Okay, Pytheas: things about me.
I like the bookshop. I read a lot. Some favourites are Hugh Howey, Kurt Vonnegut, Ursula K. Le Guin, Margaret Atwood, John Green, Tolstoy (just read Anna Karenina), J.K. Rowling, Philip Pullman, Melina Marchetta, Charlotte Brontë and Donna Tartt. Lately (you know this) I’m getting into the mash-ups of the classics (Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters, that kind of thing).
I like dumplings. My birthday is the first day of winter; I actually like being cold (everywhere except my feet). Music-wise I like The Finches, Jane’s Addiction, Amber Coffman and Wish.
I’m sorry about that day in the cafeteria. I don’t remember it. But if I’d known you were you, then I would have hung around.
George
Dear George
Thank you. I accept your apology. If I ever get the courage to walk up to you again, I’ll be expecting a warmer reception.
I actually do understand. I changed schools too – but I’ve made a good friend now, so it’s bearable. I think you’d like him, I know he’d like you. You’re in his English class, and he thinks you’re interesting. He liked the book report you gave on Liar. He told me you said fuck and didn’t realise it.
I haven’t heard of those bands, but I downloaded some of their music. I like Wish. They sound kind of dream-like. Have you heard of The Dandy Warhols? I think you might like them.
I read a lot of fiction and I like comics, but I love non-fiction. Like I said, I’m into time theories. I’ve been reading a lot about the growing block universe. I don’t entirely understand the theory but I like trying to get my head around it.
Pytheas
P.S. I do like freaks, but I don’t think you’re one. Or, if you are, it’s in the best possible way. You’re gorgeous. (I’ll never tell you who I am now.) I like the blue stripe in your hair and I like how you give answers in class and don’t care what people say. I like how you’re always reading interesting stuff and I like that you work in a bookstore.
P.P.S. I’ve left a book in the Letter Library for you. It’s one of mine, so you can keep it – Mark Laita’s Sea. It’s one of my all-time favourites. I’ve marked the North Pacific Giant octopus. It can change its appearance and texture to look like even the most intricately patterned coral. Its life span is only about four years, which is actually longer than other species.
Dear Pytheas
So I read up on the theory of time you mentioned. If I believe the growing block universe theory, then I have to believe that the past actually exists. So while I’m here in the present, I’m also there in the past? That makes NO sense, Pytheas. And if the past exists like a place does, why can’t I travel to it?
Thank you for the book. It’s very beautiful. Are the photographs enhanced? The fish seem unbelievably bright. I’ve been looking at the pictures in almost complete darkness, with a small torch to shine on the fish. I feel like I’m underwater. Have you done that?
The giant octopus is amazing, sure. But my favourite photograph is of the jellyfish. I go to the aquarium sometimes to watch them. They look like ghosts in the water.
Thanks for all the compliments you’re giving me – I’d give some back but I can’t (obviously). Lately I’m distracted in class, because I can’t stop wondering who you are. You don’t seem like you’re one of the popular kids (I mean that in the best possible way).
Are you ever planning on telling me who you are? Or will we keep writing like this forever?
George
Dear George
I thought it might be getting weird that I’m at school and you don’t know who I am. But I just can’t tell you. I’m worried that if you knew, it might change things, and I don’t want to stop writing.
I like the jellyfish too. Did you know that they’ve been in the oceans for more than five hundred million years? There’s a lake in The Republic of Palau, Jellyfish Lake, that’s flooded with them. My sister wants to dive in Palau – but not in that lake.
The growing block universe does mess with your idea of time, doesn’t it? Think about it like this – the universe is growing, and as it grows, slices of space-time are added to it. As slices are added, you move forward. Travel to the past is impossible, though. Space-time moves in one direction – forward.
Pytheas
Henry
a watched phone never rings
Our opening hours at Howling Books are flexible. We’re open by ten in the morning, and we stay open till at least five, but sometimes we’ll stay open later. We’ll almost always open up for a late-night book emergency.
We close on Friday evening, though, because that’s when we have our family dinner at Shanghai Dumplings. Tonight, I’m bringing in the rolling shelves we keep on the street, getting ready for dinner, when Lola walks in and says she’s just seen Rachel.
I don’t need to ask her which Rachel she’s talking about. There’s only one Rachel. The Rachel. Rachel Sweetie. My best friend who moved away three years ago and forgot all about me.
After she left I wrote her letters – long letters – telling her all the news about the bookshop. I wrote about George and Mum and Dad and Lola and Amy. She sent me one-paragraph letters back, and then the letters turned into one-paragraph emails, and then she added me to group emails, and then she stopped writing altogether.
‘She’s ignoring me,’ I’d say to Lola every time Rachel sent her a long email. ‘Has she said anything to you?’ I’d ask, and she’d shake her head. Lola is a shit liar. Rachel had said something to her but since Lola was too loyal to tell me I was left to wonder.
‘She’s cut her hair short, and bleached it,’ Lola says, and now I’m trying to picture Rachel and I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to wonder what she looks like or what she’s doing. ‘I still don’t know why we stopped being friends, but we did, so I don’t really want to hear about her.’
Lola turns her back to the counter and hauls herself up on it so she’s near the mint bowl. She takes one and says, ‘She’s back and I want to hang out so you need to get over it.’
‘I’m over it. I’m completely over it. I’m over that she wrote to you and not to me. Completely over that she wouldn’t take my phone calls. More than completely over that she left town without saying goodbye.’
‘The way I heard it, you texted her and said you’d slept in.’
‘Is that why she hasn’t written? Because I always sleep in. I’ve slept in almost every day of my life and Rachel knows that. She could have driven past the bookshop on her way out of town, woke me up, and said goodbye.’
‘You do seem to be over it,’ Lola says.
‘But you know what she did instead? She sent me a text saying that my copy of American Gods was on the front steps of her house. It rained before I got to her place. It was totally ruined.’
‘Lucky you work in a bookstore and you have five other copies on the shelf and two in your personal collection.’
‘Not the point,’ I say.
She passes me a flyer. ‘The Hollows are playing tonight at Laundry. Which is, for your convenience, just across the road.’