Much Ado About Something

by Michelle Ray

  As soon as Antonio was gone, Ben and I parked ourselves in front of the TV where we stayed for a long time not talking much. But it got late and I felt like I had to give Ben an out. I suggested he leave, but he didn’t want to. I was really glad about that.

  Ben

  B said I should go, but I could tell by the way she said it that she didn’t want me to leave, which was cool. I mean cool that she needed me. B’s not one to act vulnerable, so having her want me around during this tough time made me feel like we were getting somewhere. And feeling needed felt, well, kind of good.

  Coach came to the house some time after midnight, and by three in the morning, we still hadn’t heard anything. Leo went to lie down in the guest room, and B and I stayed right where we were. B fell asleep leaning against me in front of the TV. I nodded off now and then but I couldn’t get comfortable enough to sleep for long stretches. Not in B’s house with her folks around and all.

  At eight in the morning, B’s cell phone rang, startling us both awake. When she picked it up, her face was flushed. I knew she hoped it was Hope, but I’d seen on the screen that it was just Maggie.

  “Is Hope with you?” B asked before Maggie could speak.

  B’s face fell at whatever Maggie said back. “Oh. Okay. Talk to you later.” She paused and added, “I will. Bye.”

  The call had brought everyone, including her brother, into the room. B shook her head and the adults drifted away.

  Antonio shuffled to the couch and sat next to B. “This sucks,” he mumbled. “I’ve been calling and texting everyone. No one knows where she is.”

  “You sleep much?” I asked him, but I knew from the circles under his eyes that he hadn’t.

  “She’s like a sister,” he said wearily. “If anything happens to her . . . I mean, she shouldn’t have done what she did, but I love her, you know?”

  B scooted away from Antonio and harder against me. “What do you mean, ‘Shouldn’t have done what she did?’ She said it wasn’t her, but even if it was, the problem was broadcasting it. Who cares what people do together?” Her fists clenched and her back was rod straight. I braced myself for trouble.

  But just then, Mr. Rojas called out, “You two want breakfast? I’m making eggs.”

  Beatriz

  I felt nauseous and didn’t want any food. I also knew that Ben would want to eat but that he wouldn’t speak to my dad unless I answered first. With as much enthusiasm as I could muster, I said, “Great,” and brought Ben into the kitchen. “Papá, why don’t you change while I set up?”

  He looked down at his dress shirt and slacks as if noticing for the first time that he’d been in them all night. “Paola,” he said to my mom, “you should change, too.”

  My mom, who hated being told what to do, shot fire from her eyes, but then said, “Fine. Beatriz, pick up the phone if it rings.”

  I nodded and they left. I got eggs and a bowl while Ben sat on a stool at the kitchen island with his head on the counter. I ran my hand along his back and suggested again that he go home.

  He pulled me close and said gently, “I’m not leaving you until this mess blows over or until you tell me I have to leave.”

  I smiled faintly and looked over my shoulder to see if anyone was looking. My uncle had gone into the TV room, and everyone else was still upstairs, so I took his face between my hands and kissed him deeply. My stomach felt fluttery and I wanted his warm lips against mine forever. But then his hands wandered down my back and onto my butt and I pulled away. “Everyone’s here,” I whispered with irritation. Why’d he have to ruin a perfect moment?

  Ben

  “Sorry. I forgot,” I said. I really had. It was like my brain went somewhere else when she was around. “B,” I pleaded.

  She looked over her shoulder again, and after a second, leaned in for another kiss. One of her hands clung to my chest and the other ran along the muscles on my arm. “Oh,” she said quietly, “I wish — No. It’s wrong to want anything when everything’s so screwed up.” She gave a twisted smile and added, “But I can’t help it.”

  Couldn’t have said it better myself.

  She half-laughed at herself and moved away, starting to crack eggs. I put my head back on the counter and watched her move around the kitchen. Even on a couple of hours sleep and un-showered, she was together and poised. I wondered where she got it from?

  Then Mrs. Rojas walked in wearing a crisp off-white tracksuit and began making coffee, making it all perfectly clear. She treated each task like a business transaction. I suddenly felt out of place doing nothing, so I asked if I should get Antonio for breakfast, and her father, who was walking in, said yes.

  B gave me a little smile as I left the kitchen, but behind the smile, I saw the strain. She was in pain because of my dumb friends and their dumb plan — something I knew was going to happen and did nothing to stop. I thought, like I had every few minutes for the past twelve hours, that I should tell her, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. She needed my support and I . . . well, I needed her. What good would her knowing do either of us? It wouldn’t change a thing. I kept quiet.

  Beatriz

  I caught my parents glaring at Ben a couple of times, but amazingly they never asked him to leave. Still, I know he saw their looks. Poor Ben. But I couldn’t let him go. I don’t know why, but I started to feel like he was all I had to hang on to.

