by Ginger Scott
“Not that,” Kyle says, his eyes fluttering with his words as he shakes his head.
I hold the frame of the door opening and lean on my good hip, shrugging.
“What do we do with all of this fucked up shit we know? Wes…his brothers. How am I supposed to walk into that school, slap hands with TK and Levi, and pretend the last two days didn’t happen? How is that okay? Their brother is alive, and I’m not supposed to say a word? What’s your plan, Joss? How are you going to lie to them?”
My breath draws in slowly through my nose, and I force myself to unclench my teeth and let my jaw relax. I roll my shoulders and let go of my hold on Kyle’s truck, taking a full step back with my eyes squarely on my friend’s.
“I’m not,” I say, then slam his truck door closed before I walk around his truck to his side, reach into the back and grab my bag.
I start to walk toward the main hall doors swiftly, but my speed is no match for Kyle’s, and I feel his hand slide around my bicep to slow me.
“You can’t just walk in there and tell them, Joss. I agree they need to know, but this has to be handled the right way. You can’t…”
“I’m not stupid,” I say, shirking away from his hold. I continue to move toward the doors, but not with the same determined march as before. Kyle’s right.
I stop when we get to the main building, and instead let my bag slide from my shoulder to the ground while I sit on the short wall that leads to the gym. My eyes move to the baseball field on instinct. It’s empty, and my gut twists at the thought of no longer seeing Wes standing out there.
Kyle sits on the grass across from me, pulling his knees up and resting his elbows on them, his back leaned against the opposite wall.
“My dad took off last night. I don’t think he came home.”
Kyle’s face falls, his shoulders sagging as the air leaves his body. He knows my worries.
“That doesn’t necessarily mean he’s drinking again, Joss,” he says, but his mouth pulls tight on one side after he speaks, because he knows it also very well might.
My gaze drifts back to the field again.
“I don’t think I can handle it all—if he is drinking? I’m barely holding on, and that…I can’t go back to that,” I say.
Kyle doesn’t respond. He doesn’t have to. We sit out here—in the periphery where no one pays attention to us—until the bell rings. No longer able to pretend, we both stand and pick up our bags, then wait for our friends to walk up the hill from the weight room. My father made it to the gym for workouts, but then again…he always did. He never let the guys on his team down. And even though he isn’t coaching them now, they’re still his guys.
The boys pound knuckles and ask TK questions about football while Taryn slides her arm through mine and walks alongside me to the stairwell. She glances at me, a signal asking if I need her help, but I smile with tight lips and shake my head.
“If you knew the exercises Rebecca had me doing, you’d realize stairs are like kid’s play for me now,” I chuckle.
I don’t show off, even though I feel the urge to. I take the stairs one at a time and hold the rail on the side. I’m careful—just like Wes would want me to be.
“How was Grace?” Taryn asks the moment we settle into our seats in the biology lab. I wonder if Wes would have been in here, too.
“She was…” I slide a new spiral notebook from my bag before hanging it over the back of my chair. I breathe out short and fast through my nose when I turn back to face the table, flipping to the first page and writing the date.
“She was actually great,” I admit, smiling on the side closest to Taryn. My friend mimics my expression. And responds with “Yeah?”
I nod and look down at the paper in front of me, pressing my pencil along the holes by the spine to draw tiny dots. “She gave me some of my mom’s things…pictures, mostly,” I say, biting at the inside of my lip, physically forcing myself to stop from sharing more.
“Was she glad to see you?” Taryn rests her head on her hand, looking at me sideways, and I meet her eyes.
“Yeah,” I nod again, breathing out a small laugh and letting my smile grow until it scrunches my cheeks toward my eyes. “I think she was really glad.”
“Then it’s good you went,” she says.
I can tell a part of my friend is hurt that I went to Kyle instead of her, but I needed my rock. There are some things—some of my ugliest parts—that Kyle will always understand best, maybe even better than Wes.
