I’ve just heard the news. It was announced a couple of days ago, but I only went on the computer this evening. Most times when I click on the Internet, I type in your name to check for updates, and today there was a brand-new story in the Houston Chronicle that said your execution date has been set for May 1.
May 1, Stuart. I can’t believe it. Of all the days.
My hands are shaking so it’s difficult to write even though I’m quite comfy in a brand-new deck chair that Dad must’ve bought in a garden center sale or something. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling. By my calculation, you’re probably just having dinner, and I bet you anything you’ve lost your appetite. Of course, it goes without saying that I’ll do everything I can to help. Maybe I could get in touch with the nun who came into school to talk about capital punishment and we can organize something, e.g., a protest or a petition signed by all the nuns in the convent.
The Texas government can’t put you to sleep. They just can’t. Only last week I read your poem “Forgiveness” and how you “Regret taking a life/With a carving knife/Especially your wife.” Honest truth, I think you deserve a chance to redeem yourself. If I was the president of the United States, of course I would still have prisons, but they would help criminals rather than kill them as if there’s no hope left. If you ask me, no one can write off a human like that, as if they’ve looked inside their soul and decided it’s bad, all bad, without even the tiniest bit of good worth saving.
The least I can do is finish what I started. Now that we’re running out of time, I have to be quick about it. I need to get to the end of my story before May 1, and I hope it takes your mind off the final preparations such as your last meal, which I imagine will be a cheeseburger with curly fries and a milk shake with two straws and a ketchup packet to remind you of the good times. Anyway let’s get on, because we’re working against the clock, so picture the big hand whizzing back twelve months to last January, and we’ll start with me and Lauren sitting on a step outside school, shivering in our coats at break time on the first day of term.
“So, how was the rest of the party?” I asked.
Lauren locked her fingers together then blew into the hole. “Good. Brilliant, actually. Max missed you, though. He walked around with a face like a bear’s backside after you’d gone. Even said no when Marie tried to hook up with him.”
“What?” I said sharply.
“Don’t worry, he didn’t do anything. She just tried it on. Honestly, she was a real mess. Stumbling about, no clue what she was doing. She was sick all over my drive, and the next morning I saw a blackbird eat it.”
“How did it happen?”
“It just sort of flew down and started to peck at the corner of—”
“No,” I interrupted. “How did Max say no?”
Lauren explained how Marie had staggered up to him and gone in for the kiss, but he’d turned his head away, probably thinking of me.
“Either that or she stank of vomit,” Lauren finished. “Either way. I think he likes you.”
My depression since the party lifted a bit. So what if Aaron had said those things? His brother was interested, and I wanted to keep it that way, which is why I dashed out of French at the end of the day, running down some steps to the drama department, where I knew Max had his last class. He was coming out of the studio, shoveling chips into his mouth. I waved to get his attention, and he followed me around the corner.
“Great. Very happy. Not to be back at school. But you know. To see you.”
Max grinned, wiping chips off his chin. “Me, too. Missed you at the party, Zo.”
“Sorry I disappeared.” I put my fingers on his belt. “Just when things were starting to get interesting…” I fiddled with his buckle. “It’s a shame we didn’t find that empty room.” I tugged the end of his tie, feeling reckless, not like myself at all. “So… do you want to do something after school this week? I could come to your place?”
Max blinked in surprise and spoke in a strangled sort of voice. “Yeah, all right. If you like.”
“I do like. Tuesday?”
“I see my dad on Tuesdays. How about Thursday?”
Something Lauren said in November came back to me. It’s a slippery slope, and Stuart there I was choosing to plunge right down it. I stepped forward and kissed his cheek. “Perfect.”
Mum dropped me off at Lauren’s on Thursday night because I told her we had to finish the project on rivers.
“It’s dragging on a bit, isn’t it?”
“The Nile’s long,” I said coolly before climbing out of the car.
Looking back on it now, I can’t believe I was so calm about it, turning away from Lauren’s house when Mum had driven off, striding across the zebra crossing and hurrying through the green glow of the dragon in the Chinese takeout without even putting up a hood. Don’t get me wrong—doubt flickered in my stomach as I stood outside Max’s front door. Aaron’s front door. But it wasn’t enough to make me turn around. Aaron had told me I was free to see whoever I wanted. He’d said to have fun with his brother. I pulled myself up to my full height and knocked twice on the wood.
