Chapter Nine
Don’t believe British propaganda. Tea does not fix everything.
Lyra
Jupiter is Jove. Rogue. Jove Rogue. Jove Rogue is Jupiter. Jupiter, my lifelong best friend and pen pal, is Jove Rogue, casual criminal and, worse, a boy .
I make it inside to the tune of a continuous no no no no no in my head, beelining to my bedroom, where a box full of letters will surely tell me that Jupiter is Jupiter Rouge , like her pen name.
That she has always been Jupiter Rouge – not Rogue – and the letter in my hand is, in fact, a nightmare concoction of the dream I am currently dreaming.
My box of letters in hand, I stand by my desk and pull one out, starting at the very beginning.
A child’s handwriting, no last name, only “Jupiter” on the sender line.
I toss it aside and move on to the next, which is much the same.
On and on until I finally find one from around middle school, when Jupiter was going through her formal writing phase and calling me Ms. Lyra Gold in every letter.
This is when she started writing her last name on her letters.
Her last name, which is surely Rouge , considering during that phase I was calling her My Majesty Rouge to not only match, but one-up the formality.
Rouge being, apparently, a misread on my part, because in the first two letters – before I started addressing her by her royal title – there is a clearly printed “Rogue” behind Jupiter on the envelope faces.
Rogue.
Jupiter Rogue.
It changes after those initial letters, transitioning into Rouge in what I can only assume is an acceptance of the title bestowed upon her. Him.
Him .
I need to sit down.
Abandoning the mess of letters I’m leaving behind, I escape to my living room and drop onto my couch, where I find myself clutching the plain, boring, offensive, life-altering letter in my hand. My supple, muted green cushions do nothing to comfort me.
Jupiter is not Jupiter Rouge.
Jupiter is Jupiter Rogue.
Jupiter is a boy.
Jupiter is a man .
Jupiter is a large, slashes-tires-for- reasons man.
Jupiter is Jove Rogue .
I… I’ve written about my period. To Jove Rogue. I’ve told him about my every embarrassing moment. He knows about my relationship with my mom.
I waxed poetic in my letters for years about my crush on Brian Single.
He bought me my bike.
He bought me my greenhouse .
Goosebumps rise on the back of my neck, and I shiver.
I have to flee the country. I have no other choice.
My phone rings, and I jolt, then lurch off my couch to retrieve it from my purse by the door.
It takes me a minute to locate it in the depths of the mountain of shopping bags, but I do, clicking answer after I see it’s my favorite cousin, Elodie.
“Do you want to buy the nursery?” I ask as a greeting, climbing through the bags to make it back to my couch.
I sit, eying my Jupiter letter like it’s a bomb. It might as well be.
“Um,” Elodie says, delayed. “Yes? Sure?”
“Perfect!” I declare. “You can mail the check to-” Where do I want to live? “Antarctica!”
“Antarctica?” she asks.
I nod. “Yes. Antarctica. Where I will be living, effective immediately.”
“Right, yes, of course,” she hums. “Obviously. Is there, you know, any particular reason for this totally chill course of action?”
“You know my pen pal?” I wince.
“No?” she replies.
I groan. “Okay, well, I have this pen pal. Jupiter. And we’ve been pen pals since elementary school? And we’re best friends. I tell Jupiter everything. Everything .”
“Jupiter… Like Jupiter Rogue?” she asks. “You’re best friends with Jupiter Rogue?”
“You know that Jove’s name is Jupiter?” I gasp. “How do you know that?”
“I ran into the guy one time when I was visiting you,” she replies.
“He was slashing some dude’s tires next to my car at the gas station.
The guy – Ted? I think was his name – came out and started yelling at me.
Went on and on about how Jove Rogue gets away with murder in this town!
and Things will only change if we make them!
It would’ve been inspirational, probably, except he kept getting spittle on me as he was ranting.
Totally gross.” She pauses to gag, then.
