“I’ll check him out.”
“Yep. Respect your black history.” He takes a sip of his drink. “How ’bout you? If you could do anything you wanted over the next few weeks, what would you do?”
I look away. “I’m already doing it.”
“Booo. That’s weak, man,” he says, laughing. “What, is this the part where you tell me I only have weeks to live and I’m stuck spending them with you?”
“Would that be so bad?” I attempt to ask casually, except I must make a face because Q shakes his head.
“Wow, why do you look like I just stole your puppy? I’m only playing with you, man. Of course you’d want to spend your last days on the planet with me. Duh.”
And for a moment I wonder if somehow Q knows everything. Like, the truth is locked away in his subconscious, except every now and then it manages to sneak a message out.
“Earth to Jamal.” Q stares at me. “You okay, man?”
I shrug. “I’m not sure what I’d want to do, honestly. I’m not like you. I don’t have it all figured out yet.”
“I don’t have it all figured out, either.”
“You’re way ahead of me. All I know is I don’t want to end up living in my sister’s basement.”
Q laughs. “Well, you’ve got time to figure it out.”
That four-letter word again: TIME.
“And don’t worry,” Q adds, winking. “Even if you are camping in Whit’s basement, you’re definitely gonna be a guest on the show.”
“Cool, I’ll come on and tell embarrassing stories about you.”
We laugh, bump fists, but two quick taps this time, the way we always have.
And then Autumn’s back from her restroom sabbatical, and then it’s Mission Mayhem, Cobra Cobra, those teeny-tiny ice cream beads, and my aforementioned all-time fave park amusement, FUNNEL CAKE, powdered absolutely, but hard pass on all that fruit compote crap.
“You shoulda got it. I woulda ate it. I love strawberries.”
“Nope. Not a chance.”
Autumn also disagrees. “Not even on the side?”
I shake my head vehemently. “I’m a funnel cake purist, sorry, guys. Those artificial preserves can’t even share a plate with my sugar waffle.”
And then bumper cars (I can’t be stopped! I give Q all kinds of collision-induced headaches), and antique cars (always a classic! Autumn leaves us in her antique dust!), and an old Anderson household tradition (even Dad used to play and he swears all the games are rigged): a three-point shooting competition, which (whatever) Q wins handily, a giant purple panda to show for it, which he presents to Autumn.
And I pretend to be jealous.
“Man, don’t be giving my girl presents.”
Autumn squeezes the bear and says, “Finally, a real man.”
And then more rides, more rides, more rides. Like, in between rides, I still feel like we’re riding.
I can’t tell you how many rides we ride.
Only that as we step onto our final coaster for the day—a day that’s now night—my head is super achy but my heart’s needle gauge can’t even measure how full it is. Okay, that was terrible. Did I mention my head’s achy?
This time we’re in my favorite riding spot. The very last car. This ride with three seats in each car, which, if that’s not kismet.
And then we’re climbing a few hundred feet, only to drop fast enough to leave our stomachs behind—which, life, right?—the high winds making cartoons of our faces, gnats spattering like bug grenades, diving for our eyes and mouths, but we keep both open anyway, because we have to scream and howl and make fun of each other—are you over there closing your eyes?! Look at you scared!—because we don’t want to miss a thing.
We’re at the top of the final hill when the fireworks start.
Splatters of purple and yellow and blue falling with us.
You couldn’t script a better ending.
Before we make it to the exit, Q’s phone buzzes and I know it’s his mom, except his face lights up in a way I’m not sure I’ve seen; he tilts the screen toward Autumn, who squeals with delight. Starts singing, “Q’s got a girl, Q’s got a girl.”
“Hey, what about me,” I protest. “I wanna see!”
And then he flashes it to me too.
A text.
Brianna: hey you guys leave yet??
“Dayuuuum, bro,” I say, pushing him playfully. “These the girls from line? You gave them your number?”
