A security guard tapped at Brady’s window. Brady looked up at the man’s name tag: T-Bone. “Hey, hey! What’s all this? No one’s allowed here after hours.” T-Bone swirled his flashlight into the car. Brady turned his key in the ignition and drove away as Sunny placed her hand on Brady’s arm.
Miri
At the time, I had no idea what happened with Jonah and Soleil at that meeting. I thought they ditched me to get tacos or something. Jonah has this thing for tacos. When he gets a craving he legit has to have ’em. Seriously, they’re like crack to him. When he wakes up in the hospital he’ll probably ask the nurse for Chipotle in his IV. [laughs]
Okay, now I’m getting hungry.
What is it with guys and food? You’re like bottomless pits. And you never gain any weight. How infuriating. [drinks from a water bottle] Anyway, it was pretty rude of them to leave my meeting like that, if you ask me. I looked up and saw them rushing out at the climax of my reading. I think I got a taste of how Fatima felt when her friends didn’t appreciate her book. But I wasn’t about to stop what I was doing to ask Soleil where they were going. I’d planned that reading for days. I was not pleased. I know now why they left, of course, I read the book—it was the night of a thousand fuckups—none of which were Fatima’s, mind you.
NEW YORK CITY MAGAZINE
FOUR-PART SERIES
* * *
Stranger Than Fiction
The True Story Behind the Controversial Novel
The Absolution of Brady Stevenson
SOLEIL JOHNSTON’S STORY, PART 2 (continued)
* * *
PENNY
Hey Soleil! Security busted us.
Sitting in my car at Warwick &
Flower Field. Where are you guys?
Are u making out? I’m so excited for u!
Heard from Miri? She left with Quinn
and Emma but don’t know where.
OK. Driving now. Where to? Soleil?
Meet at Fatima’s?
Hello . . . . . ?!!!!?
SOLEIL
No. Tired. I went home.
Penny
Soleil texted that she was home, but that was a lie.
How did you know?
I know because it took her so long to text me back that by the time she finally did, I was already getting to Fatima’s house, and I saw Jonah’s car out front.
Oh.
[shakes head] Soleil and Jonah were sitting in the car. I could see them through the back window.
They didn’t notice you?
No. I had my mom’s Mercedes. She wanted my Range Rover for her weekend with her girlfriends at the Cape. Why would Soleil lie to me? I mean, we’re best friends. I would’ve understood if she wanted to be alone to fool around with Jonah. I would’ve wanted that if I liked someone. So, why wouldn’t she just tell me?
That’s a good question.
I didn’t want to be, like, the crazy overreacting friend, though. So, I texted Soleil again to make sure I wasn’t jumping to conclusions. Like, maybe she changed her mind last minute and didn’t have the chance to tell me yet that they went to Fatima’s.
That was a rational move.
I thought so. I texted, “Are you home for the night?”
And what did she answer?
She said, “Yes.”
Bummer.
The Absolution of Brady Stevenson
BY FATIMA RO
(excerpt)
SUNNY
Thora? Are you home?
Brady & I need somewhere to go.
THORA
Come over. What’s wrong?
I know WWB.
What?
South Carlisle
???
Google.
Jesus.
Brady and Sunny sped wordlessly down Northern Boulevard. Brady couldn’t figure out how to defog the windows. He’d meant to study the manual to memorize the dashboard controls but hadn’t gotten around to it yet. Sunny looked on as Brady cracked the window open, ran the wipers, turned some dials. Still foggy. He leaned forward to wipe the windshield with his sleeve. He worked at it, wiping a wider and wider circle to clean a spot.
They drove on with the words “South Carlisle” suspended in the air around them and between them. Brady turned the radio on to defuse tension. Bad decision. The song “Cake by the Ocean” was playing—a peppy, celebratory song that made the moment even more uncomfortable than before. Sunny had listened to it a hundred times and even danced to it. She’d never realized until now how stupid the lyrics were. Brady let the song play in an attempt to act normal, as though there was no one in the car whose life had been ruined by the most sickening high school scandal in recent Long Island history.
