Shane banks the football off the side of the fireplace mantel and it flies into the coffee table, knocking over a glass candy bowl. At least the rug cushions the fall.
“Dude, be careful,” I say, searching the room for my wallet. Tom’s party is starting and I’m ready to get out of here. “You sure you don’t want to come tonight?”
“Nah,” Shane says, picking up the bowl and setting it back on the coffee table. “I have an EMT shift, and besides it’s not my scene. Is Stevie going?”
“She might have to watch Joey. Her mom has an art show.”
Even though I still haven’t met Joey, I feel like I know him. I get why Stevie would drop everything for him, but still, I hope her mom gets home early and she can come for a bit. For once she doesn’t have to lie—just get the okay to go to Tom’s party, which is much easier than making up a practice session at Shane’s house. The chance to see Stevie is the only reason I’m making an appearance tonight.
“She’s still sneaking over to your house,” Shane says, his eyes fixed on the candy bowl. I don’t look at him either, instead rummaging through our magazine bin, hunting for my wallet. “How long do you expect me to keep up this routine?”
“Just for a little while longer,” I say, even though Shane’s right. He shouldn’t have to cover for us, and we shouldn’t have to sneak around. But I don’t see another solution. Not yet, at least. I throw a magazine on the floor and dig through the bin. “I’m still trying to figure it all out.”
“You need to tell her,” Shane says, putting the magazine back in its place. “She’s sneaking around, breaking her parents’ trust. C’mon.”
“Tell her what?”
“You know what.” Shane glares at me. I know he means the coin toss, but I can’t bring myself to tell her. She’ll think she was a bet or a game and it was nothing like that. It was a split-second decision, one of my irresponsible ideas. And now, she’s everything and I can’t mess with that.
“I can’t tell her,” I say quietly.
“You’re making a mistake.” Shane stands and gestures at the mantel. “Your wallet’s right there, by the way.”
I grab my wallet and stuff it in my pocket. Shane’s right. He always is. But I can’t take his advice on this one.
* * *
I squeeze past a crowd by the keg as a heavy bass line pulses through Tom’s house. I stuff my hands into the pockets of my military jacket, scanning every face for Stevie. I’ve suffered through this party for an hour and I’m about to call it quits.
“Drew man,” Brent yells over the music. I pretend I don’t hear him. He jumps wildly with the football team, in sync with the music, like drunk pogo sticks. But soon enough he bounces over to me, beer sloshing over his cup and onto my jacket.
“Sorry, man. Party foul,” Brent slurs. I can’t stand him. I peel off the jacket and search the room.
“Is Stevie here?” I ask.
“Who?”
He’s such an oblivious jerk.
“Stevie. My girlfriend.”
The girl you’re a dick to for no reason.
“Haven’t seen her,” Brent says as Tom yells for him. “Gonna hit the keg. You want?”
“I’m good.”
I snake through the party, past a game of beer pong. A ping-pong ball splashes into a red Solo cup and everyone cheers as one of the football players chugs it, beer spilling out the sides of his mouth. The Dark Carnival guys chill in the living room so I head in the opposite direction. Still no sign of Stevie.
Cold air bites at my skin as I step onto the back porch. The quiet feels good, like letting a long breath out of my lungs, the pounding music fading into a muffled heartbeat. I pull my jacket back on and rub my hands together to stay warm. The screen door slides open and Ray steps onto the wooden deck, plopping down on the outdoor couch. She pulls a joint from her bag and lights it, taking a long drag. She holds it out for me, but I shake my head and say, “Sorry about homecoming queen.”
Ray smiled through the entire ceremony, even when Principal Davis announced Jenna’s name and placed a plastic crown on top of her head.
“Jenna had it locked down. I don’t know why I thought I could win.” Ray takes another drag and pulls her knees to her chest.
“Sorry,” I say, reaching for the screen door, my stomach on edge. “I should head back inside.”
