Oh, she remembered it all right.
“And Carter didn’t kill you?”
Austin shook his head. “No. That was the night of Sarah Rosen.”
“So?”
“So,” Austin said, “he was dealing with his own crying girl.”
“Oh, damn.” Carter must have done exactly the same thing.
Dizzy nausea threatened my every breath. My hands and feet felt hot, like an invisible fire fed off my extremities.
“Where was I during all of this?” I asked.
“No idea.”
The blood pounding in my mind grew louder, taking over my thoughts.
“Why didn’t anyone ever tell me? We’ve made fun of Sarah so many times, neither of you ever said it wasn’t—” I stopped.
What she wanted.
We both knew the answer. Carter. It was something Carter would never talk about. And now I knew why.
“I cannot believe Carter forgave you for that,” I said.
“That’s what the Bro Code is,” he said. “And that night fell under it. We had to stick together on this. No matter the circumstances.”
Bros before hoes.
“This is fucked-up.”
“I know,” he said. “Like, some guy made a sexist mandate because he was scared of ending up alone.”
“Blasphemy from Austin Banks? Never thought I’d hear anyone say that about the Bro Code, especially not you.”
“I literally got that from your AP psych outline.”
“What?”
“Yeah, dude. When you had to take notes on whether Freud was legit or lonely. And how he didn’t think being gay was normal because really he could’ve been struggling with being gay himself. All he actually had to do was accept himself and he would have been a lot nicer to the gays. Did you really forget that?”
Of course he had to bring freaking Freud into it.
“Look out, world,” I said, “Austin Banks has learned something.”
He tapped the side of his head. “All in here.”
Wait. If Austin made that connection about Freud . . . and Austin basically makes infinite gay jokes, does that mean . . . ? Austin sipped his root beer while I digested our conversation. I gave a low whistle, shocked, my mind reeling to ask him.
I didn’t. He probably wasn’t gay. It was just something he’d learned. Right?
There were two kids at North Cassidy who had come out as being bisexual, and another two who’d come out as LGB . . . letters. Yeah, it’s 2020 and I need to know the letters. I’ll get there, okay? Here’s why I’ve done a stupid job learning the letters and whatever so far: North Cassidy was 90 percent white, 8 percent Asian, and the last 2 percent anything else. The town liked to make up for that by having a “diversity day” at school every year, which was always awkward because, for that one day, everyone sucked up to the three black kids at our school, one of whom was Jamal. Shoot, I mean African American. I’ll get there too. Diversity Day crammed an entire population’s history into half-hour presentations about political correctness. And when you skip the presentations to go hook up with Madison Hayes in the student parking lot, well. Diversity Day obviously failed me. That, and I personally never needed to know the terms because I don’t wake up every day having to get dressed with any other label than “white, straight, male.”
Neither do my friends.
And neither do the majority of my classmates.
Until yesterday, when Eliza called me on my everyday lingo in the pool, I didn’t know how legit hostile the world can seem for anyone who isn’t exactly a straight, white, bro.
Or maybe I just didn’t care.
Back to Austin.
I’d known Austin since the kindergarten playground, and it had never occurred to me that he might have been struggling with stuff. I just hoped things hadn’t been too hard for him. And I hoped I hadn’t made them that way.
“Dude,” Austin said, “I’m not gay.”
“I figured.” Heat filled my cheeks. Oops. “You know you could tell me if you were, though, right?” Yeah. I had absolutely no idea how to navigate this conversation.
“Sheesh, Mags.” His can cracked as he smoothed the metal with his fingernail. “For someone who hates putting labels on things, you sure love to put labels on things.”
“Whatever,” I said. The closest I’d get to sorry.
Austin started laughing. “You should see your face. You look like you swallowed a pregnant cow.”
“How would you know what that looks like, dude?”
He gulped down the last of his soda. “Ah, wow. This is hilarious. I’m so glad you came over tonight.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve had a lot to take in,” I said. Good job, Nick. There you go. Speak. “Just let me know if you ever need me to talk about different stuff, or like, help you in a different way.”
That had sounded better in my head.
Austin grinned and I closed my mouth. “No,” he said. “Keep it up, really. This is going better than I could have thought.”
My chair landed back on the carpet with a thud. “What do we do now?’
Austin’s fingers cracked as he stretched them. “You stuck around when I was cut from soccer in the seventh grade. When I was at the bottom of the totem pole, you practiced with me for a month, every day after your own practice, and got the coach to give me a new tryout. When I dated Eliza, you were still around even when Carter would barely talk to me, and you didn’t punch me in the face right now when I told you about the party. I’m sticking around for you. It doesn’t matter to me who you date. Well, that’s a lie,” he laughed, “if you started things back up with Madison, I might fight you here and now.”
“I think you’re safe, man,” I said, “and I still haven’t decided about punching you.” Or Carter. What is the playbook for what to do after your best friends seriously mess up?
“Fair. When are you going to talk to Carter?”