Keys tinkled. Hinges creaked. I wet my lips and fixed a smile on my face. A shaft of light spilled onto the garden path, and I was standing in the middle of the beam, facing a blond girl of about nine dressed in dungarees. A camera hung around her neck.
“Who are you?” she asked before I could speak.
“I’m Zoe. Who are you?”
“Fiona.”
“Nice to meet—”
“Are you here to see Aaron or Max?”
Good question. “Max. If he’s in?”
The girl spun around and charged up the stairs, leaving the front door open. I hesitated, seeing two pairs of boys’ sneakers on the mat, but forced myself to step over them into the warmth of the house. A TV blared in the kitchen, the smell of melted cheese and garlic in the air. Glasses clinked and plates banged. Someone was cooking.
“Hello?” I called, feeling awkward.
“You must be Zoe,” a voice said, and a plump face appeared around the kitchen door. Her black and reddish hair was tied back in a ponytail. Sandra smiled, but then her eyes narrowed. “Have we met before?”
“No,” I said quickly, though with a jolt of alarm I realized she’d seen me outside the library. By the snowman. With Aaron.
“You sure? You look familiar.”
“Well, we sort of have,” I said in a casual voice. “I came over in November to see Max, but we never actually—”
“That must be it! Come on through.” I followed her into the kitchen. “Lemonade okay?” she asked, pouring before I answered and shouting at the top of her voice. “Max! Take a seat, sweetheart. He’ll be down in a minute.”
I did as I was told, perching awkwardly at the small table in the corner of the kitchen, pretending to take an interest in the talk show on TV. The presenter had one of those cooked-sausage-skin faces, tanned and wrinkled, and he was announcing it was time for the lie-detector test.
“This is my favorite bit,” Sandra muttered. “Pizza okay?”
“Great.”
“They’re in the oven. I’ve done some salad as well.” She wiggled a plastic bag full of lettuce and shredded carrots and some purplish stuff that could have been beetroot. “Well, the shop’s done it for me. We’re eating à la supermarché this evening.” It was supposed to be a joke so I forced a laugh as Sandra emptied the salad into a silver bowl and put it on the table. “That should be enough for five of us.”
Me. Sandra. Max. Fiona. And Aaron.
My legs tensed under the table, my knees squeezing together. This was going to happen. This was actually going to happen. I was going to go through with it.
“Max only told me you were coming about two seconds ago, so it’ll have to do, I’m afraid. Still. Everyone likes pizza, don’t they?”
I tuned back into the conversation. “Yes. Yes, they do.”
“Max!” Sandra shouted again, grabbing five sets of cutlery. “Fiona! Aaron! Dinner’s ready.”
Somewhere upstairs, a floorboard squeaked. Two brothers got off their beds. Two pairs of feet hit the carpet.
There was a sound behind me. I braced myself, but it was Fiona. She scampered to a chair, then poured herself some orange juice and stared at me across the table.
More footsteps in the hall. Heavier ones. Two pairs.
I turned around and there they were. There he was, because Stuart I had eyes only for Aaron, beautiful in a plain T-shirt and gray jeans, his toes long and straight on the carpet. His jaw dropped as I boldly held his gaze. Something throbbed in the air between us.
“Kiss her,” Fiona said, giggling suddenly as Max entered the kitchen.
“Fiona,” Sandra warned.
Max squeezed my shoulder and sat down on my right, leaving an empty space on my left. “I told Mum we didn’t want any food.”
“It’s okay,” I said as Aaron recovered from the shock.
“It’s not,” Max muttered. “Embarrassing.”
Touching his thigh, I breathed, “Don’t worry.”
“Ooooh, whisper whisper,” Fiona said. She picked a lettuce leaf out of the bowl and threw it in her mouth. “Lovey dovey. Kissy kissy.”
Aaron grabbed a glass out of a cupboard and turned on the tap too hard. Water splashed everywhere, drenching his T-shirt. Max laughed as Aaron flushed and dried himself with a tea towel. Almost in slow motion, he looked from the sink to the table, glancing from the seat next to me to the seat next to his sister. Rubbing his nose, he walked all the way around to the space by Fiona.
Sandra put the pizzas by the salad. The heat misted up the silver bowl. Fiona drew a heart in the steam and beamed in my direction.
“Pepperoni. Ham and pineapple. Margherita. There’s half a pizza each, so choose wisely,” Sandra said.