“Drew?” Her voice hangs in the air and stops me. I glance over my shoulder and she stands, killing the joint in an empty Solo cup and shoving the lighter in the back pocket of her jeans. They’re tight and ripped, the ones she bought with me that day in the mall when a security guard busted her for bringing Toast inside. She rescued Toast from a local animal shelter, dragging me there saying she only wanted to look. But once she laid eyes on Toast’s brown fur and even browner eyes, she was sold. The shelter had no idea what breed he was, but he had floppy ears and feet that were too big for his little body.
“I’m not leaving him here,” she said, grabbing my arm, and dialing her mom’s number to get consent. Toast was on death row, and the shelter was eager to give him away. And once Ray got Toast home, he wouldn’t leave her side, even following her into the bathroom. So naturally, when we went to the mall, she brought him. “No one will notice,” she said, pulling a big overnight bag from her closet and placing Toast inside.
I wonder how that little guy is doing as Ray steps closer to me.
“I’ve been trying to talk to you.” She corners me against the screen door. I sidestep her and make my way to the patio table, but she follows me. “Why haven’t you answered any of my texts?”
“I’ve been busy,” I lie. But the truth is when everything went down with Dad, Ray wasn’t there. She bailed right when I needed her. So now, I don’t see the point in answering texts or being around when she needs me.
“I miss you,” she says, touching my shoulder, her flowery perfume floating through the air. I shrug her hand off me.
“You left me,” I say, a cold breeze making the hair stick up on the back of my neck. “You’re not allowed to miss me.”
“You broke up with me.”
“You bailed. The second things got shitty, you bailed.” I’m transported back to last year, to the month after Dad left, when Mom wouldn’t come out of bed. It was like someone sucked the air out of my room, the walls closing in on me. My stuff, all the stuff Dad gave me, mocking me from shelves he bought. I grabbed the signed LeBron James basketball off its stand and threw it at my bookshelf, a couple Bradbury books falling to the carpet. And then I couldn’t stop, ripping all my books down, chucking them all over my room, denting the door. I texted Ray over and over that night, crawling out of my skin. She never wrote back, so I trashed it all.
“You were so angry,” Ray says, her eyes getting wet, and she’d better not cry. I only saw Ray cry once the entire time we were together, and it was out of frustration after Coach told her to stick to soccer. I waited for her after football tryouts, watching her nail kick after kick, and even so, Coach still said she wasn’t ready. She kept a stiff upper lip, but as soon as Coach walked away she said, “Fucking boys club.” And then she lost it, sobbing into my shoulder. But Ray didn’t want me to intervene. It took every ounce of restraint to keep me from going after Coach and begging him to reconsider. Instead we stood there, on the side of the field, Ray crying and me holding her, urging her to keep trying.
“You shut me out. Don’t you realize that? Every time I tried to talk to you … Jesus, Drew, you wouldn’t even look at me.”
“You were busy with football.”
“I was busy with football because it was easier than admitting I was losing you. That we were imploding. And then you broke up with me. That’s how it went down, Drew. Not the other way around.”
I stare at Ray, scenes from last year flashing at me like a movie montage. Ray avoiding me at school, ducking into the crowded hallway instead of waiting for me before first period. Me, idling by Ray’s locker, desperate to talk to her, and Ray fla
shing me a fake smile as she walked past, not bothering to stop. And finally, me giving up and telling her I’m done for good.
“Maybe I broke up with you, but you stopped trying,” I say, avoiding her eyes.
“You didn’t let me try,” Ray says, her voice breaking. My eyes shift to her as she tucks a strand of blond hair behind her ear. All at once a different montage plays in my head. Ray skipping soccer practice and showing up at my house, and me too upset to answer her texts or open the door. Me telling Ray to leave me the hell alone after she pressed me about Dad, trying to understand. I cringe at the memory. It’s funny what the mind chooses to remember, what stories we tell ourselves.
All this time, I thought it was Ray. Maybe it was easier to blame it on her. So I didn’t have one more thing to blame myself for.
“I couldn’t deal with him leaving,” I say quietly. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you help me. I was just … it was just messed up.”
Tears line the bottom of Ray’s eyes, threatening to spill over. She blinks them away and says, “I’m sorry I wasn’t the one to help you. Stevie seems really great.”
