The Fixes

by Owen Matthews

  (definitely no Connelly Man).

  “I should get back to it,” E says, a big, cheesy fake smile on his face. “What time does your plane leave?”

  “Hmm?” his dad says. “The flight’s in an hour and a half.” He looks past E again. Takes a long hard look at Jordan. Then his eyes go back to E, and his forehead goes all Mariana Trench.

  “Eric, your shirt is on inside out,” he says. “And if you think I don’t see your friend trying to pull his socks back on, you’re both kidding yourselves.” He looks at E, hard. “What’s really going on here?”

  E feels his face flush. “It’s not what you think,” he tells his dad. But he can tell from his dad’s thundercloud expression that it’s pointless to even try.

  222.

  “You were fooling around down here,” E’s dad says. “You haven’t been home in days, but you brought your friend over to have sex in my house. And now you have the gall to lie to my face about it.”

  “So what?” E replies. It’s out of his mouth before he knows he’s saying it. “Are you actually going to stand there and judge me? You’re not exactly, like, a paragon of virtue.”

  His dad’s face is turning angry red. “We don’t raise Connelly Men to be morally bankrupt,” he says, his voice trembling. “I’ve put up with a lot of bullshit from you this summer, Eric. But I will not tolerate this kind of perversity.”

  E can’t think of an answer that won’t get him disowned. It doesn’t matter. Jordan butts in.

  “So what are you going to do, Senator?” he asks. “You going to kick his ass like you beat up that faggot in San Francisco? Are you going to teach him a lesson?”

  E’s dad spins at Jordan, furious. “You did this. You did this to my son.”

  “I’d say we did it to each other, but whatever turns you on.” Jordan winks at E as he stands up from the bed. “We were going to fuck around in E’s bed like a couple of big gay homos, but you had to come down and cock-block us. I guess we’ll have to take this party somewhere else. Wouldn’t want you to have to commit another hate crime.”

  E’s dad does look ready to unleash another beating. “Get. Out.”

  “What did I just say? I’m leaving.” Jordan sidles in close to E. He has his arm around E’s waist before E can react. “But I’m taking your son with me.”

  (Dude! Shut the fuck up!)

  E’s dad makes a move toward them, and E thinks, This is it, Roger Dodger redux—

  (or maybe he’ll just murder me first).

  “Do it,” E says, stepping in front of him. “Go on and hit him, you hypocrite. And then watch how I tell Mom what you’re really about.”

  But his dad stops himself. He’s red all over and, like, shaking with rage, but he doesn’t hit anybody.

  “Don’t come back, Eric. I won’t have this filth in my home.”

  E’s legs are jelly. He feels numb. He lets Jordan push him away from his dad and out to the hallway. Up the stairs.

  “You should try practicing this filth sometime, Senator,” Jordan calls back. “Maybe then you wouldn’t be such a douchebag.”

  223.

  E follows Jordan.

  He follows Jordan out through the back door and across the backyard, and down the alley and around the block to the curb where his Tesla is parked. He climbs in the passenger seat, and Jordan drives away, and E doesn’t look back at his house or his dad; he doesn’t really look anywhere.

  He just sits in the car and lets Jordan drive them somewhere, while he tries to figure out how he’s supposed to be feeling right now.

  224.

  “That was shitty, what happened with your dad,” Jordan says. “I’m sorry he caught us.”

  Jordan and Eric are sailing up the coast in the Sundancer, north of the city. They passed Lighthouse Park a few hours ago, and they’re still going. There aren’t many boats on the water. The land is mostly forest and rock, a few stubby islands. They’re almost completely alone.

  Eric has calmed down, a little bit. He’s kind of, maybe, a little bit happy, actually. A little bit relieved. His mom was going to find out eventually, and his dad was never going to like it.

  Still, though.

  “I can’t ever go home again,” Eric says. “He won’t let me back in the house.”

  Jordan rolls his eyes. “Why would you actually want to go back there? You want to live with that guy? He’s an asshole.”

