by E. E. Cooper
Nadir gave a strangled laugh. “Well, that’s a relief. Then it’s only manslaughter.”
My jaw tightened. “I’m not joking.”
There was a pause. “I know, and that’s what has me worried,” Nadir said.
“Beth is dead. You’re acting like this is all in my head. Remember when I asked you about records of online chats? Those were from Brit. She was pretending to be Beth, but it was her the whole time. She was checking out her options, figuring out if she could come back. And I have some other stuff too that pokes holes in her story, and now I think she’s setting it up so people won’t believe me.”
“If something happened, and that’s a big if, you should leave it to the cops.”
I rubbed my temple with one hand and made myself loosen the grip I had on the phone with the other. “But that’s the whole point. The police aren’t investigating.” I didn’t mention that they were more likely to think I was guilty of cyberbullying than they were that Brit was guilty of murder. “That’s why I called you, to see if you could help me think of some way to get in touch with this girl Nicole Bradon. She lived over on Charles in this big white house. Brit was down there in East Lansing when she was supposedly amnesic. Nicole was her roommate. She might be able to fill in the missing information.”
“Is that why you came to see me?” Nadir asked.
“Partly. Listen, I can’t get back down there because of exams, but could you go back to her place? Someone must have some kind of emergency number for her, or know her parents, or when she will be in some particular location, and then I can call any hostels in the area. She’s in Europe, after all; it’s not like she’s on the moon.” Nadir was totally silent. “I’m not asking you to agree with me—maybe I’m wrong, but help me find out for sure.” I knew I wasn’t mistaken about this, but as much as I wanted Nadir to see things the way I did, what I needed most of all was some help. “The police aren’t going to look into it until I give them a reason.”
“Maybe they’re not looking into it because there’s nothing to see.”
I jumped off my bed and paced around my room. “Never mind. It was a mistake for me to call you.”
“Kalah, you don’t even know for sure that this Nicole knows anything about Brit. You’re just guessing. You can always call me, but you can’t be pissed if I tell you something you don’t want to hear.”
“I’m not pissed,” I yelled. We were both silent for a beat, letting my obvious lie wash over the both of us. “Okay, I’m ticked, but it’s because I really believe Brit did something to Beth. All I’m asking you is to help me investigate it further so I can find out for certain. She and I keep dancing around the subject. I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s like she’s daring me to confront her.”
Nadir sighed. “All I’m saying is that you always liked drama. Remember when Grandpa convinced you he’d trapped the tooth fairy in a box and you got all excited because you were going to take it to show-and-tell and then you lost your shit when he told you he was just kidding?”
“What’s your point?” I asked.
“My point is you love drama. You want the world to be more exciting than it is.”
Each one of his words felt like it was covered in spikes as it bounced off of me. “That’s not what this is about,” I said. My eyes stung, and I used the back of my hand to wipe away a tear.
“You need to drop this,” Nadir said.
“You’re not my parent; you don’t get to tell me what to do,” I said.
Nadir sighed. “Kay-Kay, you know I love you, but you’re sensitive. You feel things more than other people. Sometimes that’s awesome. When you’re happy you’re like a million watts. When you care about someone you do it with every atom of your being, but there are downsides. When you’re hurt, you don’t bounce back easily. You feel slighted by things that other people wouldn’t even notice. You read meanings and subtext into all sorts of stuff that isn’t there.”
There was a dull ache in my chest. “You don’t believe me.”
“I don’t believe you’re in a place to look at this situation objectively,” Nadir said. “You need to share all of this with your psychologist.”
“I’ll think about it,” I lied. If no one would help me, then I’d figure it out on my own. Talking to Dr. Sherman wasn’t going to do anything other than be a distraction.
“I’m going to talk to Mom and Dad,” Nadir said.
Traitor. “Why on earth would you do that?” I asked. “You know how they can be. They’ll freak out.”
“They should freak out. Kalah, you’re talking about one of your friends killing the other. Look at it this way: if you’re right, then this is a serious situation, not something you can deal with on your own.”
