A chair scrapes across the kitchen floor. “Knox?” my mother calls. “Is that you?”
I thud the rest of the way downstairs, Fritz tailing me into the kitchen. My mother is leaning beside the sink, and my father is sitting at the table. “Hey,” I say. “What were you guys talking about?”
Dad gets that closed-off, irritated look he’s had ever since I was released from the hospital. “Nothing that concerns you.”
Mom gives me her best good-cop smile. “Do you need something, sweetie?”
“I’m going out for a while.” Does she look relieved? I think she does. “But I heard you guys talking about Brandon. Was he in some kind of trouble?”
“Oh, sweetie, that’s not important. Just your dad and me talking business.”
“Okay, but …” I’m not sure why I’m not letting this go. Usually one steely glare from my father is enough to shut me up, and he’s already given me two. “Your firm did a case with him? You never told me that. What was it?”
Mom stops smiling. “Knox, my work is confidential and you know that. I wasn’t aware you were listening or I wouldn’t have spoken. I’ll ask you not to repeat anything you heard here, please. So.” She clears her throat, and I can practically see her stuff the entire subject into a Do Not Revisit box. “Where are you going?”
I’m not getting anything out of her, obviously. And my dad’s a lost cause. “Café Contigo. Can I take your car?”
“Sure,” she says, too quickly. “Have fun but be home before eleven, please.”
“I will.” I pull her keys off the rack on our kitchen wall with the uncomfortable certainty that I’m missing something important. But I don’t know what.
“What’s up, my man?”
Crap. I came here to see Phoebe, not my new best friend, Sean. But she’s not here and he is, holding up one meaty paw for a high five.
I give in reluctantly. “Hey, Sean.”
“What are you up to?” Sean asks. He’s leaning against the counter, waiting for his order, totally chill. Shooting the shit like he didn’t watch his best friend die less than two weeks ago. Christ, I hate him.
Ever since that maybe-memory popped into my head, I can’t stop thinking about it: Sean standing at the edge of the construction site with his phone trained on something. And then everything goes blank, like a TV shutting off, and I hear his voice: What the fuck are you doing here, Myers?
Did that actually happen? Or am I imagining things?
I wish I could be sure.
Sean is still talking. “I’m picking up dinner for my girl. Food here sucks, but she likes it. What can you do, right?”
“Yeah, right.” I pull out a chair in a corner table near the register and set my backpack down but don’t sit. Sean’s phone is dangling from his hand while he waits. He’s not the type of guy who deletes incriminating pictures or videos, I don’t think. He doesn’t have that much common sense. I clear my throat and lean against the table as Luis comes out of the kitchen with a brown paper bag. “So, hey, Sean,” I say. “Can I ask a favor, man?”
Oh hell. That sounded ridiculous. I don’t know how to talk to guys like Sean. He cocks his head, looking amused, and I keep plowing ahead. “Do you think I could borrow your phone? I have to look something up and I left mine at home.”
Sean pulls his wallet out of his back pocket. “Knox, my man,” he says, extracting a twenty. “You did not. Your phone’s in the side pocket of your backpack.”
I drop into my chair, defeated. I’m beyond pathetic. “Oh yeah. So it is. Thanks.”
“How’s it going?” Sean says to Luis, and they do a complicated fist bump. Sean plays baseball too, well enough that he was on varsity when Cooper and Luis were seniors. “We miss you on the team, man. You going to Fullerton Thursday for Coop’s game?”
“Of course,” Luis says, handing Sean his change.
“Me too, brother.”
“See you there.”
“Sweet.” Sean turns from the register. “Catch you tomorrow, my man,” he says as he passes my table, holding out his hand for yet another high five. I slap his palm, mostly so he’ll get the hell out of here. He’s useless to me now that my sad attempt at espionage fizzled.
I could’ve used Maeve’s skills tonight.
When the door closes behind Sean, Luis grabs a glass and a pitcher of water from the bar and brings them over to my table. He sets both down and fills the glass. “Why’d you want his phone?” he asks.
“I, what?” I fumble. “I didn’t.”
