Jared’s SUV swerves into the lot of Workout Heaven and slams into a parking spot. He walks past me and through the revolving door of the gym.
I follow him inside. “Why are we here?”
Jared flashes a membership card to the muscled bro at the front desk and identifies me as his guest. After filling out some paperwork, I follow Jared through a loud and cavernous room.
Everything about Workout Heaven makes me anxious. The bright fluorescent lights. The intense volume. The amount of exposed skin. I still don’t know what we’re doing at a place like this.
“Do you work out here?” I ask.
“No, but my parents think I do,” Jared says. “Trust me, this is a great spot to do homework. Have you ever watched a woman run on a treadmill?”
“That is not—I don’t feel—”
“Look, for this kind of job, I can’t be on my home network. Think of it as an extra precaution. Being on open Wi-Fi will make it harder for anyone to trace this back to us.”
He really makes what we’re doing sound extra unseemly. “I don’t know about this. What if someone from school sees us?”
“I would never let that happen. I have a reputation. Besides, no one from our school comes here. Look around. It’s all moms and shit.”
I scan the gym. As loud as it is, it’s actually pretty empty. I guess it’s just the booming music and high ceilings. “Still, maybe we shouldn’t be doing this. There’s got to be another way. If the Murphys ask me about the emails, I just won’t respond. It’s not like they’re going to hunt me down, right?”
“If you back out now, you still owe me the twenty dollars,” Jared says, sitting down on a back bench.
I picture Zoe’s face, the look she had at lunch. Her parents probably have that same look right now, heavy and defeated.
“Let’s just try one email and see what happens,” I say.
Jared opens a blank file on his laptop and begins typing.
Yo Evan,
Sorry it’s been a minute. I been all crazy and shit. You feel me?
“Why are you making him talk like that?”
“Like what?” Jared says.
“You know, like that. Just make him talk normally.”
Jared erases everything and starts again.
Dearest Mr. Hansen,
I am terribly sorry, alas, that I have failed to maintain contact. Life has been most challenging of late.
“Okay, now he sounds like a prince or something. Just have him speak like you and I do. And it has to match my letter exactly. Make it say ‘Dear Evan Hansen.’”
“Why would you guys refer to each other by your full names?”
“I don’t know. It just has to be that way, okay?”
“Suit yourself.”
Dear Evan Hansen,
Sorry I’ve been out of touch. Things have been crazy.
“That’s perfect,” I say.
I want you to know that you’ve been on my mind this whole time. I rub my nipples every night as I picture your sweet, sweet face.
“Why would you write that?” I ask.
“I’m just trying to tell the truth.”
“You know, if you’re not going to take this seriously, then forget it. These emails have to prove that we were actually friends. They have to be completely realistic.”
“There is nothing unrealistic about the love that one man feels for another.”
“Just write down exactly what I say. ‘Life without you has been hard.’”
Jared laughs under his breath. “‘Hard’?”
“Fine, change it to ‘rough.’”
“Kinky.”
“Here, let me type.”
Life without you has been difficult. I really miss talking to you about life and other stuff.
“Very specific,” Jared says.
“Shut up.”
I like my parents.
“Who says that?” Jared asks.
I love my parents, but I hate how much we fight. I should really stop smoking drugs.
“‘Smoking drugs’?” Jared shakes his head at me in disappointment.
“Just fix it.”
“This isn’t realistic at all.”
“How do you know? You barely knew Connor.”
He gives me another look.
“The objective here is to show that I was a good friend. That I was really trying to help him.”
“Oh my god.” He grabs the laptop back.
I should really take your advice and stop smoking crack.
“Crack?” I say. “That’s a little extreme, no? Do people in our school actually smoke crack?”
I should really take your advice and stop smoking pot. Maybe then everything might be okay. And I’ll try to be nicer. Wish me luck.
“That’s not bad, actually,” I say. “Now sign it at the bottom ‘Sincerely, Me.’”
“Not even gonna ask,” Jared says. “Are we done yet?”
“I can’t just show them one email. We need a reply from me back to Connor.”
There’s a loud clang as a tattooed man lets his heavy weights crash to the floor. Even with the thick padding, the impact reverberates under our feet. The man, now pacing around, resembles a rabid MMA fighter primed for battle. This guy could yank someone’s head clean off their neck if he felt like it.
I can relate. Not the roid-rage aggression part, or the strength to carry out manual decapitation, but the sensation of being a match strike away from full explosion. I’m actually jealous of this man that he’s found an outlet for all his energy. I don’t exercise or play sports or participate in any physically demanding hobbies. I did a ton of walking over the summer, but that’s about it. I think Dr. Sherman was hoping that writing letters would offer me that same sort of deep release. It hasn’t worked out that way.
“Okay,” I say. “You ready?”
Jared is gazing across the room. “Look at the bumper on that one.”
I resist the temptation to look. “All right. Write down what I say. ‘Dear Connor Murphy, I just got back from the gym.’”
“The gym?” Jared says. “Seriously?”
“‘I just got back from a hike.’”
“That’s more believable,” Jared says.
“‘I took pictures of the most amazing trees.’”
“No,” Jared says.
“But that really happened.”
“Sometimes you truly break my heart.”
Dear Connor Murphy,
I’m really proud of you for pushing through this tough time. It really seems like you’re starting to turn things around. You know I’m here for you whenever you need me.
Sincerely,
Me
“I have to say, the friendship you guys had is just precious,” Jared says.
“Yeah, it does seem nice, doesn’t it?”
I can see from Jared’s smirk that he wasn’t serious. I just meant that a friendship like this would probably be nice. Having someone to talk to about things, someone who would listen.
P.S. Your sister’s hot.
“What the hell?”
“My bad,” Jared says, erasing that last line.
“Okay, let’s do another one.”
We get into a groove. Dear Evan Hansen, I’m so lucky to call you a friend. Dear Connor Murphy, I’m always on your side, brother. Dear Evan Hansen, I owe you big time. Dear Connor Murphy, don’t even mention it. Dear Evan Hansen, you know I’ve got your back.
All told, we churn out a dozen emails, six from Connor and six from me. I feel as exhilarated and out of breath as the bald guy hyperventilating over by the water fountain. We slap on a fake email address for Connor and then Jared uses his technical wizardry to time-stamp the emails to land within the spring.
“I need to print these out,” I say.
Jared shuts his laptop. “There’s an office supply store in this strip mall.”
“Perfect,” I say, standing up. “After that, there’s one more favor I need.”
“Sorry, your twenty dollars is all used up.”
“Are you sure? I thought you said you wanted to see where the Murphys live.”
Later that evening, Jared eases up to the end of the Murphy driveway. I lower my window and place the emails into their brick mailbox. Driving away, Jared presents his fist and waits for me to bump it. He wants to celebrate what we just pulled off, but I leave him hanging. As I watch the Murphys’ house diminish in my side mirror, I’m in no mood for celebration.
“Pull over,” I say.
“Why?”
“Seriously, pull over. I think I’m going to puke.”