After walking Callie back to her apartment and attending a brutal two-hour throwing session, I finally headed to my sister’s. The trepidation I’d felt the day before came back. I clutched the steering wheel, but she was right. She’d chosen the area because gates provided an extra layer of protection and it comforted me when I got stopped three times by some form of security before actually arriving at her town house.
I pressed the intercom and she replied immediately. “Hello?”
“Yo. Open up, Z.”
“Password.”
“Really? I’m here to help you.”
“I’m taking extra safety measures. Be proud of me. Now, password.”
I thought about the crazy adventures we’d had as kids. No passwords stuck out to me except one. We’d built a treehouse—well, something that might’ve resembled a tree house. Our mom had kept some used cardboard and we’d somehow climbed an old tree and placed the box strategically in it to resemble a fort. We’d writtenONLY Z WILLOWS ALLOWEDand thought we were incredibly clever because it meant one of the two of us. We’d constructed the sneakiest password known to kids anywhere—WACATT.
Willows
Are
Cool
All
The
Time
“Fuck. WACATT.” We pronounced it in a way we thought sounded French. Wah, and caught. WACATT.
“You remembered. Breaks my cynical heart. Come on up, bro.” She buzzed me up and had the door unlocked for me. I entered and saw her eyeing the shelf in question. It sat in four pieces.
“What thehelldid you do? Take a bat to it?”
“No. You know how I don’t like bees, right?” She gave me a guilty smile and we both damn well remembered the summer where she’d refused to go outside. I had some lingering anger I had yet to get rid of. She’d ruined the summer between fourth and fifth grade. A lot had happened then.
“So, a bee flew in here and what? You decided to throw the vacuum at it?” I ran my hand through my hair and groaned in embarrassment for her.
“Not quite, but close enough.” She held the bottom piece up. “If we glue it to the base, maybe we can salvage it?”
“I hope you weren’t fond of the thing. We can’t save it.” I picked up the fake wood. She weirded me out sometimes. “I guess I can grill you about the letters and calls on the way to Wal-Mart.”
“Yeah. You’re probably right.” She had her purse and threw her hair into one of my old team hats. That was the thing about Zaria, she had my back come rain or shine. She rarely missed a game and had always been the first person I went to for approval and advice. She’d let me know if I was fucking up my life. “Good news—no more calls since I blocked the number.”
“Good. The letters?”
“Over here.” She handed them to me. “Nothing too sketchy but rather unnerving.”
I took them and flipped through them. It was basic handwriting on a plain note—PLEASE CALL ME ASAP. SUPER IMPORTANT.
They’d sent the same letter three times, the writing becoming more desperate. They’d left a number on the last one and I grabbed Zaria’s phone. “Is it the same number you blocked?”
“Uh-huh.” She sat on the edge of the couch. “Are you going to call?”
“Yup. Might as hell.” I dialed the number and waited. And waited. No answer. No voicemail. “Shit.”
“That was anticlimactic, wasn’t it?” She was too easy-going sometimes for her own good. I guess that was one reason she’d make an amazing teacher. It took a whole lot to piss her off.
“I don’t like this.” I tried the number again. Nothing. “Hopefully, the person calls back.”
“I have no idea what this meant or why. I haven’t done anything crazy or left a trail of broken hearts like you. Speaking of, how’s my favorite girl in your life?”
