Page 94 of Glitched Play

The other is a place in the middle of all this noise and love and chaos and pizza and arcade games and pink ears and dinosaur gifts.

I swallow around the sudden ache in my throat. “Surprisingly?”

His gaze flicks toward mine, then away. “Statistically.”

“Of course.”

But I’m smiling.

Because from Witt, surprisingly well might be the closest thing to I’m glad you were there that he knows how to say.

By the time we reach the penthouse, the easy warmth of the night follows me into my room. I change into pajamas, wash off my makeup, and sit on the edge of the bed with my purse in my lap.

The envelope is still inside.

I pull it out and stare at my own handwriting.

Dear Glitch.

For days, I’ve treated this letter like a decision waiting to happen. Mail it, and I move forward. Keep it, and I’m still stuck. But tonight, after pizza night with Witt’s family, after Witley’s arms around his neck, after his hands settled carefully at my sides when I hugged him, the choice doesn’t feel that simple anymore.

Maybe I’m not writing to Glitch because I need to let him go.

Maybe I’m writing because I’m terrified I already have.

The thought hurts.

I trace the edge of the stamp with my thumb.

Then I set the letter back in the drawer.

Not mailed.

Not forgotten.

Just waiting.

Tomorrow.

I’ll decide tomorrow.

seventeen

. . .

Witt

Encrypted Voicemail: Glitch

Sometimes the hardest system to update is the one that taught you how to survive.

Monday morning, I ask Dara to find Maci an apartment.

The decision is logical.

Temporary housing means temporary, not long term. Maci needs a permanent place in Austin, preferably within fifteen minutes of the arena, with secure parking, reliable internet, minimal commute variables, and enough space for her excessive number of keyboards. I tell myself those are the reasons.

Dara does not believe me.