  “What else would I do?” Eric says. “He’s my dad.”

  “You’re almost eighteen. You’ll officially be an adult soon. You can do whatever you want.”

  “Not all of us are as freaking loaded as you. I don’t exactly have access to unlimited funds.”

  “So you stay with me for a while. Figure out what you want. You don’t have to go back there.”

  “And what about law school?”

  “There are, like, hundreds of law schools, E. You’re a smart human being. If you really want to go to law school, you’ll get in. You don’t need your dad for that.”

  Jordan disappears into the galley. Comes back with a drink. “Here,” he says, handing Eric the glass. “Look around. We’re in paradise, just you and me. We have enough fuel, drugs, and groceries to last us for days.”

  He settles in beside Eric. Pulls him close. “Do you really want to spend that time thinking about your dad?”

  225.

  Jordan and E are away for three days.

  (It’s actually really nice.)

  E gets over the stuff with his dad. He pushes it away and tries not to think about it. Jordan helps. He’s a good distraction. They drive the boat into some inlet in the middle of nowhere, drop the anchor, swim, cook food, and fool around, and repeat the process.

  “It’s just you and me,” Jordan tells E as they’re sunning themselves on the front of the boat. “Haley and Paige are important, too—they’re integral, obviously—but when it comes down to it, E, we have to decide who we can trust.”

  “We can’t trust the girls?” E asks.

  Jordan purses his lips. “Haley’s probably cool,” he says. “She’s a ride-or-die chick. But Paige is already bugging out; have you noticed?”

  E nods. He has noticed.

  “It’s like she doesn’t believe in the cause anymore. Like she’s having second thoughts. Would you agree?”

  E’s pretty sure Paige is having second thoughts. In fact, she’s practically told him this.

  “Sooner or later, the day’s going to come when we have to decide,” Jordan says again. “We have to decide who we can trust.”

  “We can trust Paige,” E says. “She’s not going to, like, snitch on us or anything.”

  Jordan lies back. Stares up at the cloudless blue sky. “I just think we should be careful. We’ve made so much progress so far, but the best is yet to happen. And when it comes down to it, E, I need to know you’re with me.”

  “I’m with you,” E says.

  Jordan props himself up on his arm. “You swear it? You’re in this to the end?”

  “To the very end,” E says. “I swear.”

  Jordan sits back down again. “Good. That’s all I needed to hear.”

  226.

  (It should be obvious that this is going to turn out to be A VERY BAD DECISION.)

  227.

  To the end.

  It sounds good when Jordan says it. It has a nice ring to it. E lies there on the deck and closes his eyes and thinks about how good life could be, if it really were him and Jordan. If they could go out like boyfriends and be a couple in public, maybe move in together and, you know, play house.

  They could still go to shows and warehouse parties and do crazy things, but at the end of the night, they would be alone together, just the two of them. And E would feel safe, and he could live in the Moment, without ever having to worry that he was fucking things up.

  (And maybe E would be good for Jordan, too. He could help Jordan figure out what he’s going to do with his life, and, you know, work through the Suicide Pa
ck stuff, and the stuff with his parents.

  Maybe they could be good for each other.)

  The sun is starting to drift down over the islands to the west. The sky is starting to turn purple and gold. E rolls over on his towel and looks at Jordan until he looks back.

  “What?” he says, lowering his Wayfarers. He’s smiling, a little bit. E leans over and kisses him.

  “Nothing,” E says. “I just think I’m falling for you.”

  228.

  E and Jordan tie the boat up at Capilano Marina three days later. They’re sunburned and salt-encrusted and tired. Their phones are full of missed calls. Texts they’ve ignored. Messages on their voice mail.

  There are, like, eighteen missed calls from E’s home number—

  (Must be his mom, E figures, because his dad would see calling as a form of weakness. He would expect E to come crawling back.).

  There’s a missed call from the Railtown Health Center, a voice mail from Liam asking E how he’s doing—

  (he’d called in sick from the Sundancer).

