“That doesn’t make sense,” I said. “She tried to tell people the truth years ago. Why wouldn’t she want them to know now?”
He just shrugged.
“Speaking of which,” I said. “Have you—”
“No,” he said, scratching the back of his head as he looked away from me. “I really don’t wanna write anything, Lee.”
“Why not?” I asked.
He shrugged again.
I stared at him, wishing I had the same power to read him that he had over me. Sometimes I can. Sometimes I am painfully familiar with every little jerk of his head or slump of his shoulders. Sometimes I can read a novel’s worth of thoughts just by looking at his eyes. But other times, it’s like there’s a wall between us, and I question how well I really know Miles Mason.
“Are you embarrassed?” I asked. “About your writing? I know you’ve failed English before, but I’m sure it won’t be that bad. I can help you edit if you want.”
“You … think I’m saying no because … I’m not smart.”
“What? No,” I said. “I do think you’re smart. But if you’re worried about not being a great writer or something … if that’s not why you don’t want to do this, please stop me from making this worse.”
“That’s not why,” he said.
“Then what’s the problem? Why don’t you want to write the letter?”
“Just don’t, okay?” He turned and started walking toward his house. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Miles,” I called after him.
“I got homework,” he said. “Don’t wanna fail English again.”
“Miles.” I sighed. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know,” he said, giving me one last look over his shoulder. “See you later, Lee.”
I gave a little wave and let him disappear into his grandmother’s yard before I headed up the front walk onto my porch. I didn’t know what reason he could possibly have for not wanting to write his story. Denny, Ashley, and Eden had jumped at the chance to get their voices out there, even if I wasn’t sure what “out there” was yet in terms of sharing the letters. And I was sure that, once Kellie heard me out, she’d want this, too. So why was Miles so resistant?
I decided to leave it alone for a couple of days. But I wasn’t going to let it go. I couldn’t. Not at that point. The idea of collecting the letters and sharing them with the world, shoving them right under Brother Lloyd’s nose, had taken hold of me. I woke up thinking about the letters. I fell asleep thinking about them. I dreamed of them. The claws of this idea, this new goal, had sunken in deep, and almost every thought seemed to swirl around how and where and when I’d show them to the world.
And if you’re reading this, then I guess I succeeded. The letters are out there. Just not in the way I initially imagined.
From Denny:
Whenever people talk about Jared, they always seem to remember him as a farmer’s son. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve heard, “That Grayson boy. Such a shame. He was from a real good family. Good hardworking people.”
No shade to Jared’s parents, they are good people, but comments like this don’t really speak to who Jared was. They don’t mention that he spent every summer mowing lawns or working on his family’s farm just so he could save up money for the newest generation of gaming console. Or that his room was so messy, you couldn’t sit on the bed without hearing the dreaded crunch of a video game case cracking beneath your butt. Or that he was a ridiculous flirt. He even flirted with my sister, who he had less than zero chance with, and he knew it. But with girls he actually liked, like Rosi, he seemed to forget all the cheesy pickup lines he’d learned from the internet.
The first time I hung out at his house was in seventh grade. We’d barely been in his room for two minutes when I heard the telltale sound of a computer booting up. “Do you like RPGs?” he asked. “Like Age of Dragons or Bomb Shelter?”
“Um … no?” I said, and gestured to my sunglasses.
“Oh, right.”
Then there was a long pause. At twelve, I’m not sure Jared knew how to interact with people outside of video game talk.
“Well,” he said eventually, “do you want to play one?”
“I’m not sure you’re getting this whole blind thing.”
“No, hear me out,” he said. “I can play the visual parts and tell you what’s going on. And then when, like, important choices come up, I’ll let you pick. These games are all about the story, anyway. At least they are for me. It’ll be fun.”
