By the time we got back within sight of Henry, the fight had taken a turn. Papa John was on the ground, unconscious. To the casual observer, Henry’s bloodied face seemed like bad news but really, he had Silk on the defensive. This was not apparent to Sloane, though, and her scream was pure terror. Before I could stop her, she stomped her foot on the gas pedal, sped right toward Silk, and smashed her hand down on the horn. Silk and Henry broke apart and ran in opposite directions. By the time we’d come to a stop, Silk had jumped back into his car and driven off.
Sloane, Felix, and I ran out to Henry.
“Are you all right?” I said.
“Well, I tried to ask Silk to stop selling to the team. But he didn’t see it my way,” Henry said.
I bent down for a closer look at Papa John. “What happened to Papa John?” I said. “Did you knock him out?”
“He went down when the bag hit him.” Henry pointed at Austin’s gym gear strewn all around. “It was probably the ankle weights that did it.”
“And in his defense, they hit Henry first. A lot,” Felix said. “I heard the whole thing.”
“We should go after Silk,” Henry said.
“You should go to the hospital, Henry, and get checked out. Your eye is swollen shut.” I looked to Sloane for support, but she was just staring at Henry, stony-faced. “Sloane?”
Sloane said, “We almost freaking died . . .” She ran up to Henry and smacked him on the chest.
“Okay, Sloane, you maybe should relax a bit,” I said.
“Why couldn’t you just mind your own business, Henry?” Sloane was shouting. “Why didn’t you call the police if you cared so much? Tell Coach? How could you put yourself in this situation? Put us in this situation?”
“Because, babe, once I report it, I kick off a whole thing. The Athletics Association takes over. That process starts, it has to flow all the way through,” Henry said. “I had to think of the guys.” He approached Sloane and tried to hold her hand. “They’ll lose their eligibility senior year—”
Sloane slapped Henry so hard, it made me gasp. She was about to go again, but I caught her hand and dragged her away. I hung on to her until she calmed down and stopped swearing.
Digby climbed out of the car and staggered to us. He looked at Papa John passed out on the ground, Henry’s bleeding face, and me restraining Sloane in a bear hug. “So,” Digby said. “What did I miss?”
FIFTEEN
Sloane and I left Digby and Henry at the ER and dropped Felix at his house. The ride back to my place was a tense odyssey. Austin was going to kill me. When I made the mistake of turning on the radio at one point, Sloane gave me a stare so mean, I felt physically afraid. I didn’t even think to worry about what Cooper would say about our taking his car until we turned onto our street and found him standing in his empty parking spot, a steaming travel mug of coffee in hand and a bewildered look on his face.
“What the hell?” Cooper said when we got out of the car. “What did you do to my car?”
Only then did I notice that his car was covered in a network of angry scratches and gouges. “Oh . . . it must’ve been when we drove through those trees.”
“Don’t you mean ‘saplings’?” Sloane said.
The tiniest snort escaped from me.
“It’s not funny. You drove through trees in my car? This is department property,” Cooper said. “Zoe. Explain.”
“It was me. I made her take the car,” Sloane said. “There was an emergency.”
Cooper looked at me. “Yes, there was . . .” I said.
“Digby had a reaction to his meds and we had to get him to the hospital,” Sloane said.
“Is he okay?” Cooper said. “Where is he?”
“St. Luke’s. He’s okay but there’s a mandatory psych evaluation.” I muttered the last part.
“And it didn’t occur to you brainiacs to call 911?” Cooper said.
I remember Digby told me once that people will believe anything you say if you make it sound enough like stuff they themselves have been saying. “They put us on hold. Budget cuts, I guess.”
