Only the Moon Watching

Chapter 26: Everyone Weighs In

People in jail don't snitch, but that doesn't mean they can keep secrets. By the end of the day, even Grifta's weighed in on Mike's letter:

"It's true about the adrenaline-bonding," she says, nodding around at the girls in her group, as if to signify that getting into fights together is what solidified their friendship. (And I remember Shiv saying Kristina Kelly was in here for being an accessory to her boyfriend's crime – the thrill of doing bad things together must have connected them, dulled her judgement, and made her the perfect accomplice).

"If he was so bonded," snarls Shiv. "Why'd he run? They could have been in here together, talking the bowl. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, sure, but it's not fair he left her to get locked up alone."

Shiv, Tangler, and Needler have sided firmly against Mike. They think he's:

"A poser," says Needler.

"A coward," says Tangler.

"A lowlife," says Shiv, laughing, "which is rich coming from a bunch of girls who are incarcerated."
I don't know what to think. Yesterday I was so mad at him I couldn't even see straight. But now...knowing he does like me... That he clammed up and ran because he loves me... That he only wanted to steal one firework to kiss underneath...

"I'm just thinking about how things could have gone so differently," I tell Shiv after dinner, when we're walking laps around the fenced-in recreation area under harsh stadium-style spotlights. I can see my breath and every pore on Shiv's nose, and I focus on them instead of looking in her eyes while she's talking because I don't like the disapproving looks she keeps shooting me.

"Jos, shut up. We don't have anything in here except loyalty. That's what you have to learn. In the outside world, Mike could hide behind his good looks and his nice rich parents and the fun little date nights he planned for you –"
"I didn't know they were dates!" I interject. Peripherally, I see Shiv roll her eyes, but I'm still focused on the blackheads on her nose.

"–But without all those distractions, at his core, he was disloyal. You'd have seen it sooner or later, it's good he did what he did."

"Ha," I huff, and watch the puff of my breath dissipate into her hair. "Yeah, Mike really did me a favor: suggesting we steal the fireworks and then running off before he could get caught. Letting me get locked in here all alone."

"He did," insists Shiv. "Think of it as a life lesson – I'm serious. Best case on the outside world, you and Mike end up dating? Yeah? And then you break up. The lesson's something tame and lame, like, don't stay with a guy who responds to his friend's texts faster than he responds to yours. Whatever. Instead you end up in here, you get to the really good stuff fast. How do you learn to strip away everyone's presentation and get to the true bits? We don't have that Instagram-polished, curated, streamlined, synnergized, bullshit.

"No one in here can lie to you: we're all having the worst day of our life, all the time. We feel and look like crap, we're not getting enough sleep, we can't really do our hobbies or be fulfilled by work or see our families. We have nothing but our character. And Mike's is shitty.

"He wouldn't be the hero in any of my books, but he doesn't sound interesting enough to be a villain either – he'd be a red herring, at best. And you deserve better than that."

I puff out another breath and watch it disappear. What Shiv's saying sounds right, but I can't stop a feeling of elation from swelling in my chest every time I think, But he loves me!

"Speaking of red herrings–" Shiv says.

"What?"
"You could use this."
"Mike?"
"Get him to smuggle in red Powerade, instead."

I laugh, slugging her in the arm. "Stop. I'm not asking Mike for anything."

"But he's feeling soooo guilty!" she teases me. "Write him back, get him to shove a good red one up his butt. Tell him his words aren't enough! He can't just say he loves–"

"I still don't believe he loves me," I shake my head. "That could be fake."

"The letter?"
I shrug. "I wouldn't recognize his handwriting."

"Would he recognize yours?"
"Whys it matter? I'm not writing him back..."

The next lap we walk, I'm mad at Mike again. For the three after that, I waffle between admitting the note was sweet and feeling annoyed that it's too little too late. Shiv walks beside me, patiently, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I keep the note crunched in my hand, half-hidden up my sleeve, like a weapon.

I turn it over and over in my mind, back in our room, clenching and unclenching my fist. At some point, still undecided whether I'm touched or ticked off, I fall asleep.

In the morning, when I wake up, Mike's note is missing.

I turn over my covers, check the space between my bed and the wall, and look under the bed frame and behind my crocs. Across the room, Shiv sits up blearily, wiping sleep from her eyes and trying to comb her unruly red hair with one hand. "What are you doing?"
"Looking for Mike's note, is it on the floor by you?"
"Oh," she says through a yawn. "Forgot to tell you, I sent it."

"Sent it? Where?"

"Whoosh!" says Shiv, mimicking the sound of the toilet flushing.

"Up the bowl?? Why?" I sit up, heart hammering, suddenly wild. "You sent it to Steak?"
"I thought he should know he's got competition," she yawns again, ignoring my panic. "So he can show you he doesn't have competition. You know what I mean?"
"Shiv! You can't just do that you need to ask me! I wanted that note!"

"You hadn't decided if you wanted it – you were going to decide you didn't by the way." She speaks as if I'm a character in a mystery novel she's writing, and she totally knows the ending. "I'm just saving you some time. You don't want to pine over someone for six whole months when they couldn't even spare six seconds to tell you to R – U – N."

"That's annoying," I tell Shiv. "You don't get to make decisions for me, no matter how fun you think it'll be to watch Steak start drama over–"
BANG! BANG!

Above us, someone knocks hard on the bowl.

"Incoming," says Shiv, smiling. "Let's hear the drama before we decide it's annoying, alright?" Stumbling out of bed, she kicks the back of the toilet to signal we're here and ready to receive a message. She doesn't bother to bail out the water and get verbal confirmation that that's what's happening, she just immediately starts to feed the spoon and floss line into the bowl.

"Catch," she says, tossing the end of the line into my hands.

One flush later, I feel the deepest spoons catch and clack together with Steak's line, then I pull as hard as I can until the floss-rope gives and a note comes tumbling out of the pipes, flopping onto the edge of the toilet seat like a caught fish. Rolling up her sleeve, Shiv plucks it out of the plastic baggie and passes the note to me.

Staring her down while I do it, so she knows there isn't any hope of trying to get me to change my mind, I tuck the message into the hem of my waistband and leave our room to read it alone.