“I guess tomorrow. We can celebrate tonight. But, might as well get this over with, right?”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
The table creaked, wobbling as Austin pushed it to stand up. “Who’s D-D’ing this thing? Cause it’s definitely not you or me, after this chat.”
“Hannah,” I said. “We’re meeting her at the OCs’ and she’s driving all of us.”
At least, that’s the last I heard.
“Robert Maxin’s Hannah?”
“Correct.”
“Damn. Carter’s cold too.”
“No kidding,” I said. “I still can’t believe you guys didn’t tell me about Sarah.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about Eliza.”
The basement stairs thudded as we ran up them. A slam from Austin’s door and a crackly engine later, Austin sat shotgun as I pulled out of his driveway.
“Are you really surprised I didn’t tell you?” I asked.
“Nah. I get it.”
He texted Carter and Eliza that we were on our way. Twenty minutes later, Austin and I stood in Carter’s room, watching him change shirts six million times. (Confirming everything we’d thought about him and Hannah.)
“What about this one?” he said, pulling a black long-sleeve over his head.
“Good too,” said Austin.
“I liked the last one better,” I said.
“Really?”
Carter had the shirt halfway over his head before I said, “Nah. Go with the black.”
“Get outta here, Mags,” joked Carter. The shirt settled nicely on his arms. “Great. Now we gotta do shoes.”
“I’m gonna get some air,” I said, slipping through the door. I had to find Eliza and fill her in on my talk with Austin. The stairs creaked as I jogged to the second floor, wondering what I could possibly say to her. I didn’t wan
t to lose either one of them.
“Nick!” Eliza answered her door and pulled me into her bright, cheery room.
“Whoa.”
It looked like a hurricane had hit her room, followed by a stampede of elephants and four typhoons. Piles of clothes spilled all over the floor, like she was trying to sort through them, and her drawing paper was everywhere: on top of the clothes, on her desk, and scattered in miscellaneous corners of the room. All of it was very un-Eliza.
She wore jeans and a tank top, looking ready for a casual party, and had clearly been ready hours ahead of Carter. She resumed her spot, drawing, sitting cross-legged on her comforter with a clipboard and oil crayons. I climbed next to her.
“Are you redecorating?”
“I wanted to do a still life. Of my room being messy. My room’s never messy,” she said. “And that’s kind of the point of the drawing.”
“Very meta,” I said. The headboard felt cool against my neck as I leaned against it. When I stretched out my legs, our knees almost touched.
“Mrs. Davies, my art teacher, is trying to get us all to enter this showcase thing. I’m trying to practice my still life, so it looks more like I tried, and less like I was having a seizure while I was doing it.”
The page on her clipboard was mostly blank. She’d sketched her metallic drawing table, which looked exactly like it was supposed to. The shading and coloring were perfect. Better than anything I could have tried.
“You’ll do great. You’re probably about one drawing away from an invitation to repaint the Sistine Chapel.”
“You’re my friend, Nick. You’re supposed to say that.”
“Check and check.” I brushed her ankle, with the tip of my finger.
“How’s your night been?” she asked.
“You want the raw version or the sugar-coated version?”
Her crayon slipped, sending a purple streak across her page.
“What do you mean?”
Might as well give it to her straight.
“Austin saw us at the pool.”
The crayon hit the only part of her floor that wasn’t covered with clothes.
“What?”
“He was ready to go swimming and saw us. Before this he asked me to come over so we could talk about it.”
She stood. She treaded through her scattered shirts.
“What happened?”
“He’s going to let us tell Carter.”
“Oh, phew. That’s not that bad.”
She picked up the crayon from the floor. I took the moment when she wasn’t looking at me to punt into the darkness.
“He doesn’t think you remember what happened at Carter’s party two years ago.”
Eliza squatted on the messy floor with her face in her hands.
“Oh, thank goodness,” she said.
“Why is that thank goodness?”
The bed bounced as I got up. Eliza shivered when I crouched beside her, pulling her into my chest.
“It’s just so awkward.”
My legs ached as we squatted, but Eliza buried into me. Her cinnamon scent burned into my skin.
“The story at the pool—”
“That actually did happen to one of my friends,” she said. “And it happened to me too, yeah.”
I stroked her hair, the back of her head soft against my hand. She pressed against me. “Are you okay?”
“Uh huh,” said Eliza. “The part that really unsettles me is Austin and Carter sweeping the whole thing under the rug so I could never bring it up. And I have no idea what happened with Sarah. Those are the parts I was never okay with.”
“I’m sorry, Eliza. I had no idea.”
She locked her arms behind my back. “Carter’s been trying to make it up to me ever since. Won’t talk to me about it. Or talk to Austin. But I can tell he’s trying, and I do forgive Austin. He’s not there yet, but he’s learning. And so am I.”
Wow. She was so amazingly strong. I could only hope Carter could forgive as much as his sister could. That I could forgive that much too. “Thanks for talking to me about it,” I said. “I’m going to try and help them not suck, so none of this ever happens again. You’ve really helped me, um, start to get it.”
“You’re turning out to not be that bad. A year away from their bullshit helped a lot,” she laughed. “Thanks. I’m tougher than I look.”
