The Upside of Unrequited

by Becky Albertalli

You have to have a crush on the exact right person at the exact right moment. And they have to like you back. A perfect alignment of feelings and circumstances. It’s almost unfathomable that it happens as often as it does.

“I’m not telling you.” But she will. No question. Because once you’ve shared a uterus, there’s no such thing as a secret.

Certain nights have this kind of electricity. Certain nights carry you to a different place from where you started.

I get the impression that he’s trying to think of things to say. It reminds me a lot of those meaningless syllables people spew, like “Um, yeah, so . . .” Reid doesn’t actually spew the syllables. He’s like the personification of those syllables.

We settle onto the floor next to it, cross-legged.

“Really?” His eyes light up, and I know exactly what he’s thinking. I don’t think of myself as super Jewish or anything, and I basically never go to synagogue. But there’s this thing I feel when I meet another Jewish person in the wild. It’s like a secret invisible high five.

Here’s a frustrating thing about me: if everyone else is happy, I usually can’t stay pissed off. My moods are conformists. It sucks, because sometimes you really want to be angry.

He ruffles his own hair, which is a pretty cute thing for a boy to do. And then he stands there for a minute, like he doesn’t know what to say.

Poor, awkward Middle Earth Reid.

Molly Peskin-Suso: crushing on the memory of eighth-grade boys. Am I the biggest creeper in the universe? (Check yes or hell yes.)

I think Evan’s an acquired taste, but without the part where I actually acquire the taste.

I look at her, curled up in the passenger seat, her whole body turned toward Mina. She’s like a flower tilting toward the sun.

Normally, when she hooks up with someone, she’s bursting with the details. She’s a kiss-and-teller. Maybe that’s awful, but it’s just a part of the hookup process for her. She told me once that a kiss isn’t a kiss until she tells me about it. Me, specifically.

So, maybe I should let my heart break, just to prove that my heart can take it.

“And you’re not supposed to eat raw eggs . . .” “Reid, no!” “I mean, I know you’re not supposed to eat them raw, but what if they’re mixed in with stuff?” I side-eye him hard. “You know they’re still raw, right?” “I know, but they’re neutralized by the other ingredients.”

It occurs to me, as we’re crossing the parking lot, that people probably assume we’re a couple. Like maybe we’re a college-age couple grabbing food for the night. Young lovebirds. Boyfriend and girlfriend.

He’s being kind of bossy, and I’m sorry, but it’s hilarious. It’s like when your teacher leaves the room for a second and puts a Well-Behaved Kid in charge. Reid is a Well-Behaved Kid on a power trip, and it’s so cute, I have to play along.

Because in another life, I’m pretty sure Reid was someone’s dorky dad. He even looks proud of himself.

“So, out of every song in the entire world, you think this supermarket will play one of the six random songs we happened to choose.” “Absolutely.” I laugh. “Why?” “It’s magic.” He shrugs. “And because all grocery stores play early 2000s pop music. It’s federal law.”

makes it three steps before getting distracted by tubs of frosting. “Ohhh. Hey.” He picks up some Duncan Hines chocolate. “Oh man. I would sit and eat this with a spoon, like yogurt. Is that weird?”

I hope he doesn’t think I’m Asking For His Number. I don’t think I’m Asking For His Number. I’m just asking for his number.

I just have this feeling he’d understand, even though I have no reason to think that.

I love that he doesn’t bat an eye at the word girlfriend.

But maybe there are always tiny sad pieces inside me, waiting to be recognized and named. Maybe it’s like that for everyone.

It’s a miracle. It’s the neighbor guy from Kimmy Schmidt saying it’s a miracle. It’s that miraculous.

But you have to be your heart’s own goalie. And if I’m going to be rejected, I want to see it coming.

It’s like your heart suddenly lives outside your body, and whenever he wants, he can reach out and squeeze it.

the party is full of babies. I am seventeen years old, and this is my social life.

BREAKING NEWS: MOLLY IS SPEAKING TO AN ACTUAL BOY. TUNE IN NOW AS THE STORY UNFOLDS.

“Wait, I don’t want you to miss your lunch.” “I don’t care. I’d rather walk around with you. Really.”

I’m bringing a boy to my house. For cookie dough purposes. Totally platonic. But still. A boy. My house.

“I can’t believe I’ve never noticed you walking a cat in front of my house.” “Maybe I should stop wearing my invisibility cloak.”

“I’ve known him since first grade. He’s so sweet.”

Maybe my company is even better than making out—which is pretty much my goal as a human being, honestly.

When Patty came out, the first thing Grandma did was try to set her up with the cantor’s daughter. Who is actually straight, but Grandma gets thrown off when women have short hair.

It’s pretty interesting watching Reid work. He gets really hyper-focused and methodical, like he’s in the zone. He doesn’t even notice me until I’m literally standing next to him. “Hey—you’re here!”

“I am?” He looks down. He doesn’t remember what he’s wearing. I love that. “Oh, I am.” He pauses. “But where’s the white?”

He blushes again. “No. It’s just . . . I am who I am, you know? I’m not ever going to be cool.” He shrugs. “But it doesn’t really bother me.” “I think you’re cool.” He laughs. “Thank you.”

Because I have to admit: there’s something really badass about truly, honestly not caring what people think about you.

That’s the other thing about Will. He makes you feel like you’re the only person in focus. Like everyone else is just background noise.

AND HE DOES THE JEWISH THING WITH GOD’S NAME. FUCK.

That’s cute.

I’m pretty sure he’s flirting. And I did not realize Reid Wertheim knew how to flirt.

And I like that he likes me. But I’m not used to this game. It’s this totally new way of seeing myself. Like I’m some hazily lit dream girl from a movie. I’ve never been that girl before. I really like being that girl. So, maybe I am some kind of egomaniac.

“Getting vegetables?” he says, his voice rising like a question.

Maybe she told her what Mina said. That sex with Reid is unfathomable. Which means sex with me is probably unfathomable, too. Because nerd sex is a joke. Fat on fat. Dweeb on dweeb. Womp womp womp. And no one seems to see how cute Reid is, except me. And fucking Olivia.

“This is really unfair,” he says. I need to just breathe. “What’s unfair?” “You’re hanging out with Will, but you’re angry at me for hanging out with Olivia? I don’t get that.” There’s this catch in his voice. “I’m not angry.” “Okay, then why are we having this conversation?”

He does this quiet little sniff, and my heart beats wildly.

You got in touch with Will because you wanted . . .” She trails off. “I wanted to make Reid jealous.”

Here’s the thing they don’t tell you about time: there are spaces in between seconds. And sixty seconds is actually a pretty huge number. Three hundred seconds might as well be infinity seconds.