Free The Last Little Blue Envelope by Maureen Johnson Page A

copy The Wire , but that one is kind of hard. . . . Anyway, I have to text. . . .”
    The sentence trailed off, so that had to mean he was texting Ellis. It seemed that the policy was going to be that Ellis would never be mentioned directly. It was hard not to hate Ellis. This wasn’t her fault. But she could hate Oliver. That was a perfectly acceptable activity. He was sitting two rows in front of them on the top of the bus. His hair was cut very cleanly and precisely, with a ruler-straight line along the back of his neck. He had a mature bearing—seated straight, shoulders back. Not rigid, just very adult . Keith was more slouchy and scratchy and free-flowing. Keith looked like a student. Oliver looked like someone with . . . some kind of responsibility. Evil responsibility.
    When they got off the bus Oliver kept about ten feet behind them as they walked to Keith’s house.
    “I’ll wait out here,” he said.
    “Yes,” Keith replied. “You will.”
    The house was cold and mostly dark, but the lights were on up in Keith’s room. Ellis was already up there, looking out the window.
    “Is that him ?” she asked. “Down in the garden?”
    “That’s Oliver,” Keith said, opening his closet, shoving some things aside and pulling a bag out from under a pile of stuff. “He’s the wanker who’s got Gin’s letter.”
    “He’s more normal looking than I thought he would be.”
    Ginny peered between of the blinds on the other window. Just below, Oliver was patrolling the garden, his one arm behind his back, the other working the cigarette. He gazed at the cracked pavement like it was a map he was using to plot a siege.
    “He’s a prize,” Keith said. “I’m just going to get my things from the bathroom. I’ll be ready to go in a minute.”
    Then it was just Ellis and Ginny, smiling strangely at each other. It took Ginny a second to realize it but David wasn’t home . . . which meant that Ellis had let herself in. Which meant she had her own key. And that . . . was not something Ginny was going to dwell on. She let the blinds go and they fell back into position, sending a spray of dust up her nose.
    “So,” Ellis said cautiously. “I have nothing in my diary for the next few days. And I packed a quick bag. I don’t want to intrude, but if you wouldn’t mind . . . I’d love to come. Really. Only if you don’t mind.”
    In the bathroom, Keith could be heard crashing through the medicine cabinet. Either he was intentionally being loud, or he had temporarily lost muscle control. He must have known this question was coming.
    “It’s all right to say no,” Ellis said. “I know this is personal, and important.”
    That sounded very sincere. Ellis was genuinely asking Ginny if it was okay. But what else was she going to say? No? No, Keith’s friendly girlfriend, you cannot take a trip in your own boyfriend’s car? Even when it was her, Keith, and Oliver, at least it was two against one. They would stick together. But now, the dream was well and truly over.
    “Sure,” Ginny said, trying to sound enthusiastic. “Of course.”
    Ellis clasped her hands together in excitement. “Oh, I’m so glad. I’ve never been to Paris before. Weird, right? Since it’s just a short train ride away, and I studied French for years. I grabbed a few things from Sainsbury’s. . . .” She picked up a shopping bag by her feet and held it up. “Biscuits, crisps, fruit, water. Some Top Trumps for the long, boring bits on the train. We’ll need to take the Chunnel—I looked up the route online. Plus, I bought a map of France just in case we can’t get a signal.”
    Keith decided this was a good moment to return. He had an overstuffed backpack, and was punching the contents down with his fist.
    “I’m coming!” Ellis cried. “Ginny said it was okay.” Keith kept squishing and pushing the contents into the bag, trying to get it closed.
    “Brilliant,” he said. He gave the zipper one final tug and strode out of the