“Damn budget cuts. Someone’s going to get killed by these budget cuts,” Cooper said. “But still. Unauthorized use of a motor vehicle, impersonating a police officer . . .” He banged his fist on the car’s roof. “Not to mention the multiple counts of conspiracy I’ll commit when I help you morons cover this up because of course I can’t arrest my girlfriend’s daughter and the kid of our next congressman . . . yes, I know who you are.” Cooper inspected the car and when he opened the back door, I could’ve given myself a high five for having had the presence of mind to leave the bag of steroids with Henry. But then Cooper said, “What the hell is this?”
My heart sank when I saw him holding up a bag of pills that, presumably, had fallen out of Silk’s gym bag.
“These are steroids,” Cooper said.
“Really? Are you sure . . .” I said.
“It’s only my job to know, Zoe. Where did this come from?” Cooper pointed at Austin’s gym bag, hastily repacked and now sitting in the backseat again. “Did it come from in there?”
“What? Of course not,” I said. “Do you think it might’ve already been there? From one of your cases?”
Cooper looked at the bag of pills more closely. Thankfully, Mom pulled up and parked behind us just then.
“What’s going on?” Mom said.
“Zoe and her friends decided to steal my car and they messed it up.” When Mom didn’t look impressed enough, Cooper said, “Police property, by the way.” He pointed at me and said, “You’re so grounded, miss.”
Considering the shenanigans we’d just pulled in his car, really, getting grounded was a rock-solid deal. Mom, however, seemed unhappy.
“Not so fast. Mike, may I speak with you one second?”
Cooper threw up his hands and followed Mom into the house.
“Need a ride home?” I said.
“I can call a car.” Sloane wiggled her phone at me but then her face fell.
“What? Are you okay?” I said.
“I just realized my parents are on a campaign thing up in Albany,” she said.
“You’re going to be alone in that massive house tonight?” I said.
“Well, there’s staff . . .” she said.
“Invite your friends over,” I said.
She nodded, but her vacant stare told me everything I needed to know about the state of her friendships.
“Or . . . you could come in? I could reheat some lentil soup—”
“Okay.” She pushed past me and walked to the front door.
Just as Sloane put her hand on the knob, though, the door opened. It took me a second to process that Charlotte and Allie were standing inside my house.
“Wait, did we have plans?” I said.
“Not anymore,” Charlotte said. “Hi, Sloane.”
“Yes,” Sloane said, and walked into the house.
“So, Sloane Bloom is coming to your house now?” Charlotte said.
Allie pointed at Austin’s gym bag, which I was carrying into the house. “Is that Sloane’s bag? Are you guys going to try on outfits?”
“What? No. And if it were Sloane’s bag, why would I be carrying it?” I said.
Austin came to the door. “Oh, hey, that’s mine. I was looking for that.”
“Austin. I’m so sorry I took so long . . .” I said. “Stuff just came up and then . . . we had to drop off Digby at the hosp—”
“Digby? He was there? I thought you said Sloane needed—” Austin said. “Actually, never mind. Why am I even surprised anymore?”
“Please, Austin, just stay for dinner . . . I can totally explain,” I said.
“Actually . . . the three of us were going to get some food,” Austin said. “You want to . . . ?”
“
But you have a guest,” Allie said.
“Um . . . yeah.” Charlotte gave me one of her eyeroll-sigh combinations. I couldn’t blame her for being hostile. After all the time we spent whining about Sloane, there could be no satisfactory explanation for why she was at my house. “Maybe tomorrow?” I said.
Charlotte shrugged and walked out.
Allie hugged me and said, “Later.”
Austin kissed me and said, “Call me later?”
• • •
I poured Sloane some water and reflected on how ironic it was that just days ago, Sloane would’ve stomped on my fingers had she found me hanging off a cliff and now here I was, making her dinner. I put the soup on the stove to the soundtrack of Mom and Cooper bickering. He followed her from room to room while she unpacked her work bag and settled in. After Mom screamed a particularly creative string of profanities, I apologized to Sloane only to have her look up from her phone and say, “Wi-Fi password?”
Mom and Cooper blew into the kitchen at this point.
