“I really don’t want to—” I began, but Eric was already flagging Bobby down.
“Good morning. Mind if I ask you a quick question?” Eric held up the drawing. “Do you know this person?”
Bobby rolled his eyes. “Who wants to know?”
I stepped out from behind Eric.
Bobby glanced from me to the drawing, and his face shifted from boredom to fury in an instant. “What have you heard?”
“Nothing.”
Bobby moved in close. His eyes glittered strangely, and his voice was hushed. “Seriously. What has Kyle been saying?”
I blinked at him, confused.
“Tell me.” He grabbed my wrist. Hard. More shocked than hurt, I tried to pull away, but he held on.
Eric leaned between us and threw a kind of John Wayne bravado into his voice. “Hey now,” he said. “Take it down a notch.”
Bobby let go but showed no signs of calming down. I rubbed at my wrist.
“Did he go to the police? Is that what’s going on? Because we didn’t lay a hand on him. He was bleeding before we ever saw him that night.”
My whole body had tensed up, ready to bolt, and I struggled to force words out. “No police. We just wanted to know who he was.”
Bobby let out a loud breath and shook his head. “Listen, Brown. There are things the cops don’t need to know about, okay? So you’d better not go poking around in—” He stopped himself and fixed me with a glare. “You’re Red’s sister,” he said at last. “Act like it.” He slouched off.
I turned to Eric. “He just totally lost it.” I swallowed hard, my throat dry. Bobby was hiding stuff from me, and from the police—stuff about Tyler—and I was going to find out what it was. No matter how much he threatened me.
“I don’t know what all that was about,” Eric said, “but I’m concluding that this guy”—he held up the drawing—“is named Kyle. I can work with that.” He pulled out his phone and took off toward the main entrance. “I’ll text you when I have news.”
Eric’s message didn’t arrive until just before the last period of the day. Meet me at the track after school, it said. ASAP.
When the final bell rang, I dashed outside to find Eric leaning on the chain-link fence that surrounded Westside’s athletic field. I collapsed against the fence next to him, breathing heavily. “What’s up?”
“Right there.” Eric pointed to a few guys on the lacrosse team who were straggling out onto the field for practice. “With his arm in the sling. Kyle Davis. I’m pretty sure that’s him.”
“Yep,” I breathed. “That’s him.” I watched Kyle warm up and stretch with his teammates. He had the same hair, the same freckles, the same nose as the guy I’d seen in my vision. It was as if I’d conjured him up wholesale from my own mind, and now here he was, breathing and walking around like everyone else. When the other guys set off to run some kind of passing-and-shooting drill, Kyle sat on the bleachers and tightened his sling.
“Now’s our chance.” Eric strode off toward an opening in the fence.
“Wait,” I called after him in a loud whisper. “What are you doing?” But once again, Eric had left me behind. By the time I caught up with him, he had already climbed three steps up into the bleachers and was introducing himself to Kyle.
“Eric Bowling. Sophomore. And this is Megan Brown. Her brother was—”
“Red Brown,” Kyle said, understanding dawning across his face. He glanced over at his teammates, who were all the way across the field, and then leaned in closer to us. “Listen, I’m sorry about what happened to him. He was a good guy.”
Eric cocked his head to one side. “Really? I heard you were screaming at him at a party a few weeks back. People don’t usually scream at good guys.”
Kyle looked surprised and ran a hand across his arm. “He just . . . took something from me, and I needed it back, that’s all. But he made it right. End of story.”
I thought back to Senator Herndon’s cigars, and to Bobby and Tyler in the wine cellar. Exactly how many people had Tyler been stealing from? “What did he take?”
“Yeah.” Kyle stood to go. “I’m not going to tell you that.”
“Are you worried about the police?” I persisted. “I won’t go to them. I just need to know what happened.”
“Sorry, kid.” Kyle stepped off the bleachers and onto the field.
Eric clambered down quickly and blocked Kyle’s path. “Wait,” he said. “She can see things.”