“If I’m right.” I snorted. “Don’t make this sound like you’re now trying to do me a favor.”
“You may not believe me, but I’m doing this because I want to help.”
“If you want to help me, then don’t talk to Mom and Dad.” My heart was speeding up. I could already picture my parents sitting across from me at the dining room table, both of them making their serious conversation faces. They’d try to sound calm and relaxed, but their eyes would show the panic they’d be feeling.
“Mom and Dad aren’t the bad guys,” Nadir said.
“I know, but they’re going to blow it into something it isn’t. I’ll drop it, okay? Don’t drag them into this.”
“You’re not going to drop it.” Nadir sounded exhausted.
“I will. I promise.” I crossed my fingers behind my back. I felt bad lying to my brother, but the last thing I needed was my parents dragged in this. “I talked the situation through with you, which is what I wanted to do. If I decide to do anything else, I’ll tell you first.” I held my breath, hoping.
“I don’t know. . . .”
“All I’m saying is that if I drop it, then there’s nothing to tell them. If I go further, you’ll know and you can decide if you want to tell them then.”
Nadir was silent. “I won’t talk to them,” he said, “but I think you should. And I’m reserving the right to change my mind depending on the circumstances.”
The tight band around my chest disappeared and I could finally take a deep breath. “Thanks,” I mumbled. “I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t make me regret it,” he said. “I’m just trying to take care of my baby sister.”
“I know. You’re the best brother ever.”
“I’m your only brother,” he said.
I smiled at our ongoing family joke. “Then you’re lucky; there’s no chance you’ll lose your title.”
We talked for a couple more minutes about Nadir’s final exams before hanging up. As soon as I clicked off with him I flopped back down on my bed. I could feel sweat prickling under my arms. The silence in the house felt like a balm. My parents were going on a date night after work. Dad had scored tickets to a play, and they were going to dinner too. It felt good to be alone.
I got up and wandered around the house. I couldn’t focus on anything. I could hear a giant clock ticking down to Brit’s renovations, as if a bulldozer were outside my window, ready to take me out. I clicked on the TV and then realized I’d been staring at it for twenty minutes with zero idea of what was on. I clicked it off. I picked up a book and then put it back down. If TV was too complicated, reading A Tale of Two Cities for my English exam wasn’t going to go any better. I flipped through one of my mom’s magazines and dropped it too.
It felt like I had ants crawling around just inside my skin. I couldn’t get comfortable. I went out into the kitchen and opened the fridge. I pushed aside the leftover quinoa salad my mom had left for me. I didn’t want it. I ran my hand over the items on the shelves as if perhaps by Braille I could figure out what I was in the mood to eat. Nothing looked good. I shut the fridge and tried the pantry. I ate a handful of salty cashews from a bag, but that wasn’t what I wanted either.
Then I noticed my parents’ ba
r shelf. They liked to make cocktails: old-fashioneds, martinis, negronis, and whiskey sours. They had everything, rum, mescal, Scotch, Grand Marnier, Campari, and a whole row of tiny bottles that held bitters. I held up a bottle of Bombay Sapphire gin. I liked how the glass was bright blue, the color of Beth’s eyes trapped in a genie bottle. I picked up the squat bottle of bourbon at the back. It made me think of the first time I kissed Beth out at the Point. She’d brought her dad’s bottle for us to share. It was the only time I’d ever tried it. I unscrewed the cap and sniffed. The smoky smell reminded me of Beth. Maybe I would have a small drink. It might calm me down.
My parents had special cups just for cocktails. Their highball glasses had thick glass bottoms. They looked like they were off the set of Mad Men. Beth would have loved the heft of them, how substantial they felt. These weren’t glasses that you would use to serve anything frothy and pink. They were for serious drinking. The ice I put in mine clinked importantly at the bottom, and when I added the whiskey it looked like it was meant to be in my hand. I felt more competent just holding it.
