by R. H. Herron
But Kevin spoke without even appearing surprised by the question. “I like how you think. You listen, and you process, and then you speak your mind. You’re careful, like me. You act like you’re not scared of anything—like when we almost got kettled at that march in the Mission—and you’re an overachieving stubborn fucker like me, too.”
“Come on.” He was right, though. She liked that he’d seen the things she tried to hide, even though his accuracy made her feel exposed. He looked past her appearance to the person she really was.
He went on, “But I think that you’re terrified by the way she makes you feel.”
“Um, okay.” She pushed at his chest, feeling a little trapped by the way her thighs were locked between his and the swing’s chains. “You’re crazy.”
“Nope,” he said.
“You don’t know everything. Sometimes I’m scared of stuff.” She readjusted on his lap a little, hoping Harper would see, and then leaned forward, arching her back so that her breasts were high. “For example, I’m scared to kiss you.” She inserted that breathiness that Harper used when she was talking to a guy, the airy sound that seemed to make their brains come unglued at the edges.
“No you’re not.”
He was right. She wasn’t scared. She was just kind of curious.
So she did.
His lips were softer than she’d expected, and the sandpaper stubble on his upper lip surprised her. Her own lips suddenly seemed inadequate to the task. His tongue was stronger than hers, surer. He tasted like beer and weed and barbecue potato chips, which was a surprisingly delicious combination. She realized, with his tongue in her mouth, that the flavor of him was making her want potato chips, and maybe that wasn’t the right thing to be thinking about.
So she wiggled a little more. If he was going to get hard underneath her, maybe that would shoot a thrill up her spine.
But he didn’t get hard.
She didn’t get a thrill.
Eventually, her lips just got . . . bored.
He pulled back. Did he look amused? His gaze made it seem like he was laughing at her, maybe. Was she a bad kisser? Oh, shit, maybe she was.
She sat farther back, closer to his knees. “What?”
“That didn’t work.”
Jojo narrowed her eyes and tensed her muscles, ready to leap off him and get the hell out, no matter who she had to pull Harper off of to do so. “Yeah.”
“Born this way?”
What was he actually saying? Jojo grabbed a breath and held it.
She waited.
He watched her face.
Finally she nodded. “Maybe. I’m not totally sure.”
Kevin exhaled, and she felt his thighs tense and then relax. “Me neither.” A beat. “But I’m pretty sure.”
Surprise coursed through her. “Why not come out?”
“Shhh,” he hissed. “Dude.”
“Sorry.” She had said it too loudly—dick move. “But why not? Literally half the nation hates you already. How much worse could it get?”
He rewrapped his hands around the swing’s chains. “I could be a social activist till I bleed Che Guevara’s own tears on the field, and in the long run it’s good for the team. Gets people talking. Gets eyes on our games. Love me or hate me, they watch me. But if my team knew that I was . . . It’s just not the way we do.”
“What about . . .” She searched for the name in her head. “Michael Sam.”
“Played four preseason games after he came out. Then he was cut. I’d last another whole season, maybe. For show. Then they’d find a reason to not renew my contract. No one would trust me.”
“But you could change things. Make a difference.”
Kevin’s eyes got hooded, and even though he didn’t move, Jojo felt him get further from her. His thighs tensed again. “I do change things. That’s my whole mission in life, to change things. Don’t tell me I don’t.”
“You can be yourself, you know.” Her tone was too strident, she knew, but she was suddenly angry at him. “You’re, like, a role model.”
“I’m just a kid from a shithole Alabama town who’s trying to build a retirement plan because my body’ll be toast in less than six years, and I’m already pissing enough people off. No matter what I want to do, I have to keep providing for my family back home. And that family prays every week in church that God will sweep the nation of sinners, including the fags.”
“Fuck.” And here she didn’t want to admit to her parents what she might be. In her liberal state, in her liberal town. Her mother’s best friend, Sarah from the jail, was gay. Jojo had nothing to worry about, while Kevin had everything to lose. “I’m sorry.”
Kevin raised a shoulder. “Is what it is. I just have to take my future seriously.”
“But . . .” She didn’t know what to say or how to say it. It was still important, though—she knew that. “But you’re not telling the truth.”
He clicked his tongue. “You want to talk about truth? How about you decide on your own and I’ll decide on mine. Bonus: How about you get up off me.” He walked his feet back so that she had to scramble to pull her legs from around him. He ended up standing, the swing at his back, and Jojo was suddenly on the ground, feeling drunker and more stoned than she had ten minutes before.
“Hey!” She clawed her fingers into the dirt, hoping she didn’t hit something gross: cat shit or an old needle.
He kept his gaze up, level, his feet planted firmly, as if he were surveying the playing field, waiting for the ball to come his way.
She stood. “Kevin!”
From behind Jojo came a wicked laugh that got louder and more insistent the closer and faster it came at her. She turned, and then Harper was there, her pale hair a tangled whirl of light, her tight pink sweater glowing in the streetlamp. “I found you! I was looking everywhere for you, Joshi.” Harper jumped up and into Jojo’s arms, wrapping her legs around Jojo’s waist. Jojo staggered a little but managed to stay standing.
