Page 5

Saturday. Today is Saturday.

Bubbles gather in my chest and I bite back a grin.

I wonder what he wrote in the journal.

After checking my reflection one last time, I slam shut my locker at Broadbent.

The girls and I had a study session.

“You coming out with us, Lexy?” one girl asks.

Scrunching my nose, I shake my head.

“I have plans, sorry. Have fun!”

There’s a party today—college acceptances celebrations, apparently.

Lot of Ivy League letters being handed out like candy, which isn’t a surprise, given Broadbent is a feeder school and everyone here is a legacy and has their family names on school buildings.

I have little to celebrate.

I ended up getting acceptances to state schools.

No Columbia. I guess there’s a first time for everything.

I hate that the milestone of the first Vaughn not getting into an Ivy League belongs to me.

Charles and Liam have been good sports about it, telling me UNYC is a great option.

Grandma looked crestfallen last week when I broke the news to her.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. You have a place in the Bank of Columbia, no matter where you graduate.”

I disappointed her.

Guilt pinches my gut, and I grab my cell and swipe to the photos I took of the journal to reread his last few entries to me .

To Alex,

You’ve made quite the impression.

I already know you’re a girl.

If you want to hide your identity, don’t spray your journal with lavender.

Your handwriting is too neat for a guy.

And how do I know you’re not a sixty-year-old creep or an undercover cop trying to frame me as a predator?

Your Keeper

My pen pal is a guy.

I’d bet the trust fund I don’t get until I’m twenty-two on it.

I can almost imagine his wry voice as I read his short entry.

P.S. I shouldn’t be wasting my time playing pen pal because I have real world responsibilities, but I think you’re lonely and that’s why you’re leaving your journal in random places.

So, it’s my good deed for the day.

I think you need me.

P.P.S. And yes, I understand exactly what you mean.

I love how the world—or in your case, perhaps yourself—expects us to “get it” once we graduate.

Like a degree or two will magically infuse us with powers to navigate everything and how it’s a failure when you aren’t sure where you fit in.

It’s tough. But you aren’t alone.

So he’s older. My keeper.

Fresh out of college, maybe?

I smile at his nickname for himself, a play on what I called him in my first entry.

There’s something refreshing about not caring how you appear to someone else.

Strip off the paint until you’re left with the nuts and bolts of who you are.

P.P.P.S. I can’t promise you how long I can keep this up.

But how do we do this?

Do we need a schedule?

What if I run into you?

Can I ask you anything about yourself?

My entry, this time in pink, is right below his.

Obviously, I should’ve done a better job at hiding my gender, but whatever.

Dear You’re Not My Keeper,

I regret that nickname.

I don’t need anyone to “keep me.” Ground rules sound smart.

How about you leave the book for me before Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday?

And I do the same for you and you can pick up on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday?

Or is that too much?

And no cheating or else this thing is over.

You can ask me basic questions about myself, but nothing too detailed because you’re a stranger.

A strange…friend.

But I’ll save you the trouble.

I’m female, not a cop, legal, and under twenty-five.

My favorite food is lasagna—the more cheese, the better, with gorgonzola crumbles sprinkled on top.

I tell people I like champagne, but really, my true love is honey lavender iced tea.

That’s all you get. I’m assuming you’re a guy.

Are you a creepy dude?

Don’t think I didn’t notice how you “forgot” to answer that question.

Thank you for your honesty.

I knew there were other people out there who felt lost. But we just have to go for it.

Try everything and leave no stone unturned.

Eventually, we’ll hit jackpot, right?

So, why are you feeling lost?

You seem like you have your life together on paper—graduated and everything.

Alex

P.S. I’m going to mix this up.

I’m hiding this journal in a different place, but will leave a clue in the original location and also write it in the journal for documentation.

Let’s test fate again.

If you are the one, you’ll find it again.

So, here’s the clue.

What’s the opposite of a public courtyard?

P.P.S. What would be a perfect day for you?

And do you have a hunch how you’ll die?

Toodles!

I snicker at his response on the next page.

He obviously found my book.

A fellow reader as a friend.

The idea is a warm hug, chasing away my confusing thoughts.

I don’t have friends who love books as much as I do.

Dear Alex aka Dreamer (I think this fits you.

You sound like your head is in the clouds most of the time—not judging),

Frances Hodgson Burnett’s The Secret Garden .

Really? That was your brilliant riddle, a classic that’s been made into movies multiple times over the years?

I never back down from a challenge.

Fine. Quid pro quo. I’m a guy between the ages of twenty and thirty.

Not a creep. Not a predator.

Someone who’s trying to figure out where I fit in the world post MBA.

Drink of choice is craft beer—Pintzer, to be specific.

I’m a health nut, but give myself a free day each week to eat whatever I want.

Usually, that involves a steak.

And I have a lot of thoughts about gorgonzola and lasagna—mainly in the vein of things I can’t say in polite company because moldy cheese does not belong on—never mind.

To answer your question, this is going to sound ridiculous, but my path has been paved for me since I was born.

I’m from a big family and everyone works in the family business, so I never really got a say in what I should do.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s safe.

I’m set for life, provided I don’t screw things up and the plans they have for me sound interesting.

But I can’t help but wonder if “sounds interesting” will cut it?

Or will people just look at me and think I don’t deserve to be where I am?

