides.

“You’re not far from my house,” I say in an attempt to mask my surprise. “Maybe we can hang out.”

Why did I just say that? I can’t hang out with anyone. Soccer tryouts are in two weeks. When I realize my mistake, I open my mouth to specify that I meant hang out after tryouts, but Ivy beats me to it.

“That could be fun!” And she’s so excited that I forget all about running drills to prep for tryouts and decide I’ll hang out with her whenever and wherever she wants.

“This weekend?” I ask.

“Oh, maybe. I have to ask. My mom is probably working doubles since we just moved here and all, so I’ll probably have to watch my brother.”

“Can’t your dad do it? Or is he working too?”

She stiffens a little, and I immediately know I said the wrong thing.

“My dad died when I was five,” she says with a shrug. Her voice is equal parts sad and resolved, and I’m surprised at how, I don’t know, adult she sounds.

“I’m sorry.” I pat her back awkwardly and she gives me a small smile.

“It’s okay. Car accident. Drunk driver,” Ivy shrugs again and sighs. “It is what it is.”

In an attempt to lighten the mood, I ask the first thing that pops into my head. “Where’s your mom work?”

“She’s a shift manager at Pat’s Diner. What does your mom do?”

“My mom and dad are lawyers. They own Pierce, Pierce, & Associates.” I beam with pride. “It’s the top general practice law firm in the city.”

“Wow,” she says, eyes wide. “That’s awesome. That’s a huge accomplishment.” With a morbid chuckle, she adds, “we get excited when we can make the rent before the three-day grace period is up.”

We sit in awkward silence for what feels like freaking forever. It’s terrible, but I don’t know what to say. Each tick of the clock makes me feel more desperate to put a smile on her face, to smooth her scrunched eyebrows and bring out that stupid dimple.

“What if I come over and hang out with you and your brother both this weekend? And I could walk home with you after school today since we’re going in the same direction.”

She nods, but then says, “Maybe. I have to pick Jacob up from daycare after school, though.”

“I’ll come with!” I cringe a little because I know I’m on the verge of sounding too eager and maybe a little stalker-y, but I can’t turn back now, so full-steam ahead. “I can come with to pick up Jacob. First friends need to know each other’s siblings and you said your brother is, and I quote, the coolest tiny human on the planet, so I feel like I should definitely meet him.”

She studies me for a minute, her face freakishly blank, but I can tell from her eyes that she is considering the whole thing. Probably trying to decide if I’m serious, or if I’m worthy of meeting her brother, and I feel my whole body tense the same way it does whenever I’m about to hear who made the team after tryouts.

When the side of her mouth lifts into a half-smile, I heave a sigh of relief.

“Okay, Kelley Allen Pierce. I’ll meet you after school.”

Zing.

At last bell, I hustle back to locker bank nine and waited for Ivy. When she comes around the corner and sees me waiting for her, her face splits into the widest grin and her dimple pops real deep-like. I bet I can fit a whole pencil eraser in that dimple.