“Hey,” a cute girl in jeans and a sweater said as she opened the door. “What’s up?”
“This idiot wanted to come over and ask you about Jenny,” Roger said, hooking a thumb in my direction.
I shivered on the doorstep like someone had just stepped on my grave.
“Well, come in.” The screen door squeaked on its hinges as Roger pulled it open to let us inside. Right away we were greeted with two sets of stairs—one going up into a living area, and one going down into a darkened basement.
“Let’s go down,” Heather said, flipping a lightswitch as we walked down the carpeted stairs behind her. I stared at her curly blonde ponytail; a red ribbon that matched her sweater was clipped to the base of it.
“Yeahhhhh. The scene of the first crime,” Roger said suggestively, elbowing me in the ribs. “That couch over there is where you and Jenny were getting pretty cozy.”
“Cozy?” Who even said that? “And I thought the party was at your house.”
Heather shot us a mean look. “Let’s not rehash you giving Jenny a tongue bath on my couch, please.”
“We moved the whole thing to my house when Heather’s mom got mad,” Roger said. “Remember?”
“Oh, right.” Of course I didn’t remember.
Heather flopped onto a chair and tucked her feet under her thighs. “So what are you guys up to today?”
“Mario, leftovers, 7-11, and coming over here,” Roger rattled off quickly. “Not much.”
“And I want to meet Jenny,” I added. I had no idea why this was becoming such an obsession, but for some reason I felt like I needed the answers to whatever had happened the night before—especially if I’d gotten some cheerleader pregnant on New Year’s Eve thirteen years before I’d even been born. If this was the case, I felt like I should at least meet her.
“You met her last night,” Heather said. She yawned.
“I meant that I wanted to see her again. Today.”
“So go see her. Duh.”
Roger and I looked at one another. We were lost. “Where?” he asked. “Where do we find this goddess so we can reunite her with our strangely dressed friend?”
Heather shrugged. “I dunno. I’d never really talked to her before last night. She’s pretty quiet at school.”
“So who is she friends with? Who can help us find her?” Roger kicked at the leg of the coffee table.
“Maybe Emily knows. I think she spent the night over there.” Heather picked up a magazine and started flipping the pages like she was already bored of talking about Jenny.
“So let’s go to Emily’s,” Roger said abruptly. He hadn’t even taken off his coat. “Later, cuz.”
“You don’t want to hang out? We can watch Sixteen Candles.” She picked up a VHS tape from the coffee table in front of her. “And my mom is making hamburgers. You guys wanna stay?”
“No, thanks,” I said, following Roger. “I’ve already seen it like a million times,”
“How have you seen it a million times?” Heather stared at me. “It’s only been out on video for a few months.”
“It’s on TV eight times a day,” I said, pointing at her giant floor console television. An oversized cable box with red numbers sat on top of it.
Heather and Roger exchanged a look. “Right. Of course it is,” Heather said, raising an eyebrow at her cousin. “So anyway, check Emily’s. Jenny’s probably still there.”
Heather didn’t get up to show us out, so we took the stairs two at a time and were out on the street before she could even say goodbye.
“Let’s hitch a ride,” Roger said, picking the hot dog out of his braces with his thumbnail. “Emily’s house is over by the mall.”
I’d never hitched a ride before out of fear that my mom would slaughter me for getting into a stranger’s car, but I stopped myself from saying anything. Within minutes, we were in the backseat of an older couple’s sedan. The heater was turned up high, and I was starting to feel my fingers again.
“Nice day for a walk, boys,” the old man behind the wheel said. I caught his eye in the rearview mirror. “You headed anywhere interesting?”
“Meeting a couple of live ones over at Bridgewater Mall,” Roger said, sinking back in the seat. I searched the cracks in the vinyl bench seat for a seatbelt but came up with one half of a lap belt and nothing to attach it to. “My man here made a love connection last night and we’re trying to solidify it.”
The woman in the front passenger seat sucked in her breath.
