* * *
—
The rest of the afternoon passes quietly, and I have to pry Knox away from Owen at five o’clock. My little brother has a serious man crush. “Will you come back?” he asks plaintively.
“Sure,” Knox says, putting his controller down. “I have to learn some new moves first, though, so I can keep up with you.”
“I’ll drive you,” I say. I peeked in on Emma once since I left her, and she looked sound asleep. I keep wondering if I misunderstood the whole scene—maybe she really was drinking water? And just being extra clumsy?—but chances are good she shouldn’t be behind a wheel. Either way, I hope she wakes up as her usual self by the time Mom gets home.
Knox winces, probably remembering all my near-accidents the last time I drove him, but doesn’t protest as I lead him to the elevator. “Thanks for being such a good sport,” I tell him when the doors close. “That was a lot of Bounty Wars time.”
“It’s fine,” Knox says. He puts his hands in his pockets and leans against the back of the elevator as it descends. “Owen is a great player. He has this whole strategy mapped out that’s really—” He shakes his head. “Let’s just say I was outmatched.” We stop, and when the doors open I step out first to lead us to the car. “The weird thing is, though…the game reminded me of something.”
I reach the Corolla and unlock the driver’s side. “What do you mean?”
Knox doesn’t answer until he’s settled in the passenger seat beside me. “Like, you know it’s a bounty hunter game, right?” I nod. “So, there’s different ways you can kill people. You can shoot them or stab them, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
“Or you can be more creative. I had my target on top of a building and I was about to throw him over, like you do, and it reminded me of being at the construction site the day Brandon died. Then I got hit with this…” He blinks as we exit the dark garage into still-bright sunshine, and lowers the visor in front of him. “This—memory, I think.”
“A memory?” I repeat, glancing over at him. “Of Brandon?” My skin prickles at the thought. I’m not sure I’m ready to hear anything new about what happened to Brandon that day.
“No,” Knox says slowly. “Of Sean. It’s just a flash, but…all of a sudden, in my mind’s eye, I saw him standing at the edge of the construction site with his phone held up in front of him. Like he was taking a picture, or a video. And then he yelled, ‘What the fuck are you doing here, Myers?’ ”
“Wait, really?” I turn, staring at him.
Knox braces himself against the dashboard as a horn blares. “That was a stop sign,” he says.
“Oh. Shit. Sorry.” I slow down and raise an apologetic hand toward whoever might be giving me the finger from another car. “But are you serious? I mean, it definitely sounds like Sean, but…why would he say that?”
Knox makes a frustrated noise as he rubs his temple. “Beats me. That’s all I remember. I don’t even know if it’s real.”
I chew the inside of my cheek, considering, as we make the short drive to Knox’s house. Sean’s whole punching Knox to save him story has never made much sense, but Monica and Jules were there too, and they’ve never contradicted him. Of course, Sean and Jules are joined at the hip now, so…there’s that.
“Maybe you should play some more Bounty Wars with Owen and keep jogging your memory,” I tell Knox as I pull into his driveway.
He grins at me and unclips his seat belt. “I have a feeling that’s gonna happen anyway. Your brother might be small, but he’s persistent.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Knox
Tuesday, March 17
Prom is two months away, Knox!
Who are you going with?
You can’t leave this till the last minute.
Christ, my sisters. I’m tempted to close ChatApp without answering and finish my homework in peace, but they’ll just track me down via text. I’ll probably take a friend, I finally reply.
Kiersten jumps in, lightning-quick. Who? Maeve?
Yeah, right. Kiersten has no clue. I’m closer to her than any of my other sisters, but I didn’t tell her about me and Maeve when it happened, and I sure as hell didn’t let her know that I’d been Bayview High’s favorite erectile dysfunction joke for a while. My thoughts have been in a tug-of-war since yesterday; part of me wants to let Sean’s story stand so that mine doesn’t flare up again, and the other part wants to know what the hell he’s up to.
Probably not Maeve, I respond to Kiersten. I wonder, fleetingly, if Phoebe might go with me. As friends, obviously, because she’s so far out of my league that I’d have to be delusional to expect anything else. But I think we’d have fun.