“She is,” I say, longing for Stevie’s voice, her hair between my fingers, the way her smile makes everything seem okay. “So why were you texting me?”
“We had to put Toast down,” she says, her voice catching. “He was old when I got him, remember? Well, his little heart couldn’t hold on anymore.”
Ray’s tears finally fall, streaking down her cheeks. She steps to me, like she did that day with Coach, and wraps her arms around my neck, burying her face in my shoulder. This is so familiar that I could fall back into it, hold on to the back of Ray’s head and let her cry.
“I miss you,” she whispers again, but it’s all wrong. She lifts her head off my shoulder, her watery eyes looking straight into mine. I know this look, her eyes ablaze, roaming from my eyes to my lips. The same look she always gave me, right before she would kiss me.
CHAPTER 11
Stevie
Joey jumps on the couch and drops into my lap, pulling the cord to my headphones straight out of my iPhone. He leans back into me, kicking his legs.
“Play with me,” he whines into my ear and I sigh, pulling the headphones off.
“Buddy, I thought you were watching your show?” I gesture at the TV, which is showing the tail end of Paw Patrol. Joey points the remote at the TV and clicks it off.
“It’s boring,” he says, grabbing my headphones and putting them on his head, still kicking his feet like two little clock pendulums. The headphones are big on him and the band sticks up above his wild curls. “Can I listen?”
He grabs my phone and plugs the headphones back in, scrolling through playlists. I know which one he’s looking for and I know it’ll take him moments to find it. Even though Joey can’t read yet he has a few sight words—Beatles is one of them. He cues up my all-time favorite, “A Day in the Life,” and closes his eyes, his long lashes resting on his milky skin. I wrap my arms around him, listening as the song comes through the headphones. His whole body relaxes the same way mine does, and he stops kicking, his legs dangling limp off the couch.
I peek at my phone and it’s nine o’clock already. If Mom doesn’t get home soon, I won’t be able to go to Tom’s party. A text comes through my phone and I smile when I see it’s from Sarah.
Sarah
Heading to Muse
Me
Forgot that’s tonight. Jealous.
Sarah
Wish you were coming with me. What are you doing?
Me
Babysitting Joey.
Sarah
Typical.
Me
There’s a party tonight. I told Drew I’d meet him, but my mom’s not home yet and it’s getting late. His ex is going to be there. Is that weird?
Sarah
His ex? You never mentioned an ex.
I never mentioned it because we barely talk anymore. A burning sensation swirls around my gut and I consider not responding. Why should I tell Sarah anything when she barely qualifies as a friend? But then I picture her jet-black hair, dyed silver streaks framing her face, and the way she would grab my shoulders at a concert, her ice blue eyes igniting as the band broke out into a perfect jam.
Me
Her name’s Ray and she’s the kicker for the football team and they were together last year.
Sarah
What kind of name is Ray? She’s on the football team? That’s badass.
Me
It’s short for Rachel, I think. I don’t know, she kind of avoids me.
Sarah
What do you mean avoids you?
Me
She was cool before she knew about me and Drew. Now she avoids me.
Sarah
You have to go to that party. I don’t trust this situation with Ray. Why don’t I know any of this?
The garage door opens, sending vibrations through the living room. I crane my neck and check the door, waiting for Mom to walk through.
Me
She’s pretty cool actually. And you don’t know any of this because you haven’t been around.
I’m surprised as I hit send, my true feelings about our friendship exposed. Three dots appear as Sarah types a response, and maybe this is the beginning of us getting back what we had. Maybe Sarah misses us too.
Sarah
I’m sorry. It’s hard with the time difference and school and band.
Another weak excuse I don’t want to hear.
Me
Sure.
Sarah
Don’t be like that.
Me
Whatever, my mom’s walking in. I gotta go.
Sarah
Stevie wait.
I throw my phone on the couch as Joey rips the headphones off and runs to Mom. She picks him up and kisses him on the cheek, then eyes me.
“Joey, why are you still up?” she asks as he pulls on one of her curls and laughs.
