Page 15 of Red Flags Only

Ly, I’msosorry. Sorry can’t even cover it. I feel awful that I worried you so much. Clearly, as evidenced by our interaction and foreshadowed by my inability to write a single romantic scene, I have no clue how to have a conversation with a woman.

I amsosorry, my song. SO sorry.

Please don’t feel like you need to change yourself, especially not in any part because of me. You’re perfect. Exactly as you are. So perfect. If you do want to rebrand, though, know that I’ll be here loving you through it, the same way that I always have. You’ll always be my dearest Lyra, my bestie, pen pal 4 evah, no matter what you wear or how you style yourself. You’re exactly the girl I’ve always loved. My best friend.

Flag, I’m sorry for scaring you at the store.

Please, please forgive me,

Jupiter

P.S. I don’t know how the Valentine launch is going. My brother handles thelaunches, and he writes all of the stuff that requires an author who actually knows how men and women should interact, so I’m sure it’s thriving. He’s never done us wrong before.

As Jupiter – sorry,Jove flagging Rogue– would say: What. The. Flag.

Chapter Nine

Don’t believe British propaganda. Tea doesnotfix everything.

Lyra

Jupiter is Jove. Rogue. Jove Rogue. Jove Rogue is Jupiter. Jupiter, my lifelong best friend and pen pal, is Jove Rogue, casual criminal and, worse, aboy.

I make it inside to the tune of a continuousno no no no noin my head, beelining to my bedroom, where a box full of letters will surely tell me that Jupiter is JupiterRouge, like her pen name. That she has always been Jupiter Rouge – notRogue– and the letter in my hand is, in fact, a nightmare concoction of the dream I am currently dreaming.

My box of letters in hand, I stand by my desk and pull one out, starting at the very beginning. A child’s handwriting, no last name, only “Jupiter” on the sender line. I toss it aside and move on to the next, which is much the same. On and on until I finally find one from around middle school, when Jupiter was going through her formal writing phase and calling me Ms. Lyra Gold in every letter. This is when she started writing her last name on her letters.

Her last name, which is surelyRouge, considering during that phase I was calling her My Majesty Rouge tonot only match, but one-up the formality.

Rouge being, apparently, a misread on my part, because in the first two letters – before I started addressing her by her royal title – there is a clearly printed “Rogue” behind Jupiter on the envelope faces.

Rogue.

Jupiter Rogue.

It changes after those initial letters, transitioning into Rouge in what I can only assume is an acceptance of the title bestowed upon her. Him.

Him.

I need to sit down.

Abandoning the mess of letters I’m leaving behind, I escape to my living room and drop onto my couch, where I find myself clutching the plain, boring, offensive, life-altering letter in my hand. My supple, muted green cushions do nothing to comfort me.

Jupiter is not Jupiter Rouge.

Jupiter is Jupiter Rogue.

Jupiter is a boy.

Jupiter is aman.

Jupiter is a large, slashes-tires-for-reasonsman.

Jupiter isJove Rogue.

I… I’ve written about my period. To Jove Rogue. I’ve told him about my every embarrassing moment. He knows about my relationship with my mom.

I waxed poetic in my letters foryearsabout my crush on Brian Single.

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