  There are a few texts from Paige and Haley, too, but nothing serious. E puts his phone away. Debates turning it off again. He isn’t ready to be back in the real world, not yet. He’s wishing they could turn around and sail away on that boat again. He’s kind of wishing he and Jordan could just sail away together, like, permanently.

  Like, forever.

  KIK -- CAPILANO HIGH PRIVATE MESSAGE GROUP – 08/06/16 – 01:44 PM

  USERNAME: Anonymous-9

  MESSAGE: Ooh, scary terrorist bombers. Let’s see how tough the Pack is when they can’t hide anymore. It’s only a matter of time . . .

  229.

  There are about a hundred new replies on the Capilano High message group. Nearly all of them are from kids badgering Anonymous-9 to give up what he/she knows about the Pack.

  “Fuck that guy,” Jordan tells E. “He’s trying to steal our fucking fame for himself.”

  “It has to be someone from Cap, though,” E tells the others. “He’s in the school message thread, whoever it is.”

  “So who the hell knows us?” Haley says. “Who wants beef with the Suicide Pack?”

  They think about it, all four of them. There’s one obvious answer.

  “Callum Fulchrest,” E says. “You guys stole his dad’s painting. You publicly shamed him. If he figures out it was you, he could be getting revenge.”

  Haley shakes her head. “Callum’s in Barcelona. Anyway, he’s a chump. This isn’t his style.”

  “But what if it is, though?”

  “Whoever it is, they sound pretty cocky,” Paige says. “Maybe we should tone it down for a while. Lay off the Fixes.”

  Jordan gives E a meaningful look.

  “Or the Vines, anyway,” Haley says. “The last one was pretty obvious. Maybe we don’t need to be so freaking bold.”

  Jordan doesn’t respond. He doesn’t say anything. He makes the others wait until he’s sure they’re listening.

  “We’re not letting this loser push us around,” he says. “We’re doing this town a service. If this asshole wants to interfere, he can face the consequences.”

  E and Haley and Paige kind of look at each other.

  (Like, What are the consequences?)

  “Let’s watch this guy close,” Jordan says. “Maybe we can fix him, too.”

  230.

  You probably already figured it out, but that last chapter?

  Total foreshadowing.

  Sooner or later, E and the rest of the Pack are going to come to a reckoning with Anonymous-9. You know it, and I know it.

  We just don’t know how.

  231.

  E goes back to the Railtown Health Center on Monday morning. It’s the first time he’s been back since, well, the Côte d’Azur bombing.

  “Must have been some kind of food poisoning,” Liam says when E walks into the office. “And look, you even got a tan.”

  “I fell asleep in the backyard,” E tells him. “It was the first time I slept all week. I was, like, out.”

  Liam gives him a look, like, Yeah right.

  “Anyway, I’m feeling a lot better now. So what do you need me to do?”

  Liam shuffles some papers. “I had this whole big project lined up for you. Something big and fun and, like, meaningful. But then you got sick and bailed on me and now I don’t really need it done anymore.”

  “Crap,” E says. “Okay. So what should I do instead?”

  “Instead?” Liam shrugs, looks around. “I guess you could make a pot of coffee.”

  232.

  So that kind of sucks.

  Liam has E on grunt work. Menial tasks. Intern shit:

  Making coffee.

  Photocopying.

  Picking up lunch from the diner down the street.

  Cleaning the bathrooms.

  Taking out the trash.

  (Bitch work.)

  But whatever.

  Liam was ready to give E a solid reference letter without him even walking into the health center. If he wants to be mad that E took off for a week, so be it. Let him hate.

  E has other things to focus on.

  Better things.

  Like Jordan.

  233.

  Life is good.

  E and Jordan celebrate. They party. They live in VIP, in penthouses and lofts, in warehouses and shitty dive bars down by the docks. They take Jordan’s Sundancer out to Wreck Beach again, and they bump Y.G. loud and piss off the naked hippies. They tan. They drink. They fall asleep by the pool.

