Page 93 of Landon & Shay: Part One

She knew my name. She just preferred to never use it.

“I wanted to let you know that I think your daughter may need some help. She’s been getting into a bit of trouble, and she’s struggling. I wanted to give you a heads up to see if—”

“Aren’t you the one who used to smoke pot and get drunk with my Monica?” she barked, holding her purse tight to her side.

“Well, yes, but—”

“No buts needed. My daughter is fine, as long as you keep your toxic self away from her. I know you, Harrison boy. I’ve heard stories about your dark, dark soul. Keep away from my daughter, do you hear me? You’re no good for her.”

Was she even hearing what I was saying?

“Look, hate me all you want, but Monica is sick, and she needs her parents—”

“She has her parents. Don’t come here telling me how to raise my daughter. She is fine. Now get off my driveway before I call the cops. If I see you anywhere near Monica again, trust me, there will be consequences.”

She wouldn’t listen to me. She couldn’t get her head out of her own ass to realize that there was a big issue at hand. She couldn’t deal with the possibility that she was slipping as a mother.

I left her place, then sent KJ a text message to cuss him out for selling to the most unstable teenage girl alive.

I walked back into my house. In the living room sat a huge grandfather clock that was ticking loudly. Monica was right about one thing: the ticking in my mind was growing louder and louder with each passing day as my birthday approached. I was working hard to avoid the explosion, though.

That night, I couldn’t sleep, so I finally built up enough nerve to open the notebook Shay had given me to reveal my truths.

I read her question at the top of the page and felt a bit nervous about writing down my answer for her. Her handwriting was beautiful. The letters curved against one another and the ink danced across the lined notebook.

What makes you sad?

I didn’t overthink my answer. I didn’t wring my brain out trying to not sound a certain way, trying to not come off as a complete loser. I wrote my truths. Every single word held a piece of me, and the next day, I placed it in her locker.

22

Shay

The next day at school,I found the notebook in my locker.

I quickly grabbed it and flipped to the first page where he’d written out his thoughts to me. I read his words over and over, wanting to drink in all the things that made Landon the person he was, and each time I read them, I felt myself falling a little more and more.

Chick,

What makes me sad? That seems like a loaded question, and one I’m not even sure how to attack it right off the bat. So, this may just be a lot of rambling, but whatever. This is what you wanted, right? My random messed-up thoughts.

The Bulls make me sad, and so does the crappy season they played this year. It makes me sad that I didn’t get to experience the greatness that was Michael Jordan on the court, and I am left to only old videos of him playing. I didn’t believe there was magic in sports until I watched those clips of him playing.

Ham makes me sad when he chews the heels of my Nike shoes. He only chews the left shoe, too, never the right. The least he could do is make the shoes evenly screwed up. The little bastard. If I didn’t love that dog so much, I’d hate his freaking guts.

But then again, I’m guessing these aren’t the kind of answers you were looking for. You seem like the kind of girl who wants deeper thoughts.

So, here goes.

Being alone makes me sad, and for a while I thought I’d get used to it. I’ve been alone for so long, and I thought the sad part of it all would disappear, but it stays. Every night, I sit in bed and loneliness swallows me whole. I struggle with sleeping and overthinking. It’s a buzzkill, and I hate it.

Some day I hope I can get past it. Some day I hope I can fall asleep and be happy.

The whole being sad thing is exhausting. I’m tired. All the time. Have you ever been so young but felt so old? That’s the kind of tired I am. I’m the ninety-years-old kind of tired, the kind of tired where everything aches right down to my bones.

This sounds real emo and I am seconds away from ripping this whole notebook apart and ditching this whole idea, so I am going to close it now and shut the hell up.

-Satan

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