She flexed her biceps.
I wasn’t sure if I believed her, but I sure as heck wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to tease.
“Oh yeah?” I said. “We doing a gun show?” I pulled my arm out of my sleeve and flexed, lining up my arm next to hers. “If you keep eating your green beans, you might get halfway there.”
She brushed my shoulder, her hand finding mine, like our wrists were magnetized. “Remind me why I let you come over?”
“Because deep down inside, Eliza, you find me utterly irresistible.”
Her breath tickled my ear. “You’re one comment away from having your visiting privileges revoked.”
“I guess we should stop talking, then,” I said.
She lightly punched my chest, coming in for another hug.
The rain puttered on the roof. As her warmth melted into me, I lay my face in her hair, feeling lucky. Having this much trust for each other, so fast, was both exhilarating and terrifying. The best part was, she didn’t want to hang out with me because my name was Nick Maguire, or because I played soccer, like Madison or anyone else had. For whatever reason, she genuinely liked me.
“Tell Carter in the morning?” she proposed. “That way if he murders you, I’ll still have gone to a party with you with you at least once.”
“Deal.”
She kissed my cheek. “Think he’s done picking out his clothes?”
I nodded. “Time to rock ’n’ roll.”
Squeezed between Austin and Eliza, I tried not to say anything dumb as Hannah drove us to Jeff’s party. Carter had taken shotgun, even though Austin had called it. Instead, Austin, Eliza, and I took turns tapping Carter’s shoulder and having him guess who did it.
Jeff’s Karvotsky’s house made the night better. I didn’t know where his parents were, but wherever they were, it wasn’t there. Which made us start to respect Jeff. Getting your parents to leave your house when they know you’re having a party is no easy feat. Jeff had finally stepped into bro-zone.
“Wazzup?” Austin shouted into the living room. After one step inside, I already recognized a sea of faces: the entire soccer team had showed, plus a decent number of the juniors and seniors. Jeff greeted us.
“We got drinks in the kitchen, games in the basement, and the chill room est ici,” he told us. Jeff was the kind of nerd who took French in middle school instead of Spanish. Since he was providing this rager, we let it slide.
Jeff pointed to Hannah and Eliza. “Ladies, hats sont là-bas . . .” he pointed to a bin next to the couch filled with paper pointed party hats.
“Oooooh.” I hip-checked Eliza as she reluctantly went over to it.
All small towns have traditions, and the tradition for the Cassidy High School house parties was this: everyone who wasn’t explicitly invited had to wear a party hat. And then if you were caught as a crasher and you weren’t wearing your hat . . . you had to drink a mixture of whatever the host wanted.
“What are the games?” I asked.
“T or D, something with pong.”
I searched for Carter, my built-in beer/water-pong partner—the beverage didn’t matter, we were in it to win it—but he was already beelining for the kitchen.
“Yo, Carter!” I shouted. “You in?”
He looked between me and Hannah, who was securing her pink party hat, and shrugged. Forget it. I turned to the girl next to me, who had her hands in her pockets, fidgeting.
“Want to come
downstairs?” I asked.
Eliza’s sparkly gold hat nicely complemented her blond hair. “These hats look stupid,” she said. “Also, I don’t drink anymore. Not since Carter’s party.”
“Understood, and you look amazing.” My heart surged. For some reason, Eliza straight-up telling me she was not about the peer-pressure, partying life made her that much more attractive. Probably because I was the exact opposite of being a role model.
Hey, maybe opposites do attract.
The basement’s lights were off. Instead, there was a green strobe that flashed to Jeff’s rap music. Huddled together were even more of my teammates, fellow students, and Austin’s new favorite topic: Madison Hayes.
“Hey, handsome.” She smiled, wearing a leopard-print party hat. I wondered if she’d brought it herself. She nodded to Eliza, then leaned in to whisper in my ear, “Happy to see things are working out. Too bad I’m working on our deal by myself.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Austin was damn near crazy about her. She stalked off anyway.
“She’s the worst,” said Eliza. “Sorry, I know you’re friends. She gets under my skin.”
“Never said we were friends,” I replied.
“Gross.”
I stretched, able to lay my palms flat against the bumpy ceiling. “How do you think I felt about you hanging out with Daley?”
“Touché.”
On the periphery of the room, freshmen finished their game of pong. They weren’t doing too well, and the crowd gathered around us was probably somewhat relieved when I stood up to the plate.
“Who’s next?” I asked. “Anyone who thinks they can match this squad?” I patted Eliza’s party hat.
“You bet,” came Austin’s voice. He had his arm wound around Madison and pulled her over. She pouted, clacking her nails against the ping-pong table. I wondered if she was truly angry that I hadn’t helped her with Carter more. Though to be fair, she’d barely helped me with Eliza. She’d basically sabotaged it.
“Oof. We could not have asked for a better team to play for your first time. Austin and Madison are totally hopeless at this game.”
“Daaaaamn,” Austin called out. “Shots fired. Too bad you’re going be hammered by the end of this game, y’all.”
The Bro Code Page 21
