“No, answer me, Jamal. What would you have me do?”
And I don’t know.
I don’t know.
I don’t know.
More kids trickle over, a circle slowly forming around us.
“I don’t know,” I hear myself say.
“That’s what I thought,” Q says, his words wet with venom. “The truth is you sacrificed me. I was your scapegoat.”
And now I’m shaking.
And I want to say because you killed them.
You killed them.
And I would sacrifice you a thousand times over if it would bring them back.
“Just say the words,” Q’s insisting. “You needed a villain. Someone to be mad at, and you chose me, the only person outside of Whit who would’ve stuck around no matter what. I told myself over and over it wasn’t personal. But there’s only so many times you can tell yourself that before you sound stupid even to yourself.”
“You wanna know the real reason I was so angry? Why I’m still angry?”
“I’m right here, aren’t I?”
“I’m so angry because you . . .”
Now Autumn grasps my shoulder. “J, don’t.”
But I move beyond her grip, closer to Q. “Because you . . . because you . . .”
But I can’t do it. I just can’t.
Quincy laughs. “Didn’t think so.” He nods toward Autumn. “See. You’re in love with a coward.”
Autumn scoffs. “You know, for someone so concerned with me interjecting myself, you sure love including me.”
“Honestly, Q? I don’t get it. Like, what’s your problem? Why are you so mad?” I ask.
“You know what the funny thing is?” Q shakes his head, claps his hands. “I’m not mad at you. Even though you punked out when I needed you most. Despite the fact that during the worst days of my life, you couldn’t even text an o and k.” Q laughs. “Nah. I’m more pissed at me. That I was stupid enough to waste all those years with you. That even when it was beyond clear to everyone else in the world that you weren’t gonna show up, I was still dumb enough to believe you were on your way.” Q takes a step toward us. “So, you wanna know what my problem is? It was you, Jamal,” he says, jabbing his finger into my chest. “But you aren’t my problem now. Not anymore. Not ever again.”
And I’m stunned.
And I’m so angry my chest hurts.
And I can’t form a single, solid word, everything in me transformed, evaporated into steam and heat. I don’t register the crowd of kids watching from the embankment, their faces in various states of what the—
I know that Autumn’s gripping my wrist.
I know her friends have materialized behind her.
I reach for Q, without even knowing why.
Without knowing what I’d do if he stopped.
Knowing that if Q really wanted, he could javelin me to the moon.
But he pushes through me, his fingers flicking me away like I’m fuzz.
Like I’m nothing, and less.
92
And I’m sliding my hands up Autumn’s arms, asking her if she’s okay, telling her how sorry I am, does she want a drink, does she want to leave, is she cold, and I wonder if she feels me trembling.
She answers three or four times before I actually hear her.
A rogue raindrop bull’s-eyes my forehead, the sky a purple-black bruise.
“Do you wanna go?” she asks, dangling her keys.
“Yeah,” I say. “Maybe.”
She slaps them into my palm.
My eyebrows raise. “You’re not coming?”
“I’ll get a ride.”
“I can wait. If you wanna stay longer, it’s cool.”
I lean in for a hug, but it’s like embracing an armchair.
“You okay?” I ask again.
“Of course she’s not okay,” one of her friends says. “She was just embarrassed in front of the whole school, and you just let it happen.”
I tilt my jaw. “What was I supposed to do?”
“Defend your girl’s honor,” she shoots back.
I turn back to Autumn. Waiting for her to defend my honor. But she won’t even hold my gaze. I try to lead her to privacy a few feet away, but she’s not budging. “Autumn,” I say softly. “Can we please talk?”
Normally, she’d take my face between her palms, kiss my forehead, my nose. Our eyes locked, she’d say, me and you no matter what.
But now, her body’s speaking a language I can’t even place.
“I’m sorry for . . . Nothing he said is true. You know that.”
“Yeah, I know,” she says, in a voice I haven’t heard.
“Look, can we please just . . .”
Her friends close ranks, slingshotting themselves from her rear to a flanking position at either hip. “I’ll catch up with you later,” she says. “Just park in your driveway, toss the keys under the seat.”
And she knows what happens when I get behind the wheel.
“What if I keep them in my room and you come through whenever you’re ready?”
And I see this idea floating through her brain, and for a sec, she’s climbing the ladder, stepping through the window into my bedroom—
But what’s a bubble if not for bursting?
“Just leave them under the seat, okay,” she says, knowing that in all likelihood I won’t be able to leave this party.
This house.
This neighborhood.
That it’s possible I won’t even open the driver’s side door.
Yet she’s doing this anyway.
Which, maybe that’s her point.
That I need her in ways she doesn’t need me back.
That maybe I need her more:
Than she needs me.
Than I know.
“Autumn, I’ve told you things that I—”
“Apparently, you didn’t tell me everything.”
“What didn’t I tell you?”
Her eyes looking through me. “You said Quincy was just a dude. An acquaintance. But that, all that history between you two, that’s way more.”