I wandered into the living room and took a sip. I coughed. I’d forgotten how strong it was. It was liquid fire, burning heat as it slid down my throat and into my stomach. The warmth spread through my gut. I turned on the stereo and sank into the leather sofa. I swirled the ice with my index finger.
“Here Comes the Sun” by the Beatles came on. I closed my eyes and sighed. Beth had loved this song. She’d loved the whole Abbey Road album. I got up and put it on repeat letting the songs play over and over. I belted out “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer” at the top of my lungs, picturing Beth singing into her hairbrush as we got ready to go out.
The happy image of Beth faded away, replaced by Britney’s smug face. There was no way around it. Brit was winning. Her life was charmed. She got away with everything. She’d also managed to turn Zach against me. I had no doubts that she’d left me at the Point to remind me that she could destroy me. She couldn’t have picked a more meaningful place.
Then there was the situation with Officer Siegel and Sara. I took a long sip of my drink, hoping the burn would obliterate the wave of shame I felt. The situation was spinning out of control. If Sara killed herself over all of this, I was going to be partly to blame. I’d found ways to justify not telling anyone of Brit’s involvement, convincing myself that I had to keep Brit close. But maybe the truth was that I was the kind of person who did whatever they had to in order to get what they want. Look at how I’d lied to Zach. I’d come up with excuses then too, that there was no point in telling him because Beth was gone, but the truth was I hadn’t told him because I was scared. I was acting just like Brit.
I leaned back and let the music wash over me, hypnotizing me. The bourbon was working; I could feel the tension in my body leaking out, melting into the leather seat beneath me. I still didn’t have any answers, but the problem felt more distant. I curled into the cushions my mom had made from old printed sari fabric, the bright colors slightly faded.
I refilled my drink a couple of times, maybe three or four. As the album cycled over and over, I lost track of time. I had long, imagined conversations with Britney that ended with her breaking into tears and confessing everything. I could almost feel the thrill of victory when everyone realized what she was capable of doing. I replayed the scene in my head, giving myself a chance to try out different lines, honing my accusations.
I heard the rumble of the garage door and sat straight up. Oh, shit. Had I drifted off? The bourbon bottle was still sitting on the kitchen counter. I’d planned to mix in a bit of water before my parents came home and then crawl into bed to avoid any chance they’d notice I’d been drinking.
My mind was racing around, trying to figure out what to do first. Dump the glass in my hand? Go up to my room? Should I pretend to be asleep? I hadn’t even sorted out all the options when my mom was standing right in front of me. She clicked off the stereo. I hadn’t even realized it had been up that high. John Lennon and the rest of the band abandoned me to face this by myself. The silence felt thick. My mom took the glass from my hand and sniffed it before putting it down on the coffee table.
“I can explain,” I said. My voice was slurred.
“Really?” Mom put her hands on her hips. “I rather doubt that.”
I opened my mouth, but whatever lame excuse I’d been considering vaporized from my brain. “Um.”
“What were you thinking?” Mom didn’t even pause, so I knew it wasn’t the kind of question I was supposed to answer. “Your dad and I have always trusted you and your brother. Do you want to live in a home where we have to lock things away? Where we have to come home and do an inspection?”
“No,” I mumbled.
“I don’t understand what is going on with you. We’re trying to be very supportive of what we know is a difficult time for you, but you seem to insist on making things more complicated. Do you know who left a message on my phone this afternoon?”
I shook my head, but moving made the room tilt, so I stopped.
“The school. They said you weren’t in any of your afternoon classes, so in addition to this, we can add truancy to your list of things you need to explain.”
My stomach did a slow rollover. I was regretting not having eaten anything all evening.
My dad touched my mom’s shoulder lightly. “I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere discussing this tonight. Kalah’s in no shape.”
I swayed slightly on my feet. I’d never loved my dad more than I did in that moment.
“You should go up to your room. We’ll clean up down here,” Dad said.
“I’m sorry,” I said. I was saying that a lot lately. I should just get a tattoo across my forehead and save myself the trouble.