  After standing around the kitchen and eating in relative silence, the house phone rang. My mom picked up and after a second, shouted, “Albuquerque? Why would she be in New Mexico?”

  They had put a trace on Hope’s ATM and credit cards, so I figured the bank had just called. The adults began arguing over whether she was kidnapped or might be on drugs, when I stated the obvious. “She’s driving home, Mamá.”

  “To Rhode Island? No one’s there.”

  “Her friends are.” I’d been afraid of this all along and couldn’t believe they hadn’t considered this.

  The adults looked at me with shock and then agreement. They huddled, and Ben and I were shut out of the conversation again. I was about to argue that I had every right to know what was happening, when Ben put an arm around my shoulder and asked me, “Can they trace her phone calls? Find out who she’s going to stay with?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know,” I said, my throat tightening. My mind felt like cobwebs were in it. I leaned in to him. “She’s by herself and upset. God, Ben, I—” My voice choked and Ben looked at me really funny, like he had to tell me something.

  But before he could do more than open his mouth, my mom said to my uncle, “There’s no way to intercept her in the middle of the country, but you can go to Newport and try to find her.” She opened her laptop on the kitchen island and said, “Leo, give me your credit card and I’ll book you a flight.”

  “It’ll take Hope a few days to get there,” my dad reminded her.

  “Yes, but in the meantime, he can tell everyone at the War College, the Naval hospital, and all of their friends to be on the lookout for her.”

  I marveled at my mother’s ability to think through the possibilities when I knew she had to be as tired and frazzled as I was.

  My uncle pulled out his wallet and then hesitated. “My card is . . . maxed out, Paola.”

  My mom stiffened. “How is—” She clenched her teeth and I prepped myself for an argument. My uncle’s financial troubles were no secret and had been the cause of more fights than I wanted to think about. To my surprise, she simply reached to my dad, who took out his wallet without an argument. “Actually Miguel,” she said to my father, “we have enough corporate miles to get a free ticket, right? Leo, you may have to stopover, but . . .”

  “That’s fine,” my uncle said to his lap.

  They made their plans and Ben and I drifted away from this uncomfortable situation. Bad enough to have family tension, but letting Ben see it was highly embarrassing.

  “Was Coach in the Navy, too?” Ben asked, taking my hand as we made our way to the TV
room again.

  “No, just my aunt Cassie. Back when she was in training, there was some sort of exhibition game at the base once and he was on the team. He kept traveling after they met but they kept in touch, and then he quit to be with her. He coached at a private school, and they got married when they found out she was pregnant. I guess things were bad, and a couple years after Hope was born, she had an affair with some officer and they divorced.” I shifted on the white cushions so our bodies fit together like puzzle pieces.

  “How did he end up out here?” he asked, putting an arm around my shoulder and running his fingers through my hair.

  I hesitated. It was enough that Ben knew some of my uncle’s stuff, but Tío, being a teacher and his coach — I wasn’t sure if I should say the rest. But then, Ben had been part of so much already. “He had a drinking problem for a while. He lost his job and kind of drifted. Even after he got sober, Cassie didn’t want him anywhere near Hope and he felt like he failed her so he walked away. He ended up out here and my mom got him the interview at Messina. The rest is history.”

  “Dude.”

  “Yeah.” I sighed. “Someone should call my aunt. She’ll want to know what’s going on.”

  Ben Richardson Hope’s driving herself to the east coast. Everyone here’s driving themselves crazy. I’d punch someone if I could leave B for a second.

  Ben

  I thought the condom box lecture was uncomfortable, but this day was coming in at a close second. B’s family was full of nasty secrets I never would have guessed, and they didn’t exactly deal with them quietly. When Coach called his ex-wife in Afghanistan, we could hear the shouting from across the house. B was tense and kept looking over her shoulder in the direction of her dad’s office. She had asked her parents to let her make the call, but they’d said no, which seemed stupid since, according to B, she got along the best with her Aunt Cassie. I wasn’t gonna argue, though. Maybe Coach was blaming himself so much for what happened that he thought he needed to be yelled at. I don’t know.

  I’d learned a lot about B’s family in just one day, but it was the kind of stuff I don’t think you’re supposed to ever know. Or maybe it’s the stuff that you find out after you’ve been together for a long time. Not that I would know. My longest relationship had been with B last time and, let me tell you, this stuff hadn’t come up.

  After the phone call ended, Coach stormed out of the house. B asked if she could rest against me, and when I said yes, she put her head in my lap and closed her eyes. Jesus, why don’t girls realize this position is a problem? I didn’t say anything, but prayed her parents didn’t walk in anytime soon. Not that anything was, you know, happening, but it looked kinda bad.

