Our confession exists on the Heart and only the Heart. Gus never watched it. I’m convinced of that now. Like everyone, he only saw the screen cap. I don’t know how and don’t care how, but I’m guessing that picture was automatically uploaded to the Cavalry. Another of Cole’s lazy-but-instant approaches to life.

  And what’s that picture anyway? It’s a meme, a joke, a nothing. No one will ask where it came from, because origins rarely matter. And if they do ask, who will speak up? Logan? Holly? Grayson? Not a chance in hell.

  I worry a bit about Gus, because our behavior around him has been worrisome. But we can explain it away by saying we were bothered by the meme and worried about Cole and full of emotions and blah blah blah. We never confessed in Gus’s presence, though Holly came close. And without a confession, who’s actually ever going to suspect murder? The police will forget about it. So will everyone else. Eventually.

  For the moment, I’ll deal with the inevitable blowback from the others. I’ll probably get an angry message from Grayson, accusing me of conspiring with Cole. Yes, I do realize that finding the empty Thule will only strengthen his conviction that Cole is still alive. So I’ll get Gray on the phone. Holly and Logan too. I’ll put their stupid fantasies to rest once and for all.

  I’ll explain that I never thought they’d be so callous as to murder someone—holy living fuck, right? Call me naïve, but even the night before they did it, when we started digging the grave, I thought the whole sordid affair was pretend. Posturing. Cosplaying at crime. Playing a game of chicken to prove who was the better friend and citizen.

  Still, I was ready for the worst. And when they went and actually did the worst, the only thing I trusted them to do next was ignore my original advice. They wanted to bury the body, so I had them bury it on my property. That way I could get it the hell off my property and put it where it should’ve gone in the first place. Sure, I could’ve let them in on this secret sometime in the last ten days. (Specifically, when their batshit brains were convinced that Cole was alive.) But they probably would’ve insisted on burying the body again.

  You know what? Forget probably. Let’s go with definitely.

  Will they accept the truth gracefully now? Fat chance, but they’ll have to learn to live with it. This is one instance where they can’t speak for me.

  I’m far from a genius. I didn’t predict GOTCHYA, the Cavalry, all the beacons. But it’s handled, because I handled it. Just like I’m going to handle Cole’s Heart.

  Here it sits, on my father’s desk, my ex-boyfriend’s most treasured possession. I plan on destroying it. I’ll delete it, bash it with a hammer, toss it from the ferry, and consign it to the bottom of Lake Champlain. I know that in Cole’s beacon he bragged about a backup, but I’m not going to worry about that. Because any backup doesn’t have our confession on it. It’s a time capsule that was sealed away while Cole was still alive. And no one was a murderer.

  Gus can have it. Snuggle up with it and make out with it for all I care. He can continue on with his pathetic memesturbatory alt-right revolution. Maybe he’ll even dedicate that trash site to Cole’s memory. Not that Cole deserves a memorial. I’m not sure what he deserves. Or, deserved. Was he dangerous to me, the others, the world? Maybe, but I don’t think I’ll ever know for sure. I have to stop asking myself that question.

  It’s time to move on. Which, for now, means getting some fresh air. So that’s what I’m doing. I’m standing up from this desk and walking out to the back deck, where I can feel the snow on my hands and my cheeks, the cold flakes on my hot skin.

  It’s tranquil on the deck, and the moon is sneaking out from behind the clouds. I can see the forest, dancing in white. It will all belong to me someday. My parents plan on living here until they’re through, and then they’ll pass it on to their one true heir. It’s nice to know, but it’s wild to think that Holly, and Logan, and Grayson would all believe I would want to live on this beautiful stretch of land with a body rotting on it. They were all born around here, and so they don’t understand how much a place like this can mean to someone who wasn’t.

  I stare for a while, and I pray for more stillness and silence, the type that lasts for as long as you need it. But I don’t get it for more than a few seconds. Because I hear another gunshot—Bam!

  Followed by another—Bam!

  Then—Bam! Bam! Two more, screaming through my forest.

  It tells me that Grayson is not the only person out there. And probably rules out accidents or warnings. I could run into the forest, arms up and hollering, trying to help. But I’m not going to do that. I know how little my voice matters to them.

  So instead I step inside, I lock the door, I pull the blinds, and I turn off the lights. I pick up my phone. Whatever happens next, I’m making sure of one thing.

  The last word is mine.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Without three groups of people, this book would still be a muddled mess existing only in the back of my mind. And you certainly would not be reading it. Those groups are . . .

  The brilliant folks behind the scenes: heroic editor Julie Strauss-Gabel, fearless agent Michael Bourret, vigilant copyeditor Regina Castillo, talented designers Samira Iravani, Theresa Evangelista, and Anna Booth, and the rest of the dedicated team at Dutton Books for Young Readers who whipped this story into shape.

  The supportive and loving family on the front lines: Dad, Mom, Toril, Tim, Dave, Magela, Jacob, Will, Matteo, Mauro, Jim, Gwenn, Pete, and all the members of the Starmer, Amundsen, Wells, and Evans clans.

  And, of course, the three kind and wonderful souls who encourage and inspire me every day: Cate, Hannah and Rowan. I love you so.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Aaron Starmer is the author of numerous novels for young readers, including The Only Ones, The Riverman, and his young adult novel, Spontaneous. He lives in Vermont with his wife and daughter.

  You can find Aaron online at @AaronStarmer.

  What’s next on

  your reading list?

  Discover your next

  great read!

  Get personalized book picks and up-to-date news about this author.

  Sign up now.

 

 

  Aaron Starmer, Meme

 

 

  Thank you for reading books on GrayCity.Net
Share this book with friends