Mom sighed. “Go to bed.”
I slipped past them and up the stairs, passing the wall of photos. It seemed like every family member we had, including younger versions of myself, was watching my walk of shame. My vision had black spots in the corner, threatening to take me under. The list of people who were disappointed in me was growing longer every day. I took a cold shower, trying to sober up. My head was already thumping. I stood over the toilet, hoping to puke it up, but despite the fact that my stomach was clearly unhappy with the current state of events, it wasn’t going to give up the bourbon easily. I couldn’t bring myself to stick my finger down my throat. I eventually gave up and just crawled into bed.
I’d almost fallen asleep when there was a light tap. My dad cracked the door and peeked in.
I pulled myself up. “Hey.”
“Hey,” he said. He came in and handled me a bottle of Tylenol and put a glass of water on my bedside table. “You’ll want to do yourself a favor and take a couple of those and drink the water.”
I tossed the pills back and took a sip of water. “Thanks.”
Dad sat on the edge of my bed. “I’d like to say I’ve never been in your shoes, but I have.” He looked over. “Not that I think what you did was a good idea.”
“Mom’s really pissed,” I said. Something about being in the dark made it easier to talk. “I ruined your night out.”
“Your mom is worried.” Dad sighed. “I am too.”
“Does it make it better or worse that I’m also worried?” My voice sounded small in the dim light.
“It shows some insight; that’s never a bad thing. What happened, Kalah?”
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” I said.
“You know we caught your brother drinking a couple of times.”
“Really?” Nadir? Perfect Nadir? I felt a tiny flicker of hope. If Nadir could screw up too and still turn out okay, it meant there might be hope for me.
“We didn’t tell you at the time because it wasn’t your problem. The usual stuff. Out with friends. Beer. Bad decisions,” Dad said. He looked around the room at the various posters and ads I’d taped to the walls in tidy, precise rows. “The thing was, we never came home and found him drinking by himself
. That’s what really has me concerned. This wasn’t you at a party getting carried away. Can you tell me what happened today that made you come home and decide you needed to have a drink?”
“It was a bad decision,” I said.
“Well, we can agree on that.”
I surprised myself by laughing. “Yeah.” I played with Roogs’s worn ear, amazed that an ancient stuffed dog could still make me feel better. “I was just mad and sad about all these things, and I thought that having a drink would make it all disappear. I know it was a stupid thing to do.”
Dad patted my hands. “Growing up isn’t ever easy, but it’s that much harder when you’ve been through the things you’ve had to deal with this year,” he said. “I’m not saying that your problems are because you’re young, I’m just acknowledging that when you get older it gets a bit easier to handle heartache and pain. Maybe because you’ve had some experience. You know you’ll survive. When it’s the first time you lose someone you love, you honestly don’t know if you’ll make it.” Dad smiled. “That’s my way of saying you will survive. A little older and a little wiser.”
“Sometimes it doesn’t feel like I’m getting any wiser,” I admitted. “I know I keep screwing up. I just wish I could go back in time and do things differently.”
“Ah. The immortal quest for a time machine. If I ever make one in my robot lab, I’ll let you know, but until then you’re going to have to do the best you can.”
I closed my eyes. I’d been afraid that was the answer.
“Hang in there, kiddo.” Dad leaned over and kissed my forehead. “We love you and we always will.” He tapped me on the nose. “Doesn’t mean you’re not still in trouble.”
I smiled. “I love you guys too. You’re the best parents I’ve got.”
“We’re the only parents you’ve got,” Dad said, and then slipped the door shut.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
However it might look, don’t be fooled: bourbon is not your friend. When my alarm went off in the morning I whacked it off my bedside table sending it flying into the pile of dirty clothes I’d been wearing yesterday. There was a low drumbeat behind my eyes, and my skull felt too small to contain my brain. My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth with some kid of sour smoky paste. My stomach lurched and gurgled, making noises best suited to a horror movie sound track.