I stared at Eric in disbelief. “What are you doing?” I mouthed.
“Yeah, me too,” Kyle said, opening both eyes wide and looking around.
Eric dropped his voice to a dramatic whisper. “No, like psychic things. Things no one else can see. Things you wouldn’t want anyone to know.” He gestured to me. “Show him, Megan.”
Show him? I wanted to show Eric Bowling a thing or two.
Kyle turned around and looked at me expectantly. “Okay, I’ll bite,” he said. “Show me.” He waited, eyebrows raised.
I sent Eric one last dagger-filled look before walking over to Kyle and resting my hand on the sling that covered his arm.
Nothing happened. I tried to see the lights. No luck. I closed my eyes, attempting to buy myself some time.
“Does it normally take this long?” Kyle asked.
He sounded like every jerk I’d ever known, every stupid, entitled ass who’d made me duck into a girls’ bathroom when I saw him coming, for fear of being noticed—and once noticed, targeted. I thought of the Kyle I’d seen in my vision. That Kyle hadn’t been a jerk. He’d been a scared little boy.
I snapped my head up and stared Kyle straight in the eye. “I know what happened to you that night,” I said. “The night of the party. I can see you. Standing next to Tyler’s car. Begging him to help you.”
Kyle looked uncomfortable now, and he glanced between me and Eric. “Okay, Tyler told you that. So what?”
I didn’t flinch. I didn’t blink. I just let a smile cross my lips and tried to channel Jack Nicholson in The Shining. “I’m not finished. After everyone else was gone, you cried.” I shook my head. “You stood in the dirt by the side of the road, crying like a little boy.”
Kyle stepped away from me, his eyes wide. “How did you—”
“I bet I can see what you were doing last weekend too.” I reached for him again. “You want me to try?”
“Enough,” Kyle said. “Stop it. Freak.” He checked the location of his teammates, then led us off the field and around to the other side of the fence. “The thing Red took from me. It was one of my dad’s watches.”
I tried to puzzle that through. “When did he do this?”
“About a month ago. I had a party while my folks were out of town. A real rager, you know?” He smiled a bit, remembering. “Sometime during, or after, I don’t know, Red lifted it. I mean, my dad collects watches. He has dozens of them. But if he’d realized it was missing, he would have killed me.”
“So you went after Tyler to get it back,” Eric said.
“No, I went after Park.” He held up his broken arm. “That didn’t turn out so well.”
“Who the hell is Park?” I asked.
“Eugene Park. The guy who DJs at all the undergrounds,” Kyle said. “Tyler sold the watch to him.” I must have looked completely dumbfounded, because Kyle shook his head at the expression on my face. “Seriously,” he said. “For a psychic, you don’t know shit.”
My head swam. Tyler was selling the stuff he sold? So maybe there was something other than drugs that would explain the money in his locker.
“Where is it now?” I asked.
“The watch? I don’t know. Park has it, I guess. But Red bought me a new one. Identical. I put it back before my dad noticed, so we were cool.” His freckled face turned serious. “Look, I don’t want the cops thinking I had a grudge against Tyler or something, okay?”
“So how can we find this Eugene guy?” Eric asked.
“Yeah, I’d stay away fro
m Park if I were you. I heard his dad is Korean mafia out of Annandale.” He snorted. “And don’t call him Eugene.”
“Thanks for the advice,” I said. “When’s the next underground?”
“I’m done with those parties. And with you.” Kyle left us and jogged back toward the field.
“Hey, Kyle,” Eric called.
He turned.
“How much would you say that watch was worth?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Six thousand?” He went back through the fence to rejoin his teammates.
I leaned against the fence for support. “Six thousand dollars?” I exhaled. “Where the hell would Tyler have gotten the money to replace it?”
Eric leaned beside me. “I don’t know—maybe from the Korean mafia?”
“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “Tyler was not mixed up with the Korean mafia.”
“O-o-okay. If you say so.”