Q shrugs like even he’s surprised, but he can’t keep his face from smiling. “Okay, don’t laugh, but I’ve been really working on this. Trying to put myself out there more, you know. But to be real, I didn’t expect it to work like this.”
“Why would I laugh and why wouldn’t it work?”
“Because for all these years I’ve been a bit of a loser.”
“Q . . .”
He holds up his hands. “It’s cool, man. I’m good with it. I know who I am. Who I was. And it’s okay.” He turns his head, his eyes aimed at the rapidly emptying parking lot.
Autumn nods. “Q, none of us know who we are. We’re all works in progress.”
He doesn’t answer.
I jump back in. “So, man, are you gonna text her back or you playing hard to get?”
He meets my eyes. “What should I say?”
Autumn grins. “Maybe start by answering her question.”
He wags his finger at her. “Oh, you’re good, Autumn.” He taps the screen for a bit.
And then a moment later, Brianna hits him back:
let’s hit up the beach!! but ciara’s making me drop her home first.
Oh, and she wants me to tell you if I don’t check in with her every fifteen minutes she’s gonna send her Navy Seal brother after you! Okay, bye! Cya soon!
“You guys down, right?” Q asks.
Except all I can think is: I’m kinda getting tired of the beach. And I especially don’t wanna be anywhere near water. I want to say: Q, if you knew what happened the other night, you wouldn’t want to, either.
But the look on Q’s face.
How could I crush him—the guy who just confessed he’s trying to put himself out there?
“You kidding me? I got you, bro,” I say.
And then we’re in the car, crawling down the shore road, our headlights illuminating the lake’s edge. It’s after dusk, so technically this part of the beach is closed, but Q’s face is pure determination. Brianna waves at us, leaning against their car when we pull up.
“You sure you’re feeling okay?”
Q turns the car off. Takes a deep breath. “Physically, I feel normal.”
“That’s what I like to hear. Listen, it’s okay to be nervous, but you got this, man. Remember, she hit you up.”
Q nods. “You right, you right.” He pulls the mirror down, does a quick once-over, then a breath check. Satisfied, he daps me up and then we’re walking toward them.
Brianna’s all dimples by the time Q closes the distance, and then they’re walking off toward the water, leaving me and Autumn alone.
Autumn motions toward the shore. “You wanna help me find some sea glass?”
“Ha. You’re looking at the reigning sea-glass-collecting champ.”
She rolls her eyes and starts across the sand.
After we’ve collected a small fortune in sea glass, and Q and Bri have returned, the four of us roll up our jeans, discard our socks and shoes, and race toward the water.
Our feet detonate the beach—sand exploding up our legs, excavating shells and sea glass. Sea glass, jade and vermillion and cobalt, shimmering like fallen stars.
Our bodies propelling forward, hurtling, we run faster, faster, and for a moment our saw-toothed four-person line barely touches ground. We blast through the night like one-person rockets; erupting, flying straight into space, where time can’t hurt us.
Bri goes down first, crashing into Q’s legs, the two of them collapsing in laughter.
Autumn tries to hip-ch
eck me, but I keep my balance, my toes sinking into more seaweed than sand. “Cheater!” I call after her. She slows enough to look back at me, her face catching moonlight, and she’s cracking up so hard I don’t know how she’s still running. I pick up my pace and now she’s barely ahead.
“How do you like your dust,” she calls over. “Medium rare?” But before I can answer she starts to pull away, grinning, her legs and arms and heart finding another gear I can’t compete with.
I try to ignore the shells biting the bottom of my feet.
My burning calves.
But I’m no match for her. Autumn slaps the water before I reach the shoal, her hands raised in victory.
“You’re . . . fast,” I say, huffing, my hands on my knees.
“Yeah. Plus, you’re slow,” she says, scooping water and flinging it at me.
Except the second the water hits my face, I’m right back there. Back to that night. What wouldn’t I have given in exchange for the two of us walking out of those waves together? But instead, each small paddle a struggle, each thrust slipping Q’s face below the surface, again and again.
