One of Us Is Next

by McManus, Karen M.

  I watch Cooper on the mound, disconcerted by how impossible it is to recognize him from this distance. With his hat pulled low over his face, he could be anyone. “How do you make that choice?” I ask, almost to myself. “Between what you need and what you want?” I feel like my sister’s going through her own version of that.

  Kris’s eyes are on Cooper, too. “You hope they become the same thing, I guess.”

  “What if they don’t?”

  “I have no idea.” Kris sucks in a breath as the batter makes contact with Cooper’s next pitch, but it’s a harmless grounder that the shortstop fields easily. “The Padres keep checking in,” he adds. “They really want him, and they have a high draft position this year.”

  “Would it be an easier decision if he could stay local? He’d still have to travel a ton, obviously, but at least he’d be close to home.”

  I don’t mean Bayview, exactly, and I think Kris knows that. He allows himself a small smile. “It might.”

  I smile back through a tangle of conflicting emotions. On one hand, it feels strange to be here with dozens of other Bayview High students in such a cheerful atmosphere, two weeks after Brandon died. On the other, it’s a relief to be focused on something positive for a change. I’m happy for Kris and Cooper, because they deserve every good thing, and I’m excited about their future.

  Not so much about mine, though.

  I push up the sleeve of my long-sleeved T-shirt to trace the outline of another bruise. I feel like a peach left too long on a windowsill, right before it collapses on itself. Deceptively smooth on the outside, but slowly rotting at the core.

  And then I feel it: moisture trickling through my nose again. Oh no. Not here.

  I grab a tissue from my bag and press it against my face, rising to my feet at the same time. “Bathroom,” I say to Kris, stepping over him and Nonny with a murmured apology on my way to the aisle. The steps are clear, with nearly everyone in their seats and focused on Cooper, so I’m able to make my way to the women’s room quickly. I don’t look at the tissue until I’m in a stall with the door locked behind me.

  Bright red.

  I collapse onto the toilet seat and the tears come, silently but so hard that my shoulders shake. Despite my best efforts at pretending none of this is happening, it is, and I don’t know what to do. I feel isolated, hopeless, terrified, and just plain exhausted. Tears mix with blood as I swipe tissue after tissue over my face, until I finally rip at least three feet of toilet paper out of the dispenser and bury my head in the entire thing.

  Both the tears and the nosebleed stop around the same time. I stay where I am for at least another inning, letting my breathing even out and my heart rate slow. Then I stand, flush my mass of tissues and toilet paper, and leave the stall. I splash water on my face at the sink, staring at my reflection in the hazy mirror. Could be worse. My eyes aren’t all that red, and I’m not wearing any makeup to smudge. I run a brush through my tangled hair, wash my hands, and step outside onto the concourse.

  The restrooms are around the corner from the concession stand, and the first thing I see is a small knot of familiar faces: Sean, Jules, Monica, and Luis. Jules is wrapped so tightly around Sean that she’s in danger of spilling the tray of snacks he’s holding. Monica keeps touching Luis’s arm, batting her eyelashes at him. They’re all laughing and joking like they’re on the greatest double date of their lives and don’t have a care in the world.

  For a second, I hate them all.

  “All right, man, thanks,” Luis says, handing something to Sean. “I gotta go.”

  Monica gives a flirty little pout. “You’re not leaving, are you?” she asks. “After we bought all these snacks? Somebody has to share the popcorn with me.”

  “No way. I wouldn’t miss Coop. I’ll see you guys back in the seats, okay?” The other three turn away, still laughing, and Luis heads in my direction. I should duck into the women’s room again, but my legs refuse to cooperate.

  He stops a few feet away when he spots me. “Maeve, hey.” His brow furrows as he looks more closely. “Everything okay?”

  Maybe my eyes aren’t quite as normal as I’d hoped. “Fine,” I say. I cross my arms and push away the memory of my crying spell in the bathroom. “He’s an asshole, you know.”

