Hopeful blue eyes meet mine, and everything else just fades. “Then it could be just ours.”
PAST.
Seven Years Prior.
London and Tate are ten.
Entry One: The moon, raincoats, and you.
Dear Tate,
I could never say this to your face… but yes, yes, I wish we could run away to the moon together. When you told me that the moon “could be just ours,” I think I blushed a little. Okay, maybe I actually blushed a lot. You probably didn’t see me, though, because I looked away.
I do that sometimes… look away, that is. I don’t like people looking at me for too long, so I always look away. Like when I get in trouble with Daddy, and I see the anger bubbling up. He always gets that popped vein in his forehead that I hate. It makes me feel sad. He makes me feel sad.
I thought I would feel sad when you kept on staring at me tonight, but I didn’t. For the first time, a stare didn’t scare me. Your perfect blue eyes made me want you to stare into mine forever. Do you believe in forever? That something could last that long? I do. I only looked away from you because I thought if I didn’t, I would cry.
Why?
Because nobody has ever wanted to go somewhere with me before. My mommy and daddy are always busy, and I ain’t got nobody else. I think that’s why I ran. Why I sneaked out from home and found myself at that lake—to not be alone. The rain calms me, but it isn’t human, so I was still alone.
And then came you.
My gorgeous rival.
Tate Meadows.
I could finally breathe when you sat down next to me, no matter how many times I rolled my eyes at some of the things you said.
Just to be sure, stupid is a bad word. And now I hate you more because you made me write that word in this journal. (A journal you will never see, read, or know about).
But it’s okay.
My parents won’t find it.
I’ll hide it somewhere they’ll never find.
I’ve never written in a journal before tonight, so you better not be tough on me. I was going to use this notebook to write songs, but using it to fill it with you sounds much better.
I don’t know why I’m writing here, but you made me feel so much, so I wanted to write it down. My mommy and daddy always tell me so many bad things about you and your family. That you’re monsters. Those that hide under your bed and crawl out while you sleep. But monsters don’t give you raincoats when you’re freezing to death. Right?
So why did you? Give me your raincoat, that is?
I know I gave you my teddy (Mr. Bunny, I miss you), but why did you want to swap to start with?
Or perhaps, the better question is, why did you choose to take my most valuable possession?
I still have your raincoat on. I don’t think I’ll ever take it off. I like it too much.
I like you.
All the raindrops on the raincoat haven’t dried yet, and it’s creating a patch on my pink silk bedsheets that I’m currently lying on, but I don’t care.
I wonder if you’re still taking care of Mr. Bunny. Did you take her home, or did you lose her? I hope you took her home, wherever home may be for you. (And yes, Mr. Bunny is a girl).
My eyes are getting tired, and I just want to dive into my bed and fall asleep with sweet dreams. But before I do, I have three questions for you, Tate Meadows. Just three.
1) What were you hiding from when you sneaked out to Central Park tonight?
2) Why did you stand up and leave seconds after you said, “then it could be just ours.”?
3) If I sneak out tomorrow night, for the second time in my life, will you be there by the lake?
Because I will be. I’ll wait for you. I’ll wait for you forever until the day I hate you, because right now I want to run away with you. To the moon. To anywhere you like. So long as I’m with you.
Until we reach the moon,
London
Entry Two: Midnight madness
Tate,
I waited in our spot until midnight… but you never showed. I hope nothing bad happened. I hope Mr. Bunny is okay. I wore your raincoat again because it was storming again, and here in Manhattan, when it storms, it’s like heaven coming undone.
Truth is, I’m kinda sad you weren’t by the lake tonight. I really thought you would have been. My hands were sweaty all day just thinking about seeing you. That and the fact I didn’t sleep a wink last night. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I would say to you tonight. What you would say to me. I also hoped that you could give me Mr. Bunny back. I can’t sleep without it. I need to hold it tight to feel all right, and without it was torture.
But I guess it’ll be another night without Mr. Bunny…
Why didn’t you show, Tate? Did I say something wrong?
Are you not coming to the lake anymore now that I know your secret escape?
Will you ever come back to the lake? Ever ask me if I want to run away again?
I wish we went to the same elementary school just so I could ask you without worrying if you’d be there or not.
The moon didn’t seem as beautiful tonight. The dark clouds wouldn’t let go of the quarter moon. I liked it better last night. When I was with you. Today my nanny said my parents are going to come back from Dubai in three days. That means I have two more nights to sneak out to the lake without getting in trouble.
Please be there tomorrow night.
Or the next.
Or both.
Until we reach the moon,
London
Entry Three: Pinky Promise me…
Tate,
I’m starting to think my parents were right about you, no matter how badly I wish they weren’t. I waited on our bench until sleep consumed me, and I woke up with the twinkling stars staring right back at me. Yes, that’s right, stupid. I fell asleep in the middle of Central Park.
And yes, I’m saying stupid now. It may be a bad word, but it’s exactly what you are.
How can you take Mr. Bunny from me and give me your raincoat and never return?
Did I really make you upset? What did I even say?
It’s like you’re doing this on purpose, Tate. Made me get lost in your eyes, and now you’re gone… Where did you go? I don’t want to go to the lake if you won’t be there tomorrow night. I feel foolish, and I’m pretty sure a police officer was going to ask me a few questions when I entered the park alone. Thankfully, I’ve watched one too many comedy shows and pretended to blend in with a random family. When the officer began walking in another direction, I bolted toward the lake.
I waited, and waited, and waited.
For a ruffle of the bushes behind me.
For a reason to feel my heart thump so fast again.
For your honeyed sin voice to say, “You’re in my spot, blondie.”
But it never came.
You never came.
And I’ll hate you if you don’t show up tomorrow. I really will, Tate Meadows.
I pinky promise.
Be there,
London
Entry Four: Monster.
StupidFace,
I. Hate. You. So. Much. Goodbye.
Sincerely,
Blondie.
PS: I should have never given you Mr. Bunny.