Standing beside Henry’s truck, snow turning my black hair white, I watch the girl I’ve loved my whole life climb into her friend’s car and turn her back to me. As she slams the door, I wave. I don’t know if she sees me, or even if I’m waving at her or only a memory of her. My wave seems more final. A farewell to us.
When Henry jogs over, saying, “It’s already nine o’clock,” I still don’t move.
The urge to stare at Aggi’s silhouette in the car window prevents me from budging. I’m frozen with the finality of losing everyone I’ve ever loved. I stare at the glass until Henry shouts, “Get in, Max! By the time we find this party, it’ll be ten.”
The last thing I want to do is be a high school student at a college party wearing someone’s too-big-for-me shoes. I’d rather go home and watch television with my parents. Eat popcorn and stare at the screen while they laugh and disengage. But my mind fights against itself as it searches for answers only Aggi can explain. What happened to us? Why did we let our dads come between us? Do you blame me like your father does? And then: I’m sorry. If I could rewind the clock, I’d insist you answer the phone that night. Blame me, not yourself. I do.
For weeks after Kate died, I followed Aggi to work, to school, wondering if she was okay. I wasn’t sure of my own brokenness—I barely held my shit together—but somehow following Aggi made me feel less fractured. I sent her texts in the middle of the night—too many to count—until they stopped going through. My calls shot straight to voice mail. My knocks went unanswered. Then her father threatened me, my dad; and I promised my parents I’d stop pushing for answers. I never gave up hope, though, until now.
Henry’s still rambling about Jen, pausing to interject apologies about how it went with Aggi. I nod, my eyes fixed on Umé’s car, and I drop my head against the window as Henry turns the key.
Click.
Click.
Click.
At the same time, we remember the lights.
“No! No! No!” Henry punches the steering wheel, and the horn wails.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!”
“This is not happening right now!” Henry slaps the seat.
“I’m afraid it is,” I mumble.
Henry jumps out of the truck, waving his arms, then leaning back into the cab and pushing the horn. “Umé! Umé!” He grabs his phone while I sit worthless in the seat and do nothing, and within seconds Umé and Aggi are parked at the back of Henry’s truck.
In the side mirror, my eyes fall on Aggi’s shadow. Hands wave. Aggi tears her hat from her head and yanks at her hair. Are they arguing?
Umé’s car door opens. “Won’t start, huh?”
“Dead battery,” Henry says. “We left the lights on.” Henry glances at me, and I shrug.
“Jumper cables are in my trunk,” Umé says. “But I don’t think they’ll reach. Why’d you park next to a giant snowbank?”
Henry pushes the button on his phone to check the time.
“I need to be somewhere. Can you just give us a ride?”
“No!” I snap, and climb out of the truck. I shuffle over to Henry and Umé, and Umé stares at my feet.
“Why are you walking like that?”
“Like what?”
She tips her head toward my feet. “I can take you to Max’s. You probably have jumper cables in the Jeep, right? But I’d have to drop Aggi off at my house. Logistics, you know.”
How could I forget? If Aggi’s dad, or my dad for that matter, saw Aggi and me riding in the same car, it would complicate tonight even more.
I fidget, unsure what to do with my hands, as I glance at Aggi statue-like in the car. She’s close again. The window near enough to touch.
“Look,” Henry says. “We’re on our way to a party. If you can’t take us, we’ll walk, but if we freeze to death—Umé—it’s on your damn conscience.”
Umé huffs and motions Henry toward the trunk. They powwow for a minute while I stuff my hands into my pockets and skate around the bed of Henry’s pickup. I wonder if a sudden movement, me sprinting or sliding past Aggi’s window, would make her head turn.
I consider leaping on the ice, doing something ridiculous that will make her laugh—I could always make her laugh but had to earn it—then I remember how she looked at me on the sidewalk before turning away.
Umé snaps, “Okay! Get in the damn car before we turn to ice.”
I don’t budge. Unless Aggi looks over at me, offers a nudge, signals it’s okay for me to climb into the same car she’s riding in, I’m going nowhere. She doesn’t want me near her and I have to repect that.