  “What?” Luis turns around, like he thinks I’m talking about someone behind him. “Who?”

  “Sean. He’s been horrible to Knox and Phoebe and…other people.”

  “Oh. Yeah, well, we played ball together, so.” He shrugs like that’s the only explanation needed. My temper spikes and I’m glad for the distraction.

  “So you’re bros,” I say sarcastically. “Awesome.”

  Luis goes still, his eyes narrowing. “What does that mean?”

  “It means you all stick together, don’t you? Dudebros unite, and who cares about anyone else.” My skin prickles with residual fear, misplaced anger, and something else I can’t put a name to. “I guess he can do whatever he wants as long as he throws a ball far enough.”

  “Dudebro,” Luis says flatly. “That’s what you think of me?”

  “That’s what you are.” I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore. All I know is that it feels good to unleash some of the frustration that’s been building inside me for weeks.

  His jaw ticks. “I see. Is that why you dropped off the face of the earth?”

  “I didn’t—” I pause. Okay, maybe I did. But he didn’t knock himself out looking for me, either. My nose tingles, and dread rushes up my spine. Another nosebleed is going to start again soon, I can tell. “I have to go. Enjoy your popcorn.”

  Oh. So that’s the other thing I’m feeling. Jealous.

  “Hang on.” Luis’s voice is commanding enough that I pause. His shoulders are squared, his face tense. “I was hoping to run into you tonight. I wanted to get your number, finally.” My heart does a stupid leap despite itself, then crashes back down when he adds, “Now that I know how you feel about dudebros, I won’t bother you, but there’s still something I want to send you. It’s for Knox, actually, but you’re the one here, so.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Can you tell me your number? Once you have these you can go ahead and delete me from your phone or your life or whatever.”

  I’m seized with regret, but also with the certainty that I’m about to start bleeding in front of him. I recite my number quickly, and Luis presses a few keys before putting his phone away. “Might take a while to come through. They’re big files. Tell Knox I hope it helps.”

  He strides away just as a trickle of blood escapes my nose. It starts to fall faster, even dripping onto my shirt, but I don’t move to wipe it away. I don’t know what just happened, other than the fact that I was horrible to Luis for no good reason, and trampled whatever might’ve been going on between us straight into the ground.

  Which sucks, but it’s not even close to my biggest problem right now.

  “Maeve. What the fuck.”

  I look up to see Nate carrying a full cup of soda in each hand, his eyes flicking from my face to the blood on my shirt. I’ve never told him what nosebleeds mean for me, but from the look on his face, Bronwyn did. Something breaks inside me, and before I can get hold of myself, I start crying again.

  Nate tosses both sodas into a nearby trash can without another word. He puts an arm around me and leads me out of the main concourse to a side area with a few scattered picnic tables. It’s not private, exactly, but we’re the only ones there. He sits us both down, his arm still wrapped around my shoulders. I collapse into him, sobbing against his chest for I don’t know how long. Nate keeps pulling crumpled napkins out of his pocket until he runs out and I have to press them together in a damp, bloodstained mess. All I can think, while I clutch Nate’s jacket and he keeps a steady hand on my arm, is that I’m finally not alone with this.

  When I sit up a
t last, wiping my eyes, he says, “Bronwyn didn’t tell me.”

  I dig a tissue out of my purse and blow my nose. “She doesn’t know.”

  Nate’s dark-blue eyes widen. “Your parents didn’t tell her?”

  “They don’t know, either. Nobody does.”

  “Maeve. What the fuck,” he says again. It doesn’t seem like the sort of comment that needs a reply, so I don’t. “But doesn’t this…I mean, just to make sure I’m understanding things here. This is something that happens when you relapse, right?” I nod. “So you can’t…You have to…Why? Why would you keep something like this to yourself?”

  My voice is low and hoarse. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

  “What what’s like?” Nate asks.