Maeve and I still aren’t great, or even good. Everything that happened with Brandon was the perfect excuse not to talk about this crap, so we haven’t. And the longer we don’t, the harder it is to start. Maybe that’s okay, though. Maybe staying friends with the ex I failed at losing my virginity with has been a problem all along.
I stretch to look at the digital alarm clock on my bedside table from my seat at my desk. Almost eight. I’m usually in for the night at this point, but I’m restless. I could use a short trip somewhere, and maybe a snack. I think about the alfajores at Café Contigo, and my mouth starts watering. Phoebe is working tonight, and Maeve’s been avoiding that place like the plague for some reason. It’s as good a destination as any, so I head for the stairs.
I’m halfway down when I hear my father’s voice. “It looks like there may have been structural support issues, but it’s hard to be sure given how long the site was untouched.” My parents are in our kitchen; I can hear the faint clatter of ceramic against wood as they empty the dishwasher. “The fact remains, though, that the kids were trespassing. Including ours. So if Lance Weber does decide to sue, he might wind up with a counter lawsuit on his hands.”
I freeze where I am, one hand on the banister. Shit. Am I getting sued?
“Lance has some nerve.” Mom’s voice is tight. “I hope this is just the grief talking. I feel for him, of course, because—my God. To lose your son. It’s a nightmare. But for Lance to bring up the possibility of a lawsuit after the strings he pulled to keep Brandon out of trouble—it’s beyond hypocritical.”
I inch closer, straining my ears. What is she talking about?
“That was a mistake from the start,” Dad says grimly. “The case never should have been settled that way. Not for something like that. All it did was show Brandon that actions don’t have to have consequences, which is a terrible lesson. Especially for a kid like him.”
Mom breathes out a heavy sigh. “I know. I still regret not pushing harder. I think about it all the time. But it was my first year at Jenson and Howard, and I was trying not to make waves. If that came across my desk now, I’d treat it differently.”
I wait for my father’s response, but all I hear is a throaty growl and the sound of dog nails clicking across linoleum. Fritz enters the living room, snuffling loudly until he spots me. His tail starts wagging, and his snuffles turn into an excited whine. “Shh,” I hiss. “Sit.” Instead, he keeps whining and pokes his nose through the staircase railing.
A chair scrapes across the kitchen floor. “Knox?” my mother calls. “Is that you?”
I thud the rest of the way downstairs, Fritz tailing me into the kitchen. My mother is leaning beside the sink, and my father is sitting at the table. “Hey,” I say. “What were you guys talking about?”
Dad gets that closed-off, irritated look he’s had ever since I was released from the hospital. “Nothing that concerns you.”
Mom gives me her best good-cop smile. “Do you need something, sweetie?”
“I’m going out for a while.” Does she look relieved? I think she does. “But I heard you guys talking about Brandon. Was he in some kind of trouble?”
“Oh, sweetie, that’s not important. Just your dad and me talking business.”
“Okay, but…” I’m not sure why I’m not letting this go. Usually one steely glare from my father is enough to shut me up, and he’s already given me two. “Your firm did a case with him? You never told me that. What was it?”
Mom stops smiling. “Knox, my work is confidential and you know that. I wasn’t aware you were listening or I wouldn’t have spoken. I’ll ask you not to repeat anything you heard here, please. So.” She clears her throat, and I can practically see her stuff the entire subject into a Do Not Revisit box. “Where are you going?”
I’m not getting anything out of her, obviously. And my dad’s a lost cause. “Café Contigo. Can I take your car?”
“Sure,” she says, too quickly. “Have fun but be home before eleven, please.”
“I will.” I pull her keys off the rack on our kitchen wall with the uncomfortable certainty that I’m missing something important. But I don’t know what.
* * *
—
“What’s up, my man?”
Crap. I came here to see Phoebe, not my new best friend, Sean. But she’s not here and he is, holding up one meaty paw for a high five.
I give in reluctantly. “Hey, Sean.”
