But I’m not that guy. I’m not articulate like Shane. I’m the guy who sticks his foot in his mouth. Who dumps pudding on a girl’s front lawn because he thinks that’s an apology. I’m not the guy who tells the girl he loves that he’s perfect and she’s perfect and this is a perfect moment.
I’m the guy who just says, “Thank you,” and kisses Veronica again. Only it’s not a soft kiss. It’s a hard kiss. It’s my lips mashed to hers and her tears and my spit and the sounds of two people who want to carve out a hole in the moment and live there forever.
And Ronnie. Ronnie’s the girl who knows. She’s the girl who says, “I love you, Oliver,” and grabs my ass.
I say “I love you” back and let my vision blur into my tears, trying not to drip snot onto her sweatshirt. And, “Please don’t let my parents show naked baby pictures of me at the funeral.”
Then we just exist. I’m still alive. She’s gonna be alive for a long time. But this time we’re alive together. I don’t know for how much longer but I’m okay not knowing.
“Ollie?” says Ronnie.
“Yeah.”
“Don’t you want to know why?”
“Why?”
“Why you? Why now?” Ronnie’s voice is barely above a whisper.
I look around at the sun and sand and sky and the blue, blue ocean. “Nah. I’m good.”
Which makes Ronnie chuckle.
I squeeze Ronnie’s hand. It’s dry. She’s not afraid anymore, and neither am I. “We should get—”
“I know.”
But we don’t. Not right away. We soak it up for another few minutes until I know that a few minutes are all I have left.
I lead Ronnie back to the car.
Miss Piggy gleams majestically in the sun.
“I can’t believe you got a tattoo.”
I stop as I’m about to open Ronnie’s door. “Of all the things we did today, that’s the one thing that shocks you?”
Ronnie shrugs. I open her door. A stray pudding cup falls out and rolls into the street. Ronnie laughs.
“Stupid pudding,” I say, and kick it under the car and into the road. “When the world ends it’s just gonna be Twinkies, roaches, and those damn pudding cups.”
“I can’t believe you really thought that would make me not mad at you.”
“I was high.”
“I’ll say. How many of those things did you buy, anyway?”
“I lost count.”
“Well, we can’t leave it.” Ronnie moves to get it but I stop her. “Let me,” I say. “You don’t even like pudding, remember?”
I take Ronnie’s hand and kiss it.
I walk around the front of the car and stop at the line.
Ronnie says, “My hero.”
I turn my back to the road and bow.
I spin into the road to get the pudding.
Horns.
Squeals.
Tires.
Screams.
Sirens.
But the last things I hear are the words “I love you, Oliver Aaron Travers” from Ronnie’s lips, and that’s pretty freakin’ cool.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The Deathday Letter exists thanks to the legion of monkeys on typewriters I keep chained in my basement. They’re currently hard at work on my next book: AKJDFJKLDSNEN!
Seriously.
The following people were also responsible for bringing my book to print. And by responsible, I mean you should blame them if you hate it.
My awesome agent, Chris Richman, deserves a world of thanks for believing in my ability to build an entire book around death and penis jokes. Without him I’d still be sitting in front of my computer stalking agents on Twitter.
Huge thanks go out to Anica Mrose Rissi who helped me strip away the fat and find the real heart of this book. Even if she doesn’t like Glee.
Thanks to Emilia Rhodes for being my patient guide through the editing process and for helping me smooth out the many rough edges, but not for taunting me with banana pudding that never materialized.
To Sammy Yuen Jr. for putting together a cover that my fourteen-year-old self would totally not be embarrassed to read.
To my amazing copyeditor, Jenica Nasworthy, for keeping my subjects and verbs in agreement, and for trying to put my dinosaurs where they belong.
To the entire staff at Simon Pulse who busted their butts to help make this the best book possible. I haven’t met most of you yet, but when I do there’ll be pudding for everyone!
To Rachel Melcher for being my first and best reader all the way back to the days when I sent her pages via fax, and for being the Shane to my Ollie.
To Ryan Hutchinson for filling my childhood with all the horrific experiences that I now get to spin into stories. It’s cheaper than therapy.
To my family for being so weird.
To Angela Englata for her unconditional support and boundless excitement, and for always being there when I come out of my hole.
Thanks to The Tenners who kept me from freaking out during revisions.
To all my awesome friends who have stood with me and endured my constant rambling about this and other books, and who put up with me disappearing or not answering my phone for weeks at a time.
And finally, a special thanks to the annoying, yappy dogs in the apartment across from mine for teaching me that I really can write through anything.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Shaun David Hutchinson is the author of numerous books for young adults, including The Five Stages of Andrew Brawley, which won the Florida Book Awards Gold Medal in the Young Adult category and was named to the ALA’s 2015 Rainbow Book List; the anthology Violent Ends, which received a starred review from VOYA; and We Are the Ants, which received five starred reviews and was named a best book of January 2016 by Amazon.com, Kobo.com, Publishers Weekly, and iBooks. He lives in South Florida with his adorably chubby dog, and enjoys Doctor Who, comic books, and yelling at the TV. Visit him at ShaunDavidHutchinson.com.
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people,
or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SIMON PULSE
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First Simon Pulse paperback edition June 2010
Copyright © 2010 by Shaun David Hutchinson
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Designed by Mike Rosamilia
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Hutchinson, Shaun David.
The deathday letter / by Shaun David Hutchinson—1st Simon Pulse
pbk. ed.
p. cm.
Summary: After receivi
ng the letter that says he will be dead within
twenty-four hours, fifteen-year-old Ollie and his two best friends,
Shane and would-be girlfriend Ronnie, set out to fulfill as many
of Ollie’s hopes as they can.
ISBN 978-1-4169-9608-8 (pbk.)
ISBN 978-1-4169-9671-2 (eBook)
[1. Death—Fiction. 2. Friendship—Fiction. 3. Dating
(Social customs)—Fiction. 4. Florida—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.H96183De 2010 [Fic]—dc22 2009038697
Shaun David Hutchinson, The Deathday Letter
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