Mr. Dickerson clears his throat as he switches off the lights and closes the classroom door, so I straighten in my seat and ready myself to take notes as he flips on a projector and begins reviewing classroom procedures. I need to do well this year, preferably all As to prove that I’m not the poor student my transcripts reflect. But paying attention proves impossible, my mind drifting with every new point our teacher reviews. By the time class is over, I’ve managed to write down two bullet points, neither with complete thoughts or sentences.
I pack my things and wear my smile for my friend before we split up. I have algebra next—alone and in a class where everyone is a full grade behind me, and the eyes are on me the second I walk in. I recognize Bria from softball, so I take the seat next to her, near the wall and the back of the classroom, away from everyone’s view. It doesn’t stop people from looking though. I expected it—my story was all this town had to talk about for the summer, and most of the people in here don’t really know me very well; they only hear the stories.
“I’m glad you’re in here,” I chuckle, sliding out my same notebook and turning to the next page, writing the date again with the intention of scribbling more relevant things down this period.
I glance back to Bria, and she smiles and raises her eyebrows, her voice no doubt choked off by the awkward questions now following me everywhere I go. My smile falls to a flat line and my eyes move down to the floor. I nod slowly, wondering how many times I’ll have to do this today.
“It’s okay to talk about it,” I say, twisting my head sideways. She bunches her lips, pretending not to understand. “My leg. I know you want to ask, and it’s perfectly okay.”
Her cheeks become pink as she blinks quickly, looking down at her own pen and paper.
“Go ahead,” I say, turning my body and extending my prosthetic toward her. I wore shorts today, hoping to get most of the questions out of the way. I notice a few students nearby glancing over their shoulders, too, so I begin to talk a little louder. “It only hurts sometimes, and it’s mostly my other muscles feeling overworked or nerves that are sorta getting…I don’t know…tangled I guess.”
“Does it…like…feel different?” Bria winces at her question, embarrassed, so I try to set her at ease.
“I know what you mean. Of course it feels different, but you mean have I gotten used to it, or like when I walk, do I notice one leg isn’t real,” I say, more students turning around. A few get up from their seats at the front of the class and step closer so they can see.
“Can you run?” asks a girl sitting on the other side of Bria.
I nod and smirk, because I can, thanks to Rebecca. “I’m still pretty fast,” I say.
“Do you have one of those metal ones?” a guy asks, standing to look over Bria.
“A blade you mean?” I ask. He nods. “I do. I only got that recently, and I’m still working with it. It’s what I’ll compete in.”
“Are you going to run this year? Like track or cross country?” Bria asks. I pull my legs back under my seat and wink at her.
“Nope,” I say. I keep my smile on my face, my lips tight trying to hold the laughter in as I look up at the teacher now writing notes on the white board. I can feel Bria’s eyes on me still, though, so I lean sideways enough that she can hear me, and I whisper. “I’m going to be the state’s number-one prospect.”
I flit my eyes to hers, and catch her eyebrows lift with a flash as her mouth curves up a hint. I wink again, then look back to the front as I wri
te down the first bullet point about when assignments are due. I’m already one up on my biology attention span.
English is another repeat of algebra, and I answer mostly the same questions to an entirely different group of students. I have weights after lunch, then government and photography, so if I’m lucky, I’ll get most of the show-and-tells out of the way today. Only one person has asked to see how it works, so I did a demo right before lunch.
McKenna is in my English class, and other than my close friends, she’s the only person who has asked about Wes. I told her she probably knew more than I did, because of my rehab work keeping me busy. I thought she’d gloat about it, even though it was a complete lie, but she didn’t. Instead, she gave me a quiet nod of acceptance before walking to her seat on the other side of the room.
When the lunch bell rings, I pull my phone from my back pocket and start to text Kyle, hoping he’s up for driving off campus for lunch. I’m not really up for spending my lunch on display, too. I stop when I see dozens of missed texts, though. Several are from Taryn, but the most recent one is from my dad.