My mind raced. “I’m betting this guy Park will be at the next underground,” I said. “Which means we need to be at the next underground.”
“You know I support you in this, right?” Eric said. “I want you to find out what was happening with Tyler. I’m cheering you on.”
“I hear a ‘but’ coming.”
“But there’s no way you should go to that party by yourself. And I’m not exactly cut out for the role of bodyguard.”
I had a pretty good idea where he was going with this. “You want me to talk to Nathan, don’t you?”
“You have to,” he said. “We need reinforcements. Besides, you don’t even know where the party is, and he totally will. If you get him to go, I’m in too.” He nudged me with his elbow. “I even promise to leave the Bedazzled backpack at home.”
I looked at him for a moment. He might as well have had a bright red bull’s-eye painted on his shirt. “Don’t you ever want to be more normal?” I asked.
“Normal is a statistical invention. Not a desirable personality trait.”
I snorted. “Fine. I’ll talk to Nathan, see how he feels about the role of bodyguard.” My stomach lurched, and I couldn’t tell if it was excitement or dread. Anticipation, I decided. One way or the other, I was going to see Nathan again.
That night I curled up in bed with my phone to write Nathan a message. It took me a good twenty minutes to compose, and in the end, it said:
Want to go to a party with me?
Right after I hit send, the phone rang, and I jumped, startled.
It was him.
I sat up and stared at the phone in horror. He wasn’t supposed to call. He was breaking all the rules I had carefully put in place to avoid this. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t aware of the rules, but that was no excuse. I let it go to voice mail.
Within seconds, he sent me a message:
I know you’re there. You just texted me.
I’m not really a phone-talking kind of person.
You have a phone. You talk. You are a person.
Not on the phone, I’m not.
Please pick up.
I really want to hear your voice.
The phone rang again. I sat for a moment with my finger hovering over it, uncertain. Then I thought, What the hell? He already thinks I’m delusional. How much worse can I make this? So I answered.
“Hello,” I said.
“There you are. See, I feel better already.”
“Me, not so much.”
He laughed. “Tell me about this party.”
“I was actually hoping you would tell me about the party. I heard there’s another underground coming up?”
“Really?” he said. “I don’t know much about it.”
“I want to go.”
“Why?”
“Do you want the long answer or the short answer?”
“Always, always, the long answer.”
So I told him about Kyle, and the watch, and the Korean mafia.
He was quiet for a long minute. “So Red was stealing stuff? And selling it to Park? I don’t . . .” His voice shook. “How did I not know that?”
“I’m as surprised as you are.”
“I’m not just surprised, I’m pissed. Why would he—” I heard rustling and banging on Nathan’s end of the line. “I knew he had money, but I thought he, you know, had money. How long was that going on?”
“That’s what I’m going to that party to find out.”
“No way.”
“Look me in the eye, Nathan Lee . . . ,” I began.
Even as upset as he was, I heard him snort out a laugh.
“Metaphorically,” I said. “Look me in the metaphorical eye and tell me that it makes sense to you that my brother died the way the police say he did. That he drove to DC, bought some heroin, went to an abandoned building, and overdosed.” Nathan didn’t speak, but I could tell from his silence I was getting somewhere. “Don’t you see? I deserve to know how that happened. Why that happened. More than that, Tyler deserves it.”
“How about this option, Megan?” he said at last. “Let it go.”
A chill shot through me. “What?”
“I mean, what would happen if you didn’t try to figure out what happened? If you stopped trying to put together all the pieces and, you know, let yourself grieve?”
I fell quiet. I listened to the sound of Nathan’s breathing and thought about it. I tried to imagine living with what had happened. Accepting that I’d never truly understand why.
“I don’t think I can. Because Tyler isn’t who I thought he was. And that means I’m not who I thought I was.” I fought to keep my voice steady. “I know this might not make sense to you. But I have to put him back together. Or I can’t put myself back together.”
Nathan let out a little hum, and I swore I could feel it vibrate through my own chest. “I think you underestimate your phone-talking skills,” he said.