  “Relapsing.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It’s just—everything changes. Everyone is sad. Normal life stops and we all climb on this miserable treatment roller coaster that only goes down. It’s horrible and it hurts in every way possible, and the worst thing is, it doesn’t work.” I’d start crying again if I weren’t completely spent. I sag against Nate’s shoulder instead, and his arm tightens around me. “It never works for long. Four years is the longest ever. I thought maybe I’d never have to do it again and I…I don’t know if I can.”

  Nate is quiet for a few seconds. “Okay,” he says finally. “I get that. But this is your life, Maeve. You have to try. Don’t you think?”

  I’m so unbelievably tired. If I closed my eyes now, I’d sleep for days. It’s not a comforting thought. “I don’t know.”

  “If you won’t do it for yourself, then do it for your family, okay?” Nate’s voice gets urgent. “Think about your mom and dad. And Bronwyn. How would they feel if you…If something happens, they’ll drive themselves crazy wondering whether things could have been different if you’d trusted them enough to tell them.”

  I stiffen. “It’s not about trust.”

  “But that’s what they’ll think.” I don’t reply, and he presses. “You know it’s what Bronwyn will think. She’ll blame herself for not being here, or not guessing. And it will eat at her for the rest of her life.”

  Damn him. He just poked my Achilles’ heel, and he knows it. When I sit up, he already looks relieved. “Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll talk to my parents.”

  As soon as I say it, a wave of relief crashes over me, washing away some of the dread that’s been building for weeks. It hits me, then, how badly I’ve wanted to tell them, but I’d let myself get frozen with fear and indecision. I needed a push.

  Nate exhales a long breath. “Thank Christ.”

  “You need to do something for me in return, though,” I warn. He raises his eyebrows, quizzical. “Get your head out of your ass when it comes to my sister.”

  Nate’s surprised laugh breaks the tension enough that I smile, too. “Listen, Maeve. You don’t have to worry about Bronwyn and me. We’re endgame.”

  I wipe a stray tear from the corner of my eye. “What does that mean?”

  “It means we’ll wind up together eventually. It might take a year for us to sort everything out, or two, or ten. Whatever. But it’ll happen.”

  “Maybe you should tell her that,” I suggest.

  He gives me that famous Nate Macauley grin that always turns my sister into a puddle. “She knows. She might not admit it yet, but she knows.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Phoebe

  Friday, March 20

  “You guys need to see this,” Maeve says, pulling out her phone.

  She looks positively green, although it might just be the lighting in here. We’re backstage in the Bayview High auditorium, sitting on the floor of some little side room that the drama club uses as an office. I didn’t even know it existed. A desk and chair take up half the space, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves against one wall hold props, books, and folded costumes. The walls are covered in faded Broadway posters, and everything is coated in a thin layer of dust.

  “What is it?” I ask. I’m positioned between her and Knox, which is where I always end up when the three of us are together lately. Knox might not be the school joke anymore, but that doesn’t mean things are okay between him and Maeve. He only came because she insisted, with surprising force.

  “A video that Luis gave me,” Maeve says. “I got it yesterday but—I had kind of an intense night with my parents. Some family stuff going on…Anyway, that’s not really the point. The point is, I didn’t watch it until a little while ago. Luis sent a bunch of videos, I think because he didn’t know what was important, and he clearly didn’t go through it all himself, because he would have said something if he had, because—”

  “Maeve,” I interrupt. “Maybe you should just play the video.”

  “Yes. Okay.” She unlocks her screen and opens her photos. “But just to set it up a little more—this is from Sean Murdock’s phone. It was taken the day Brandon died.”

  I gasp. Knox, who’d been slouching listlessly beside me, sits bolt upright. “Wait. What?” he asks. He scrambles around me until he’s sitting next to Maeve and can stare directly at her phone. “How did Luis get it?”

  “I think he borrowed Sean’s phone last night at Cooper’s game,” Maeve says.

  “Oh my God, Knox,” I say, realizing what she has. “It’s the video. You were right!”

