This Is Where the World Ends(27)

And wait.

And wait and wait and freaking wait.

Oh, hurry up, Micah. I’m chilly. There’s a whole pile of burned matches next to me and still no luck. It’s the eve of our birthday. Don’t do this to me. But it seems like he just might. It’s getting late. I’m about to sneak back into his house and grab the note before he can see it and spare myself some horrible humiliation and also maybe give up on the kind of friendship that keeps the whole freaking world turning—

Yes! There he is! Ninja to mission control: subject is driving onto premises. He pulls into the garage and I raise my (his) binoculars. A minute later, the light in the kitchen comes on, and then the lights in his room. I tiptoe out of the bushes so I can creep on him better. I’m getting a cramp in my neck and I can’t stop thinking about how much easier this was when I was across from his window, but at least I can see him rubbing his eyes before he flops out of sight onto the bed—NOOOO! My note! Oh, come on, Micah, it’s barely ten. You can’t go to bed yet. Roll over. Damn it, I spent so long on that note! Get up. Get up—oh, okay, I guess that works. He rolls onto his side, and the note—oh, my poor baby—must crinkle or something, because he sits up, confused, and feels around for it. Finally.

He reads it, and then he crosses the room and opens the window. I’m almost too slow diving into the bushes. He looks around and just stands there for so long that I’m already deflating, because of course this wasn’t enough, of course he’s still annoyed, and he and I will never talk or look at each other again just because of that one stupid fight at regionals, and our soul will wither and crumble—

His shoes! He’s looking for his shoes! His lights are out! He’s going back to his car!

And now I’m rushing too, and I can’t stop grinning. My half of the soul is dancing, my half is light, and I dive into myself and tell it to shut up, because Micah’s half is totally going to feel it, and the surprise will be ruined. Nope nope nope. I won’t allow it. I spent too much effort on this. On us.

Keep quiet.

Tiptoe through the freaking tulips, soul.

Micah starts up his car, which probably starts an earthquake in Australia. I count to sixty, and then I run after him.

I run three blocks over to where I’m parked. The world is wide, and the moon is rising.

I put my hand in my pocket before I start the car and squeeze. Fear no more—I don’t even need the reminder, or even the Skarpies or matches. Tonight, tonight, there is nothing I have to black out. There is nothing I have to set on fire.

The note had read, “Once upon a time, there was a boy and a girl who found a tree and fell in love with it, until the witch cut it down.”

Micah’s car is nowhere in sight, so I don’t even know if he’s going in the right direction. I think he knows, I think he remembers. He has to. I turn down the street, freeze, and throw the car into reverse. Oh, thank god. He did remember. And he didn’t look back.

Ninja mode activated. And maybe just one more match.

I park my car behind some willow trees and send a silent sorry to Ms. Capaldi’s lawn. I mean, she’s pretty old. Maybe she won’t see the tire tracks.

Before we got the guts to leave the neighborhood, before we found the Metaphor and the rest of the world, we used to come here all the time. It must have been second or third grade. We came every day, because Ms. Capaldi had this fantastic tree in her backyard—a real tree, not the wimpy toothpicks you see on everyone else’s lawns. The trunk was so wide that when Micah and I hugged it on opposite sides, we couldn’t get our hands to meet. The lower branches were too heavy to grow upward anymore, and there were places where gravity took them back, and they rooted there and grew again. I never climbed, really, but Micah did. No, he scurried. He pulled himself higher, higher, and I stayed on the ground and kicked the trunk because my climbing skills were pathetic.

I used to think this was the most beautiful place in the world. I used to think that this was the place where the world began. But then in third grade, we came after school and the tree was in pieces, hacked and ripped and ruined, and I burst into tears. Ms. Capaldi explained that the tree was dying, but I didn’t care. It was freaking tragic. Micah had to drag me away, and I cried all the way home.

So Ms. Capaldi ruined my childhood and I just ruined her backyard. I call it even.

Now there’s a stump, and when I peek around the side of the house, Micah is sitting on it with the next clue in his lap. Is he smiling? It’s too dark to tell. I think so. I hope so.

It’s a flashlight and a calendar page from the September of our freshman year and a bottle of peach vodka.

He’s too far away, but I feel him relax. I feel his laugh, even if I don’t see it—I feel the air shift, but only between the two of us. He clicks the flashlight on and casts it around, and I slam myself against the side of the house and suck in my breath. The light passes and I put my fingers behind my back. No shadow puppets tonight.

The light clicks off. Then on. Off on, on, pause.

Morse code? Code! I knew making him learn it would come in handy one day!

You’re the world’s biggest idiot, Janie Vivian.

And I’m grinning like it.

I hear his engine a bit later, and I tiptoe back to my car and follow. There are three texts from my dad telling me that he and Mom have checked into their hotel and to call them when I can. Improvement! Usually, there would be a few phone calls and a voicemail or seven. There’s hope for him after all. I send him a quick “I will later!” and drive to St. John’s Cemetery.