“Mine,” Fiona said, snatching the margherita. Max picked up half the pepperoni. Sandra went for the ham and pineapple. I leaned forward as Aaron leaned forward. Both our hands reached for the margherita, and the pizza hung in the air between us.
“You have it,” he said, dropping the crust.
“Do you want to share?”
Aaron stared straight into my eyes for the first time that evening. “No.”
Fiona fiddled with her camera as she ate, tilting the screen toward Sandra.
“Here’s one I took yesterday. And here’s a picture of the grass that I took before school.Look,” she said because Sandra was gawping at the talk show. “The drops of water are sparkling because of the sun.”
“Lovely,” Sandra said. “Christmas present,” she explained to me. “She’s a budding photographer.”
“Cheese!” Fiona shouted suddenly, pointing the camera at my face. The flash exploded before I had a chance to pose. “That’s really bad.” She giggled, clicking a button and showing Aaron.
“Really bad,” he agreed.
“Give her a chance to smile,” Max said, picking up a piece of pepperoni and flinging it into his mouth. “Do another one.” He put his arm around me and grinned at the camera. I had no choice but to grin, too, my hands in a knot and my lips stiff as Aaron looked away.
Silence fell as everyone went back to eating. There was just the sound of teeth and hard crusts and squelchy cheese. It was a relief when the talk-show host brought on the first guest to fail the lie-detector test. The crowd was on their feet, booing.
“Why are they doing that?” Fiona asked.
“He’s a cheat,” Sandra explained, transfixed by the screen. “Like most bloody men.”
“What did he cheat in?”
“On,” Aaron corrected her. “And it’s who. Who did he cheat on?”
I swallowed my last mouthful of pizza with difficulty.
“So who did he cheat on?” Fiona prompted, circling her finger around her plate to pick up crumbs.
“His girlfriend,” Aaron said.
“What did he do?” she asked.
Aaron put down his knife and fork, and Stuart they were pointing directly at me. “Kissed someone else.”
“Shagged her, more like,” Max said.
Fiona started to giggle. “Shagged,”she repeated.
“Thank you, Max.” Sandra sighed. “She’s only nine.”
Aaron stood up suddenly. He picked up his plate and Fiona’s plate and Sandra’s plate, taking them to the dishwasher. Sandra poured herself a large glass of wine.
“Pudding, anyone? Cup of tea?”
Max patted his stomach to say he was full. “Me and Zoe are going upstairs.”
“To sh—” Fiona started.
“That’s enough,” Sandra snapped.
“Thanks for dinner, Mum,” Aaron said, marching out of the kitchen without looking back.
“No worries, sweetheart,” she called. “Good luck with your studying. He’s got an exam tomorrow,” Sandra told me. “History. He’s a pretty smart boy.”
“Yeah,” Max said, a mix of pride and envy in his voice. “He got the big brains, but I got the big—”
“Honestly!” Sandra said, rolling her eyes. “I am sitting right here, you know!”
“I was going to say heart,” Max joked, putting his hand on his chest.
Sandra snorted and turned up the TV as we walked into the hall.
There wasn’t much we could do in Max’s room with his mum in the house, so we chatted awkwardly on his bed. After the third long silence, I looked around, searching for another topic of conversation.
“Is that your dad?” I asked, spotting a large photo frame on the wall. Inside was a picture of a man with a mustache, a boy on his knee. “You look cute.”
“Have you seen what I’m wearing, though?”
I giggled at the pair of tiny yellow shorts. “How old were you there?”
Max stood up and gazed at the photo. “Dunno. Seven or something.”
“Do you miss him?”
“Nah,” Max said too loudly.
“He looks nice. Apart from the big mustache.”
“That’s gone now. Apparently his new girlfriend doesn’t like it.”
“Can I ask you something?” I said suddenly.
“If you want.”
“Was it awful when they split up?” Max flinched so I muttered, “You don’t have to answer that. Sorry. It’s just that my mum and dad keep arguing, and sometimes I think, you know, that they might actually… But anyway. They probably won’t.” Reaching under his desk with his foot, Max back-heeled a ball and dribbled it around the room without meeting my eyes. “You’re good at that.”
“Not good enough,” he muttered, kicking the ball against the closet.
“Come off it! You’re the best in the school, and you know it.”
“Yeah, but how many schools are there in the country?” he asked, moving the ball easily between his feet.
“I dunno.”
“Have a guess.”
“Twenty thousand? Thirty?”