In Thora Temple’s driveway, Brady cut the engine and then the music. He turned his lights off and watched the fog disappear from the windshield. The house looked dark and lifeless even though Thora was inside. Sunny imagined Thora in her bedroom searching articles about the South Carlisle wrestling team: eight boys against one; coaches asleep down the hall; three ringleaders shouting orders for the others to carry out as the victim cried and pleaded.
Brady couldn’t bring himself to look at Sunny. Instead, he stared at the house and weighed. He’d once been obsessed with his wrestling weight; he was now obsessed with the weight of his pain. My past is heavier than this house; it’s heavier than that tree with its roots that crawl and reach and stretch and tangle into the earth.
“I keep weighing,” Brady whispered, finally breaking the silence. “The way Thora said about her grief.”
Sunny understood. She remembered everything Thora said.
“But there’s nothing heavier,” Brady said, choking up. “No matter what I weigh, nothing’s heavier than . . .”
Afraid to move, almost afraid to breathe, Sunny peered at him from the corner of her eye. Whatever Brady said next could never be taken back. Sunny would have to know it and deal with it. It would become her weight to carry, too. What’s more powerful than words? Thora had asked the four of them once. They couldn’t come up with an answer.
“I came to Morley Academy for a fresh start,” Brady said. “I was afraid that if anybody knew, if you knew . . .” He hesitated. If he revealed his precious truth, Sunny would be disgusted.
Sunny twisted and twisted the blanket that lay in her lap. “You don’t have to explain anything to me, Brady. You don’t owe me a thing.” She turned to him. “I’m so sorry that happened to you.” Sunny’s voice shook. “I don’t know what else to say, except I know that you didn’t deserve any of it. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
Brady froze. Then he looked Sunny in the eyes, just as Thora had taught him. “No, Sunny, that’s not . . . I have to tell you . . . I used to be different . . . at South Carlisle I wasn’t the way I am here. I wasn’t in art. I didn’t join book clubs. I didn’t even have girls as friends . . . I was a wrestler, and won trophies. But I stuffed them in the back of my closet and left them because they didn’t matter anymore, I couldn’t even look at . . .”
Sunny couldn’t bear to hear him relive the torture and humiliation. She knew now where his darkness came from; there was no reason for him to recount the details for her sake. “Don’t. It’s okay.” She squeezed Brady’s forearm. “You don’t have to tell me anything, because I can already see your truth, okay? I know now. And I’m still here,” Sunny said. “Thora says that’s all a person really needs—to be seen and acknowledged and to know they’re not alone. That’s all that matters, right? I’m here. You’re not alone.”
Brady couldn’t believe God’s mercy. Sunny didn’t want to hear any more. He didn’t have to tell her. Brady closed his eyes and prayed silently. Thank you, Lord Jesus Christ. Thank you for this tabula rasa.
THORA
Are you guys coming in?
SUNNY
I think so. It’s up to Brady.
OK. Whenever you’re ready.
Let me know if you need me to come out.
Than
ks.
Sunny peered up from her phone. “Thora wants to know if we’re coming inside. Do you want to talk to her? Because you can. Or not. She’ll just want to share being in the world with you.”
“Does she know?” Brady asked.
“Yes.” Sunny was sorry for breaking Brady’s confidence but was sure it was all right with him. “We can tell Thora anything, can’t we? We can be inside/out with her.”
“I know. It’s okay.” Brady saw a curtain move in Thora’s bedroom window. He wanted to go inside, where the low ceilings and thick walls seemed to hug him every time he walked through the door. But he was afraid of how Thora might feel about him now. He wanted so badly for her to like him. “I don’t want to bother her,” Brady said.
“It’s not a bother. We can just have someplace to hang out if you don’t feel like going home,” Sunny said. She looked at the houses across the street, one with a wrought-iron door, another with a glossy black door. There was no possible way to know people’s troubles.