My heart thumping with fear, I walk quickly, slipping into the restroom near the end of the hall where few people go. I lock myself in the last stall and hang my bag on a hook, leaning against the wall while I cup my phone in both hands. My fingers tremble, and I hesitantly slide the message open, preparing myself for the kinds of messages I used to get from my father—the pleas for help, the rants about my mom, the blaming and the hate.
Call me. Now!
My heart races faster, not sure if his words are a good sign or a bad one. My eyelids sweep shut as I press the CALL button and hold the phone to my ear.
“Joss?” I hear Taryn’s voice shout through the bathroom door. The phone still ringing, I unhook the latch on the stall door and step out so she can see me. Her pale face is only outdone by the brightness of her white eyes, her legs teeming with energy as she practically bounces on the balls of her feet, her mouth wide, like an O, and her chest quivering as she struggles to breathe.
“Josselyn, come home,” my father says in my ear. “It’s Wes…”
My pulse stops, and the world goes quiet. Taryn is in shock, her arms waving at me to hurry, but my legs won’t move. They’re practically vibrating from my confusion and the jolt of adrenaline that hit me all at once.
“Josselyn,” my father repeats. “Someone…somehow…they found him.”
I breathe.
I hang up.
I run.
Six
I ride with Taryn, but text Kyle while we’re on the way. He’s already left school with TK and Levi, and when we turn the corner at the Stokes’ street, I see Kyle’s truck parked several houses away. News trucks line the road, and a few orange barricades block the street from traffic. Taryn begins to ask me where she should park, but I’m already out of the car before she can finish.
My father is pacing on the other side of the street, and I jog over to him, my eyes scanning through the growing crowd for Kyle.
“What’s going on?” I ask. My dad holds up a finger, and I realize he has his phone to his other ear.
“Right, thank you. Just for today,” he says, hanging up and gawking at me with an open mouth, unsure of what to say.
“I got a sub, for the rest of the day, I just…the school understands,” my father says.
“Have you seen him?” My eyes blink slowly, like shutters on a camera, taking snapshots of every breath, every sound—every lie.
“Not yet,” my dad says. “I’m not even sure he’ll come home tonight. Bruce and Maggie must be with him. We had the TV on in the weight room, and it was on the news. We all just left. I haven’t seen the boys yet to ask them any questions.”
“I’ll find Kyle,” I say, sucking in a deep breath, turning quickly and rushing closer to the chaos.
I feel like a fraud, my muscles all working in unison to act with surprise and shock. I check my expression in the reflection at a squad car’s window as I walk by, just to make sure I look the right amount of worried and elated. I’m neither.
I’m…confused.
Yesterday, he was never coming home.
Today, he’s magically found.
I spot Kyle standing in the carport, typing frantically on his phone, and I call his name. He looks up and waves his phone at me.
“I was just texting you,” he shouts.
I lift a line of caution tape and bend to slip underneath, but a police officer holds up a hand and crosses the street in my direction.
“Miss, I’m sorry, but this is a private residence, and you can’t…”
“She’s family,” Levi says, jogging over to me and lifting the tape higher so I can pass.
“Thank you,” I say, hoping I’m still making the face I was when I checked a second ago.
“We haven’t seen him yet. His parents went to the precinct a while ago,” Kyle says, turning to walk backward as we get closer to TK and Levi. I slow when he does, and he drops his voice to a whisper. “Apparently, Wes was staying at some church shelter in L.A. when he woke up yesterday and remembered who he was.”
“Fuck, seriously?” I know my expression won’t pass now, so I turn my head enough to hide behind Kyle.
“Joss, what the hell? Are we supposed to just go along with this?” Kyle asks. I shrug, but really, it’s not like Kyle hasn’t lied before. What’s one more secret to keep?
“Joss, hey,” Levi says, palming his phone and opening his arms to hug me. I practice looking surprised while my face is against his chest, and when I step away from his hold, I feel pretty confident I can bluff my way through the next five minutes at least.