“You found me,” she grunted.
“Oh, good. You’re my favorite.”
Great. Harper was super fucked up. “You have your party pants on, I see.” Jojo couldn’t hold her for long. Harper was already slipping down her body, but the truth was, Jojo didn’t hate it.
Of course she didn’t.
A cell phone pinged. “Oh! That’s Ray!” Harper slid her feet to the ground and dug her phone out of her pocket. Jojo’s arms felt strangely empty.
“He’s here! You’re finally going to meet him, the love of my life! Let’s go!” Then Harper kissed her—out of the blue, a long, wet, very drunk kiss.
A kiss that set everything inside Jojo’s body ringing in the exact opposite way as kissing Kevin had—or hadn’t. As if her body were a bell and Harper the only clapper that could set her vibrating.
Behind her she heard Kevin laugh. Fucker.
Harper grabbed one hand and pulled her toward the gate that led to the street. With her other hand, Jojo flipped Kevin off, but there wasn’t much heat in the motion. She darted one last glance at him, and he shot her a peace sign.
Good. They were still friends, then.
Harper flagged down a black Range Rover. It screeched to a halt, and the passenger door was shoved open.
“Hey, little girls. Want some candy?”
Jojo couldn’t see around Harper, who was launching herself inside, but the man’s voice was weirdly familiar. A trickle of fear stroked her cheek.
She didn’t want to get in.
The memory shut down there. No matter how hard Jojo tried to unzip the rest of the recollection file, she got no further.
Fuck.
TWENTY
THE DOOR TO the interview room opened, and Steiner and Mom both came back in. Mom had overruled Jojo’s objections—steamrolled, really—and gave her the choice betwee
n having either a lawyer or her in the room while giving the statement.
A lawyer.
That had made Jojo want Mom, which had probably been her mother’s plan all along. Still, Mom was better than Dad, if they had to talk about sex stuff.
And they would have to.
Jojo felt the urge to curl up again to make herself into the roly-poly bug and disappear under the door into the hallway.
Nate Steiner sat across from them. “Hey, Jojo,” he said.
“Hi.” At least it was him. Last summer she’d been at the lake with some friends smoking weed, and he’d just told her to get home quick and text him when she was there. He’d never said anything—as far as she knew—to either of her parents.
Or, God, maybe he had, and her parents just decided it wasn’t a big enough deal to punish her. Jojo had no idea what really went on in this building. She felt her cheeks color, and a wave of heat spread up her spine.
Steiner pointed at a small digital recorder. “This is just for the record. You mind if I use it to help me take your statement?”
Jojo shrugged. “It’s fine.”
Steiner sat back in his chair. He wore a blue button-down shirt and a darker blue tie. He’d taken off his suit jacket when he’d sat down, and he radiated ease, like he’d sucked up all of hers. But then his eyes suddenly filled with tears.
Holy shit. He was going to cry? Mom was staring at her lap, no help at all.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh, my God, I’m sorry. I just remembered Car 143.”
Oh, how fucking embarrassing.
“On your birthday,” Steiner said.
Car 143, 908D. Her call sign, logging off for the night, using Dad’s radio.
Mom’s voice sounded thick as she spoke to Steiner. “She’d be all tucked in bed, with Omid’s radio in her hands. Remember how everyone on duty would click?”
Clicking was laughter, usually mocking, but on those nights she’d known they were laughing with her.
“Car 143,” said Steiner again.
Jojo thumped backward in her chair, her ears hot. “Come on.”
Steiner shook his head as if to clear it. “Okay. Yeah. This is going to be hard to get through, and I just want to acknowledge that up front. I’m going to be asking you some really personal questions. Are you sure you don’t want a female officer in here to ask these?”
They’d asked her that already, like three times. The only female officer on duty was Maria Bagley, and Jojo had always secretly thought Maria was dumb as a stick. If only Sarah Knight from the jail could do it. Sarah was awesome and fun, one of Mom’s best friends, practically an aunt to Jojo. “I’m fine.” Maybe she could just answer that to every single question she was asked. I’m fine, fine, fine.
“Okay, then.” Steiner clicked his pen. “Let’s go back to yesterday. What did you do in the morning?”
Friday. She’d slept late—that’s what summers were for. In the afternoon Harper had come over, and they’d made root beer floats. Harper tried to get her to throw hers up, but Jojo had laughed. I like my tooth enamel. Harper had turned sideways in front of the mirror and said, But am I getting fat? Jojo said, You look prettier than ever, Cordelia. She’d tried to keep her voice light and used the pet name they called each other, the one they’d been using since they were eleven when Jojo had fallen madly in love with Anne of Green Gables and tried to force Harper to read it. (Harper hadn’t given in, thinking nonrequired reading a waste of time, but they’d watched the miniseries over and over, swearing to be each other’s Cordelia.) Then she and Harper went to Sephora.
“Slept late. Harper came over around three, I think. Went to Sephora for a lip stain.” Which Harper had taken and not paid for. Where was Harper? Did they understand the magnitude of this? “You know she’s missing, right? That’s the most important thing here. Right?” Jojo ignored the way Mom was staring at her and just spoke to Steiner, who kept his eyes on hers encouragingly. He didn’t answer her question.
