TWO DAYS PASS and I’ve stopped moping. I’m getting better at ignoring the neighbors when I hear a ping coming from outside. I’m on my couch, still mired in Lord of the Flies. Mercifully, I’m close to finishing. Ralph is on the beach awaiting a violent death. I’m so eager for the book to end so that I can read something else, something happier, that I ignore the sound. A few minutes later there’s another ping, louder this time. I put the book down and listen. Pings three, four, and five come in rapid succession. Something’s hitting my window. Hail? I’m up and at my window before I can think better of it. I push the curtains aside.
Olly’s window is wide open, the blinds are up, and the lights are off in his room. The indestructible Bundt is sitting on his windowsill wearing googly eyes that are staring right at me. The cake trembles and then tilts forward, as if contemplating the distance to the ground. It retreats and trembles some more. I’m trying to see Olly in his darkened room when the Bundt leaps from the sill and plunges to the ground.
I gasp. Did the cake just commit suicide? I crane my neck to see what’s become of it, but it’s too dark out.
Just then a spotlight illuminates the cake. Unbelievably, it’s still intact. What is that thing made of? It’s probably best that we didn’t try to eat it.
The light goes out and I look up just in time to catch Olly’s black-clad hand and flashlight retreat into the window. I stay for a few minutes, watching and waiting for him to come back, but he doesn’t.
NIGHT TWO
I’M JUST SETTLING in to bed when the pings begin again. I am determined to ignore him, and I do. Whatever he wants I can’t do. It’s easier not to know.
I don’t go to the window that night or the next.
NIGHT FOUR
I CAN’T STAND it. I peek out from the corner of my curtains.
The Bundt is sitting on the sill, Band-Aids and bandages covering half its body. Olly is nowhere to be found.
NIGHT FIVE
THE BUNDT IS sitting on a table next to the window. There’s a martini glass filled with green liquid, a pack of cigarettes, and a pill bottle with a skull and crossbones label. Another suicide attempt?
Still no Olly.
NIGHT SIX
THE BUNDT IS lying on a white sheet. An upside-down plastic water bottle is attached to what looks like a coat hanger and is hanging above the cake. A string hangs from the bottle to the Bundt like an IV. Olly appears wearing a white jacket and stethoscope. He’s frowning down at the Bundt and listening for a heartbeat. I want to laugh but I don’t let myself. Olly looks up and shakes his head solemnly. I close my curtains, suppressing a smile, and walk away.
NIGHT SEVEN
I TELL MYSELF that I won’t look, but as soon as the first ping sounds I’m at the window. Olly is wearing a black bathrobe with an oversized silver cross around his neck. He’s performing last rites of the Bundt.
Finally I cannot help it. I laugh and laugh and laugh. He looks up and grins back. He takes a black marker from his pocket and writes on the window: SORRY ABOUT THE OTHER NIGHT.
[email protected]
FIRST CONTACT, PART TWO
From: Madeline F. Whittier To: [email protected] Subject: Hello Sent: June 4, 8:03 PM
Hello. I guess we should start with introductions? My name is Madeline Whittier, but you can tell that from my e-mail address. What’s yours?
- Madeline Whittier
P.S. You don’t have anything to apologize for.
P.P.S. What is that Bundt made of?
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From: genericuser033
To: Madeline F. Whittier<[email protected]> Subject: RE: Hello Sent: June 4, 8:07 PM
you are a terrible spy madeline whittier if you haven’t already figured out my name. my sister and i tried to meet you last week, but your mom wasn’t having it. i really don’t know what the bundt is made of. rocks?
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