Gravestone by Travis Thrasher Read Free Book Online

telling someone I trust.
    Option C, the Newt option, is gathering my things and running away.
    Option D is doing nothing. Doing what pretty much everybody’s been telling me to do from my very first step into this tiny town.
    I’m going to write a book called Choose Your Own Misery. If you choose to go walking in the woods, go to page 54. If you choose to spy on the creepy neighbors, go to page 72. If you choose to sit alone in your room, go to page 38.
    All the pages will have the same result, of course.
    Misery.
    I don’t want to listen to any music tonight. I don’t want to do my homework or read anything or try and see if the Internet is finally working.
    I’m petting Midnight and realizing he’s the only living and breathing thing I can trust.
    I’m not scared.
    Jocelyn’s words are an anchor in this murky wilderness, weighing me down, imprisoning me.
    This whole dark world needs hope.
    I don’t trust anybody or anything, and that includes the hope that she spoke about.
    It’s a nice little thought. It’s sweet for a Sunday morning to tell to a bunch of kids right before giving them candy. But this is the real world, and it’s not for babies. It’s time I grew up and smelled the scent of reality.
    The smoke rises in the distance and the voices hush and the darkness falls and the lies continue.
    This has nothing to do with me. Nothing at all.
    So I believe.
    So I hope.

13. Utterly Ridiculous
     
    Good-byes never go as well as you’d like them to. I know this from when I left Libertyville three months ago. Three months that seriously feel like three years.
    Half of the guys I was friends with never even officially said good-bye. There weren’t any fond farewells or moving hugs. I mean—we’re guys. A few said things like “see you around” or “take it easy.” Really moving things like that. The stuff of Hallmark cards.
    Right.
    Even Brady, who drove me home from school that last time and dropped me off in front of the house I’d be leaving the next day, had little to say.
    “Well, later, loser. Give me a holler sometime.”
    So I’m not expecting the letter I get in the mail. I’ve already moved on. I’ve already said good-bye in my own guy way.
    But I guess—well, I know —that girls are different.
    The letter is from Rachel. One of the three who came up to me that first day. The most talkative of the trio. The most friendly. And the one who in reality got me together with Jocelyn.
    I’m afraid to open it. I don’t know if she knows the truth. If she doesn’t, then everything I’m going to read will be missing that big, gigantic (and bloody) elephant in the proverbial room. Yet if she does, I don’t want to hear what she has to say.
    I don’t want to hear anybody else’s “sorry.” I’m tired of saying it over and over myself.
    It’s Thursday, and Mom isn’t home. Surprise. I take the letter to my room simply because it feels private. I can shut the door and at least hear someone coming up the stairs.
Hey, Chris!
I just wanted to write you a letter to say good-bye. I’ve tried calling half a dozen times and either have the wrong # or something’s wrong with your line. As you probably have heard by now, my family has moved. I never thought I’d be this sad to leave somewhere, but I am. I’m sorry that I didn’t have the chance to say good-bye.
Jocelyn told me right before Christmas that her crazy aunt had had enough, and they were leaving. She said you didn’t know. I just hope and pray that you’re taking everything okay. I can’t imagine—coming to a school and then having your friends leave so soon after. Having Jocelyn leave.
I hope you stay in touch with her. I really do.
I’m going to leave you my email and address at the bottom, so I hope you stay in contact.
You know what I really hope? I hope you get the heck out of that place.
I still can’t believe how sudden everything was. As if my parents didn’t see this coming too. But my dad’s getting a huge pay