“What have you heard?” I ask.
“I guess Mom and Dad went to get him from the county hospital. They said something about being worried about head trauma, maybe some nerve damage that affected his short-term memory. I guess when he was little, before they adopted him, he was in a pretty bad accident,” Levi says.
I flit my eyes to Kyle’s, and my breath stops. It doesn’t take much for me to relive that day, and I see it happen in my head a thousand times before Levi actually says it.
“I guess some dude ran his car into a house, or something crazy like that, almost hit his own kid,” he says, and only then do I realize that Taryn has walked up to stand beside me. If I stop this now, it’s nothing more than some piece of gossip Levi heard. Taryn won’t ask questions; she knows I don’t like to talk about it. I feel her fingers tickle against mine, and I know she’s prepared to change the subject for me, but it’s too late. Levi is able to sneak in one more sentence—the only words that can undo so very much.
“Wes pushed the kid out of the way, I guess, but not before the car clipped him on the side of the head,” Levi says. My eyes are locked on Kyle’s, but I feel Taryn’s thoughts next to me. I hear her breath fall away, the tiniest gasp escaping her lips. She’s put the puzzle together.
“How awful,” Taryn says, and my eyes fall shut with relief. Her fingers reach to mine again, and I squeeze them this time.
“You have any idea when they might get here?” Kyle asks, and I turn, opening my eyes to look directly into Taryn’s. I’m instantly a child, and she’s my friend who tells everyone what to do. I need her to tell me what to do. I need Wes, but at the same time I’m so angry at him for staying away, for shutting me out, for changing his mind without preparing me.
“Mom said she would send a text when they were on their way. I hope those cameras stay away,” TK says.
I turn to look over my shoulder, at the line of media trucks, reporters with phones out sitting on sidewalks, snapping pictures as they type their stories on tiny keypads. I’m sure this story is already trending on Twitter.
“Not a chance,” I say, remembering a scene so very similar nine years ago. I was the one they were trying to take pictures of, and Wes—he shielded me.
“Maybe if we pull the truck out and park it there,” Levi says, pointing to the small space in front
of a squad car at the end of his driveway.
“They could pull all the way up to the door that way,” Kyle says. “I’ll move my truck, too. Maybe we can block off some of their view.”
Both boys pull keys from their pockets and jog over to their trucks while TK moves to the center of his family’s lawn, cupping the screen of his phone to be able to see it under the bright noon sun.
“You’ve never kept something from me,” Taryn says quietly. My heart begins to pound, even though I knew this was coming. I knew I’d have to tell her one day.
“I know,” I say, drawing in a full breath through my nose and holding my lungs full for several long seconds. I shut my eyes again briefly as I exhale, then I turn to my friend and look her in the eyes. She’s hurt, and I can tell, but her eyes also reflect my own. She’s just as confused as I am.
“Taryn…” I begin, only to be cut off by TK’s rush toward us. He pounds his palm against the hood of the boys’ truck as Levi backs out, then holds a thumb up, his cheeks puffed from the elated smile spilling across his face.
“That them?” Levi says, hopping out of the truck and rushing over to us.
“Yeah, got it. We’re here, and the driveway is clear. Come in from the north, and maybe we can keep the news cameras out of our business,” TK says, ending the call a second later.
His eyes bounce from Taryn’s to mine, and eventually to his brother.
“They’ll be here in two minutes,” he says, his chest rising and falling at a rapid pace. Everyone’s is—even Taryn’s. Every heart in this small circle is beating fast, and everyone’s skin is tingling, their muscles flexing with adrenaline and their spines soaked with the kind of magic a child feels when they think they’ve heard Santa Claus outside.
Everyone feels it. Everyone…but me.
My stomach sinks, and my mind races from thought to thought, wondering how I’ll react when I see him, whether or not I should pretend or run. I spin mentally from how to handle Taryn—what to say and how to apologize for leaving her out of my secret—but ultimately, everything brings me back to this…to right now.