  (E loses himself in Jordan.)

  It never gets boring.

  It never gets old.

  The police don’t come looking. The phone calls from home stop. E’s free of EXPECTATIONS. Free of his dad’s PLAN.

  (Free to be his own CONNELLY MAN.)

  They party with Haley and Paige, sometimes, and sometimes they don’t. But Jordan and E always go home together.

  Always.

  (This is paradise.)

  E’s happy.

  He’s really freaking happy.

  234.

  Meanwhile, Haley’s just about ready to move out herself.

  It’s been almost two weeks since the Côte d’Azur bombing. Haley’s mom hasn’t quit crying since. Haley’s dad tolerates it, for a couple of days. Then he gets bored.

  “The insurance will cover the damages, Monica,” he says. “We’ll rebuild the store even better than before.”

  But Haley’s mom isn’t having it. “It isn’t about the money,” she tells Haley, after her dad has checked out and disappeared somewhere. “I put my heart and soul into that place. And that someone would just destroy it for no reason, it’s just—”

  She starts crying before she can finish. Haley rubs her back, tries to tell her it’s okay.

  Tinsley can’t come home from Los Angeles. She’s stuck doing reshoots on that Sofia Coppola movie. It’s on Haley to bring her mom Kleenex and coffee, try to convince her to eat something.

  (For god’s sake, grow up, she’s thinking the whole time. It’s just a freaking store. It’s not like I died. It’s not like Tinsley died.)

  “At least I won’t get fat,” her mom says, after refusing Haley’s latest offer to, like, make her a sandwich. “But maybe you could fix me a drink, sweetheart.”

  A couple police officers show up at the house. Detectives, a man and a woman. Haley answers the door, brings them into the kitchen to wait for her mom to come down from her bedroom.

  The detectives both look like they’re seven feet tall. Every time they look at Haley, she’s sure they can tell what she did.

  “Do you want some coffee?” she asks. “Or maybe a sandwich?”

  The man cop—his name is Dawson—says yes to a ham sandwich. The woman—Richards—only takes coffee. She’s tall, but not fat. Haley wonders if she’s trying to keep her figure, too.

  (#BikiniSeason.)

  “I’m sure my mom could get you a discount on a nice swimsuit,” sh
e blurts out, before she even knows what she’s doing. The cops frown at her, eyebrows raised. “You know, for helping to solve the case.”

  The cops swap glances. “We haven’t solved it yet,” Dawson says.

  “I know,” Haley says. “But, like, if you do.”

  There’s an awkward pause. “I don’t think we’re allowed to take presents,” Richards says finally. “But that’s very nice of you to offer.”

  “Sure,” Haley says. “No big deal.”

  They all go silent again, and Haley listens for her mom but can’t hear her. The cops are looking at her some more. “So, do you have any leads?” she asks them. “I guess you guys must be looking pretty hard.”

  Dawson doesn’t say anything. He’s just studying Haley. But Richards shakes her head. “No leads yet. We’re still waiting on lab reports, canvassing for witnesses, all of that. But you’re right; this case is a high priority for us.”

  Haley nods.

  “This may seem like fun and games to the perpetrators, but someone could have been seriously hurt by that bomb,” Richards continues. “We just want to find these people before they put anyone else at risk.”

  “And we will,” Dawson tells Haley. “We’ll catch up to whoever set that bomb. Mark my words.”

  235.

  Jordan and E drive back to Studio City to pick up more explosives. “I blew our whole stash on Haley’s Fix,” he tells E. “Gotta prepare for my turn, though.”

  “One bomb wasn’t enough?” E replies.

  Jordan shakes his head. Downshifts and pulls out into the passing lane. “The Côte d’Azur was just a test run. I had to make sure the bomb actually worked.”

  “It works,” E says. “So what’s your target?”

  But Jordan just smiles. “Fixes always stay secret, E; you know that. You’ll have to wait and see.”

  236.