“Also, Jove is a nickname for Jupiter, isn’t it?
That’s common sense, I fear, dear cousin. ”
“Common sense for you , maybe. I thought Jupiter was a girl!” I groan, ignoring any and all things to do with Ted.
Who cares about freaking Ted? “I’ve told him everything , El.
Ev-ery-thing.” I shudder. “I just found out that she is actually he and that he is Jove Rogue.” You know, on second thought… “Antarctica might not be far enough.”
Elodie laughs. Out loud. To my face, through the phone. “What’s wrong with being friends with Jove? He was good on the eyes.”
He is definitely good on the eyes. However…
“You know what else he’s good at? Felonies and misdemeanors.”
“I heard he only does that sort of stuff to people who are mean to his brother,” she responds, thoroughly unbothered.
And she’s right, but. “My best friend is a felon!”
She laughs in the face of my misery. Again. Why is she my favorite cousin? “I think they’re only felons if they actually get tried and convicted. As far as I know, Jove’s never been to jail, right?”
“I do not think you are seeing my point,” I accuse.
“I’m totally not. If you want to sell me the nursery, though, I’m on board. That place is a plant lover’s dream come true. It might be a little difficult to transfer to my apartment, though. Do you know any good movers? Maybe the ones you’re using to ship your stuff to the South Pole?”
I have never been so offended in my life.
“You can’t move the greenhouse! Are you insane? The magic of it is tied completely into the location of it. You can’t plop it down just anywhere and call it a fairy wonderland!”
“Pity,” she hums. “I guess you’ll just have to keep it, then. Could you spare a pothos or two, though? I have a bit of space on my bookshelf that I think would be just perfect for a wee plant babe.”
I huff. “Of course. I’ll have it delivered to you next week.”
She chirps her thanks, then, “I wouldn’t worry too much about the Jupiter thing. Sure, he’s not a girl , but he’s a good boy. At heart. Probably.”
Right. And I’m a famous Shrek impersonator.
I bid goodbye, assure her the plants will be delivered as soon as possible, then toss my phone on the couch beside me before turning my eye to the – sad, pathetic, tiny – letter from Ju-ove.
I’m not sure what’s worse, the fact that it’s from Jove, or the fact that it doesn’t contain a single sticker to lift my spirits in the wake of this life-altering news.
The sticker thing, probably, if I’m being honest.
I lift my hand, reaching the short distance to poke at the letter.
It’s so… corporeal. Much exist. Very actual.
I flick it with my finger and watch as it slides a scant few inches away instead of into the realm of make-believe-stuff-that-never-happened, as I intended. Sorrows.
I stare at the offensive paper, wondering where I’m going to put it.
Surely it can’t go in my Jupiter box, nestled cozily next to the years and years of beauty that she- he has sent me.
Not only is it the worst thing I’ve ever received content wise, it’s ugly.
Its only redeeming quality on the beauty scale is that he used cute, if simple, stationery to pen his note.
It’s point blank not worthy of the Jupiter box, which is actually the Jove box, which means the box might cease to exist, gone to the same plane of existence as my dignity, never to be seen again.
I groan, rolling off the couch and heading to the dark oak sideboard in my kitchen where I store my fancy drink supplies. I choose my favorite butterfly pea flower tea and a glass mug to drink it out of, the better to showcase the gorgeous blue of the liquid within.
Sadly, the tea does not solve my every problem.
I wonder if I can sue. Then, I wonder if finding out your best friend is Jove flagging Rogue works the same way as a traumatic brain injury, because only that sort of trauma would change my personality enough to have me seriously considering suing someone.
Over anything. Where did I get this hubris? Clearly, from the trauma.
I put my now-empty mug in the dishwasher, then walk as quickly as I can past the letter on the coffee table, not making eye contact. If I can’t see it, I don’t have to deal with it.
More really great life advice from Lyra Gold at ten, folks. That girl really knows what she’s doing.