Which, okay, is it possible I’d edited the narrative a bit—given Autumn the much-abridged version? Maybe.
But the Jamal–Quincy story arc’s still the same.
Ahem. Once upon a time, we were cool. Then he killed my parents. The end.
“Okay, so we used to be friends. Who cares?”
She points to herself. “Me, Jamal. Your girlfriend. I care.”
“Wait, so you’re getting vexed by semantics?”
“No, Jamal, I’m getting vexed by the fact that if you lied about that, which is a dumb-ass thing to lie about, then what else are you lying about?”
“You don’t get it.”
“Because you never wanted me to. What, you thought if I found out how you’d done Quincy, I’d think you were a shitty human, right?”
I roll my tongue around my cheeks. “Autumn. Please. Don’t do this. Let’s just . . . let’s just go somewhere and talk and I’ll tell you everything you wanna—”
But her voice pushes me away. “You should go, Jamal.”
And maybe it’s the full moon that’s got hearts twisted.
“For real?”
“Yeah. For real.” Somehow her friends press in even tighter.
“You gonna be that way off the strength of some salty-ass dude I used to know? Like, word? Wow, I thought you and me rocked differently.”
“I thought so too, Jamal,” she says, folding her arms. “Guess we’re both learning a lot tonight.”
“That, Autumn.” I point to the area of sand we’d vacated. “That wasn’t about you.”
“How was that not about me?”
“How was it?”
“See, this is the part you don’t get. The lesson you won’t let yourself learn.” She shakes her head. “When someone loves you, Jamal, they love all of you. I love all of you. Your pain is my pain. Your anger is my anger. So, when you’re in the thick o
f it, I’m in the thick of it. But you? It’s like the more people wanna love you, the harder you wanna push them away.”
“That’s not true.”
“No?”
“Not at all.”
“Jamal, how long have we been together?”
I squint in confusion. “What’s that got to do with . . .”
But she’s not finished. “Do you love me, Jamal?”
“Wait, what?”
“Do. You. Love. Me.”
“You know what? I’m not playing this game with you.”
“Who’s playing, Jamal? Huh? You or me?”
“Man, this full moon got everybody out their mind tonight.”
“Or finally in their right mind. Tell me you love me. Say the words.”
“Yo, you buggin’. Like for real.”
“It’s easy, right? Four words. You love to talk, right? So, talk. I love you, Autumn.”
“Why are you trying to embarrass me right now?”
“Oh, I’m embarrassing you, Jamal? I’m embarrassing you? My friends are standing here not listening to you tell me you love me. I think I’m the one embarrassed.”
“Like, you saw what just happened. You know my head’s all over the place and now you wanna have a full-on state of the union.”
And I know I’m dumb as hell.
And I do love her.
Other than my sister, I love Autumn more than anyone on this planet.
Which is exactly why I can’t tell her.
Because the Universe is a trained assassin.
And as soon as it’s out there, the second you verify your weaknesses, expose your soft spots, the Universe starts counting down, and then it’s only a matter of time before it stalks and destroys everything and everyone you love.
I know, because I’ve already seen it happen.
The only thing worse than loving someone so much?
Telling them.
“We’ve been together for two years and you’ve never, not once, told me you loved me. Two years. And I never, not once, complained. I never pushed. I never even nudged you, Jamal. I knew you were afraid. I understood why. And I knew, eventually, you’d get there. But . . . it’s like Q said, eventually you sound stupid even to yourself.”
I feel it in my throat. The burn. The next words I speak, my voice will crack in two. “Autumn. Baby. Please, just . . .”
And for a second, the look she’s giving me, her frustration’s kinda melty. But then I see it, that this isn’t a thing she can let go. I see it, a transformation, her hardening right in front of me. I’m losing her.
It’s like having Friend Finder on—you know exactly where your friends are, but still you weren’t actually with them.
I know where Autumn is, but I can’t be there with her.
She shakes her head. “Maybe I’ll catch you later.”
And I should let myself be hurt, but I shrug. I double down. “Yeah, well, maybe I won’t be around later.”
She nods. “Like I said, leave the keys under the seat.”
I break our gaze, glance at her friends. Tip my head like I’m wearing a top hat, like I’m leaving a drawing room. “You ladies have a good night.” Then I’m weaving solo through the entire Elytown High student body, most of whom, thankfully, have resumed partying.
I say a few goodbyes.
Thank the host for having me.
Smile like it’s all good.
Laugh like never better.
Shake the keys in my palm like dice, tell myself, you got this, Jamal. It’s no big deal.
I trudge up the long sloping dune, thoughts stuttering across my brain like ticker tape.
How could Q not even acknowledge what he’d done?
How could he compare his actions to mine?
Yeah, I missed something important in his life—I admit it.
But he was the cause of the tragedy in mine.
And what does it mean that in barely two minutes, I’d lost Autumn?
The absence of four words didn’t mean the absence of love.
Love could be fully present even if the words weren’t.
