Page 59 of On the Beat

The cardboard peels back to reveal more packaging in the form of tissue paper, blue and green with glittery gold particles. Maybe Iwasright about the glitter bomb. I yank away the decorations impatiently, my heart pounding between my ears. A package from my sister–a gift from my sister–shouldn’t invoke this much anxiety in me, but we haven’t talked in so long that I have no idea what this could be.

Finally, I peel back all the layers of wrapping to see…

“A hoodie?” Isla says, hovering behind me, peeking over my shoulder.

The three wordsMAKE THE CUTare emblazoned across the front of it in blue and green letters, standing out against a pale grey background. I shove past it, confused, looking for something else.

What am I looking for?

A personal note? A card apologizing for all that she’s done? A bouquet of roses?

“Yeah.” I stare blankly at it for a moment.

Behind the hoodie is another item of clothing, an old t-shirt from our high school withBallard Memorialsplashed across the front. The green and white mascot, a speeding bullet with teeth and a ferocious expression, sits on the upper left corner. Out of some old instinct, I lift the t-shirt to my nose. It smells like my teenage years: chlorine from the pool, a faint tinge of sweat, old beer from when I spilled some on the sleeve at a house party. But it doesn’t smell like home.

Under the t-shirt is an Altoids tin, rattling when I pick it up and pry open the lid to see my old guitar picks.

Is this a goodbye? Her cutting all the pieces of me out of her life? Is her hoodie some sort of not-so-obscure symbol for what she wants me to hear? In that case, shouldn’t it say something likegood-byeorlet it go?

A Twinkie, slightly smushed but probably still edible in its plastic wrapper, makes me laugh. Next to it is a little bag of Muth’s candies, the caramel-covered marshmallow that was the source of my every childhood cavity. We used to gorge ourselves sick on the overly sweet treat, and the memory makes me want to smile.

Finally, I see a letter. It’s written in her handwriting, the same overdone, dramatic, and feminine script on the box. The idea of Poppy, my tech-obsessed sister who always has Tiktok, Snapchat, and Instagram notifications going off every three seconds, taking the time to sit down and write me a letter, makes me want to laugh. Or cry. What does it mean that she’s taken all this effort? Maybe it really is a goodbye.

Isla nudges me. “Are you going to read it?”

Curiosity is threaded through her voice, mingled with concern. Apparently bored by the letter and having hoped for something cooler, like a water gun or something that comes with sound effects or explosions, Eddie picks up one of the Muth’s candies. “Can I try one of these?”

“Knock yourself out, kid.”

He eagerly seizes the candy and darts out of the room. Isla sits on the edge of the table, one foot on the floor and another half-dangling off of the table. “Do you want me to leave you alone?”

I nod, not trusting the sound of my voice.

She must read it on my face, because she nods back and slips out of the room.

Dear\ Ryder,

I hope you like the hoodie. It’s from a project that I’m working on with a friend. Also, did you know that I couldn’t find a single Muth’s Candy in L.A.? I drove home for the long weekend and bought a bag. Then I ate most of them on the drive back, but I saved five for you. And I gave some to–

The name is scribbled out, a scrawl that’s smudged at the edges, unlike Poppy’s usual neatness. Though she can be chaotic, she’s also far more organized than I’ve ever been. I frown.

I gave some to my friend. They said the candy was good. It has some sort of seal of approval, though I’m not sure how fresh they’ll be by the time they reach you.

I know you’re mad at me.

I know I’ve done wrong.

I’m mad at you, too, just for being mad at me. You remember that time River dared you to jump into the creek? I was mad at him, when you came home with a broken collarbone. And I was mad at you, too, for being stupid enough to take his dare. But most of all, I was mad at myself, for not stopping you. For not going out there with you.

If I was there, maybe you wouldn’t have done it. But then again, I’ll never know. You never did listen to anybody.

Anyway. I guess I wanted you to be there. I wanted to tell you about the blog. I wanted you to stop me from writing it just like I wanted to stop you from jumping into that river, but I guess neither of those things happened. They’re just wishes I had.

The blog.Muse Unmaskedis on par withGossip Girl–which Poppy made me watch–and rivalledVoguein readership. It even expanded into video format, with an unrecognizable, altered voice that must have been Poppy’s. Their YouTube channel has a million subscribers; their blog, Twitter account, and Instagram have millions of followers. I had no idea that my sister was pouring so much of herself into what was essentially a business. A side hustle that exploited celebrities for clicks, if the celebrities weren’t exploiting themselves first.

Mom says hi. She says she had been bored out of her mind until River was put on house arrest, and I guess that’s kind of the one silver lining to this whole crap show. She’s busying herself cleaning up his old bedroom, cooking his favourite meals, and vacillating–did I spell that right?–between lecturing him for his sins, reading the Bible to him, and staring blankly at him like she can’t believe he’s her son. Dad isn’t much better. He usually avoids River. Unless there’s a football game. Then they watch it together in silence.

Mom also says she hopes you’re taking care of yourself, eating well, and not getting too skinny. She also said that while she liked Skye, she and Leo are married now, and she wishes you would start dating again. She added that another world tour or a hit song is not going to give her grandchildren and she’s basically two minutes away from setting you up with your old high school girlfriend, Holly Madison. As in, the Goth chick with twenty different piercings who gave herself a tattoo? I’m pretty sure that will tell you how desperate Edna Black is for you to settle down.

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