* * *
Dear Zac,
Can’t live without me, can you?
The school was closed on Wednesday, remember? For some holiday?
I couldn’t access the book. Although I must say I take great pleasure in you acting like a needy teenage girl.
To address your concerns, no, I’m not twelve. I’m a senior, too.
Do you realize there’s a good chance we’ve encountered each other at least once this year? For all we know, we could be running into each other every single day. *Gasps*
Your last confession made my jaw drop so hard I had to pick it off the floor and glue it back on. I’m surprised you’d trust me with such a massive secret, but I do admire the leap of faith.
Might even return the favor if you promise to be there for the next letter.
And the letter after that. And the one after that. (It’s my turn to be needy.)
Your mini freak-out made me realize this pen pal thing has an expiration date, and I’d rather not spill my guts to someone who could stop answering at any moment.
So, tell me, Z, are you going to stop?
- Love
Aveena
Dear Love,
The irony of you asking me how much longer this is going to last is unbelievable…
You guessed it, this is my last letter.
It’s been real, L, but I’m not going to be able to answer you through the book anymore. I’d tell you why, but that would kind of defeat the purpose of our anonymity pact.
I have to say, two weeks ago, I would’ve done anything to never see this damn book again, but now? I’m not so sure. You brought life to mind-numbingly dull moments, angry girl.
Thank you.
“That’s it?” I screech, single-handedly causing two heart attacks at once. The middle-aged women reading by aisle six both jump an inch in the air, one of them clutching at her chest, while her friend glares at me, eyebrows tight with disapproval.
“Sorry,” I mouth.
They have every right to be pissed. There is a spectacular irony to me, the librarian, being the loudest in the library, but I couldn?
??t help myself. You mean to tell me I thought about Zac’s reply all weekend, tossed and turned, impatiently awaiting my Monday shift for this?
Seriously? That’s the best he could do? He couldn’t even sign his name, and it’s three letters. I don’t know what I expected. It was always going to end this way. My bad for getting invested.
I’m plucking the letter out of the book, ready to throw away our last correspondence, when a fleeting “what if” crosses my mind. What if… there’s more?
Wouldn’t be the first time he wrote on the back. Willing myself not to get my hopes up, I flip the letter over and feel my heart swell with relief at the familiar handwriting.
There’s a phone number.
Next to the number is a challenge.
Text me if you dare.