The light turned on inside Thora’s front hall. She was expecting them. Brady fiddled with his phone. A new photo popped up on Marni’s Instagram; it was of Thora sitting on her living room floor with her emotional timeline. The caption read:
Change your life.
FOLLOW THE PRINCIPLES OF THE THEORY
OF HUMAN CONNECTIONS
#TheTheory #TheDrowningInterrupted
The photo convinced Brady that Thora could help him. She had learned to control her grief. She had left New York City in order to start anew. Finally she was living the life she wanted to live with the people she chose to share it with. She knew how to start over.
“I kind of have to pee,” Sunny said, bouncing her knee.
Brady looked up at the front door and saw movement behind the frosted glass. “Let’s go in, then.”
“Good. Okay.” Sunny really did have to go to the bathroom. And she couldn’t handle Brady’s secret by herself. She wasn’t a psychologist. She wasn’t even Brady’s girlfriend. She needed Thora almost as much as Brady did.
Thora opened the door to find Sunny clutching her yellow blanket and a shaken, stone-faced Brady.
“We didn’t know where else to go,” Sunny said, teary-eyed.
Thora couldn’t help but throw her arms around them both. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay, you guys,” she whispered. “Everything’s cool. You can always come here.”
Miri
The security guard came, and that’s when we all scattered. I get goose bumps just talking about it; it was invigorating, so . . . clandestine. I knew that by Monday morning everybody would be talking about our meeting. As they say, any publicity is good publicity. But you know that, being a journalist.
Yes. What did you do after the meeting?
We went straight to the Witches Brew.
Wait. Who was “we”?
Oh, sorry. Me, Quinn, and Emma Irving. Our server was beautiful—Delia, no, Dahlia, I think. Her eyes! Whoa. She looked like . . . a beautiful alien.
Okay. What then?
Quinn and Emma had never been there before, can you believe? By that time, I had an internal compass pointing straight there, so I navigated while Emma drove. She’d had her license for three days, so I wasn’t completely confident with her behind the wheel. We made it in one piece, though. And her convertible is the cutest. What is it . . . an Audi, maybe? It’s probably a nightmare in the snow and ice, but it’s chic. [sighs] Anyway, the café seats until midnight, which was perfect because we were still wired from the meeting and getting kicked out and everything. There was no way we were going home; we were just getting started dissecting Undertow, and we never got to do the flash readings of our favorite lines. Not to mention that we were starving, so thank god for that place! We had the vegetable dumplings, spring rolls, macaroni and cheese. Don’t judge. Like I said, we were starving; the macaroni and cheese absolutely could not be helped.
Hey, I love macaroni and cheese.
But again, you’re a bottomless pit.
[laughs]
Oh, and we ordered green tea. They bring you a teapot for the table.
How very Fatima Ro.
I know. [laughs] Being in that space that I associate so closely with Fatima fueled me even more somehow. I felt purposeful; I can’t explain it. And it wasn’t only the café that made me feel that way. After practicing the theory of human connections and speeding out of Graham the way we did, the three of us were on a high, hyperfocused on spreading the theory.
We still had our copies of Undertow with us, and I had my notes and the agenda from the meeting. So, for the flash readings, instead of reading aloud, we started posting and texting quotes on our social media: #TheTheory, #UndertowUninterrupted. We added pictures of paragraphs and page numbers and spouted out Undertow phrases. And then I was posting my pictures with Fatima along with steps of the theory. [drinks from a water bottle] There’s no telling who we influenced with our messages that night. That’s what Fatima said about her novel: you hope that you can reach a few readers here and there, that your message will speak personally to somebody. But you can never know the true impact.
NEW YORK CITY MAGAZINE
FOUR-PART SERIES
* * *
Stranger Than Fiction
The True Story Behind the Controversial Novel
The Absolution of Brady Stevenson
SOLEIL JOHNSTON’S STORY, PART 2 (continued)
* * *
Journal Entry
October 15, 2016
10:16 p.m.
