Ava,
At this point I realize that I’m writing about the (important) days leading up to your….death. So yeah, too late to turn back now.
Word spread about that night of your double date just hours after it happened. How, you may ask? Well, apparently, one of the customers who were there told it to his cousin, who told her nephew, who told his mother, who told her brothers, and one of them told his wife, who told her son, who’s a sophomore and goes to our school, Trinidad High. And that certain sophomore told to his friend, who told it to his sister, and everyone knows girls are gossipy. So it spread across the school just as fast as Michael Shumacher finishes a race.
And whenever people saw me in the halls, they tapped me on the shoulder and asked for confirmation.
“Is it true, what they say?”
“Never really pegged you as a fighter, West.”
“You must’ve looked hot when you’re angry.”
The last one was an eyebrow raiser, but what the hell. If they think I’m hot, I won’t deny it. And when they asked me if it was true, I replied, “Why don’t you ask Howard himself?” and they said they were too scared, that he’d probably break their necks if they tried.
Did I mention there was a rumour that Howard went to Anger Management and got kicked out because of what happened in Christopher’s? Total facepalm.
But the rumours and the asking and the stares died down in less than a week because rumour has it that when some guy with enough balls to ask Howard in the shower rooms, he came out with a shiner, a broken nose, and a fractured arm. Which turned out to be true, minus the fractured arm.
Plus Lillie said that you showed up for classes for just two days after the fight, and the rest of the week you weren’t because Lillie found you leaving the girls’ restrooms crying. She asked you what was wrong, and you said to bugger off, and she assumed that you and Howard had a row. Again.
So, like the nice guy I am, on Wednesday I knocked on your door. No one answered. I waited there for maybe an hour and frowning at the door, I left. The next day I was with Cody, knocked, rang the doorbell, waited for an hour, left. The day after that I was with Cody plus Lillie. Rang, knocked, waited, left. On Saturday I was with everyone now: Cody, Lillie, Jo, and Sarah. We all waited silently, except for Cody and Jo.
We were all sitting on the long bench on the porch. We were there for six seconds when Cody banged on the door.
“Ava! Answer the door, dammit!” he paused. “Mr. and Mrs. Woods, if you heard me swear, I’m sorry. Just please let your daughter out!” More banging. More calling. Nothing.
Jo tried after Cody sighed in defeat and sat on the porch steps. She knocked softly. “Ava! We know you’re there! You better come out sooner or later! Or else we’ll—we’ll---we’ll definitely—” She turned to us. “Guys, what will we definitely do? Oh yeah. We’ll definitely mock your British cultures!”
Cody huffed. “Good one. And how’s that gonna go?” He raised his pinky and did his best British accent. “Cheerio! Crumpets! Tea! Au fait! C for E!”
“Shut it, will you. And I don’t even know what half of that means.”
“Which half?”
“I said shut it.”
“Well, if I shut it, how will I answer your questions?”
“I didn’t ask. Now shut up.”
Cody made a show of zipping his mouth, locking it, and throwing away the key. I rolled my eyes at them. Sarah mumbled something like, “my turn” and dialled her cell phone. It rang and rang; I could practically hear the ring. Then the door opened and there revealed you, donned in blue PJs, a gray top-thingy and barefooted. Phone in hand, her narrowed eyes zeroed in on Sarah and demanded, “What?”
YOU ARE READING
Letters To Ava
Lãng mạn"Dear Ava, You must be mad at me, right? It’s okay. I completely understand. I’d be mad at me too, if I were in your position. But I’m not. Which makes me even angrier. I’d do anything to trade places with you. Anything. Except maybe forgive myself...