“Then where did you go?”
“We went to Justin Sands’s house. We hung out.” Justin was boring, but he was a good driver and had a sweet Mustang. He’d do anything Harper wanted him to, which was handy.
“And you were with Harper Cunningham this whole time?”
Jojo nodded.
“Then where did you go?”
Now they were getting to the part she hadn’t told her mother. “To the city.”
Next to her, Mom sucked in a breath.
“What was in San Francisco?”
“A meeting.”
“How did you get there?”
“Justin drove us to West Oakland, and then we took BART.”
“What kind of meeting?”
“CapB.”
That stopped Steiner’s pen moving. He looked up, honest surprise in his eyes. “Citizens Against Police Brutality?”
Jojo resisted the urge to slide onto the floor in a display of passive resistance. “It was put on by them. Street-medic training.”
Mom’s voice was cold. “You should have told us.”
Steiner saved her. “Laurie, it’s fine that you’re in here. But you have to stay quiet. No interjections, no interruptions, okay?”
“She doesn’t have to be here,” said Jojo, hoping all over again.
“You’re sixteen. I’m here. I’m not leaving.” Mom folded her arms like some tough guy, but her eyes looked scared, which in itself freaked Jojo the fuck out. “But I’ll be quiet.”
Steiner nodded. “Okay. So. CapB. Was this the first time you met with them?”
Jojo shook her head. “Uh-uh. I guess I’ve been to a bunch of meetings.”
“How many?”
“Maybe . . . a dozen?” She could practically feel Mom coming unglued. And what about when Dad found out? He’d think she was part of the black bloc, taunting cops on the front lines.
Holy shit.
And where the fuck was Harper?
“Okay. Tell me who was at the meeting.”
Calling it a meeting made it sound as if they sat lined up in folding metal chairs like they were in a business club at school or something. Instead they met at a café on Valencia, an old place with a big back room. Most of the people who came drank beer. Harper and Jojo never pushed their luck, sticking with vanilla lattes, though once Zach had bought them each a glass of wine. When they did street-medic training, they huddled at one big table, keeping their voices low so they didn’t scare anyone with talk of how much Maalox to mix in your water bottle if tear gas started to spray. “Um, I don’t know last names.” Except for Kevin and Zach.
“Give me what you can remember, that’s totally fine.”
“Greg, Dionne, Leandre, Nikki, Barclay, Mack. Maybe some others.” Jesus, did she just turn into a narc? The names had simply tumbled right out. Thank God she didn’t know much else, or she’d probably have given it all up like some baby weasel. “Zach, of course. And Kevin Leeds.”
She felt, rather than saw, Mom straighten. She expected Steiner to jump on it, to start questioning her about Kevin, but he didn’t. Instead he wanted to know what they’d all talked about—congressional appointments, an upcoming march, handcuff injuries—and who talked to her specifically about what. Jojo gave him what she could remember—it couldn’t hurt that much, right? The night started to fragment in her memory right about the time they were leaving. The afterparty memory was clear, when she was on Kevin’s lap on the swing, but the time connections were fractured.
“You’re doing great. Do you remember who Harper talked to in the café?”
Jojo had a clear image of Harper giving her sideways sex smile to the barista, a guy with like twenty holes in each ear and a huge septum barbell. “The barista, I don’t know his name. Mack and Dionne. Zach and Kevin.”
Steiner flipped a page in his notebook. “Harper�
�s mother said in her statement that she has a boyfriend named Ray. Do you know his last name?”
Jojo shook her head.
“Was he there?”
“No.” Harper had kept him such a secret. Jojo knew he was an older guy (as usual—she had some daddy issues) and that he did something with computers. Single. Big house over the hill in Danville. Big Range Rover. Big cock. “I’ve never met him. I was supposed to meet him that night. After this party.”
“Where was the party?”
There was just a gray mist where the memory of the location should be. “I don’t know. A squat in Oakland.”
“Did you meet this guy Ray?”
“I think so, but I don’t remember his face.” There was a scene in X-Men II where Jean Grey feels something coming—she knows it’s going to be bad, but she doesn’t know what it is. That’s what this felt like. The skin on Jojo’s arms prickled. Goose bumps rippled through her, and she pushed her hands deeper into her sweatshirt pockets. Zach’s death. Harper’s disappearance. “I don’t remember,” she repeated.
Steiner looked up at her, and then, more irritatingly, he looked at her mother. “You’re doing great, Jojo. Okay, what else do you remember about last night? Take me through, step by step.”
Jojo closed her eyes, more to block out the peripheral view of her mother than for any other reason. “We left the café. We were . . . we got high on the street, I think.”
“Weed or something else?”
He said it so matter-of-factly. Like he thought she actually might smoke crack or something. “Weed. Obviously. Like that time you caught me at the lake,” she said slowly and deliberately.
Mom stiffened. He hadn’t ever told them, then. Huh. Well, hell, it was technically legal now. Okay, it would be if she were twenty-one. Which she wasn’t.