“Thanks for coming.”
“Do you want me to take this stuff up for you?”
“Sure,” I say.
John takes the bag from me and looks inside. “Oh, wow. All of our old snacks! Why don’t you
climb up first and I’ll pass it to you.” So that’s what I do: I scramble up the ladder and he climbs up
behind me. I’m crouched, arms outstretched, waiting for him to pass me the bag.
But when he gets halfway up the ladder, he stops and looks up at me and says, “You still wear
your hair in fancy braids.”
I touch my side braid. Of all the things to remember about me. Back then, Margot was the one who
braided my hair. “You think it looks fancy?”
“Yeah. Like... expensive bread.”
I burst out laughing. “Bread!”
“Yeah. Or... Rapunzel.”
I get down on my stomach, wriggle over to the edge, and pretend like I’m letting down my hair for
him to climb. He climbs up to the top of the ladder and passes me the bag, which I take, and then he
grins at me and gives my braid a tug. I’m still lying down but feel an electric charge like he’s zapped
me. I’m suddenly feeling very anxious about the worlds that will be colliding, the past and the
present, a pen pal and a boyfriend, all in this little tree house. Probably I should have thought this
through a bit better. But I was so focused on the time capsule, and the snacks, and the idea of it—old
friends coming back together to do what we said we’d do. And now here we are, in it.
“Everything okay?” John asks, offering me his hand as I rise to my feet.
I don’t take his hand; I don’t want another zap. “Everything’s great,” I say cheerily.
“Hey, you never sent back my letter,” he says. “You broke an unbreakable vow.”
I laugh awkwardly. I’d kind of been hoping he wouldn’t bring that up. “It was too embarrassing.
The things I wrote. I couldn’t bear the thought of another person seeing it.”
“But I already saw it,” he reminds me.
Luckily, Chris and Trevor Pike show up and break up the conversation about the letter. They
immediately tear into the snacks. Meanwhile Peter’s late. I text him a stern You better be on your way. And
then: Don’t text back if you’re driving. That’s dangerous.
Just as I’m texting again, Peter’s head pops up in the door and he climbs inside. I’m about to give
him a hug, but then right behind him is Genevieve. My whole body goes cold.
I look from him to her. She sails right past me and sweeps John into a hug. “Johnny!” she squeals,
and he laughs. I feel the sharp twist of envy in my stomach. Must every boy be charmed by her?
While she’s hugging John, Peter’s looking at me with pleading eyes. He mouths, Don’t be mad,
and he clasps his hands in prayer. I mouth back, What the hell, and he grimaces. I never explicitly
said I wasn’t inviting her, but I would have thought it was pretty clear. And then I think, Wait a
minute. They came here together. He was with her and he never said a word to me about it, and then
he brought her here, here, to my house. Specifically to my neighbors’ tree house. This girl who has
hurt me, hurt us both.
Then Peter and John are hugging and high-fiving and slapping each other on the back, like old war
buddies, long-lost brothers in arms. “It’s been too fucking long, man,” Peter says.
Genevieve is already unzipping her puffy white bomber jacket and making herself comfortable.
Whatever fleeting moment there was for me to kick her and Peter both out of my neighbors’ tree house
singke
(singke)
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