Didn’t she feel it? Hasn’t she felt loved?
Wasn’t the feeling, the knowing, better than any words?
And also, less importantly:
How am I going to get home?
Whit, the only person in the world I can call.
Whit, my only person.
I’m halfway up the weathered stairs, thinking how, on a dime, a tide could completely turn and level you.
I’m nearly to the top when I hear the screams.
91
I pause.
Because maybe it was a kid playing.
Maybe it was my imagination.
Maybe it was the music.
The wind and lake and waves.
But then I hear it again.
Another scream.
Away from the party.
On the other side of the dunes.
None of the bonfire kids seem to notice.
I scan for Autumn, but she’s nowhere I can see.
I tear back down the stairs.
My hands won’t stop shaking, and then I realize it’s because my entire body’s shaking. I race up the sandy hill, causing a mini sandvalanche, and I lose my footing. I roll halfway down the other side before I catch myself.
I hear another scream, closer but also somehow quieter.
But I see no one.
My eyes sweep the horizon, and that’s when I see it.
An arm or a leg volcanoing, breaching the water’s surface, then slamming violently back beneath the waves.
And now I’m sprinting across the beach, my chest on fire, legs, arms, pumping, firing. I imagine myself a blue flame spiraling toward the water, and I am faster than I’ve ever been.
But still not fast enough.
I attack the crooked, cracking stairs two at a time—slipping halfway from the top but catching myself and pogoing back up—until I’m on the long concrete dock.
Lightning splits the sky into jagged halves, thunder claps, and now rain sluices down my face.
My shirt’s drenched. I pry it loose, let it drop behind me.
I don’t break stride. I run harder.
The loose pebbles and jagged divots punish my feet, but I don’t slow, I can’t slow.
When I reach the end, I can’t tell water from sky, both black and angry.
And were I smart, I’d make sure the water’s clear, that it’s deep enough.
Too shallow and I splinter my neck, snap my spine.
Too rocky and I piñata all over the shoal.
But there’s no look-before-leap time.
And it’s too late to alter my trajectory—the waves already reaching for me, the surface approaching fast and hard—this could be it.
I steal another breath and knife through the waves.
I’m not dead.
I swim like mad, arms spiked, legs kicked; I have to be close.
Only every wave looks the same.
I stop swimming. I bob in the water, turning slowly, scanning the darkness, small fish glancing my toes.
I spin ’round and ’round, tell my heart to please shut the fuck up, stop yelling, stop panicking, just let me—just give me a sec to—
And then maybe fifteen yards toward the moon, movement, something jerks.
It takes everything I have to fight the current.
But when I make it, there’s more nothingness.
I take the deepest breath, inhaling summer air and midges, and plunge into the water. For a moment it’s so dark I can’t tell if my eyes are open.
I drop lower.
Lower.
And there, below me in the murkiness, a body limp and drifting.
I surge deeper, my fingers narrowly missing their arm.
I need air.
But retreat for the surface and they’re lost forever.
I slowly exhale, exhausting every molecule I can scrape from my lungs, a thousand tin
y bubbles roaring from my lips; I kick, I thrust, with all my might, diving deeper and deeper.
This far down, I can’t see anything.
I throw my fingers out, groping for the smallest piece of anything.
And then I feel it.
Fabric.
I pull upward, snag more of the shirt, press them to my chest, and with my free arm paddle like mad for the surface.
They knock into my head and I swallow several mouthfuls of water. I grit my teeth, keep paddling, but I’m discombobulated and I’m not entirely sure if I’m swimming up or down. But I keep battling until I see the faintest glimmer of moonlight.
We puncture the surface, and that’s when I realize who:
Q’s choking and retching, and he’s thrashing, dunking our heads, his fear dragging us back under the tow.
“Q, stop fighting me. You’re gonna drown us both.”
But he keeps fighting and I can’t tell you how much water I’ve inhaled.
I smack him hard across his face, and he stops.
Hearing my own ragged breaths scares me.
I study the horizon.
Q slumps forward, his face striking the water. I snap him back to me, like I’m performing the Heimlich.
I slap him again.
“Q, wake up, man.”
Another slap, harder.
“Q! Wake your ass up, man. I’m not playing with you.”
He stirs, just barely.
That has to be enough for now. I can’t do anything for him in this water. Q’s only chance is if I make it to shore.
If I can get us most of the way, the current might do the rest, cough us onto the beach.
Not for the first time I wish I was taller, bigger.
The four inches and sixty pounds Q has on me feels like a dump truck.
I flip us both onto our backs, hook my forearms under Q’s shoulders, and do my best to kick on either side of Q’s body, but I can’t get enough clearance, our progress half what it should be, my strength all but gone.
I can’t do this.
We’re not gonna make it.
Above us a small plane hums through the clouds.
I look back toward the shore.
And somehow it’s closer.
I keep flailing.
And it’s closer.
Moving toward me in painful inches.
I see the bonfire down the beach, orange flames dancing.
Early Departures Page 3