“That’s how I met this fine filly right here,” the man said, putting his arm across the seat so that his hand rested on his wife’s shoulder. “Met her at a party one night and then tracked her down the next day to make sure she wasn’t just a figment of my imagination.” He glanced at his wife and gave her a wink. “Been married now for fifty-two years.”
“Nice work, man,” Roger said. He leaned forward and patted the driver on the shoulder. “I can tell she’s quite a catch.”
This kind of behavior was bizarre to me. Who talked to old people like this? Or took rides from strangers? But Roger seemed perfectly comfortable. He looked out the window at the trees and houses that passed by in a blur. Dirty snow was pushed against the sidewalks, and the lawns were covered in patchy streaks of ice and half-melted snow.
“Where should we drop you?” The driver asked, looking at me again in the rearview mirror. His eyes looked straight into mine, and I had the strange sensation that he knew something about me—something important and true that I didn’t even know myself.
“Anywhere around the mall is fine,” Roger said. “We really appreciate the lift.”
“Good luck with those girls,” the driver said as he slowed to a stop. “And Happy New Year.”
“Same to you, sir.” Roger closed the door to the backseat and held up one hand as the car pulled away. “Nice people,” he said, spitting into the dirty snow. “It’s not everyone who’d stop to pick up a couple of guys like us. Especially when one of us is wearing his Bugle Boys with a ski jacket and Jordans.” Roger took another disbelieving look at my parachute pants. “But whatever. Let’s go see if the light of day has sobered this girl up, or if she’s still into you even without a Graveyard in her hand.”
6
December 16, 2016
Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me
Daniel stood face-to-face with Blake Schiller in the dim hallway. From inside room 15A came a soft, uncontrollable whimper. It was Karina, sobbing into her scarf as she watched the figures of both boys through the shattered glass of the window.
Blake’s eyes looked straight into Daniel’s. This gave Daniel the strange sensation that Blake knew something about him—something important and true that he didn’t even know himself. A rush of déjà vu flooded through Daniel like someone had turned on a faucet inside his veins. When had he looked into another set of eyes and felt this same way? Thoughts came to him slowly, like he was treading water and was in no rush to stop Blake from mowing people down with the guns in his hands.
Daniel’s eyes trailed down to where Blake held both weapons near his waist. For a second, they reminded him of the toy guns they’d played with as younger boys, and he nearly reached out for one so that they could chase one another through the thick woods behind Blake’s house, calling out warnings and commands as they played Redcoats and Bluecoats and waited for their moms to buzz their cell phones and remind them to come home for dinner.
“Wipe that smile off your face,” Blake ordered, looking at Daniel like he was crazy. “You look like a fucking idiot.”
For some reason, the panic that had washed over him inside the classroom had subsided, and Daniel no longer felt like he was staring into the eyes of an angry maniac. He looked at Blake curiously, the way someone might watch with detachment as a mouse struggled to escape from a trap.
“It’s time for us to talk,” Blake said. He held out his rifle and touched the barrel of it to Daniel’s stomach, giving him a shove that c
aused Daniel to take a step backward. “You owe me that.”
“What do I owe you for?”
“Cut the shit, Daniel.” Blake lifted his chin in anger. “The last six months of my life have been hell and you know why.”
He looked down at the guns again and then back at Blake’s face. A vein pulsed on the side of his forehead.
“Is it because we stopped hanging out? Because dude, I have to tell you, sometimes that happens. I didn’t mean anything by it.” Daniel held up both palms in surrender and tried to stop himself from taking a step back.
“Seriously? You think I’d be this angry because you stopped hanging out with me in sixth grade? Are you really that stupid?”
“Then what, Blake? You’re acting crazy. What am I supposed to think?”
Blake narrowed his eyes and looked down at Daniel. “I am crazy, remember? I’m the guy who kills people.”
And then suddenly Daniel knew what was bothering Blake. “That wasn’t your fault,” he said. The look in Blake’s eyes chilled him to the bone.
“That’s not what everyone else thinks.” Blake smiled, but his dark eyes were flinty and cold. “But why should you care? I mean, your life wasn’t ruined, so why would you give it another thought?”