And it hits me. No, this isn’t the same spot. Or even the same beach. But this is the same water. These are the same waves that claimed Q’s life, changed everything forever, and it’s too much. It’s all too much. We’ve gotta go. We should go.
Another mini wave hits my face, snapping me from my thoughts. “You suffer defeat awfully well,” Autumn says, her hands already delivering another watery assault. But I don’t make a move back. “Hey, you okay?”
I’m the exact opposite of okay.
But this isn’t about you, Jamal. This is about what’s best for Q. So what, you have to stomach a secret you’d rather not keep? That’s nothing compared to what Q and Ms. B are going through. You can’t tell him. You can’t.
“You still here, J?”
“Yeah, no. I’m sorry. Just . . . something popped in my . . .”
“It’s weird being in the water, huh,” she says. “After what happened.”
“Yeah, I think even more than I thought.”
“Well, it’s a nice thing you’re doing. For your friend.”
“I want to do more.”
“So, do more,” she says, just like that. And then she’s water-blasting me right in my eyes.
“Oh, now it’s on,” I say, returning the favor.
Both of us are soaked in seconds.
But mid-water-fight, Autumn nudges me. I follow her gaze and my wingman heart soars. Bri and Q, who’d already been holding hands and walking along the beach, have now paused under the pale moonlight to eat each other’s faces off.
I nearly shout, go, Q! But I summon willpower I didn’t know I had.
“Aww, they’re cute,” Autumn says.
But it only makes me question the Universe’s decision-making.
Because how can the beach be an end and a beginning?
We scavenge for branches and dry wood. Handfuls of the tall wild grass that grows alongside the embankment.
Drop our collection into a pile that somehow Bri turns into a fire.
“Girl Scout troop leader, what can I say,” she says, winking.
We wheel a cooler from Bri’s car, and a giant plastic bowl of cut-up fruit materializes, is passed around and scooped into paper cups. I toss a grape at Q, but he ducks and I hit Bri instead.
And then it’s on.
Grapes of wrath.
Grapes of rafts!
Okay, okay, damn, forget I said it.
Bri holds up a bottle of wine, looks at Q and me as if to say is it cool?
Q nods his consent and then we’re sip, sip, passing.
The wine warm in my belly.
Sea wind warming my cheeks.
The fire jabbing left and right, dancing, dancing.
Autumn’s fingers interlaced in mine, moon on her shoulders, her neck, her lips.
And I can’t imagine a better place than here, now.
Autumn decides to check on her grandma and then Bri steps away to answer a call from Ciara, and I shoot Q a look like maybe we should go. But he’s not close to ready.
“How about we walk a bit,” I suggest.
“I live for long, romantic walks on the beach,” he says, hopping up and swatting sand from his pants.
We amble down the beach, toward the now-closed amusement park, its million colorful bulbs reduced to soft white and pasty orange, just bright enough to prevent planes or birds from crashing into the coasters.
“Q . . .”
“This the part where you tell me you’re sorry again? That you’re trying to make up for lost time?”
I shake my head. “This is the part where I tell you I love you, man,” I say. Because that’s what you say on a night like this. And okay, maybe I’m feeling the wine more than I realize.
“I love you, too, man,” he says back without hesitation.
“No, but I really love you.”
“Okay, bro,” he laughs. “Same.”
“I don’t want to live in a world you aren’t in,” I hear myself say. Which, I think, okay, easy, J. Easy. Be careful here.
“Good thing I’m gonna live forever.”
“No one lives forever, man. I mean, we could . . . we could . . . die like right now, and there’s nothing that we could do about it.”
Q stares at me. “Hey, are you okay?”
“Huh? Yeah. No. I mean . . .”
“Because it sorta feels like you wanna say something, and if you need to talk . . .”
I cut in. “I’m okay, Q. It’s not—it’s not me who . . .”