Henry slides into the back seat and I continue to stand in the snow as a slide show of my life flashes before me. Aggi, chasing after me into the woods, shouting, “Max, Max, where are you hiding?” We are no more than seven years old. Aggi squealing as I dart behind a tree, then yelping as she trips and knocks her knee on a rock. She’s crying, and I’m racing home to get the rusty red wheelbarrow we keep in the barn. I’m flying between the trees, jumping over logs, moving at a speed I’ve never reached before. As I struggle to push the wheelbarrow back to where Aggi fell, I stop to line the bottom with pine straw. I lift Aggi with superhuman seven-year-old strength and spill her from my arms onto the cushioned wheelbarrow bed. Today, I still don’t know how I lifted Aggi or the wheelbarrow. I don’t remember how I navigated the woods and brought her home. But my noodle arms and knobby knees took Aggi to safety. She was bleeding. She needed help. After Aggi returned home from the doctor, seven stitches later, I stopped by her house to check on her. She kissed the top of my head and said, “You’re so strong, Maxwell Granger. You’re the strongest boy I know.”
“Dammit, Max!” Aggi shouts. “Get in this car before you freeze to death.”
My chest constricts. This can’t be happening. Aggi, commanding I get into the car. I pinch the bridge of my nose and flick a tear from my cheek. Strongest boy, my ass.
26
Aggi
HOT PUFFS OF AIR HIT my neck every three seconds. I sniff, hoping to detect a hint of peppermint or Tic Tacs, but I’m also concentrating on keeping my own mouth closed so I don’t flood the car with bacon breath. Lucio & Sons’ BLT pizza lingers in your mouth for days, no matter how many mints you pop, and I had no time to pop one before I yelled at Max to get into the car.
“Turn here.” Henry hits the back of Umé’s seat, and Umé cranks the wheel. Our bodies tilt.
“A little notice next time would be great,” Umé snaps.
“Sorry. I don’t know this part of town.”
I fumble with the heater, adjusting it to blow stronger on the back seat. Max is likely cold.
“This should be the street,” Henry says. “A few more houses down on the right.”
“A college party, huh?” Umé says. “You sure you’re invited?”
Henry laughs. “Most definitely invited.”
“By a girl named Jen,” Max says, and I hold my breath.
“By a woman named Jen,” Henry corrects.
“Do tell more,” Umé says. “This Jen’s in college?”
“She works campus security, too,” Henry says. “Could she be any more amazing?”
Cars line the curb, packed so tightly no one’s going to be able to leave. Umé slows in front of a duplex where two shabby recliners sit on a front porch.
“This is it!” Henry shouts.
I grab the oh, shit handle on the roof as Umé whips into the driveway, slams the car into reverse, and backs up.
“Where are you going?” Henry snaps. “Just let us out here.”
“Settle it, Henry. I’m not getting wedged in like the rest of these drunks.” Umé parallel parks between a dumpster and a car buried by a snowplow, and cuts the engine.
“We’re coming with you,” Umé says, smiling at me. “This definitely looks like the place to be, and Aggi and I don’t have any plans . . . Right, Aggi?”
Umé and Henry make eye contact in the mirror, and I pretend not to notice. Ano
ther plan our best friends contrive to get Max and me alone. I sink deeper into the seat, and Max’s knee drives into my back as he shifts and climbs from the car. It’s the tightest space we’ve been in together for months. Aside from Max grabbing my ass in the lake, we haven’t touched each other, either, which reminds me that I really should thank him for helping me with Grace.
“No plans,” Umé repeats. “Right, Aggi?” She seems to be speaking in slow motion.
My eyes fixate on Max, his hand, opening my door. Why is he doing that? Now’s not the time for his Southern gentleman charm. But maybe now is the time for me to say thank you.
Max stares at the ground as I climb from the car. I am close enough to see his chapped lips and dimples. My arm brushes his coat. I want to scream.
His head lifts as I move beside him. “Hi,” he whispers, and closes his eyes.