Fatima’s bathroom
In. In. In. In. In. That’s all I wanted—for Jonah to let me IN.
I just wanted to know: What are you thinking? What are you hiding? What are you weighing? But now that he’s told me, I can’t unknow it. What do I do with this now?
My brain can’t register. Overwhelmed. Unprepared. I remember: we were at Penny’s house. I asked Jonah if he played sports. He said, “I wrestle,” as if he’d been saying it for years. Then he said, “I used to. Not anymore.” But he wouldn’t tell me why. I kept thinking about it while we were watching TV. Why? And then Miri texted that he was probably gay, so I thought maybe quitting wrestling had something to do with that? Maybe his teammates found out he was gay, and they couldn’t handle it or acted like jerkoffs about it, so he quit. Or maybe it was something much simpler—an injury that ended his career or a lost championship that he couldn’t get over. Each of those reasons made sense. Normal problems for a normal teenage boy. But the real reason is so far from normal, I don’t even know what to say to him. Why does the reason have to be THIS???
All the jokes that went back and forth between me and Miri and Penny! We’re morons.
Here we’ve been, talking about precious truths and transparency while he’s been holding this secret the whole time. Poor Jonah, poor Jonah, poor Jonah. Thank god for Fatima. We’re with her now, so Jonah will be okay. I don’t have to deal with this by myself.
Standing here, leaning against Fatima’s sink. I don’t want to open the door. Wish I could hide in this bathroom forever. Imagine how Jonah feels about facing the world.
I’d better get to the living room. I don’t want him to think I can’t handle this.
Penny
What’d you do while Soleil and Jonah were in Fatima’s house?
I sat in my car, like, forever, and just played on my phone, what else? Everyone abandoned me. [sighs] I was nothing but a good friend to them.
I’m sure you were.
Did I tell you we won the scavenger hunt on Orientation Day?
Miri mentioned that.
It’s prestigious to win it. All the winners since the school opened have their pictures on the wall. The dean announced our names and gave us medals in front of everyone. He made us, like, the instant A-crowd.
Huh. Nice.
Yeah. We wore our medals the first day of school. [pauses] [turns around] There’s a hidden hot tub over there, behind the waterfall.
I never would’ve noticed that.
Soleil and Miri used to love it here. And Dad got us concert tickets all the time. We went to Rihanna, Ariana Grande, Ed Sheeran, Bruno Mars, even Jingle Ball.
How awesome.
He was about to get everybody passes to see Meghan Trainor, but then I got ditched, so I told him I didn’t want them anymore.
The show at Radio City?
Uh-huh.
Oh, that’s too bad. I heard it was excellent. I like Meghan Trainor. She has a terrific voice.
[sighs] Thanks for reminding me.
I’m sorry. Okay, so, you were sitting in the car . . .
I was sitting in the car, and then all of a sudden Miri started posting pictures on her Instagram—pictures of Undertow, pages from it, and also pictures of her and Fatima and quotes, like motivational sayings about the theory of human connections. And then Quinn and Emma were doing the same thing. I could’ve posted quotes. Fatima said deep stuff to me too, you know.
I’m sure.
She told me that a person’s greatest success or downfall can be traced back to one pivotal human connection, one moment in time that created ripple effects toward either achievement or destruction.
So, why didn’t you post quotes from the car?
Nobody asked me to. You know Miri. If I posted on my own she would’ve found something wrong with it, like, “What are you doing? You don’t even understand the standards for each post. You didn’t even get the hashtag right,” or whatever she’d say to make me feel stupid.
You’re probably right. I can see her saying something exactly like that.
And then. [slaps table]
What.
I looked closer at the pictures.
And?
I noticed that the books were lying on top of these huge black-and-white menus and next to a bowl of macaroni and cheese.
All of This Is True Page 9
