by Kasie West
“Wow. Awesome truck,” Jackson said.
My brows shot down as I studied his happy, innocent expression.
“I see why you weren’t impressed with my classic. Your dad has restored a real one to perfection.” He turned off the engine and hopped out. Next thing I knew, he was walking around my brother’s truck, running his hand along the paint job like it was a rare gem.
“Can I sit in it?”
“No!”
“Your dad doesn’t let people touch it?”
Had he really never seen it before? We didn’t live on a busy street. If he had no need to come into this neighborhood, I could see why he might not have ever seen it. “Have you never heard . . . ?” Did this mean he didn’t know about my brother?
“What? Am I missing something? Did your dad win some big award for this or something? I’m always a step behind in this town.”
It took me two seconds to remember that he moved here his freshman year. I assumed people still talked about my family. About my brother. But maybe we were old news. It was kind of ironic that the one person in town who reminded my dad of my brother didn’t even know of Eric’s existence. The thought of someone not knowing about my brother made my breath catch in my throat. Did the thought thrill me or devastate me? I wasn’t sure.
“It’s complicated.”
He held up his hands. “Hey, I get it. If I had this truck, I wouldn’t want people touching it either.”
“Right. Well, thanks for the ride.”
“I told you we were going to be friends, Moore.”
I wanted to object, but I just smiled and headed for my house.
Fifteen
Bungee jumping? Your activities have quite a range.
I tapped my fingers lightly on the keyboard, waiting for a fast response from Heath Hall like I’d gotten the other night, but was left with lots of white screen waiting to be filled with message bubbles. He couldn’t be online all the time. I shouldn’t have gotten on the computer the second I walked in the door anyway. I should’ve called Amelia and yelled at her for ditching me.
So I did.
“What took you so long?” she responded.
“I started asking Ms. Lin about the best artists she taught.”
“For the Heath Hall thing again?”
“Yes.”
“And did you find out anything?”
“Nope. She acted like she had some legal contract to keep names secret. Kind of like all the people who know who Heath Hall is and won’t say.”
“Well, don’t forget there are a bunch of people who just say whatever random name they think of too.”
“That’s probably part of his game.”
“True. I’m sorry I couldn’t wait for you. I tried to text you that, but you must not have gotten it.”
“No, I got them. Too late. So your aunt is in town?”
“Yes, and my mom wanted me to come straight home after practice.”
“Aunt Faye?”
“The very one. It should be a fun week,” she said in a monotone voice. “Oh.” Her voice was back to its animated self. “Guess what I saw online just now?”
“That Heath Hall is going to bungee jump this weekend?”
“You saw that too?”
“Yes.”
“So are we going to witness another Heath Hall event?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I mean, what’s the point? I’m sure he’ll be wearing a mask again.”
“The point is that we have nothing better to do and it’s obvious that you really want to know who he is, despite what you’re saying.”
She was right. I did want to know. I’d been trying to deny it or write it off as curiosity, but it was more than that. “I’m worried it’s someone I actually know. For that second I thought it was Robert, I was terrified.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want to be blindsided. Caught off guard. I don’t like secrets. At least not when other people are keeping them.”
“It’s your controlling nature.”
“I’m not controlling.”
She ignored my protest. “Maybe his mask will fall off as he’s flying through the air. Or maybe when he hits the water.”
“Hardly anyone hits the water off that bridge. Did you?”
“No.” Bungee jumping off Whitestone Bridge wasn’t anything new or special. Practically everyone I knew had done it. It was even professionally run by a company called Just Jump that swept in when it became popular. So I wasn’t sure why Heath Hall was making a point of doing it. He had given a speech at the museum about his reasons for displaying the painting. Sure it was a little, tiny, barely-worth-mentioning speech but maybe he’d do something similar before jumping.
“I really hope I can come. I will start wearing down my mom now, but with the swim meet all day and my aunt here, she’s probably going to want me home. She likes me as a buffer.”
“More like a hostage.”
“Exactly. I’ll talk to you soon.” She hung up.
I heard my mom come in the garage door. She was midsentence and I figured she was on the phone but I went out to greet her anyway. She waved at me with one hand, her keys, hooked around one of those fingers, jingling as she did. Her other arm held groceries while her cell phone was precariously pushed against her ear by her raised shoulder. I grabbed the bag from her and her hand took over the job of holding the phone.
“So can we count on you for a donation, then?” She waited and I held my breath along with her. “That’s great,” she finally said. “I’ll send you the forms.” She hung up with a smile. “We’re almost fully funded.”
“That’s awesome. This is like record time.”
“Every time it gets easier. That’s the reward of experience.” She gave me a hug. “How was school?”
“Average.”
She smiled. “Are you already anticipating the end of swim season?”
“I’m going to be so bored when it’s over.”
She pulled on the ends of my hair. “Well, even if you don’t like the break, your hair likes it.”
“Thanks a lot.”
She laughed and started unloading the groceries, handing me a few items to put away as she went.