“Say there are twenty-five thousand. That’s twenty-five thousand lads, just like me. The best in their school.” He kicked the ball to me and surprisingly I managed to pass it back in a straight line. “Twenty-five thousand. And how many people do you think make it as a professional?”
“Absolutely no idea,” I muttered, “but I get your point.”
“Unlike my brother, who’s good at everything, soccer’s the only thing I can do, but I can’t do it well enough to make a living out of it.”
“That sucks.”
“Yep.” He passed the ball to me, but this time I missed it so it rolled under the bed. I leaned down to grab it but stopped short when I spotted something concealed in the shadows.
“Is that a…”
“No!”
“It is!” I exclaimed, pointing at a half-finished jigsaw hidden under his bed. Five hundred pieces, there must have been, spread out on a tray. The completed section showed a soccer stadium with thousands of fans.
“Don’t get it out!” he groaned, because I was lifting it onto his duvet.
“This is completely brilliant.”
He stared at me uncertainly. “It is?”
“Completely and totally brilliant.”
“It’s just a jigsaw,” he replied, but he seemed pleased.
“Oh no,” I said, shaking my head. “This is not just a jigsaw. This is proof.”
“Proof of what?”
I batted my eyelashes. “That the Mighty Max Morgan is a secret geek.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” he said, but we smiled as we arranged the jigsaw between us and got down to work.
It was fun. And hard. There was a lot of field to do, and all the pieces were the exact same color of green. After an hour, we’d finished the section by the corner flag, and we surveyed it, feeling satisfied, before we made our way into the living room. Sandra had fallen asleep on the sofa with her mouth wide open.
“Must’ve dropped off,” she muttered thickly when Max shook her awake.
“Thanks for having me,” I said, pulling on my coat. “And for the pizza.”
“You’re welcome.” She smiled sleepily. “How’re you getting home?”
“Just going to walk it.”
Sandra moved the curtain with her foot. “You can’t do that, sweetheart. It’s pitch-black out there. Freezing.”
“I’ll be fine. Honest,” I replied, moving toward the door. “I have to set off now, though. Mum wants me back by ten.”
Sandra combed her fingers through her hair. “I feel terrible. I’d give you a lift, but I’ve had too much wine.”
“Aaron?” Max suggested.
My stomach twisted guiltily. Nervously. Hopefully. Sandra was already on her feet and hurrying out of the room.
Stuart, you can imagine the tension as I stood outside the house saying good-bye to Max as Aaron climbed into DOR1S. Even though we’d had a nice time, I tried to escape without being kissed, but Max leaned in close as the car headlights came on. In the glare, he put his hand on my chin and brought his lips to mine. I pictured it from Aaron’s point of view, trying to feel good about my revenge, but any sense of glory just bounced around my empty insides, like that phrase Hollow Victory.
Max disappeared back into the house. There was just me and Aaron. Aaron and me. Biting the inside of my cheek, I put a foot into his car.
“Sorry about this.” Aaron didn’t reply. He stared straight ahead and started the engine as I closed the door. “I really appreciate it.” He put the car into reverse and moved backward down the drive. “It’s freezing out there,” I tried again. Aaron turned on the radio.
We drove in silence. Over the crosswalk. Past the church and the Chinese takeout. The emerald dragon whizzed by the window. Aaron gripped the steering wheel, his back poker-straight and his arms thrust out in front, locked at the elbows. Turning down the volume on the radio, I tried once more to strike up conversation.
“How did your studying go?”
Aaron twisted the dial too hard in the opposite direction. The speakers screeched in protest as a singer bellowed LOVE just like that, and it sounded big and painful and scary.
We jerked to a stop at a traffic light, Aaron’s foot slamming the brake too hard. Miss Scarlet hit the window then swirled in a circle as she hung from the mirror. I tapped her with my finger to make her swing.
I did it again. Tap. Aaron shook his head and turned off the radio suddenly. LO—
“You’re such a child,” he said. “Everything’s a game to you, isn’t it?”
I folded my arms. “It’s just a stupid Clue figure.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Aaron growled, glaring at the road, his eyes wild. “That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it. What do you think you’re playing at? Turning up in my kitchen? Coming to my house?”
“Your brother’s house!” I corrected him. “Your brother’s.”
The traffic light turned green. Aaron put his foot down and the car screeched off.
“So it’s like that, is it?”
“You tell me,” I replied, gripping onto the dashboard as we sped around a corner. “You’re the one who said we were a good couple. You’re the one who told me to have fun. So that’s what I’m doing. Having fun!”
