The Letter
DearEaston,
This feels weird—writing you a letter like it’s 1995 instead of just saying this in person. Or texting you. But every time I think about trying to tell you face to face, I imagine myself vomiting all over the place because the thought of it makes me sick. So congratulations! You’re getting my confessional in the form of vintage paper vibes.
Terrible idea? Yes.
Will I regret it later?Absolutely.
I’m throwing caution to the wind—Macy has me wound up and there is no stopping me now, so here it goes:
I like you.
Wow. That was fast. No lead-up, just straight to the heart of my impending humiliation. Doom, if you will.
But it’s true, so here it is. My heart on a platter. The thing is, my kind of like isn’t the casual “you’re cool to hang out with, bro” way, but a “you’re basically living rent-free in my brain and I’m ready to start charging you for utilities” kind of way.
It’s infuriating, actually.
YOU are infuriating. The way you slop paint everywhere during prom prep like a five-year-old who just discovered finger painting, or the way you talk to me at my locker when I’m already two seconds from being late to class.
Even watching you skate backward the other night?ANNOYING. How do you make skating backward annoying?!
Explain yourself.
Here’s another thing: I didn’t plan for this to happen. Girl Scout’s honor. I thought we’d get through this weird blackmail-fueled prom arrangement, take a few awkward pictures, and go our separate ways with maybe one funny memory to laugh about later. Blackmail, by the way, is NOT a romantic meet-cute—just throwing that out there to acknowledge the fact.
Why did you have to go and kiss me??
Then you did it again. And again.
And now look! Surprise! I LIKE YOU.
Look, I don’t expect you to feel the same way.
Honestly, I probably don’t deserve it. But I like you enough that I need you to know. And I also like you enoughto want you to have a great time at prom, even if the person who you’ll be having that time with is Maddie Miller.
I needed to get this out before we graduate and move on with our lives and you never have to see me again. I don’t want to leave things unsaid, even if it means risking things getting weird between us. Please don’t hate me for this, or for saying it in the most awkward way possible.
I like you.
And I have to stop saying it. I told Macy everything…confessed it, actually, and she was properly mortified by my behavior. So.
Our deal is over—I’m releasing you because I want you to be with the person who makes you happy, even if I’m not that person. UGH, that sounds SO DRAMATIC, doesn’t it?
Anyway. Thank you for being amazing and putting up with me for so long. You are now officially free to go.
—Harper
P.S. Burn after reading.
Chapter 33
Easton
The she shed is quiet.
For a long while, I stare at the books on my mom’s shelves, reading all the spines. Barely registering their titles, not a thought in my brain except the mess I’m in.