“What are you up to?” Sean asks. He’s leaning against the counter, waiting for his order, totally chill. Shooting the shit like he didn’t watch his best friend die less than two weeks ago. Christ, I hate him.
Ever since that maybe-memory popped into my head, I can’t stop thinking about it: Sean standing at the edge of the construction site with his phone trained on something. And then everything goes blank, like a TV shutting off, and I hear his voice: What the fuck are you doing here, Myers?
Did that actually happen? Or am I imagining things?
I wish I could be sure.
Sean is still talking. “I’m picking up dinner for my girl. Food here sucks, but she likes it. What can you do, right?”
“Yeah, right.” I pull out a chair in a corner table near the register and set my backpack down but don’t sit. Sean’s phone is dangling from his hand while he waits. He’s not the type of guy who deletes incriminating pictures or videos, I don’t think. He doesn’t have that much common sense. I clear my throat and lean against the table as Luis comes out of the kitchen with a brown paper bag. “So, hey, Sean,” I say. “Can I ask a favor, man?”
Oh hell. That sounded ridiculous. I don’t know how to talk to guys like Sean. He cocks his head, looking amused, and I keep plowing ahead. “Do you think I could borrow your phone? I have to look something up and I left mine at home.”
Sean pulls his wallet out of his back pocket. “Knox, my man,” he says, extracting a twenty. “You did not. Your phone’s in the side pocket of your backpack.”
I drop into my chair, defeated. I’m beyond pathetic. “Oh yeah. So it is. Thanks.”
“How’s it going?” Sean says to Luis, and they do a complicated fist bump. Sean plays baseball too, well enough that he was on varsity when Cooper and Luis were seniors. “We miss you on the team, man. You going to Fullerton Thursday for Coop’s game?”
“Of course,” Luis says, handing Sean his change.
“Me too, brother.”
“See you there.”
“Sweet.” Sean turns from the register. “Catch you tomorrow, my man,” he says as he passes my table, holding out his hand for yet another high five. I slap his palm, mostly so he’ll get the hell out of here. He’s useless to me now that my sad attempt at espionage fizzled.
I could’ve used Maeve’s skills tonight.
When the door closes behind Sean, Luis grabs a glass and a pitcher of water from the bar and brings them over to my table. He sets both down and fills the glass. “Why’d you want his phone?” he asks.
“I, what?” I fumble. “I didn’t.”
“Come on.” Luis drops into the chair across from me with a shrewd look. “You looked like somebody kicked your puppy when he pointed yours out.”
“Um.” We regard each other for a few seconds in silence. I don’t really know Luis, other than the fact that he stuck by Cooper when almost nobody else did. Plus Phoebe thinks he’s great, and his dad is basically the nicest guy on the planet. I could have worse allies, I guess. “He took a video I want to see. But I don’t think he’d give it to me if I asked directly. Actually, I know he wouldn’t.”
“What kind of video?”
I hesitate. I don’t even know if it’s really there. The whole thing could be a product of my scrambled brain. But maybe it’s not. “Of the construction site the day Brandon died.”
“Huh.” Luis is quiet for a moment, scanning the room to see if anybody else needs his attention. They don’t, and he turns it back to me. “Why do you want it?”
Good question. “I can’t remember much about that day, because of the concussion,” I say. “Some of the things that people tell me happened don’t make sense. I guess I’d like to see it with my own eyes.”
“Luis!” Manny pops his head out of the kitchen. He’s like a fun-house mirror image of Luis: bigger, broader, and a lot more confused-looking. “Do we make guac with garlic or without?”
Luis looks pained. “Jesus, Manny. You ask that every day.”
“So…with?”
“I gotta go,” Luis sighs, getting to his feet. “You want anything?”
“Alfajores,” I say. “But no rush.”
He leaves, and I gaze around me. Now what? I’d been relying on Phoebe to keep me company, and I don’t really know what to do with myself alone in a restaurant. What did Maeve used to do for all those hours? I pull out my phone but immediately put it back when I see I have thirty-seven ChatApp notifications. Maybe later.
