The Opposite of Me by Sarah Pekkanen

been at eight-thirty this morning. The bucket-thumping guys had been replaced by an old man wearing clothes that were so faded and worn he looked like a ghost blending into the gray building behind him, but his saxophone shone like spun gold. A new shift of cabs took up the battle for lane space, and people clogged the sidewalks, heading to restaurants and bars and jazz clubs, ignoring the guy in a giant hot-dog costume trying to hand out flyers. At the corner a man and woman stood arm in arm, waiting for the light to change. As I watched, he reached out and tilted up her chin for a kiss. But he didn’t kiss her lips. He rained slow kisses on her forehead and cheeksand on the tip of her nose. The gesture was so tender and intimate it made me ache with longing.
    No one had ever loved me that way.
    Right now Bradley and Alex were leaning close together, talking and laughing. The candlelight would play across her high cheekbones and pick up the gold glints in her hair. People at the restaurant would recognize her, like they always did, and Alex would smile graciously and pose for a picture and crack a joke that would make everyone laugh, because Alex could be kind and funny as well as self-centered. Bradley would be dazzled by her; I was certain of it.
    Would my friendship with him ever be the same? I wondered. Sure, we’d still be buddies, just like back in tenth grade, when we’d spent hours passing back and forth a bowl of popcorn and the answers to trigonometry problems. Back then Bradley and Alex had moved in different social orbits; she’d been as real to him as a pinup poster. And, if I were being brutally honest, that was by my design. I’d encouraged them to remain strangers.
    How many times had I suggested to Bradley we study at his house instead of mine? How careful had I been to invite him over only when Alex was at cheerleading practice or out on a date? Even on prom night, I’d made sure he picked me up after Alex had already left. I didn’t want him to see me standing next to her in her long golden dress, the one that clung to every curve of her body.
    Now Alex knew how funny and smart and good Bradley was. Now they’d connected. They’d probably talked more tonight than Bradley and I had in the past two years. The next time I went home and saw him, would he ask about Alex? Would he oh so casually suggest we invite her along? Would he look at me . . . and wish he were with her instead?
    Or would she and Bradley stay in touch after tonight? Wouldshe discover that Bradley liked honey on his popcorn instead of butter, which sounded disgusting but tasted unbelievably good? Would he—this was the thought that sent an arrow stabbing through my core—would he look at her the same way he used to look at me?
    “You okay?” I’d almost forgotten Doug was still there. I nodded.
    “Then what’s this?” He released one of my hands and reached out with a fingertip to wipe away the tear rolling down my cheek.
    “Nothing,” I said. “It’s just been a really long night.”
    Doug was still holding my other hand, I suddenly noticed. Now would’ve been a perfect time to announce I had to leave and march briskly out.
    “Beautiful view,” Doug said. I turned to him and saw he was starting straight at me. Oh, God, I silently groaned.
    But I looked back at him. I kept looking back.
    “Your hair is coming down,” Doug said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen your hair down.”
    He reached up and unclipped it, letting it fall around my shoulders, then he slowly smoothed it back from my face with his big hands. I closed my eyes so I didn’t have to look at him. This was awful; this was sleazy, cheesy Doug. Well, sleazy, cheesy, gorgeous Doug. Still, I had to stop this, immediately.
    Or at least in the next two to five minutes. Because his fingers were rough but his touch was so exquisitely gentle, and the combination was intoxicating.
    “You look pretty like this,” he said, his hand lingering on my