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Back The Things We Don't See Save as PDF
Chapters (45)
  1. TITLE PAGE
  2. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  3. PART ONE: Who is She if Not Everyone Else’s?
  4. CHAPTER 1
  5. CHAPTER 2
  6. CHAPTER 3
  7. CHAPTER 4
  8. CHAPTER 5
  9. CHAPTER 6
  10. CHAPTER 7
  11. CHAPTER 8
  12. PART TWO: Take the Bullet Out
  13. CHAPTER 9
  14. CHAPTER 10
  15. CHAPTER 11
  16. CHAPTER 12
  17. CHAPTER 13
  18. CHAPTER 14
  19. CHAPTER 15
  20. CHAPTER 16
  21. CHAPTER 17
  22. CHAPTER 18
  23. CHAPTER 19
  24. CHAPTER 20
  25. CHAPTER 21
  26. CHAPTER 22
  27. CHAPTER 23
  28. CHAPTER 24
  29. CHAPTER 25
  30. CHAPTER 26
  31. CHAPTER 27
  32. CHAPTER 28
  33. PART THREE: Orion Waves
  34. CHAPTER 29
  35. CHAPTER 30
  36. CHAPTER 31
  37. CHAPTER 32
  38. CHAPTER 33
  39. CHAPTER 34
  40. CHAPTER 35
  41. CHAPTER 36
  42. CHAPTER 37
  43. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  44. AUTHOR INTERVIEW
  45. COPYRIGHT

Maybe it’s a combination of all of it, I think, as I remember Peyton moving, all of her bouncing and sheened in the moonlight, her and her mouth, still sharp with cinnamon; as I think of Ellis, head bobbing in the water, face melted with overwhelming and uncharacteristic calm.

I’m so nowhere and so everywhere. It’s already tomorrow, I realize, looking up at the expanse of indigo sky. It’s already tomorrow. I keep saying it to myself tonight. I’m aware of my hands moving alongside me, my feet on the pavement, my hair blowing in my face, my sunburnt lips sore from smiling, my warm skin tinged with coconut. I’m very light right now. I don’t know if I feel a sense of peace towards what’s to come or if I’m not thinking about it at all. Or a sense of peace towards what’s happened. That too.

None of them know. None of them have to. None of them will know to ask.

It’s already tomorrow.

Celeste isn’t with me tonight. In a way, neither is Roxy.

And I don’t know if this Mona that’s left is me, but I like her.

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 14

THURSDAY 3 JUNE

In the morning before I leave, I fold back the curtains a fraction so as not to wake Peyton. The calm of her sleeping face and the relaxed and repetitious motion of her body make me think of last night. On the way back to the dorms I was mentally preparing for something to happen, but Peyton was already passed out on top of her bed – spirit-sleepy, maybe – and I, overcome with a desire to do anything gentle to her, had covered her in a blanket. Then it’d taken ages to get to sleep because I’d wanted to redream the whole night. Peyton, in technicolour, bounding in the sea.

My stomach seizes suddenly.

The dreamy unreality of the night before shifts so violently out of focus that I’m furious with myself for having felt any of those things at all. What did I think I was doing? I’m wasting my time. How could I have let myself think this is a vacation? How dare I make this time out to be an inconsequential detour when it’s the main story? It is an insult to Celeste, to Roxy, to myself, to even be thinking about this trivial bullshit.

Two weeks. Probably less. That’s what my dad said.

I leave for the diner in a huff, Peyton still asleep, resolving not to waste another second.

I’m only working for a couple of hours before I realize I’m growing impatient. The situation with Frank still has me on edge. I didn’t like the way he spoke about any of it – about Roxy. About Ellis.