I breathed out a laugh.
“How about this,” he said. “I’ll find out where the party is, and I’ll talk to Park for you.”
“That sounds great. I’ll be standing right next to you when you do.”
Nathan let out an exasperated sigh. “Megan.”
Before he could say another word, I jumped in. “I know you don’t think going to that party is a good idea. But you can’t stop me. No matter what you say, no matter whether I have to ask every damn student at Westside where and when it is, no matter whether you come with me or not, I’m going to that party.”
Nathan paused for a moment before answering. “Give me ten minutes.” He hung up.
Five minutes later, he texted me.
Saturday night.
The old Barnes and Noble at Bailey’s Crossroads.
I pumped my fist in triumph.
One condition.
What’s that?
I get to drive.
CHAPTER 10
NATHAN PULLED UP IN FRONT OF MY HOUSE ON Saturday at midnight, right on time. As he approached, he turned off his headlights and rolled down his window. I ran down the front walk, glancing up at my parents’ darkened bedroom as I went.
“Need a lift?” he asked.
I grinned at him, jittery with nerves and excitement. “I see you’ve done this before.”
As I walked around to the passenger side, I ran my fingers over the hood of his car. It was old—not like clunker old, more like classic old. I couldn’t make out the color, but its chrome stripes and silver bumper glinted in the yellow glow of the streetlight. It had small round headlights and a tall front grill with the word RAMBLER underneath it. “What’s a Rambler?” I asked, sliding onto the wide bench seat. No gear shift separated me from Nathan, which made me oddly uncomfortable.
“This is a Rambler.” Nathan caressed the skinny steering wheel. “A 1961 AMC Rambler. The perfect car.” He used a gear stick by the steering wheel to put the car in drive.
“If you say so.” I reached up for my seatbelt, but there wasn’t one. Or at least, there wasn’t one that went across my shoulder. As I fastened the lap belt, I thoug
ht, Well, that’s risky. And the thought was so ridiculous that I laughed out loud.
“This car is no laughing matter,” Nathan said. “The Rambler was the 1963 Motor Trend Car of the Year.”
I laughed again.
Nathan watched me, his eyes warm. “You look nice tonight.”
“Sure, okay,” I mumbled. I’d thrown on a black T-shirt and jeans, figuring that would make me as inconspicuous as possible. I reached up to rub Tyler’s button, which I still wore on the string around my neck. I’d also stashed Tyler’s pitted metal marbles in my pocket, just to have another little bit of him with us tonight.
Nathan and I lapsed into silence. I glanced over at him. He looked different tonight. He’d set aside his usual retro clothes, with all their vivid colors, in favor of a denim jacket over a gray zippered hoodie. He took occasional sips from a travel coffee mug that he kept in a cup holder on the floor. As we drove, the car took on a quiet closeness. The streetlights slid over us, one after the other, and everything outside was hushed and dark. Nathan slung an arm across the back of the bench seat, and I tried to ignore how much this felt like a date.
That got easier once we picked up Eric. He slid into the backseat wearing a Sex Pistols T-shirt and a pair of skinny jeans. His hair was spiked every which way with gel.
“Nice look,” Nathan said.
“I lead a secret double life as a punk guitarist,” Eric said. Nathan and I both turned around to stare at him.
As we pulled away from the curb, Eric leaned forward, resting his arms on the front seat. “What did you tell your parents?”
“Nothing,” I said.
“What? You couldn’t come up with some kind of cover story?”
“Like what?”
Eric made a face. “I don’t know, that you’re sleeping over at someone’s house?”
“Whose? Yours? Nathan’s?”
“We are seriously your only options? I’m very sad for you right now.”
“I left a note,” I said. “In case they wake up. Told them you and I went to that twenty-four-hour diner in Tyson’s Corner.” Tyler might have been the good boy, the glue that kept our family together, but apparently there was nothing he liked better than a lie and a secret Saturday night out. I could do that too.
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