This is not a good idea, the voice in my head shouts. Go home! Get out of here, before Dad catches you with him! I try to silence the words that cement my legs to the ground, but Max, Henry, Umé, all watch with eager eyes. Well, Max is back to staring at his feet and those ridiculously oversized shoes he’s wearing.
Henry pushes Max toward the sidewalk, and Umé says, “Come on. This is going to be good for you.”
I shake my head. “This is not a good idea.” Max and Henry reach the front door and Max turns. “This is, in fact, the worst possible idea ever,” I say.
“Partying with college kids,” Umé says. “What could possibly go wrong?”
At the front door, the bass rattles the windows. Umé grabs my hand and shouts to be heard, “Will you promise to at least talk to him? Nobody here knows you! No one will find out!”
Umé’s words flutter in my mind and believing them is dangerous. Even if I’m among a sea of strangers, my father’s ears burn. After Kate died and the attorneys fueled my father’s paranoia, he started questioning my every move. Where was I going? Who was I with? Myself, bound by fear, I let my dad shackle me and keep me from the boy I love. Max embodies freedom to my father, which scares him after he’s lost one child. How can he lose another? But he doesn’t understand that by shutting everyone out, by turning his back on the people he once loved, he’s destroying the family he has left. Max didn’t hurt our family. Max and his parents aren’t to blame. But Dad refuses to hear the truth. He loves his anger more than he loves his family.
Stopping at the door, Umé and I stare at each other. “Do we knock?” I ask.
Umé shrugs. “What did Max and Henry do? Why didn’t they wait for us?”
I didn’t see Max or Henry go in, and I’m unsure what we should do now. I’ve never been to a college party, only lake-kid parties where we sit on docks, build bonfires, throw Frisbees, and swim. Nothing’s preplanned and organized. We simply show up to an outdoor space and call it a party. After Connor moved to the lake, we started getting invites to get-togethers and cookout brunches, and Max complained a lot about Connor trying too hard to fit in, but we always went. We loved seeing the lake through a different lens.
“What if we were supposed to bring beer?” Umé asks.
My face scrunches. “Isn’t there a rule that if you drink you should bring something? We just won’t drink.”
Umé nods in full agreement.
I punch the doorbell as a car pulls up at the curb and out pile four girls and a guy. We back up as they push for the door, and follow into the house behind them like we’re part of their squad.
Umé palms my back. “It’s so dark in here!”
The foyer—all four feet of it—dumps into a crowded living room. Shoulders bump shoulders as we slide through the crowd. I glimpse Henry weaving around warm bodies in search of the campus security girl. Jen sounds great, and I’m excited to meet her. I already picture her standing six inches taller than Henry. Henry has height criteria that must be met. He likes tall, muscular, or meaty girls—the reason he was attracted to Umé until she made it quite clear they weren’t compatible. Henry’s always been into girls who could potentially kick his ass (his words) but would never, ever, in a million years do so.
A guy twists in front of me and elbows my boob.
“Excuse me!” I snap, and he whips around.
“Can I help you?” he asks, scanning me head to toe.
I scrunch my nose and squeeze through the crowded room in search of someplace to sit. When I reach a sofa, I plop onto the rust-colored cushion and catch a glimpse of Umé on the other side of the room.
She shouts, “You going to be okay?” and I shoot a thumbs-up. “I’ll be right here in the kitchen!” She points to a connecting room.
The girl next to me smiles. “Weed’s in the basement.”
My eyes widen—an obvious sign that I am not in college—but I nod to assure her I’m fully aware of the weed location. What I want to say is that the weed is everywhere. The air thick with the distinct skunk smell.
My phone vibrates in my hand with a text from Henry.
I swipe the screen. Would you meet me in the basement? X
My heart revs, and I read the message again. It’s not from Henry. X is Max. He’s been X since we were kids. I’ve been O since our first kiss.
I send a text to Umé. Max is texting me from Henry’s phone. Are you aware?
Umé: Yep.
Me: Why?
Umé: He can’t use his phone. Your dad, remember?
I frantically type. My dad will check MY phone. Remember?
Umé: Just go to the basement! NOW!!! Then delete all texts.