“But Blake, that was an accident.”
The party at D’Shawn Washington’s house had been the weekend before senior year started. Everyone was there. D’Shawn’s parents were in Pennsylvania, and he’d invited almost the entire senior class. There was music, people spilling out into the backyard and jumping in and out of the pool, and tons of alcohol. D’Shawn was the star quarterback and known to throw the best parties, so this end-of-summer blowout was just one more opportunity for him to host everyone and solidify his standing as potential Homecoming King.
Daniel had arrived with a few friends and had immediately been handed a cup of foamy beer, which he passed on to the first girl in a bikini who approached him. He was surprised to spot Blake Schiller in the hallway waiting in the bathroom line, and he stopped to say a casual hello to his old friend.
“Sup?” Daniel asked.
“Hey,” Blake lifted his chin. He was holding a red cup full of beer. “Haven’t seen you around in a minute.”
Daniel put his hands in the pockets of his jeans and leaned against the wall next to Blake. “I’ve been around. What’ve you been up to this summer?”
“I got a job at my dad’s construction company.”
They stood there silently.
“How’s your sister?” Daniel checked his phone.
“She’s fine. She’ll be a freshman next year.”
“Seriously?” Daniel was out of things to say, and Blake wasn’t making this conversation any easier. “Hey, remember that time freshman year when we got kicked out of P.E. for starting a game of dodgeball with the soccer balls?”
Blake laughed. His face relaxed. “Yeah. Good times, man.” The smile faded a little. “But what happened after that?”
“What do you mean?” Daniel folded his arms across his chest like he was guarding himself from bad news or a confrontation. He knew that their friendship had gone off the rails in middle school, and they’d really gone their separate ways in high school, with Blake spending his weekends hunting with his dad, and Daniel stuck inside the house while his mom worked, wishing he had a dad to hang out with.
“I mean you stopped talking to me. I would see you in the halls and you wouldn’t even say hey.”
Daniel nodded. He could acknowledge this; it had happened that way. “You didn’t really talk to me either,” he said, feeling like an asshole for turning the tables on Blake. The ball had been in his court, and he’d dropped it. There had been no question that Daniel had been the more popular of the two boys, and his ignoring Blake had been a social move that had cemented their very different statuses.
“Well.” Blake shoved himself away from the wall and took a step forward as the line moved. Two girls exited the bathroom together, giggling and pushing each other as they walked past the line of boys. “Whatever.”
Daniel cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, man. I guess I didn’t see it that way.”
Blake looked down at him, and for a second Daniel could imagine him as the ten-year-old friend who’d spent countless nights playing video games at his house. It was like no time had passed at all.
“All right,” Blake said easily. He shrugged. “All is forgiven.”
“Really?”
“Nah, but it’s a start.” Blake punched him in the shoulder. “Why don’t we catch up now?”
They waited in line together, talking about senior year and watching the girls walk up and down the hall in pairs, and then they moved out to the kitchen so that Blake could hit the keg for another beer.
The crowd in the kitchen parted to let them through. Blake made it all the way to the keg and was waiting to fill his cup when someone slammed into Daniel from behind. He tripped and caught himself on the edge of the kitchen table with both hands.
“Whoa, dude,” Daniel said, turning to look at who had shoved him. The guy was standing behind him holding an empty cup and wearing a nasty frown.
“What the fuck?” The guy was Nick Mancini, and his biceps were the size of Daniel’s thighs. “You spilled my beer!” he shouted, flexing his bare arm. Nick was known for his gelled hair and deep tan, and also for being the wide receiver on the football team. Daniel had never liked him much.
“Pretty sure you hit me,” Daniel said, frowning back at Nick. He probably should have just backed down, but a crowd had gathered and everyone was watching. There was enough alcohol flowing through the veins of Westchester High School’s class of 2017 that the desire to see a fight was real.
“You think I hit you?” Nick growled drunkenly, holding out his empty cup. “You spilled my beer, Girch.”
