But I say, “Bye, all you people,” and head upstairs.
Part Six
BoneTower
45
When I wakenext, someone has slid an envelope under my door. It’s just plain white paper covered with tiny writing, a dense print that reaches the edges of the paper in places.
It reads:
I don’t want to be antisocial.
Or a secretive person.
I don’t want to hide from the world on a hidden beach.
I don’t want to hide from people I used to be friends with. Or from new people.
I don’t want to be cold (my father was cold).
I don’t want to miss out on knowing you because I lost my parents
or because I hate my job
or because I am ashamed of things I’ve done.
You are right. I need to get away (I want to get away) and
I also need to stay (I want to stay).
Before you got here, I couldn’t articulate that. So something is changing.
God, Matilda, I’m going to wish I didn’t write this, and I’m going to wish I didn’t stick it under your door, but even though I know I’m going to wish all that, I am still doing it.
Maybe you want to go see Wooden Cage?
With me.
Tatum.
Inside the envelope are two tickets. For Wooden Cage.
My band. That I love. “We all stayed out too late / We fell apart and made mistakes / They said we didn’t matter / So we mattered to each other.”
My head swirls.
Tatum bought me these tickets. He boughtustickets.
Even though he said he didn’t want to kiss me.
—
Downstairs, the late-afternoonhouse is silent.
I look outside. Tatum’s goggles are on a hook outside the mudroom, so he’s not in the water. He could be at work.
Get a grip on yourself, Matilda. You’re going to college in ten days. You’re in a fragile state. You’ve been jealous and angry, and this boy is a terrible choice, a tortured loner who knows nothing about video games and is likely to drown any day. He’s clearly stuck in a life he doesn’t want, still grieving his parents. He’s basically stagnant and festering.