But a shadow blitzes us, leaps onto Q’s back, and then he’s twirling Bri around and around, and she’s wheeeeeeee-ing and singing: “I don’t ever wanna come down! I don’t ever wanna come down!”
“Everything has to, at some point,” I say softly.
“What was that?” Bri asks.
“I said . . . I said . . . we had a fun day at the park.”
“Best day ever,” Bri shouts.
“Best day ever,” Q confirms, spinning her faster and faster, no signs of ever slowing.
39
By the time I pry Bri and Q apart, it’s three in the morning.
“You sure you’re okay to drive, Q?” Autumn asks.
Q glances at her in the rearview. “I feel great. Promise.”
I stare at Q. “You look a little pale.”
Q laughs. “Thanks. I guess I’m a bit queasy, but I’m fine, really.”
And then we’re at Autumn’s car. She hops into the driver’s seat, and I follow.
“Q’s following us, right? Autumn confirms. “You gave him my address?”
“Yep, we’re gonna escort you home, and then I’ll ride with him the rest of the way.”
Fifteen minutes later, Autumn and Q exchange good nights, and then she and I kiss outside her door, and thirty seconds later she’s waving at us through her front window, and then I’m in Q’s car.
“Hey, you checked in with your mom, right?”
“Negatory, my friend. My phone died hours ago.”
“Well, you should’ve borrowed mine.”
“We were having a magical time. Didn’t want to lose our groove, you know. And I did text her earlier.”
“When exactly? And what did you say?”
“I don’t know. Five-ish? Just to let her know I was going to the park after school.”
“Q, maybe she wasn’t expecting you at six or seven or even eight. But it’s three fifteen in the morning!”
Q laughs. “You’re really getting yourself worked up. Stop worrying. Mom will be okay. I mean, she’ll be mad for a day or whatever, but she’ll get over it.”
“I have a feeling this’ll go another way entirely.”
Q laughs. “Oh, you know my mom better than me, huh? It’s fine, man. The world is right.”
I shake my head. “Listen, I know you’re still on the I just made out with an awesome girl high, but you should call
your mom. Like now.”
But Q shrugs it off. “Jamal, I’m dropping you off at your house, anyway, so if you’re worried she’s gonna give you a hard time, you’re in the clear, okay? I’ll tell her it was all me. We’ll be home in thirty. Just relax.”
I don’t even bother objecting over relax.
I just plug my phone into Q’s car charger, and we drive a few miles in silence.
Q looks over at me. “J?”
“What?”
“Bri is pretty awesome, right? Like, you think so too?”
I glance over. “She is, but it doesn’t matter what I think. As long as you think she is, and she thinks you are, that’s all the validation you need.”
Q nods. “I think she’s very awesome.”
Finally, enough juice to power on, my phone buzzes and lights up for like two minutes straight, a string of texts and voice mails popping up in my notifications.
“Damn, someone’s really tryna get ahold of you.”
I hold up the phone so he can see the screen, which basically alternates Whit and a 216 number I’m assuming is Ms. B.
“Yep, that’s my mom. She leave a message?”
“Several.” I press Play on one from the middle, hold it to my ear.
Ms. B: Jamal, I’m trusting that you’re gonna take care of my son. I didn’t want him to go so far, but . . . just make sure he stays safe. And remember, it’s our secret to keep.
“Put it on speakerphone. I wanna hear too.”
“In a minute.”
He reaches for my phone, but I move it away.
He winks. “What, you and my mom got something to hide?”
“Huh? Like what?”
“I didn’t forget all the stuff you used to say about her.”
“Q, I was ten.”
“Real feelings don’t die.”
“Okay, you got me. Me and your mom are having an affair and in this voice mail she’s just told me I may be your dad.”
“I hate you.”
“What a rude thing to say to your father, son. You were so much nicer when you were still inside me. You had so much potential.”
“That’s beyond disgusting.”
Q throws on his hazard lights and jerks the car onto the shoulder.
Early Departures Page 15