Daniel looked at the puddle of beer on the kitchen floor. He was about to dispute this when Nick Mancini tossed the cup at him. It hit Daniel in the forehead and bounced off.
“Get me another one.” The crowd in the kitchen circled them and let out a collective “Ohhhh,” as they waited to see what would happen next. “Fill my fuckin’ beer, Girch.”
Daniel squared his shoulders and stared at Nick. “No,” he said firmly, though he could feel his face and ears turning red. “Fill your own beer, Mancini.”
Blake stepped between the boys and put one hand on each of their chests. “Let’s knock this shit off,” he said. Blake was taller than Daniel, but not as thick as Nick Mancini, and in a fight where Nick was sober, Blake would never hold his own.
“How about you fill my beer then, Blake?” Nick leaned forward so that Blake could feel his beer breath on his own cheek. “Or I’m going to make Daniel do it while everyone watches.”
“No one is filling your beer,” Daniel said. He stood next to Blake, silently congratulating himself for rekindling their friendship back in the hallway so that he would have an ally.
Before Daniel could get out of the way, Nick Mancini’s muscular arm swung out and his fist connected with Daniel’s nose. The taste of blood filled his mouth almost on contact. Everyone in the kitchen gasped.
Daniel leaned forward over the table as blood dripped from his nose. The girl across from him took a step back as soon as she saw red drops splashing onto the table. Seeing his own blood sent a rush of anger through Daniel, and without pausing to think about the consequences, he turned on Nick and lunged at him with both hands, trying to shove him backwards. He was acting on pure instinct.
The contact caused Nick to fall back and stumble into a folding table near the sliding glass doors. Girls shrieked and moved out of the way so that they wouldn’t be crushed by Nick’s sizable body, and instead the table covered with bottles of rum and vodka took the hit. Nick’s weight collapsed the folding table like it was made of cardboard. Bottles hit the wood floor, shattering as they fell. The smell of alcohol stung the eyes of the people closest to Nick.
He was on his feet instan
tly and gearing up to tackle Daniel when Blake stepped in again. Instead of letting Nick Mancini hit Daniel, Blake blocked him with a shoulder, pushing him back towards the broken bottles on the floor. Between Nick’s strength and Blake’s determination, the boys looked like they were playing tug-of-war, and several of the people in the room took out their phones to take video of the fight.
As Blake and Nick struggled, Daniel put the back of his hand to his nose to blot the blood that was still streaming. He coughed and spit blood into the sink as he watched his old friend try to hold Nick’s massive strength at bay.
Without noticing, Blake and Nick had moved to where the bottles of rum and vodka had broken, and the wet floor sent them crunching across glass and tripping over the destroyed table. Nick was about to land a punch next to Blake’s left ear when he caught his foot on one of the table’s metal legs. He pitched forward just as Blake was throwing a punch at him, and his face connected with Blake’s fist. It was hard contact, and the hit sent Nick reeling backwards towards the sliding glass doors behind him.
The shatter of glass was totally expected by the time Nick fell through the giant window, and people continued to take video as his foot caught on the metal ledge of the door’s track. With one final flail of his arms, Nick Mancini landed headfirst on the pavement of D’Shawn Washington’s patio, the back of his skull smashing against the ground like a melon being dropped on concrete.
The kitchen went silent. Outside, everyone in the pool and on the grass was already watching, open-mouthed, as Nick’s head bounced off the ground with a thud. He made a sound and then went still. The cameras recorded it all.
Blake was the first to make a move. He stepped over the glass that was everywhere and through the giant hole in the window.
“Nick?” he asked hesitantly. “Yo, Mancini. You okay?”
A few people around them backed up, no one wanting to be near the puddle of blood that was spreading across the patio from the back of Nick’s head.
“Hey, Mancini. You tripped over that broken table, dude.” Blake fell to his knees next to Nick and put one hand on his meaty arm. “Hey.” Blake shook him. “Let’s get you up and clean that head.”
If You Were Here Page 4