“You’re throwing the book at Zoe because you’re frustrated at work,” Mom said. “Not that I want to know what a satisfied cop culture worker looks like.”
“‘Cop culture worker’? Really? You make being a police officer sound like being part of an evil conspiracy. And it’s not throwing the book when I’m not even charging her for what she did,” Cooper said. “That’s why I’m mad. She’s forcing me to break laws to protect her from the consequences of her actions.”
“Let’s move past the fascist police rationalization and talk about why you’ve been miserable ever since your old partner, Stella, left,” Mom said. “Don’t tell me you were actually sleeping with your work wife?”
“Why does it boil down to that with you? Stella was my partner,” Cooper said. “We’re not all your ex-husband, Liza. We don’t all cruise the office for tail. Sorry, Zoe, no offense.”
“Of course she’s offended. And ‘grounded’?” Mom said. “Don’t take out your aggression on her.”
“Discipline is not aggression, Liza.”
I said to Sloane, “I don’t want to get sucked into this conversation.” I opened two bags of salad, dumped in Craisins, croutons, and double the usual amount of our fanciest salad dressing, and grabbed two forks.
“She doesn’t need your discipline, Mike,” Mom said. “She has a father.”
I gave up on the soup. I turned off the burner and brought Sloane up to my room.
“Huh.” Sloane walked around my room, picking up my books, checking out my posters. I felt exposed. “You like Bauhaus architecture?” She pointed to a postcard I’d taped to the wall.
“Love it.”
“Me too. It sucks because my family lives exclusively in fake American castles.” Sloane stuck her tongue out.
“That’s Tel Aviv. Apparently, there are, like, thousands of Bauhaus buildings there,” I said.
Sloane paced a little more before asking, “So . . . why are you being so nice to me?”
“Excuse me?” I said. “Because I’m a nice person.”
Sloane laughed at me. “I mean, you came to lunch to be with Digby, but you didn’t have to come with me today. You didn’t even know he’d be there.”
“First of all, I came today because you stole Cooper’s car and as you can see”—I pointed in the direction of Mom and Cooper fighting downstairs—“it’s my ass. And second, I turned up to lunch because you cornered me in the bathroom and you really seemed upset. I wanted to help.”
“More like you wanted to watch me suffer.” Sloane looked at me, defying me to contradict her. “What’s with you and Digby, anyway?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I’m helping him look for his sister. Besides, I’m with Austin. Digby’s with Bill . . .”
“Bill? She’s such a try-hard,” Sloane said. “You know, it’s only a matter of time before you and Digby finally hook up for real.”
I tried to keep a blank face. “Whatever, Sloane.”
She sat at my desk and pointed at her feet. “Is it okay if I take these off?”
She made an agony/ecstasy groan as she unzipped and peeled off her boots.
“Those are some really stupid boots,” I said.
“So stupid.” Sloane wiggled her toes. “Want to try them on?”
“Yes, please.” I started unlacing my combat boots. I didn’t even ask what size hers were. “How much did these cost?”
“Two thousand,” Sloane said.
Now, I’d never spend that kind of money on things that go on my feet, but the zipper soundlessly closed over my calves and the leather was as glossy as latex.
I pranced around in front of the mirror, only slightly embarrassed when she said, “Not so stupid now, are they?”
“My brain’s like, capitalism, objectification of women, blah-blah-blah. But the rest of my body’s like man, look at me in these boots,” I said. “And I can see why you walk so uppity. Comes naturally in these shoes.”
“I’ll try not to be insulted by that,” she said.
“I was praising your posture,” I said.
“Sure you were.” Sloane pointed at my combat boots. “Can I?” She pulled them on. “These are cool, actually.” She did some karate kicks. “It’s like, that perfect girl is gone. They’re even better than sneakers for keeping you balanced.”
“The steel toes act like a weight,” I said.
“Trade you? My boots for yours?” she said.
“How distraught are you? That’s crazy,” I said. “My boots were fifty bucks on clearance.”
