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.
- Zac
* * *
“Are we ever going to talk about it?” I bug Dia as we march down the hall toward our last class of the day. I hate gym class. Our PE teacher, Mr. Emery, is far from a delight, to put it mildly.
He’s that teacher who tells girls their killer period cramps aren’t a big deal and to suck it up. Xavier deserves a fucking award for dealing with this man every day.
“Dia?” I urge, irritated by her lack of a response.
“What?” she drones, eyes locked on her phone. Heaven only knows which of her rebound guys she’s texting this time.
“Are we ever going to talk about your breakup?”
“Can’t break up with someone you never dated.” She misses the point by a mile.
She’s been like this since last Friday.
Closed off, dismissive.
Dia’s locked herself in a tower of denial, where no soul can reach her.She didn’t utter a word about Finn after I nearly ran him over with my car. She didn’t vent, didn’t pour her heart out. She just cried in my arms. All night. Sobbed until she had no strength or tears left in her.
She strictly refuses to tell me anything except the bare minimum, that Finn fucked some bitch. She won’t tell me who, or when it happened, or how she found out.
All she said is she needs to move on.
So far, Dia’s been doing a pretty solid job of pretending like she’s fine, but you know who can’tpretend for shit?