? ? ?
On the drive to school, my phone keeps ringing, but it’s in my gym bag in the backseat, so I ignore it. I pull into the parking lot and am getting my gear out of the car when I hear someone call my name. Alan sprints toward me from the school’s entrance, waving his arms.
“Jesus, man. What’s wrong?” I ask as he reaches me. I sling my bag over my shoulder and start toward the locker room entrance on the side of the school.
“Ryden,” he says, gasping a little but keeping stride with me. Poor guy needs to get more exercise. He sounds like my grandpa. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I called you, like, ten times.”
“I was home, dude.”
“I thought you had a game tonight.”
“I do. Hence me being here now. What’s wrong with you?”
“I found something,” he says.
I stop. Only now do I notice the expression on his face—he looks kinda freaked out. “What? What did you find?”
He reaches into his backpack and pulls out a notebook. Purple. Single subject. Pristine. There’s a folded piece of paper taped to the cover.
Alan holds it out to me, but I can’t take it. I can’t seem to move at all. “What. Is. That.”
“It’s exactly what you think it is. Well, not exactly. It’s different from the others. But it’s definitely Meg’s.”
“But we looked everywhere!” I hate that my voice sounds frantic, but that’s pretty much how I’m feeling. I’ve barely thought about the journals this week. Why did it have to appear now, when life was finally starting to make sense? When I finally stopped looking back and started looking forward? “Where did you find it?”
“It was in my old camping backpack, in the back of my closet. I was looking for a bag to bring to the game. Aimee’s into sports, so I was going to pack us some snacks and hot chocolate and stuff and come with her tonight—” He stops when he realizes I don’t give a shit about his romantic picnic with his girlfriend. “Anyway, this was in the bag.”
“Did you read it?”
A pause. “Yes. But if I had known what it said, I never would have—”
“Does it have a checklist in the back?”
Alan thrusts the book toward me again. “Just take it, Ryden.”
I still can’t move my arm. I feel cold and hot and sick and sad and nervous and so, so mixed up. I don’t trust my own eyes. It’s easier to hear it from him. “Alan. Please. Does it have a checklist in the back?”
He nods once. “Yes.”
I suck in a breath. “What’s checked off?”
“Mabel and Alan.”
I fucking knew it. Those two were sooooo sure the other journals didn’t exist. But I knew Meg. I know Meg.
“Ryden…” Alan says, starting to look a little uncomfortable. “Please, take it. There are things in there…I’m sorry, man.”
What? He’s sorry? What does that mean?
I don’t move, and he drops the book. It lands with a soft thud at my feet. Then he walks away almost dejectedly, the opposite of the frenzy he was when he first arrived.
When Alan’s gone, my body starts to work again. I crouch and pick up the book, opening the note stuck to the cover.
Alan,
If you find this before Ryden has read the first journal, please don’t give it to him. Only let him see this if he’s already looking for it. You’ll know what that means when the time comes.
Love always,
Meg
What the hell?
I’m about to tear open the book, but the parking lot is filling up, and there are more and more people walking past as it gets closer to game time. “Hey, Number One! Kick some ass tonight!” one guy says as he passes. I nod numbly and go inside. The halls are quiet and dark; it’s a nice night out, so no one’s taking the shortcut through school on their way to the field. I turn a few corners until I’m deep in the middle of the school, away from the people and the locker room, and I sit on the floor next to a water fountain.
I take a deep breath and flip quickly through the book. Sure enough, Mabel
Alan
Ryden
is written on the inside back cover. What catches me off guard is that most of the book is blank. There are only a few pages with writing on them, right at the beginning. Maybe Meg really did run out of time before she could finish it.
February 5.
Ten days before she died.
I’ve been thinking about calendars a lot lately. I used to fill them with school assignments and plans and college visits and application deadlines. Doctor appointments too. But now planning, dates, schedules mean nothing to me anymore. I only have two things left to do: give birth to my baby and die. And I think I can remember that easily enough. No need to write it down.