I ended up at the far counter, dumping a bag of rice into a canister that sat right beneath the keys to my brother’s truck. During the seven seconds it took to complete the task, I found myself staring at those keys. For a split second I imagined ripping them out of the box and hurling them against the wall. The thought surprised me. I pressed the lid back on the canister and turned my back to the keys.
“I got stuck at school today,” I breathed out.
“How?”
“Amelia couldn’t give me a ride home.”
“You should’ve called.”
“A friend . . .” I caught myself when I imagined how smug Jackson’s smile would be if he heard me say that. “Well . . . not really a friend but this guy I know gave me a ride home.”
“That was nice of him. Tell him thank you.”
What would be nice would be if I had a car. How come I couldn’t say that out loud? “I’m going to the charity dinner,” I said instead. It wasn’t a good instead. It was a bad instead. It was an instead that gave my mom what she wanted and expressed none of my frustration.
She clapped her hands and rose up on her toes. “Oh, I knew you would. I’m so happy.” She hugged me again. Her hair smelled like vanilla and lilacs. She pushed me out by my shoulders. “Your coach called about it and we had a long chat.”
“Coach called?” I guess DJ gave him the message about why I wanted to talk to him, after all. Thank you, DJ. I owed him a dollar.
“Yes, and I know he wanted us to be at the banquet, but he understands.”
“He does? He wasn’t mad?”
“Of course not. You’ll have so many award ceremonies in the future. Ones that don’t conflict with other important dates.”
She was right. I would. I nodded and then wandered off t
o my room while she hummed happily in the kitchen.
I clicked on my music, the sound immediately stilling my mind. My computer was open on my desk. I swiped my finger across the trackpad to wake it up and it dinged with a notification.
Heath Hall is a man of many talents, he’d written in response to my claim that his activities seemed to have a wide range.
I sat at my desk. I wouldn’t exactly call bungee jumping a talent.
Really?
Not even close. Now that painting, that was talent.
Well, good thing it’s not about showing off talents, then.
What is it about?
After a long pause that had me wondering if he was going to answer at all, he said, Facing fears. Expressing secrets. Discovering truth.
Expressing secrets? That seems to be the exact opposite of what you do.
True.
That answer was maddening. I thought back to the museum when he had said he’d always feared showing his art in public. That was a fear and now he was facing another one?
So what? You’re afraid of heights? Of falling?
This time he didn’t answer my question. He asked one. Do you have any fears?
The cursor blinked on the screen, over and over. It seemed to blink in time to the beat of the song playing over my speakers. Of course I had fears. Too many. Ones I didn’t want to think about. The song ended and silence filled my room. My chest constricted. When a new song started, I blew out a breath.
I can’t think of anything. Spiders?
Sixteen
I stood outside the chain-link fence, staring at the crowded pool the next day, a scowl on my face. Coach had given us the afternoon off, and I figured it was because he’d wanted us to have a rest day before the meet, but maybe it was because he had to give up the pool. When had water polo started? That was a fall sport. Did they have a spring league I didn’t know about? I hated sharing the pool with other people. The reminder that it wasn’t just my pool was a hard one to accept.
I tromped back to my dad’s truck that I had borrowed. I could go do an ocean swim but the waves screwed up my timing. There was a lake I frequented but it was only April so it would be freezing. As I started my drive home, however, my body itched. It felt like it was on fire. I needed to swim. I could handle cold.
It was a twenty-minute drive to my favorite spot. I parked in a dirt lot and took the trail that would be my stomping ground this summer. A trail I was pretty sure I had single-handedly made the summer before. I stepped out of my shoes, taking in the trees that surrounded the lake. I couldn’t imagine a more beautiful place to swim. The sky was bright blue and there was a part between the deep green trees and hills where it touched the water that made it seem like I could swim past the edge of the lake and continue into the sky forever.
I took off my sweats and stepped into the water. It was even colder than I had imagined it would be, taking my breath away. I went to click on my music but stopped myself. I could prove I was able to be alone with my own thoughts. I threw my cap and player on top of my sweats, submerged myself in the water, then floated on my back, staring at the sky. I lay there, the water slowly numbing my skin, seeping into my ears, muffling sound. I let my arms and legs drift. I had to force myself not to do a single stroke.
It had been years since I’d been in water without swimming. Not since I was a kid. The sky above felt like it was sitting on my chest. My final swim meet of the season was coming up. And then my brother’s benefit. Maybe I could set a personal record at my swim meet. That might help dampen some of the sad feelings my parents would surely feel at the benefit.
Every two seconds my arm twitched, my brain trying to make it do what it did every time it was here. After sixty more seconds I gave up and swam. As if to punish myself for the small break, I swam twice as long.
What do you do for fun? That was the question waiting for me from Heath Hall after dinner that night. Did he think we were chatting buddies now? Maybe if we were, he would slip up and give away who he was. I could keep chats surface level. Only saying things everyone already knew about me.
Swim. I typed even though my shoulders were telling me otherwise at the moment, sitting under a couple of ice packs.
No, I said for fun.
That is fun for me. What about you?