“Come on.” Luis drops into the chair across from me with a shrewd look. “You looked like somebody kicked your puppy when he pointed yours out.”
“Um.” We regard each other for a few seconds in silence. I don’t really know Luis, other than the fact that he stuck by Cooper when almost nobody else did. Plus Phoebe thinks he’s great, and his dad is basically the nicest guy on the planet. I could have worse allies, I guess. “He took a video I want to see. But I don’t think he’d give it to me if I asked directly. Actually, I know he wouldn’t.”
“What kind of video?”
I hesitate. I don’t even know if it’s really there. The whole thing could be a product of my scrambled brain. But maybe it’s not. “Of the construction site the day Brandon died.”
“Huh.” Luis is quiet for a moment, scanning the room to see if anybody else needs his attention. They don’t, and he turns it back to me. “Why do you want it?”
Good question. “I can’t remember much about that day, because of the concussion,” I say. “Some of the things that people tell me happened don’t make sense. I guess I’d like to see it with my own eyes.”
“Luis!” Manny pops his head out of the kitchen. He’s like a fun-house mirror image of Luis: bigger, broader, and a lot more confused-looking. “Do we make guac with garlic or without?”
Luis looks pained. “Jesus, Manny. You ask that every day.”
“So … with?”
“I gotta go,” Luis sighs, getting to his feet. “You want anything?”
“Alfajores,” I say. “But no rush.”
He leaves, and I gaze around me. Now what? I’d been relying on Phoebe to keep me company, and I don’t really know what to do with myself alone in a restaurant. What did Maeve used to do for all those hours? I pull out my phone but immediately put it back when I see I have thirty-seven ChatApp notifications. Maybe later.
The door opens, and a guy my age walks in. I squint until I place him—it’s Intense Guy from a few weeks ago. The one who came looking for Phoebe until Manny and Luis scared him off. I glance at the counter, but nobody’s there. This time, the guy doesn’t stride forward but drops into a corner table and slouches low in the seat. Ahmed, one of the servers, heads over to bring him water. They speak briefly, but nothing about the conversation seems to raise red flags for Ahmed, who leaves the table with his usual pleasant but preoccupied expression.
Intense Guy puts his head down when Manny makes a brief appearance at the counter, but otherwise he scans the room like he’s watching a movie. Ahmed brings him a cup of coffee, and the guy just keeps sitting and staring without drinking it. I’m glad now that Phoebe’s not working, because I have the feeling he’s looking for her again.
Why? Who the hell is this guy? Emma’s ex Derek, maybe? I’ve already forgotten his last name. I grab my phone and pull up Instagram, but it’s pointless—there are millions of Dereks.
After about fifteen minutes of me watching Intense-Guy-slash-Maybe-Derek watch the room—which is just as riveting as it sounds—the guy tosses a bill on the table and takes off without ever having touched his coffee. I’m left with the same vague, uneasy feeling I had in my parents’ kitchen earlier.
I’m missing something.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Maeve
Thursday, March 19
Cooper tenses, winds up, and hurls a blistering fastball across home plate. The opposing batter looks like he’s swatting at a fly when he misses, and the ent
ire stadium erupts into cheers. The batter, down on strikes, hurls his bat toward the dugout in frustration and stalks away.
“Poor sport,” Kris murmurs beside me, putting out an arm so Cooper’s grandmother, seated on his other side, can lean against him while she gets to her feet for a standing ovation. She does it every time Cooper strikes somebody out, which has been a lot this game. It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
We’re at Goodwin Field at Cal State Fullerton on Thursday night, part of a capacity crowd watching Cooper pitch against UCLA. The stadium seating is like a horseshoe around the field, and we’re almost directly behind home plate in a section that’s full of Bayview High students, past and present. I got a ride here with Addy, who corralled Nate as soon as he showed up and is forcing him to be social. I think I caught a glimpse of Luis sitting with a bunch of Cooper’s ex-teammates, but I looked away before I could be sure. After two weeks of total silence, I don’t even know what I’d say if I ran into him tonight.
