I stayed in Will's room long after Heather and Harry had left.
It didn't feel as lonely in here, with the dark gray walls and striped blue curtains. Everything smelled like Will. Everything had William Trevor Musikk written all over it in invisible ink. It was almost as if he was still here, trapped within the walls, but still here nonetheless.
I stood in front of the corkboard on the wall next to the door, my body wrapped in the duvet from my room. There were several photos pinned to the board. Most of them were of him and me, but there were some family pictures and some of him with his friends.
One of them stood out to me the most. It was the only picture with just one person in it.
Me.
I don't know why this made me mad, but it did. I'm not anything special. I never have been, and never will be. Will always thought I was, and I tried my hardest to believe him. I never could.
I started pulling out the push pins that held pictures of me in them, saving the photo of only me for last. But when I pulled at it, the pin only slid out a part of the way, then stopped. I tugged and tugged at it, the plastic head of the pin chafing my fingers until they were raw and bleeding. When it still didn't come out, I collapsed onto the floor, frustrated with my failed attempts to pull it out.
My eyebrows furrowed, and my subsiding anger was replaced with confusion. I crawled into the closet, careful of my still-bleeding fingers. I peeled tape off the back wall of Will's closet, and the poster that the tape had held fell to the ground, erasing any evidence of the small, smooth crease in the middle of the poster, revealing a small, square door.
It was open just a crack, and i pulled it the rest of the way open, curious to see what was inside. Inside, there was a box that looked exactly like our house, and a shoebox. I wiped away the lone tear that trailed down my cheek and pulled the shoebox out of its place. The corners of my mouth twitched up into a small, sad smile. Will hated these shoes with a burning passion. Monkey shoes, he had called them. A recipe for disaster.
But the shoes didn't cause this disaster.
Inside the box was photo envelope, a white paper bag, and a sealed business letter envelope. Confused, I opened the sealed envelope first, hoping it would hold some clue as to what the rest of the items were for.

Melody,

If you're reading this, it means you're extremely mad at me (not likely) or I'm dead (very likely).

Very likely?! It's sounds as if he planned his death!

In which case means that you're probably angry at the world, and taking it out on my photo board.

Damn straight!

You're probably looking for answers right now. Answers that I don't have. Or maybe I do, depending on what questions you're asking....

Notes

Well, we lost all three games this weekend. My hockey team sucks.
Anyway, I'm tired. I'm gonna go write down all my ideas now.
Okay, so, I was thinking about ending this book on this chapter, but I'm planning on using the chapter title in the last chapter, and I don't have enough written to do that. I'm going to warn you now that I might end it on the next chapter, but I'd rather end it on 70 instead of 61 because 61 is kind of a stupid number. ANYWAY, I'm gonna go now. Need to write this next chapter.