He seemed good at keeping chats surface level too, though. Or avoiding questions altogether. Swimming is fun for you? It seems like work.
I don’t get paid for it.
Is that the only way you measure work?
Is there another way? I asked.
Putting more into something than you get out of it.
So he thought I put more into swimming than I got out of it? Why did everyone assume that? Why was everyone always trying to talk me out of something that made me happy? I typed my response. So by that definition, does that mean fun is getting more out of something than you put into it?
Absolutely.
I don’t know that I agree with that. Sometimes hard work brings a sense of accomplishment that feels amazing.
That just proved my definition of work, not disproved it. So what do you do for fun?
Did this line of questioning give me any hints as to who Heath Hall was? Obviously someone who thought I swam too much. There were probably a lot of people who thought that. It didn’t really narrow it down much. Today I stared at the sky. It took zero effort and I got a lot out of it. That was only half true. It actually took me a lot of effort to stare at that sky. It still felt a little like it was sitting on my chest.
What did you get out of it?
Looking at the sky?
Yes.
I lied: Relaxation.
This was the second time I found myself outside the art room this week after practice. The first time had produced no leads. But this one had. My heart was pounding as I waited to cut him off as he came out. I still couldn’t believe he was in there. I had no idea he liked art. But he couldn’t be Heath Hall. We’d ruled him out. Why would it be him? When we chatted the other day online, Heath had said that the mask was about keeping secrets. Had he kept this huge secret from me for months when we were together? It didn’t seem possible. It wasn’t.
It felt like I’d been waiting forever. Finally, the door squeaked open, and I stepped in the path like I had been on my way in.
“Hadley,” he said in surprise.
“Robert. Hi. What are you doing?”
Was Robert Heath Hall? Things that had happened over the last couple weeks flashed through my mind. The fact that he remembered the truth quote, the fact that he was acting shifty when we were talking about it, the fact that I hadn’t seen him at all at the museum, the fact that he thought I swam too much. Maybe I had ruled him out too soon.
“Just talking to Ms. Lin.”
I looked at his hands for any evidence of paint. “You talked to her about a painting?”
“What? No. My schedule. She’s my mentor. Isn’t she yours too?”
“Oh yeah, right.” A seed of doubt at my theory wedged itself in my mind. “Well, I was going to talk to her about a painting. Remember at the art museum?”
“Right, for that Heath Hall thing.” He didn’t even flinch when he said it. Did that mean he was practiced at pretending it wasn’t him or that it really wasn’t him?
“Yes. Well, I loved the painting he did. I was hoping to buy it.”
He laughed, low at first and then loud.
I crossed my arms. So he was Heath Hall. Why else would he be laughing like this? He knew he had fooled me and now he got to rub it in. My cheeks heated in embarrassment.
“You only want to buy it because you think it’ll help you learn his identity.”
Oh. Or there was that. He knew my true motives. “Why won’t you just tell me?”
His mocking smile softened. “You’re getting closer.”
“So is it one of your friends?”
“No, it’s not.”
“Someone I already know?”
&
nbsp; “Sort of.”
I huffed. What did that mean? “For the record, I really do like his painting. It’s amazing.”
His leftover smile fully dropped off his face now, and he reached out and grabbed my hand as I turned to go, jerking me to a halt. He spun me back toward him. “You want to catch a movie Saturday?”
“Saturday? I might’ve, but I’ll be following Heath Hall to Whitestone Bridge and watching him jump. Maybe if you told me who he was we could catch that movie.” That was a bluff. I didn’t want to catch a movie with Robert. Nothing had changed with either of us since our breakup and nothing was going to. My butterflies were completely squashed and I was happy for it.
He tapped my chin with his closed fist like he had suddenly turned into my grandpa or something. “Nice try.”
Nice try. That sounded familiar. Heath Hall had said that to me in our chat online. I narrowed my eyes, shook my head, and walked away.
I hate Robert, I texted Amelia.
Do I need to kill him again?
He’s just frustrating.
Are you almost here? Remember the whole my-aunt-is-in-town thing? I’ll have to strand you again if you don’t get to the parking lot. Why are you always going on these missions without me?
I reached her car and opened the passenger door. “Because you take twenty minutes to leave the locker room and I take five, that’s why.”
“I feel like I haven’t seen you all week.”
“Because you haven’t.”
“Well, you get this ten-minute car ride to fill me in on everything.”
“Ten minutes is not enough.”
“Then you’d better talk fast.”
First I told her about Robert and the conversation we just had, finishing with, “Then he asked me out. Do you believe he asked me out?”
“Deflection!”
“What?”
“He’s Heath Hall.”
“What?”
“He was trying to shock you into forgetting your accusations.”
“I don’t know. If he is, he’s the best actor in the world, and I never considered him all that good at lying.”
“We’ll see Saturday, won’t we? Maybe you should call him and say you’ve changed your mind. That you want to go out with him Saturday. Then if Heath Hall doesn’t show up because he’s out with you at the movies, we’ll know for sure.”