My phone buzzes in my hand. I expect a text from Bronwyn, who’s been checking in on Cooper throughout the game, but it’s just my mom asking what time I’ll be home. I still can’t get used to how quiet my phone is ever since I disabled the PingMe alerts. I’m glad I listened to Phoebe about that, especially since the Truth or Dare game ended on its own. I’d like to think whoever did it stopped out of respect for the fact that Bayview High is mourning Brandon, but it’s more likely they just realized they’d lost everyone’s attention.
Every once in a while I still wonder who was behind it all, and whether they had a personal grudge against Phoebe, Knox, and me. But I guess that doesn’t matter. My real problem is that I haven’t figured out how to make things up to Knox. Now that I’ve managed to alienate both him and Luis, my social circle has shrunk once again to Bronwyn’s friends.
Well, and Phoebe. At least she’s still speaking to me.
Cooper throws one of his infamous sliders, and the UCLA batter just stands there looking confused while it’s called a strike. “You might as well sit down right now, young man,” Cooper’s grandmother calls. “You’re already out.”
My mood lifts a little as I lean toward Kris. “Nonny heckling batters might be my favorite thing ever.”
He smiles. “Same. Never gets old.”
“Do you think Cooper will go to the majors next year?” I ask.
“Not sure.” Kris looks extra-cute in a green polo that brings out his eyes, his dark hair full of golden glints from sitting in so many baseball stadiums. “He’s really torn. He loves being at school, and the team has been great. Not just about baseball, but—everything.” Kris gestures wryly to himself. “The majors, on the other hand, still aren’t particularly welcoming to gay players. It’d be a tough transition, especially with all the added pressure. But the reality is, his game won’t advance the way it needs to if he stays at the college level much longer.”
I watch Cooper on the mound, disconcerted by how impossible it is to recognize him from this distance. With his hat pulled low over his face, he could be anyone. “How do you make that choice?” I ask, almost to myself. “Between what you need and what you want?” I feel like my sister’s going through her own version of that.
Kris’s eyes are on Cooper, too. “You hope they become the same thing, I guess.”
“What if they don’t?”
“I have no idea.” Kris sucks in a breath as the batter makes contact with Cooper’s next pitch, but it’s a harmless grounder that the shortstop fields easily. “The Padres keep checking in,” he adds. “They really want him, and they have a high draft position this year.”
“Would it be an easier decision if he could stay local? He’d still have to travel a ton, obviously, but at least he’d be close to home.”
I don’t mean Bayview, exactly, and I think Kris knows that. He allows himself a small smile. “It might.”
I smile back through a tangle of conflicting emotions. On one hand, it feels strange to be here with dozens of other Bayview High students in such a cheerful atmosphere, two weeks after Brandon died. On the other, it’s a relief to be focused on something positive for a change. I’m happy for Kris and Cooper, because they deserve every good thing, and I’m excited about their future.
Not so much about mine, though.
I push up the sleeve of my long-sleeved T-shirt to trace the outline of another bruise. I feel like a peach left too long on a windowsill, right before it collapses on itself. Deceptively smooth on the outside, but slowly rotting at the core.
And then I feel it: moisture trickling through my nose again. Oh no. Not here.
I grab a tissue from my bag and press it against my face, rising to my feet at the same time. “Bathroom,” I say to Kris, stepping over him and Nonny with a murmured apology on my way to the aisle. The steps are clear, with nearly everyone in their seats and focused on Cooper, so I’m able to make my way to the women’s room quickly. I don’t look at the tissue until I’m in a stall with the door locked behind me.
Bright red.
I collapse onto the toilet seat and the tears come, silently but so hard that my shoulders shake. Despite my best efforts at pretending none of this is happening, it is, and I don’t know what to do. I feel isolated, hopeless, terrified, and just plain exhausted. Tears mix with blood as I swipe tissue after tissue over my face, until I finally rip at least three feet of toilet paper out of the dispenser and bury my head in the entire thing.