“Fine!” Aaron yelled.
“It is fine,” I said, throwing Aaron’s words from the party back in his face with spiteful triumph. Hands trembling, throat raw, my finger flew to my chest. “I’m not doing anything wrong, Aaron. I’m free to see whoever I want. You said so yourself.”
Tears burned in my eyes. I swiped them away, glowering at Fiction Road.
Fiction Road.
Mum was walking out of the house, about to set off to Lauren’s. Aaron was slowing down, trying to work out which house was mine. Any moment now, Mum would glance this way and see me in the—
“Drive!” I screeched, ducking as Mum’s eyes fell on Aaron’s car. “Please just drive!” Aaron hesitated. Bit his lip. And then hit the accelerator so we roared past my house.
“What’s going on?”
“You’ve got to get to Lauren’s! I should’ve said. That was my mum. She thinks I’m at my friend’s house.”
Babbling, I told him the directions, choosing a back way that gave us more chance of beating Mum. I was urging the car forward with every ounce of my being, like it was a horse and I was a jockey in the race of my life. We turned right. Screeched left. Powered down a straight road.
Aaron sniffed.
“You should stop telling lies, you know. It’s a bad habit.”
I looked at him in disbelief. “You really want to continue this now?”
“I’m just saying. You should stop lying. It’s—”
“It’s what?”
He paused. Took a breath. Pronounced the word clearly. “Immature.”
I forced out a laugh. “Immature? Who’s got Miss Scarlet hanging off their mirror? Who talks about ghosts and alligators and black holes full of snakes? Who hasn’t got a plan and doesn’t know what they’re going to do in the future and—”
“Don’t change the subject,” Aaron snapped. “You lied to your mum and it was wrong and that’s the end of it.”
“Who says it’s the end of it? You? Just because you’re older? Give me a break, Aaron. You have no right to tell me what I can and can’t do. What I tell my mum has nothing to do with you. Nothing.”
Aaron lifted a shoulder. “Maybe not. But what you tell me is pretty important, and you lied to my face.”
A traffic light turned red as we approached it. I swore under my breath, glancing at the time on my phone. 9:55 PM.
“You told me your grandpa was dead.”
Red
Red
Red
Green
“Go!” I shouted, and we sped off again. 9:56 PM.
“But you weren’t visiting his grave that day I saw you,” Aaron pressed.
“No, but…”
“You’d been in my house. My house!” He was shouting now and his words rang in my ears. “With my brother!”
“I know, but…”
“In his bedroom. And you had the cheek, the nerve, to get into my car and pretend that you’d—”
“Enough!” I roared, slamming my fist onto my thigh. “Enough.”
9:59 PM.
Aaron pulled onto Lauren’s street. I leaned up on my seat, scanning the road for Mum’s car with frantic eyes. The coast was clear. Pulling open the door, I made to get out.
“You’re welcome,” Aaron said sarcastically.
“Oh, grow up,” I spat, climbing out of the car, the air freezing against my hot cheeks. “Thanks so much for the lift. It’s been great.”
“I don’t know how you could do it, Zoe!” Aaron called, his eyes blazing in the darkness. “I don’t know how you could’ve acted like such a bitch!”
“You never gave me a chance to explain!”
I slammed the door as the clock hit 10 PM. Aaron revved the engine and tore down the road, and I swore at him loudly, all the worst words I could think of. The wind swirled and my body trembled and my blood boiled underneath my flushed skin.
“Good night?” Mum asked a couple of minutes later as I collapsed onto the seat, hiding my anger. The fib caught in my throat, but I thought of Aaron and forced it out defiantly.
“Not bad. You know. For a Geography project.”
I think I’m going to leave it here tonight. I really want to tell you what happened next, but I can barely keep my eyes open. The last few nights have been interrupted with bad dreams. I keep jolting awake, cold and clammy as the rain pours and the smoke swirls and the hand disappears over and over again. I’m not quite ready to talk about it yet, but I will. One day soon. That’s a promise. We’ve still got a bit of time before May 1 if the worst happens and the nun can’t put a stop to it. There must be something we can do so don’t give up yet, thinking you deserve this punishment for your mistakes. As you can see, I made them, too. You’re not on your own, Stu, so don’t lie there on your thin mattress believing that the whole world just sees your bad soul. There’s a girl in England who knows there’s some good.
Love,
Zoe xx
1 Fiction Road
Bath, UK