“All right, go join the rest of the team.”
I resist the overwhelming urge to hug him and jog out onto the field.
Chapter 19
Mom’s sitting on the front stoop with a glass of white wine when I stop by to drop off Hope before work. “Everything go okay getting Hope from day care?”
“Actually, no. They wouldn’t let Alan pick her up because he wasn’t on some list, so I had to get her. I was late to practice.”
Mom nods. “Those places have to be really careful about who they release the kids to.”
“I called you.”
“You did? I’m sorry, bud—I had my ringer off.”
“I called the house phone too. Where were you?”
“I was out.”
I narrow my eyes at her. Something’s off. “Where’d you go?”
“I had a date.”
“A date?”
“I’m allowed to date, you know,” she says.
“Yeah, but on a Monday afternoon? That’s just weird.”
She shrugs. “You’re not the only one whose schedule has been crazy since Hope was born. We’ve all been struggling to find time for stuff, Ryden.” She says it softly, not bitter at all.
I scoot closer to her and rest my head on her shoulder. “I know. I’m sorry, Mom. You know I love you, right? And that I appreciate everything you’ve done for us?”
She smoothes my hair. “I know, buddy.”
“So you wanna tell me about the guy?”
“No, I’m not really sure what it is yet. But I like him.”
“Well, as long as he’s good to you, I like him too.” I stand up. “Gotta go to work.”
“Have fun.”
• • •
I search the whole store but don’t see Joni anywhere. Maybe she’s off? She usually works Mondays, but maybe she switched with someone.
It’s not until I take my fifteen that I discover she actually is here. She’s in the break room, curled up on the little couch, red-eyed and crying, a box of Whole Foods brand recycled tissues tucked in the crook of her arm.
Before I allow myself time to think about what I’m doing, I’m by her side and pulling her close to me. She starts crying harder, burying her face into my shirt. I just hold her tight and let her get it out. I have absolutely zero idea what I’m supposed to say. Joni’s always so happy. Strong. What could have made her like this?
People come in to the break room, take one look our way, and turn right back around. So apart from a few brief entrances and exits, we’re alone.
Eventually she pulls away. She’s not crying anymore, but her face is all splotchy, and her eyelashes are clumped together with moisture. I’m supposed to be back out on the floor by now. But fuck it. I’m not gonna leave her. I’m not a total asshole.
“I got your shirt all wet,” she whispers.
I shrug. “It’ll dry.”
“I’m so sorry,” she says, blowing her nose. “I don’t know why I’m acting like this.”
“Just a guess, but probably because something is wrong?”
She looks at me through bloodshot eyes. “I didn’t tell you this, because I didn’t want you to think I’m one of those stupid girls who makes drama out of everything—”
“I don’t think that.”
She nods and takes in a shuddering breath. “My dickwad ex-boyfriend and my best friend have been hooking up all summer.”
Ex-boyfriend? What ex-boyfriend? Okay, focus on the best friend. “Carrie, right? Or Karen?”
“Karen. Yeah.”
“Not cool.” She’s crying about her friend getting together with her ex? Does that mean she still has feelings for him?
“Well, I knew about it,” she continues. “She told me a while ago. I was trying to be cool with it. Even though it felt like shit. But it turns out they’ve been talking about me a lot. Like, comparing notes on personal stuff I’ve told them. And apparently he’s told her pretty much every detail about the times we had sex. Stuff that even I didn’t tell her. And we’ve been friends forever.”
Thinking about Joni having sex with some dude makes me feel like I just ate a bad hunk of meat. Plus, it’s like she has this whole other life that I had no idea about. “What kind of stuff?”
“What I liked to do, what I didn’t like to do. He even told her about when we lost our virginity to each other. All the graphic, gory details.”
“I’ll kill him,” I say, and for a second, I actually mean it. I fucking hate this guy, whoever he is. “Tell me his name and I’ll go kick his ass right now.”
Joni sort of smiles at that. “You’re sweet.”
I wasn’t exactly going for sweet, but whatever. “How’d you find out?” I ask.
“That’s the worst part. They’ve been having these conversations in front of other people. Like, drunk at parties or on Facebook or whatever—places I haven’t really been, because I didn’t particularly want to see them being all kissy and gross with each other. They had a code name for me, but everyone obviously knew who they were talking about. I’m his only ex-girlfriend. And when I walked into school today, all these people started calling me Jog.” She shakes her head and coughs a little.
“Jog? What does that mean?”
“Apparently ‘Jeff’s Old Girlfriend.’ I finally got one of my other friends to tell me what was going on. But even she’d known for months and didn’t think to tell me about it until today.” She shakes her head. “Jog. So stupid. It’s not even clever.” She’s trying to joke, but the crack in her voice gives her away.
I pull her into my arms again. She melts into me a little. “I’ll kill all of them,” I whisper into her hair.
“Yeah, don’t do that. Then you’d have to go to prison, and I’d be left without any friends at all.” She sniffles.