“Mama, I was listening to the Beatles!”
“Sorry,” I say, but Mom smiles at us with so much happiness on her face, like nothing could bring her down from whatever high she’s on. “How was the show?”
“I sold it!” Mom puts Joey down and covers her mouth with her hands. She practically runs over to the couch and plops down next to me. Joey follows her and wedges himself between us. “I actually sold a painting. Can you believe it?”
“The one with the little girl being carried away by the yellow balloon?”
Mom nods and puts her hands over her mouth again. I love that painting and secretly hoped she wouldn’t sell it so I could hang it in my room. But this look on Mom’s face, it’s the way I feel when I play the sax and I’d rather stare at the joy exploding from her eyes than a painting. Besides, she can always make me another one.
“Congrats, Mom,” I say, and she kisses me on the cheek, just like she did when I was little.
“Okay, mister,” Mom fakes sternness, putting one hand on her hip, then pulling Joey to his feet. “Time for bed.”
I flip over my phone and read Sarah’s last text.
Sarah
Fine, be mad at me. But go to that party, trust me.
“Hey, Mom, do you think I can go to that party for a bit? It’s down the street so I can walk.”
“Joey, head up to bed. I’ll be right there to tuck you in,” Mom says, her eyes on me. Joey runs upstairs, clutching a black-and-white stuffed dog he named Pizza. Mom pulls her curls up into a messy bun, holding it all together with a small clip. If I didn’t straighten my hair, I’d have those same curls, and for a moment I think about letting it air dry. But there’s something wild and free about Mom’s hair that I could never pull off.
“Is Drew going to be there? You know how Dad feels about him.” Mom’s brown eyes narrow like she’s trying to uncover the truth from my expression.
“I don’t know if he’s going,” I say. Not exactly a lie, but not the truth either. The thing is, Dad’s at an away game
in Miami until Tuesday. And when it comes to dating and guys, Mom’s a sucker, a true romantic, and I’m hoping she won’t press me for more information.
“Be back at eleven,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “And if Dad asks, you went to Shane’s tonight.”
“Thank you!” I wrap my arms around her neck, breathing in her musky perfume.
“Mama, come onnnn!” Joey yells from upstairs.
“Stevie, I’m glad you’re making friends here and going to parties. Have fun, okay? Love you.”
“Love you too,” I say, then yell upstairs to Joey. “Goodnight, bud!”
* * *
I sidestep a guy getting sick on Tom’s front lawn as I head up a cobblestone walkway to the front door. Music pounds from the house, spilling into the night air. When I step inside, there’s a thin haze of smoke coming from a bong stationed on the living room coffee table. There are people everywhere, people I don’t know. I squeeze through the crowd, hoping to find Drew. Tom’s by the dining room table, pointing a ping-pong ball at a row of red cups, then expertly sinking it in. I push past a group of girls laughing loudly and force a smile once I reach Tom.
“Have you seen Drew?”
“Hey, Stevie!” He throws an arm around me. “Jets better beat the Dolphins tomorrow. What’s your dad saying about the game?”
“I haven’t talked to him about it. So, have you seen Drew?”
“Jets should start Simmons. Tell your dad.” A ping-pong ball sails across the table and splashes into one of Tom’s cups.
“Chug, asshole!” Brent yells, and Tom grabs the cup and downs the beer in one gulp.
“So where’s Drew?”
“Oh, sorry. I think I saw him go out back.”
“Thanks,” I say, heading for the screen door. I stop short as the cool night air slips into the house and sends a chill down my spine. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I peek through the tiny pinholes of the screen and see Drew. He’s not alone. My stomach spins and I hold my breath, careful not to make a sound. Ray’s head rests on Drew’s shoulder and she’s crying, wet tears landing on his military jacket. His hand cradles the back of her head and she’s saying something into his ear. Something short and soft. She picks her head up from his shoulder and they’re looking at each other. Staring at each other. My heart is pounding in my head, a relentless drum banging my thoughts together. She’s going to kiss him. He’s going to let her. I can’t watch this. I have to watch this. I have to know.
Where It All Lands Page 11
