The Edge of Everything (The Edge of Everything #1)(73)

“Come to the bars,” he said. “Fast.”

X did as he was instructed.

“One, two—three,” said Banger.

He thrust the coat through the bars. X grabbed for it and pulled it into his cell.

“Zoe rocks,” said Banger. “She said she loves you, and I said you love her, et cetera, et cetera. It’s all good in the ’hood.” He paused. “There’s a candy bar for you in the pocket.”

“How can I thank you?” said X.

“It’s just a candy bar, dude,” said Banger.

“You mistake my meaning,” said X. “How can I thank you for being a true friend to me—when I was never much of a friend to you?”

The words must have meant something to Banger, for he was silent awhile.

“Ain’t no thang,” he said.

“You are wrong,” said X. “It is very much a thang.”

A thought occurred to him.

He took off the purple shirt with the curly white stitching. He folded it carefully, smoothing out the creases as best he could. It was a garish object, yet he had seen Banger covet it.

X crouched down by the bars.

“One, two—three,” he said.

He passed the shirt to Banger. He could hear him giggling as he slipped it on.

“Dude,” said Banger. “I look friggin’ hot in this.”



By the time the Russian lumbered away, Banger had fallen into a deep, animal sleep, exhausted by his adventures in the Overworld. X sat against the wall, the overcoat spread over his lap. It was wet from Banger’s fall into the river. Still, when X pressed his face against it, he could detect the faintest scent of Zoe’s skin. It went through him like a flame.

Thanks to Jonah, X actually knew what a candy bar was, and, looking for relief from his thoughts, he slipped a hand into one of the coat pockets.

Instead of candy, he found a piece of paper.

Both sides were covered with markings he could not identify. The mystery of what it said was unbearable. Maybe it was a message from Zoe?

He asked Ripper if she was awake. He spoke just loudly enough to ensure that he would wake her if she wasn’t.

“I am always awake,” said Ripper. “Surely you know that by now? My brain is like a fireworks factory.”

“Might you read something to me?” said X. “Something I have discovered in my coat?”

“Pass it to me,” said Ripper. “Quickly. That ridiculous Russian will soon be back for another bite.”

X maneuvered the paper through the bars. He listened as Ripper unfolded it, his heart racing.

“It is a list of some kind,” she announced at last. “Is this the hand of your blurting girl? Heavens, she scrawls like an unschooled child. She is incapable of spelling ‘raisins’—and her fondness for the capital Y borders on the terrifying.”

She studied the paper further.

“Wait,” she said. “The writing on the other side is not nearly so maddening.”

“Read it out to me?” said X.

Ripper cleared her throat, and began:



Dear X: Here is a letter for you. You’re probably thinking that (a) I have no way of sending it and (b) you don’t know how to read anyway. So, yeah, this isn’t a totally practical letter. I get it. Can we move on now, please? I have to get these words out of my brain—they’re killing me. I don’t care if they never go farther than this piece of paper. Maybe that will help. Anyway, here’s the main thing I want to say (I’m taking a superdeep breath—picture me taking a superdeep breath, okay?) … The minute you left, I realized I loved you. Crap, I’m already running out of paper. I should have written smaller.



Ripper broke off suddenly.

“I must say, she is a very unconventional correspondent,” she said.

“Is there no more?” said X desperately.

“Yes, yes, there’s more, my lovesick boy,” said Ripper. “Restrain yourself.”

She continued:



The minute I wake up now, my thoughts go straight to you, like gravity pulled them there. You tried so hard not to take Stan. You trusted me when I said it was wrong. Watching you suffer for what was right was the first thing that made me love you, I think. Then there were a ton of other things that I don’t have enough paper for. I hate your sadness, X—even more than I hate my own. When you come back (please come back), let’s get rid of our sadness, okay? When you come back (please, please come back), let’s bury our sadness under 15 feet of snow. Love, Zoe.



X said nothing. Zoe’s words faded into the air, and he leaned forward, listening hard, as if he could pull them back into being.

“Would you read it again?” he said.

“Of course,” said Ripper, “for even I think it is lovely in its way. But might I ask how many times you shall require me to read it?”

“Until it is fixed in my memory—and I can speak every word back to you,” he said.

After a dozen readings, X finally let Ripper rest. She returned the paper to him, and withdrew to the back of her cell, complaining about the state of her throat. X ran his fingers over the letter, trying to connect the markings on the paper with the words he had memorized. He taught himself “love” and “Zoe,” as well as “superdeep” and “crap.”