Nepotism, you know?

Some days, I want to say fuck it and branch out on my own.

But since I don’t know you and I’ll never meet you, I’ll let you in on a little secret.

I feel like a failure and I haven’t even started yet.

And to answer your other strange and random questions:

My perfect day is simple.

Sit in a library or a bookstore and read.

Maybe even do some writing.

Then grab a beer with friends or my siblings and watch a movie or a game.

That’s it. If I can get a Carlisle’s bone-in rib eye, medium rare, my life would be complete.

And death—are you a goth chick?

Nothing wrong with that, I’m sure black nail polish works on you.

To answer your question, I haven’t thought about it.

I assume time is on my side, but I guess growing old, falling asleep next to my wife, then never waking up sounds as good as any?

Why are you asking?

Happy hunting,

Your Keeper—you don’t get to assign me that role and take it away.

I’m acing this position.

P.S. You want to play hide and seek?

It’s a crazy and wild world out there.

Same thing, I’ll leave this clue behind and hide the journal elsewhere.

P.P.S. The best and worst moment of your week so far.

Go.

Oh, please. His challenge wasn’t even a challenge.

It took me less than five minutes to figure it out.

I snicker as I think about the tiny lollipop I tucked between the pages as a middle finger back to him .

To Keep(er) Being an Idiot,

I think I know why you’re feeling lost, even with your fancy degrees, because what kind of idiot leaves a big leather journal in the children’s section?

Are you trying to get caught?

Is this your attempt to ditch me as a pen pal?

Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak.

You even used a word in the title as your clue.

You can do better, Keeper.

Is there a meaning behind your book choice?

A boy who feels unseen and frustrated goes on an imaginary adventure only to figure out he has what he wants all along and returns home?

And guess what, being the idiot you are, you’ve left more clues about yourself.

Carlisle’s steak? You’ve had steak in one of the world’s best Michelin-rated steakhouses inside The Orchid?

I’m wondering about this “family business” of yours.

But then you had to throw me off by saying you like beer.

I would’ve expected fancy whiskey or something if you like Carlisle’s.

Not that I’d know. I had whiskey and thought it tasted awful.

I’d rather have my iced tea.

But Charles loves Carlisle’s.

One time, he brought a steak home for me after he met his friends at The Orchid.

The meat was to die for even though it was takeout.

Maybe this is your game.

Confusion.

But I agree with your tastes.

Bone-in rib eye is the best cut.

Tender with the right amount of fat.

Yum. And don’t yuck my gorgonzola yum.

As for the “strange” questions—I read a psychology study earlier—part of my quest to figure out what I wanted to major in because examining people’s minds sounded interesting.

Have you heard of Dr. Arthur Aron and his thirty-six questions that’d supposedly lead to love ?

Before you freak out, I’m not looking to fall in love with you and I don’t want you to fall for me, even though I know the temptation is very real.

Heck, in full transparency, I’m seeing someone, even though that relationship will probably end before I can say Happy Valentine’s Day.

Are you in a relationship?

Anyway, I thought as pen pals, there’s some distance to this whole thing, so it’ll be nice to get to know you while respecting the rules and what better questions to ask than ones a psychologist came up with?

It’s also nice to have someone to talk to about the deep stuff.

If I tried talking about this with my friends, they’d probably think I’d grown two heads.

My ideal day is strangely similar to yours.

I want to have a picnic in the courtyard here at the library.

If you look out the hummingbird window, you’ll see it far below.

The stone archways, cobblestone floors, and the vines along the walls remind me of my favorite book, The Secret Garden .

I’ve been saving this day for when I’m certain about my future.

Maybe when I work full time?

I think I’ve built it up in my head so much, I don’t want to do it now when I’m not in the best mental state and ruin the experience.

Anticipation is part of the pleasure.

So, I guess this is a future goal.

As for death, I’m really terrified, to be honest. What if there’s nothing afterward?

What if I have a bajillion regrets?

What if I leave the world and people just…

forget me? I guess this is why I have my motto—don’t wait to live, because the clock keeps ticking.

You never know when you’ll meet your maker, and I want to make sure I’m leaving an impression.

Can I tell you a secret?

I can’t swim. At all.

I’m sure you think it’s ridiculous, but I have this nightmare of me drowning because I can’t swim.

And this fear keeps me from learning how to swim.

It’s a stupid cycle.

I really should add this to my list of goals—to get over my fear.

Can you swim ?

The worst part of my week: Getting into a fight with the guy I’m seeing.

He’s been acting weird these days.

Do you believe in love?

That you’ll recognize it when you see it?

The best part of my week: Doing well in ballet practice.

You?

Please try harder with your riddles,

Dream(er)-ing of Kicking Your Ass Again

P.S.

Bonus question: What if an asteroid hits the earth?

What would you do?

P.P.S.

Clue in the old position, clue here as well:

What’s fluent in gifts and touches sweet,

In acts and words, or time we keep?

It’s the secret code to the beating heart,

But five is really my love’s desire.

I grin as I stare at my little poem.

Took me ages to come up with it but I’m proud of it.

Hold on, what if he doesn’t get it?

Did I just end our friendship?

Dammit.

The smile slips off my face just as I feel a poke in my back.

“Who’s that smile for? Something smells fishy.”