“Thanks, bud. Is your, um, friend coming tonight too?”
“My, um, friend?”
Mom’s suddenly super occupied with smoothing Hope’s hair. Which is ridiculous, because her hair sticks up every which way no matter what. “The girl from work you’ve been spending time with.”
I clear my throat. “Her name is Joni.”
“Joni,” Mom repeats, nodding.
“She has to work tonight, so no, she’s not coming.” That’s true, though Joni wanted to switch her schedule so she could make the game. I told her not to, that I’d be too nervous with her there, that I’d call her after to let her know how it went. Which was code for, “No, don’t come, ’cause if you do, you’ll talk to my friends and find out everything I’ve been hiding from you, and that would be very, very bad.”
“Bummer,” Mom says.
“Yeah.” It is a bummer. I would have liked Joni to be there. I always played better when I knew Meg was in the stands, watching. Oh well.
“Has she met Hope yet?”
“No.”
“You going to bring her around here? She’s welcome anytime, you know.”
“I know.” I nod. “Well, see you at the game. Love you.”
“Love you too. Have fun.”
• • •
On the drive to school, my phone keeps ringing, but it’s in my gym bag in the backseat, so I ignore it. I pull into the parking lot and am getting my gear out of the car when I hear someone call my name. Alan sprints toward me from the school’s entrance, waving his arms.
“Jesus, man. What’s wrong?” I ask as he reaches me. I sling my bag over my shoulder and start toward the locker room entrance on the side of the school.
“Ryden,” he says, gasping a little but keeping stride with me. Poor guy needs to get more exercise. He sounds like my grandpa. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I called you, like, ten times.”
“I was home, dude.”
“I thought you had a game tonight.”
“I do. Hence me being here now. What’s wrong with you?”
“I found something,” he says.
I stop. Only now do I notice the expression on his face—he looks kinda freaked out. “What? What did you find?”
He reaches into his backpack and pulls out a notebook. Purple. Single subject. Pristine. There’s a folded piece of paper taped to the cover.
Alan holds it out to me, but I can’t take it. I can’t seem to move at all. “What. Is. That.”
“It’s exactly what you think it is. Well, not exactly. It’s different from the others. But it’s definitely Meg’s.”
“But we looked everywhere!” I hate that my voice sounds frantic, but that’s pretty much how I’m feeling. I’ve barely thought about the journals this week. Why did it have to appear now, when life was finally starting to make sense? When I finally stopped looking back and started looking forward? “Where did you find it?”
“It was in my old camping backpack, in the back of my closet. I was looking for a bag to bring to the game. Aimee’s into sports, so I was going to pack us some snacks and hot chocolate and stuff and come with her tonight—” He stops when he realizes I don’t give a shit about his romantic picnic with his girlfriend. “Anyway, this was in the bag.”
“Did you read it?”
A pause. “Yes. But if I had known what it said, I never would have—”
“Does it have a checklist in the back?”
Alan thrusts the book toward me again. “Just take it, Ryden.”
I still can’t move my arm. I feel cold and hot and sick and sad and nervous and so, so mixed up. I don’t trust my own eyes. It’s easier to hear it from him. “Alan. Please. Does it have a checklist in the back?”
He nods once. “Yes.”
I suck in a breath. “What’s checked off?”
“Mabel and Alan.”
I fucking knew it. Those two were sooooo sure the other journals didn’t exist. But I knew Meg. I know Meg.
“Ryden…” Alan says, starting to look a little uncomfortable. “Please, take it. There are things in there…I’m sorry, man.”
What? He’s sorry? What does that mean?
I don’t move, and he drops the book. It lands with a soft thud at my feet. Then he walks away almost dejectedly, the opposite of the frenzy he was when he first arrived.
When Alan’s gone, my body starts to work again. I crouch and pick up the book, opening the note stuck to the cover.
Alan,
If you find this before Ryden has read the first journal, please don’t give it to him. Only let him