“Hey, don’t forget about Julio in the deli, and the tattoo shop girl.”
“No, they’re just people I’ve met. It’s easy to meet people. Real friends are harder to come by.”
With Joni in my arms like this, I think we must be the real kind of friends. We might actually be each other’s only friends.
But then she asks, “Your ex-girlfriend wouldn’t do anything like that to you, would she?” and I know she might be my real friend but I’m not being one to her. Why should I feel weird about this other part of her life when I’m keeping a World Cup stadium full of secrets from her? I’m still just another “person she’s met,” even if she doesn’t know it.
“No,” I say. That’s true, at least. Meg wouldn’t do anything anymore.
“Good. Though, you’re a boy. It would probably be different for you anyway.”
I don’t say anything. I just squeeze her tight and hope she doesn’t notice that she’s being held by the arms of a liar.
“I’ll be fine,” she whispers.
“I know you will.”
Then she starts crying all over again.
• • •
Joni and I stay in the break room until our shift is over. No one comes looking for us. The manager must have heard something was going on and decided to let us be. Or maybe we weren’t missed. It’s one of the benefits of working in a place with so many employees.
At ten o’clock, we walk out to the parking lot together.
“Let me drive you home,” I say.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“There’s no way I’m letting you get on a bus right now.” I unlock my car doors. “Get in.”
We don’t talk about the fact that Joni has to go to school tomorrow—and the day after that and the day after that—knowing everyone knows the intimate details of her life. Instead, I tell her about Mom’s mysterious midafternoon date. She tells me about the fifth book in the Bahamas Bikers series, which she just finished. We talk about her family some more.
I glance at her. “You sure?”
She nods. “I can trust you, right?”
My breathing feels spiky all of a sudden. I mean, yes, she can trust me in that way—I won’t tell anyone else. But I haven’t been truthful with her. But what am I supposed to say? Nope, you can’t trust me. Sorry. Want to choose a radio station?
“Yes,” I say before the silence goes on too long. “Of course you can.”
She smiles. “When I was really little, and my dad and stepmom first got married, I had a crush on Elijah.”
“Your stepbrother?” I say. “Gross.”
“I know, right?” she says, laughing. I like it a lot better when she laughs than when she cries. “I think he was the first crush I ever had. I was four and drawing family pictures that looked more like misshapen balloons than people, and he was seven and sculpting perfect likenesses of our dog Tito. His room was filled with real art supplies, and I would just sit in the doorway and watch him work for hours. Witnessing his art take shape was like seeing into his thoughts. And something about that fascinated me.” She laughs again. “Plus, I liked his blond hair and dark brown skin. I’d never seen anyone like him before.”
“Does he know about this?”
“No way! I’d never hear the end of it. It only lasted a couple of months at the most. By the time I was five, he was officially in the brother-only column.” She looks over at me. “Repeat that and you’re dead.”
I do some sort of made-up hand signal, grinning. “Your secret’s safe with me. Scout’s honor.”
“You were a boy scout?”
I give her a look. “Hell no. I was way too cool for that shit.”
That makes her laugh again.
We pull up in front of her house, and I flick off the ignition and turn in my seat to face her. “You gonna be okay?”
“Yeah. After this year, I won’t have to see any of these people ever again, right?”
“Right. Call me if you need anything, okay?”
“Thanks, Ryden.” Joni leans toward me, and for a split second, I think she’s going to kiss me again. And for an even smaller fraction of a second, I think maybe I want her to. But her head veers to the side, and she gives me a quick peck on the cheek. I breathe out in relief. Yes. Much better.
“See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” I say. “See ya.”
Chapter 20
The rest of the week goes by pretty problem-less, now that we’ve figured out the whole day care routine. Alan’s been picking up Hope after school, and I haven’t been late to practice. Coach seems relieved I’ve gotten my shit together.
Now that school’s in full swing and I’m getting piles of work thrown my way, I’m beginning to understand what my mom meant about school being harder when you have a crapload of other responsibilities—not that I would admit that to her. I’m only managing to get about half my homework done, and a couple of times, I’ve been called out by a teacher for dozing in class. But it’s not too bad. For the most part, my teachers are going easy on me, giving me extra time to complete assignments and not calling on me except for when I have my hand raised. I know it’s because they feel sorry for me, but hey, I’ll take it. My economics teacher, Mrs. Schonhorn, is being especially awesome and told me that as long as I come to class and don’t sleep, I’ll get full participation credit. Plus, she excused me from the field trip to the Concord Chamber of Commerce, which was a total fucking godsend.
Joni is doing way better too. She’s still shaken about the rumors, obviously, but there hasn’t been any more crying at work. On Thursday, she even brings me a pumpkin cheesecake that she baked herself.
“For being you,” she says, and I feel another stab of guilt. You know, ’cause I’m not actually being me around her. Not really.
“Joni…” I begin. I want to tell her the truth. I want to invite her over to hang out at my house so we can share the cake. I want her to meet my mom and Hope and know everything there is to know about my crazy, fucked-up life. But then she’d know I lied to her, and that would make me the same as her dickwad ex-boyfriend and her stupid friends.
