The Great Between

The Last Piece

The last piece of the story arrives the next morning. Mum brings it in from the letterbox and drops it on my desk just before lunch. She frowns at the envelope.

'Must be a birthday card. Don't know who from, though,' she says.

She hovers over my shoulder like she wants to see me open it, but when I turn back to my History textbook, she nods slowly and leaves. Max waits about twenty seconds before she tip-toes into my room and closes the door softly behind her.

'If Nat asks, I'm asking you a maths question.'

'I don't do maths.'

'English then.' She taps the thin white envelope. 'Secret admirer strikes again?'

I roll my eyes. 'You know I don't have a secret admirer.'

'True. Leo's not so much secretive as he is awkward and oblivious.'

I tear open the envelope just to shut her up (and because I want to know how the story ends, even if it is driving me a little bit crazy not knowing who sent it). Max leans on my shoulder and we read together.

In the end of the story, the main character and the girl argue on the beach. It's tense and a little melodramatic and it ends with the boy driving home without the girl, leaving her at a train station. As we finish reading, Max sighs, sinking into her airbed and pushing her fringe out of her face.

'You should ask Will about it. It would be simpler if it was him who wrote it,' she says.

'He didn't writer it.'

'Promise me that when you see him tonight, you'll at least show it to him.'

'Max.'

'Promise me!'

'Fine.' 

Pen's car in the driveway when I arrive at Will's house that afternoon. She pokes her head out of the car and waves madly before gathering up her flowy coat and stumbling onto the driveway. When she's standing safely on the soft grass in Will's front yard, she dusts her hands together as if she's completed a gymnastic feat, her bangles jingling. Her grey and purple hair is a little wilder than usual and her eyes are dark and tired.

'How are things, Stella?' she asks, leaning into the back seat to drag out a green grocery bag full of books.

The letter story is in my pocket. I should show her. I should see if she recognises it.

'Things are alright,' I say, which is mostly true. 'I do have a bit of a puzzle though. I thought you might be able to help.'

Pen drops the bag onto the driveway with a thud and slams the door a little too enthusiastically. 'How did Max's puzzle go?'

'Really well. It was an excellent choice.' Maybe she misheard me.

'Oh good.'

'I meant that I have a life puzzle.'

I take the letter from my pocket and hand it to her. Pen slides her chunky black glasses down from their perch on the top of her head, peering at the letter through the smudged lenses. She clicks her tongue as she reads, tapping her finger against the paper.

'This is good.' She hands it back and struggles to lift the bag of books. I take it for her. 'Will's sharing writing? That's good.'

'Why'd you think Will wrote it?' I ask, stumbling as I pull the bag up to my stomach. It's like the bag is trying to pull my arms from their sockets.

Pen shrugs. 'It didn't sound like your writing.'

'Oh.'

She pauses, eyeing me suspiciously. 'Is something going on?'