The door opens, and a guy my age walks in. I squint until I place him—it’s Intense Guy from a few weeks ago. The one who came looking for Phoebe until Manny and Luis scared him off. I glance at the counter, but nobody’s there. This time, the guy doesn’t stride forward but drops into a corner table and slouches low in the seat. Ahmed, one of the servers, heads over to bring him water. They speak briefly, but nothing about the conversation seems to raise red flags for Ahmed, who leaves the table with his usual pleasant but preoccupied expression.
Intense Guy puts his head down when Manny makes a brief appearance at the counter, but otherwise he scans the room like he’s watching a movie. Ahmed brings him a cup of coffee, and the guy just keeps sitting and staring without drinking it. I’m glad now that Phoebe’s not working, because I have the feeling he’s looking for her again.
Why? Who the hell is this guy? Emma’s ex Derek, maybe? I’ve already forgotten his last name. I grab my phone and pull up Instagram, but it’s pointless—there are millions of Dereks.
After about fifteen minutes of me watching Intense-Guy-slash-Maybe-Derek watch the room—which is just as riveting as it sounds—the guy tosses a bill on the table and takes off without ever having touched his coffee. I’m left with the same vague, uneasy feeling I had in my parents’ kitchen earlier.
I’m missing something.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Maeve
Thursday, March 19
Cooper tenses, winds up, and hurls a blistering fastball across home plate. The opposing batter looks like he’s swatting at a fly when he misses, and the entire stadium erupts into cheers. The batter, down on strikes, hurls his bat toward the dugout in frustration and stalks away.
“Poor sport,” Kris murmurs beside me, putting out an arm so Cooper’s grandmother, seated on his other side, can lean against him while she gets to her feet for a standing ovation. She does it every time Cooper strikes somebody out, which has been a lot this game. It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
We’re at Goodwin Field at Cal State Fullerton on Thursday night, part of a capacity
crowd watching Cooper pitch against UCLA. The stadium seating is like a horseshoe around the field, and we’re almost directly behind home plate in a section that’s full of Bayview High students, past and present. I got a ride here with Addy, who corralled Nate as soon as he showed up and is forcing him to be social. I think I caught a glimpse of Luis sitting with a bunch of Cooper’s ex-teammates, but I looked away before I could be sure. After two weeks of total silence, I don’t even know what I’d say if I ran into him tonight.
My phone buzzes in my hand. I expect a text from Bronwyn, who’s been checking in on Cooper throughout the game, but it’s just my mom asking what time I’ll be home. I still can’t get used to how quiet my phone is ever since I disabled the PingMe alerts. I’m glad I listened to Phoebe about that, especially since the Truth or Dare game ended on its own. I’d like to think whoever did it stopped out of respect for the fact that Bayview High is mourning Brandon, but it’s more likely they just realized they’d lost everyone’s attention.
Every once in a while I still wonder who was behind it all, and whether they had a personal grudge against Phoebe, Knox, and me. But I guess that doesn’t matter. My real problem is that I haven’t figured out how to make things up to Knox. Now that I’ve managed to alienate both him and Luis, my social circle has shrunk once again to Bronwyn’s friends.
Well, and Phoebe. At least she’s still speaking to me.
Cooper throws one of his infamous sliders, and the UCLA batter just stands there looking confused while it’s called a strike. “You might as well sit down right now, young man,” Cooper’s grandmother calls. “You’re already out.”
My mood lifts a little as I lean toward Kris. “Nonny heckling batters might be my favorite thing ever.”
He smiles. “Same. Never gets old.”
“Do you think Cooper will go to the majors next year?” I ask.
“Not sure.” Kris looks extra-cute in a green polo that brings out his eyes, his dark hair full of golden glints from sitting in so many baseball stadiums. “He’s really torn. He loves being at school, and the team has been great. Not just about baseball, but—everything.” Kris gestures wryly to himself. “The majors, on the other hand, still aren’t particularly welcoming to gay players. It’d be a tough transition, especially with all the added pressure. But the reality is, his game won’t advance the way it needs to if he stays at the college level much longer.”
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