  Maeve’s forehead creases as her eyes dart between us. “You guys already knew about this?” she asks. She sounds both confused and hurt.

  “I don’t know what’s on it,” Knox says. “I had a memory come back of Sean recording something at the construction site but I didn’t know what it was.” He’s practically vibrating with tension as he grips Maeve’s arm. “Play it.”

  She taps Play, and my pulse starts racing when an image of Brandon fills the screen, his hair tousled by the wind. He’s standing right at the edge of the construction site, looking down, and tears spring to my eyes. I almost forgot how beautiful he was. I used to spend entire class periods dreaming about those lips. “This is fucking boring,” he says, and his familiar voice sends chills down my spine. “Why couldn’t I have gotten something like yours?” Brandon continues, twisting to look at someone behind him off camera. “Or even yours.”

  “What are you waiting for, pretty boy?” Sean’s voice, in a high falsetto, comes at us loud and clear. “Not scared of a little jump, are you?”

  “I’m disappointed,” Brandon says, putting his hands on his hips. “There’s no glory in this. I should do a backflip or something.”

  “That would be amazing,” comes a girl’s breathless voice, and my heart stutters. Jules.

  “At least you get to play,” comes another voice that I recognize as Monica’s. “Who or what does a girl have to do to get a freaking Dare around here?”

  “Holy shit—” Knox starts, but I shush him.

  “Me,” Brandon says, and Sean cackles.

  “For a guy who’s not scared, Branny, you sure are talking a lot,” he taunts. “Come on. Let’s capture you for posterity. Jump, motherfucker! Jump, jump, jump!”

  Jules and Monica pick up the chant, and they’re clapping, and oh my God, this is so horrible that I actually whimper. “Does he…do you see him…” I stammer. Then Brandon bends his legs in preparation to jump, and I can’t. I squeeze my eyes shut and press my face tightly against Maeve’s shoulder. I hear the crash anyway.

  “Fucking hell!” Sean’s voice comes out like a scream, high and terrified. “Bran! What the fuck just happened!” I can hear Jules and Monica screaming, too, and I cautiously raise my head to look at Maeve’s screen. The video is nothing but dirt and grass, the ground pitching below Sean as he moves. “Bran! Are you—holy shit.”

  “Where is he?” Jules asks tearfully.

  “He fell through the fucking roof!” Sean yells. His phone is still aimed at the ground,
recording. Monica says something I can’t hear. Then there’s a couple minutes of low, urgent conversation that’s impossible to catch until Sean’s voice comes through again, loud and clear: “What the fuck are you doing here, Myers?” And then the screen goes black.

  “Jesus,” Knox says weakly.

  Maeve swallows hard. “You guys got the gist of that, right?” she asks. “The game didn’t end with Knox and me, after all. Brandon was doing a Dare.”

  “Yeah. Got it.” I blink back tears and press my hands to my stomach. If I’d eaten lunch before watching that, I’d have thrown it up. “Oh my God. That was horrible.”

  Maeve puts a gentle hand on my arm. “I’m sorry. I should’ve warned you better. I keep forgetting that you guys, um, hung out for a while.” She turns to Knox. “I think you were right. It doesn’t seem like Sean punched you to help you. But I’m still not sure why he did.”

  Knox’s eyes remain glued to her dark phone. “Me either. I thought seeing that would jog my memory, but it didn’t.” We’re all quiet for a few minutes, lost in our own thoughts, until Knox adds, “Maeve, you said Luis sent a bunch of videos. Are there any other—”

  “No,” she interrupts quickly. “There’s nothing else about Brandon. The rest is just…personal stuff.” She goes bright red when she says it. Even though I’m still numb with shock, my mouth twists into a grimace.

  “Ew. Please don’t tell me you accidentally watched a Sean sex tape.”

  Maeve looks like she just sucked on a lemon. “No, but there was a…shower selfie.”

  “Oh my God.” I stare at her in horrified commiseration. “Was it…”