Both the tears and the nosebleed stop around the same time. I stay where I am for at least another inning, letting my breathing even out and my heart rate slow. Then I stand, flush my mass of tissues and toilet paper, and leave the stall. I splash water on my face at the sink, staring at my reflection in the hazy mirror. Could be worse. My eyes aren’t all that red, and I’m not wearing any makeup to smudge. I run a brush through my tangled hair, wash my hands, and step outside onto the concourse.
The restrooms are around the corner from the concession stand, and the first thing I see is a small knot of familiar faces: Sean, Jules, Monica, and Luis. Jules is wrapped so tightly around Sean that she’s in danger of spilling the tray of snacks he’s holding. Monica keeps touching Luis’s arm, batting her eyelashes at him. They’re all laughing and joking like they’re on the greatest double date of their lives and don’t have a care in the world.
For a second, I hate them all.
“All right, man, thanks,” Luis says, handing something to Sean. “I gotta go.”
Monica gives a flirty little pout. “You’re not leaving, are you?” she asks. “After we bought all these snacks? Somebody has to share the popcorn with me.”
“No way. I wouldn’t miss Coop. I’ll see you guys back in the seats, okay?” The other three turn away, still laughing, and Luis heads in my direction. I should duck into the women’s room again, but my legs refuse to cooperate.
He stops a few feet away when he spots me. “Maeve, hey.” His brow furrows as he looks more closely. “Everything okay?”
Maybe my eyes aren’t quite as normal as I’d hoped. “Fine,” I say. I cross my arms and push away the memory of my crying spell in the bathroom. “He’s an asshole, you know.”
“What?” Luis turns around, like he thinks I’m talking about someone behind him. “Who?”
“Sean. He’s been horrible to Knox and Phoebe and … other people.”
“Oh. Yeah, well, we played ball together, so.” He shrugs like that’s the only explanation needed. My temper spikes and I’m glad for the distraction.
“So you’re bros,” I say sarcastically. “Awesome.”
Luis goes still, his eyes narrowing. “What does that mean?”
“It means you all stick together, don’t you? Dudebros unite, and who cares about anyone else.” My skin prickles with residual fear, misplaced anger, and something else I can’t put a name to. “I guess he can do whatever he wants as long as he throws a ball far enough.”
“Dudebro,” Luis says flatly. “That’s what you
think of me?”
“That’s what you are.” I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore. All I know is that it feels good to unleash some of the frustration that’s been building inside me for weeks.
His jaw ticks. “I see. Is that why you dropped off the face of the earth?”
“I didn’t—” I pause. Okay, maybe I did. But he didn’t knock himself out looking for me, either. My nose tingles, and dread rushes up my spine. Another nosebleed is going to start again soon, I can tell. “I have to go. Enjoy your popcorn.”
Oh. So that’s the other thing I’m feeling. Jealous.
“Hang on.” Luis’s voice is commanding enough that I pause. His shoulders are squared, his face tense. “I was hoping to run into you tonight. I wanted to get your number, finally.” My heart does a stupid leap despite itself, then crashes back down when he adds, “Now that I know how you feel about dudebros, I won’t bother you, but there’s still something I want to send you. It’s for Knox, actually, but you’re the one here, so.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Can you tell me your number? Once you have these you can go ahead and delete me from your phone or your life or whatever.”
I’m seized with regret, but also with the certainty that I’m about to start bleeding in front of him. I recite my number quickly, and Luis presses a few keys before putting his phone away. “Might take a while to come through. They’re big files. Tell Knox I hope it helps.”
He strides away just as a trickle of blood escapes my nose. It starts to fall faster, even dripping onto my shirt, but I don’t move to wipe it away. I don’t know what just happened, other than the fact that I was horrible to Luis for no good reason, and trampled whatever might’ve been going on between us straight into the ground.
Which sucks, but it’s not even close to my biggest problem right now.
“Maeve. What the fuck.”
I look up to see Nate carrying a full cup of soda in each hand, his eyes flicking from my face to the blood on my shirt. I’ve never told him what nosebleeds mean for me, but from the look on his face, Bronwyn did. Something breaks inside me, and before I can get hold of myself, I start crying again.
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