When You Reach Me

The Second Note

The sandwich rolls are delivered to Jimmy’s store early in the morning, before he gets there. I still see the tall paper bag leaning against his locked door on my way to school every day I haven’t put one foot inside Jimmy’s place since December, but I look for that bag out of habit, and when I see it, I always think I can smell the bread inside, which I know is just a memory.

Last November, I counted Jimmy’s bread delivery at lunch every day, pulling the rolls out by twos and dropping them into the previous day’s empty bag as I went. I remember finding your second note about halfway down, on a Monday.

Same weird tiny handwriting, same crispy paper. But this one started with my name.

Miranda:

Your letter must tell a story—a true story. You cannot begin now, as most of it has not yet taken place. And even afterward, there is no hurry. But do not wait so long that your memory fades. I require as much detail as you can provide. The trip is a difficult one, and I must ask my favors while my mind is sound.

A postscript: I know you have shared my first note. I ask you not to share the others. Please. I do not ask this for myself.

I read the note over and over. But I have to tell you that I had no idea what any of it meant, until later. And I have to tell you something else, too: I was scared. You scared the hell out of me.

“You counting those rolls or memorizing them?” Jimmy was behind the counter, running a hunk of ham back and forth in the electric slicer really fast, the way he liked to.

I stuffed the note in my pocket and started counting bread again, but I’d lost my place and I had to start all over.

A few minutes later, a delivery truck pulled up in front of the store and Jimmy went out to talk to the driver.

“Hey,” Colin said as soon as the door had closed behind Jimmy, “let’s find out what’s in the Fred Flintstone bank.”

“No way,” Annemarie said. “You’re crazy.”

“You’re the lookout,” I told her, following Colin into the back room. He had the bank in his hands already. He shook it, but it made almost no noise.

“You guys,” Annemarie said. “Don’t.”

“We’re just looking at it!” I called back. “Hurry,” I said to Colin. He was trying to get the rubber stopper out of the bottom of the bank.

“Let me try,” I whispered.

“No,” he said, “I’ve got it.” And the stopper was in his hand.

We bumped foreheads trying to see into the hole at the same time, and then left our heads pressed together, which was something I hadn’t expected to do. I couldn’t quite see Colin’s face from this perspective, but I felt him smile.

“Cool,” he said. “It’s full of two-dollar bills!”

He was right. The bank was practically stuffed with two-dollar bills, folded into little triangle shapes, with the “2’s” showing on the sides.

“You guys, he’s coming.” Annemarie sounded panicked. We pulled our heads apart and Colin shoved the rubber stopper back in. I was out front by the time Jimmy held the door open for the delivery guy, who had a stack of sodas loaded onto a hand truck.

“Hey, lady!” Jimmy called. “I need you. This is man’s work.”

“Sorry.” Colin came strolling out of the back in his apron. “Bathroom break.”

Annemarie smiled at me while Colin and Jimmy were busy loading the soda into the big refrigerated case by the door.

“You’re nuts,” she said. “You know that, right?”

I could still feel the spot where Colin’s head had pressed up against mine. “I know. It was kind of stupid.”

We walked back to school with Colin between us. He was zigzagging and bumping his shoulders against ours, saying, “Boing! Five points. Boing! Ten points,” while we both laughed like idiots.