“Mine were clearance too. They were four thousand.”
“Sloane, you can have those, but I can’t take your four-thousand-dollar boots.”
“No, seriously, I can’t even look at them after today. Swear to God, I thought we were going to die in that car.” Sloane pointed at one of my SAT prep books and said, “I have this too. You’re taking them next Saturday? I guess everyone is.” She stared, assessing me, before she asked, “Do you think you’ll do well?”
I fought my first impulse to say no and then commiserate over how not ready I was. Funnily, I felt like Sloane was the one person who didn’t need me to lie to her. “Yeah, actually. I think I am.”
“I think I’m going to do well too,” Sloane said.
It was weird saying it aloud. We both laughed.
“Wasn’t that the most anti-social thing? What we just did?” I said.
“I know, right? You have to be humble . . . end your sentences with your voice going up like this . . . ?” She did an exaggerated uptick. “Because being confident isn’t nice.” She saw me laugh harder and asked, “What’s so funny?”
“The idea of you lying to be ‘nice’ is . . .”
“Is what? I’m nice to my friends,” she said.
“Your friends? They’re terrified of you. The whole school’s terrified of you,” I said.
“Whatever. You don’t know me and it’s unfair for you to decide I’m not nice based on how I treated you last semester when you were making a play for my boyfriend,” she said.
“What?” I said.
“You’re going to pretend you weren’t?” she said.
I didn’t.
“Bravo. I totally denied it when Marina asked me the same question,” Sloane sat at my desk and played with my lip glosses. “Are you going to Kyle Mesmer’s party afterward?”
Kyle Mesmer and his lake house pleasure dome. I didn’t go to the last party and that turned out to be an instant legend that people were still talking about months later.
“Honestly? I’d prefer to watch some YouTube and smash my face into a bowl of Tater Tots,” I said. “But Austin wants to go.”
“How’s it going with you and Austin anyway?” she said.
“Good. Good . . .” I said. “He doesn’t like Digby.”<
br />
“Ha. Surprise, surprise,” she said.
And then the weight of not telling anyone for months finally broke me. “Digby and I kissed.”
Sloane’s jaw physically dropped.
“I know,” I said.
“What does it mean?” she said.
“I don’t know. It happened last November. He just kissed me, got on the bus, and he hasn’t mentioned it since he got back,” I said.
“He didn’t text or message you from Texas?”
“Nothing.”
“Did you kiss him back?”
“I’m not sure. I think I did. But maybe I didn’t. I kinda froze,” I said.
“Okay. But then he disappeared and never got in touch with you . . .” she said. “How do you feel now? Do you wish you’d kissed him back or are you relieved that you maybe didn’t?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the second one? But then, maybe if I had kissed him back, he wouldn’t have gotten on the bus at all . . .” I came to my senses a little bit. “Please don’t tell anyone. No one else knows.”
“Austin doesn’t know?”
“Of course not,” I said. “So . . . not even Henry, okay?”
“Well, obviously, Henry and I are not doing so well,” Sloane said.
“Right. Sorry,” I said. “But you have to admit . . . what he’s trying to do for his team is . . .” I wanted to use the word “noble,” but Sloane didn’t look like she was in the mood to hear it.
“I can’t watch him throw it all away. Things have to line up absolutely perfectly for next season so he gets into a Division I college program,” Sloane said. “He’s a top prospect and now he’s going to blow our entire future—”
“I’m sorry. Did you just say ‘our entire future’? Sloane, you don’t really think you and Henry are . . .” I held up four fingers. “Four eva?” I traced a heart shape in the air.
“I don’t know why I thought I could have a real conversation with you,” Sloane said.
“Oh, come on. You think you and Henry are going to get married?” I said. “That’s ridiculous. You’re in high school.”
“Obviously, not until after college,” she said.
“After he gets drafted in the NFL,” I said.
Trouble Makes a Comeback Page 12