“What’s up?” she asks.
Nope. Can’t tell her.
“Thanks for the cake,” I say. “Looks amazing.”
I’m going to suggest to Mom that we have the cake after dinner on Friday, but when I get home from the game (the one where all I did was sit on the sidelines and watch ball after ball get past the depressingly incompetent backup goalkeeper), she’s dressed in her skinny jeans and high-heeled boots. She only wears the skinny jeans on special occasions—she says she’d rather breathe than look hot. But I guess that’s not the case tonight.
“Date?” I ask, taking the cake out of the fridge.
“Actually, yeah.” She’s smiling.
“Where you going?”
“Dinner. Drinks. Maybe back to his place.” She winks.
I really don’t need to hear that. “Have fun,” I say.
• • •
So it’s just me and Hope and a giant pumpkin cheesecake.
This is too depressing.
I grab my phone and call Alan. “Wanna come over?”
“Why, your mom can’t watch Hope?”
“What are you talking about? I’m watching Hope.”
“Oh.” A pause. “So you don’t need a babysitter?”
“No. I just wanted to see if you want to hang out.”
“Really?” he asks. “Like, as friends?”
“Dude, you’re starting to make me regret calling you at all.”
Alan laughs. “Yeah, I’ll be over in a few.”
“Cool.” I hang up and call Mabel. “I know you’re probably busy,” I tell her, “but Alan’s coming over to hang out if you want to join us. Hope will be here.”
“Sounds awesome,” she says. “I’ll bring wine.”
“Where you gonna get wine?”
“Um, have you met my dad? We’ve got it stockpiled in the garage.”
A half hour later, Alan, Mabel, and I are sitting around the kitchen table, drinking wine and eating pumpkin cheesecake. Well, Alan and I are eating the cake. Mabel had a tiny slice and claimed to be full. Hope’s in her swing in the middle of the kitchen.
“No more updates on the journal search?” Mabel asks, pouring herself a second glass.
I shake my head.
“That’s ’cause they don’t exist,” she says.
“I’d have to agree,” Alan says through a mouthful of cake. “Where the hell did you get this cake from, anyway? It’s glorious.”
“A friend,” I say. “But you’re wrong—the journals are out there.”
“You know, Ry,” Alan says, his voice taking on a tone of I’m about to say something genius, so listen up. “There’s this song by Eminem and Rihanna called ‘Love the Way You Lie.’ It’s about domestic abuse, so not entirely applicable here, but there’s this line where Eminem says he can’t tell you what it really is. All he can do is tell you what it feels like.”
I wait for him to start making sense. “And?”
“That’s you, man. I think you’re living a completely different version of Meg’s life and death than the rest of us are. But it’s real to you, because that’s how it feels.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Think about it—you’re convinced there are two other journals that hold magical answers to everything.”
“Not everything—just to tell me how to be a better father.” Is that really too much to ask?
“Wait—you’re trying to find the journals so y
ou can be a better dad?”
I nod.
“But how? I mean, why? I mean…huh?”
I tell them how I know Hope hates me, and how I attempted to find Michael but failed miserably, and how I was hoping Meg would have left clues that would make this whole parenting thing click.
“For a smart guy, Ryden,” Alan says, “you’re being pretty moronic.”
“Dude. Not cool.”
“Don’t you think the way to do a good job with Hope is to forget all this other stuff and just work on being a good dad?” He holds up his bracelet. “What would Sandra Oh do, man? You’re focusing on the wrong thing.”
“You’re focusing on the wrong thing!” I down half the glass of wine in one gigantic swallow. “The checklists. They mean something. I don’t know why you’re ignoring them.”
“Don’t you think it’s possible it was a note Meg wrote to remind herself of something? Or, like Mabel says, even if she did plan to leave behind two other books for us to find, that she got too sick to finish whatever it was she meant to do? Maybe that’s the real truth.”
I gulp the rest of my wine and pour more. “I knew her. I know she left those journals for us. It’s the least we can do to find them.”
“Just like you know you’re responsible for her death?” Mabel asks, slurring her words a little.
I glare at her. “Yes. Exactly like that.”
“Wait, what?” Alan asks, palms braced on the table.
“Oh, you didn’t know?” Mabel says. “Ryden is convinced he killed Meg and ruined all our lives because he got her pregnant.”
“That is such bullshit, man. That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Your version is warped. You made her life better for that last year, not worse.”
“Oh, totally,” Mabel says. “Hey, Alan, remember how she got you to convince our parents to let her go out with Ryden in the first place? Didn’t you get them to admit it would be good for her to do some normal high school stuff, and when they finally said yes, you casually slipped it in that it wasn’t you she’d be doing that normal high school stuff with but Ryden?”
Alan laughs. “How badass was that?! That was some John Cho, Daniel Dae Kim shit right there.”
What You Left Behind Page 16