I groan, and the girl next to me asks if I’m okay. A quick nod, and I say, “I really need to get to the basement.”
She smiles sympathetically. “Second door on the right.”
Meeting Max in a dark basement filled with marijuana smoke isn’t exactly the picture of romance, but love leads you through darkness, or a dark smoke-filled basement, walls lined with drunk and lip-locked college students. Everything will be fine, I tell myself. Dad will never know. It’s not like I’m planning to run away with Max; we’re only going to talk. I’m going to say, Thank you, Max, for helping rescue Grace. I’d be the world’s biggest asshole if I didn’t at least do that.
As I walk down the stairs toward the basement, the pungent smoke makes my eyes water. Can you be allergic to weed?
In the basement, it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim light and thick haze. I glance around the room for Max and glimpse Henry talking to a gorgeous girl I assume is Jen. She matches Henry in height, which makes me smile. Henry reaches toward her and picks lint from her shoulder, and she collects his hand in hers and yanks him toward her. Way to go, Henry.
There’s Umé cornering the stairwell and strutting over to a table. She plops on top and crosses her legs. A guy and girl turn toward her and laugh at something she says. No matter the setting, Umé fits like the missing puzzle piece.
I scoop my hair across one shoulder, draw a deep breath, and try not to cough. Max, standing on the other side of the room, leans against the back of an empty chair. He’s rubbing his neck, back, shoulder, arm. I can hardly keep track of Max’s hands. They fidget until his eyes land on me, and all movement in the room stops.
I step forward, and Max matches my move. The voices wind up in my head and prevent a second step. He probably blames you like his family does. But if he did, would he have sent me that text? He’s been seeing other girls. He’s just going to tell you to move on. But I need to thank him, and if I don’t do it now, there may not be another opportunity. You’re using Grace as an excuse.
“So what?” I murmur, and step forward.
Tonight I actually have an excuse to talk to Max. Six months may pass before another excuse presents itself, and I can’t even think of what could happen to us during that time. If I go home now, I’ll sit in my room all night thinking on what I should have done. Max jumped into the lake without hesitation. He didn’t think; he reacted. He ordered the guys on the dock to make sure we were okay. Max wasn’t putting on
a show. I know him better than that.
As if a giant robot hand picks me up in its metal claw by the back of the shirt and carries me over to Max, suddenly I’m in front of him. I don’t remember the walk, sidestepping the crowd of college kids, but here I am, six inches from him, saying, “Hey.”
“Hey.” His response is breathy, and his warm eyes make me tremble with excitement, and also with fear that someone will see me. Someone who knows my dad. Someone who knows what I’m feeling. “Thanks for meeting me here,” he says, and my throat catches.
The urge to grab Max and kiss him comes out of nowhere.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He leans forward. “I’m sorry. What?”
“Thank you,” I repeat, though I think his question was an excuse to move closer.
His eyebrows arch, cheekbones surface. “For what?”
“What you did for Grace. You know, helping to find her.”
We smile at the same time; then our chins drop and we stare at our feet, unsure how to navigate this awkward moment. Suddenly, I’m aware of the music in the room, louder than before. And it’s a song Cal used to play on his guitar. One Kate used to sing. I glance at Max. He raises his chin and our eyes lock.
“You don’t have to—”
“What?”
“Huh?”
“I want to—”
Max leans toward my face, and I think he’s going to kiss me. I’m unsure how to feel about it, except—maybe—I want him to?
His voice. The hazy room. Guitar chords.
Instinctively, I shut my eyes.
27
Max
AGGI SHUTS HER EYES, AND I don’t know what to do. The music and voices make it impossible to hear her. Did she ask me to kiss her? I lean closer, and for a moment I think: Maybe? Should I? But this is all happening so fast. Then instinct takes over, and I’m cupping her cheek.
Aggi’s eyes pop open then quickly shut, and I draw a deep breath.
“No need to thank me,” I shout in Aggi’s ear, and her eyes snap open again. “I wish I’d been sitting on the dock with her and stopped it from happening.”
Since We Last Spoke Page 13