  I tried to relax, and ran my fingers through her hair over and over, and could see her breathing slow. Having the power to calm her down rather than upset her was pretty surprising. Being with B was making me feel better about myself, to tell you the truth. I mean, I run around saying I don’t care what people think, and used to say that I liked making B mad. That had been a little true. But sometimes I did it because it was the only thing I knew how to do. I’d thought that was who I was.

  Beatriz

  After dinner, the third tense meal of the day, my uncle planned to go home to pack. My dad would follow and take him to the airport for his red-eye flight. The name seemed awfully fitting. Just as we were saying goodbye, my cell rang. I ran for it and saw it was Hope.

  “Hope? Where are you?”

  “I’m in Amarillo,” Hope said, her voice weak.

  “Texas?” I gasped, and everyone in the room stepped closer. “Are you okay?”

  Leonardo reached for the phone but I waved him away, feeling sure she’d called me for a reason.

  Hope was crying and a flash of panic went through me. “Hope? What’s wrong?”

  “Everything,” she sniffed.

  “Hope . . .” I didn’t know what to say. What to ask.

  She sniffed again. “Did you see what they — Everyone thinks — I-I didn’t cheat on Clay. Why would they believe — I hate all of them. I’m going back where people are nice and don’t try to embar–” She started to cry really hard and couldn’t say anything else.

  The sound of her heartbreak actually hurt. Like in my chest. I turned my back to Ben and my family, who were hovering, and lowered my voice, as if that would help. “Hope, we’ll work this out. Drive back . . . or let someone fly out and meet you so you’re not alone.”

  Eventually she said, “No. I can’t. My dad saw — He thinks — The way he looked at me and yelled at me? In front of everyone! He wouldn’t even listen.” More crying.

  “Hope, he—” I didn’t want to lie. “He loves you. We all do. Come back.” I didn’t hear anything and when I looked at the phone, the time stamp was flashing. Hope had hung up. I turned around slowly, not wanting to see the expectant faces of everyone else. I kept my eyes low and shrugged.

  My uncle said sharply, “You should have let me talk to her.”

  My eyes shot up. “Why?”

  “Because you didn’t get her to tell you anything.”

  “She did fine,” said my dad, reaching out and touching my arm. “Hope told Beatriz she’s in Texas. And Hope knows we love her.”

  “I could have gotten her to come home.”

  “No, you couldn’t have,” I snapped, but underneath my irritation was a whole lot of doubt. And that spark of uncertainty started a firestorm in my head, and before I knew it, I could barely breathe. I believed that I let Hope down and could have stopped my friends from hurting Hope, and how, if I were a better cousin, I could have made my uncle listen to her. Could have helped them to have a better relationship. I exploded. “She didn’t want to talk to you! If she did, she would have called your phone! She wanted me because she knows she can trust me and because I believe her. At least someone’s on her side around here.”

  Ben

  B ran up to her room. Not sure whether or not to follow, I stood awkwardly in the entryway listening to more yelling about Hope and B and money and adulthood and responsibility and commitment, and then wandered upstairs. I knocked on the door but there was no answer. Slowly I opened it and saw B curled up on her bed. I sat down next to her. “B, have you been crying all this time?”

  “M-hm.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t.”

  She almost smiled, but her face was distorted and her eyes were super red. “You should go home. Get some sleep and leave us all to beat each other up in private.”

  I cupped the back of her head with my palm and pulled her to my chest, kissing her hair.

  “What can I do?” I asked. “Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.” Not that there was anything I thought I could do, but it seemed like the right thing to say.

  She narrowed her eyes. “I want you to kill Clay. I want Clay to suffer like she is, like we all are. I want to cut out Clay’s heart and eat it in front of the whole school!”

  Holy crap. She had crossed the line of crazy. And it made me laugh. And my laughing made her laugh, and she relaxed a little.

  “Someone will pay, B. I promise.”

  I reached for her hand and wondered how we would have spent the evening if all of this hadn’t happened. I had wanted to take her horseback riding in Griffith Park. Or we could have gone to the pier and eaten cotton candy and ridden the roller coaster. Something romantic and out of character, you know? Instead I was sitting in my girlfriend’s room thinking that I would actually like to kill my friends, and feeling more sure that I should never mention to Beatriz that I saw all of this coming and did nothing to stop it.

  Beatriz

  When did slut-shaming become a thing? And what kind of a horrid phrase is slut-shaming anyway? Why should a girl be made ashamed of what she does with her body? And why is the girl the problem, not the guy? What is the guy equivalent of ‘slut’? There isn’t one. So much for feminism.

  I hate Clay. And Bryce and John. And my uncle. And my parents. And my classmates.
I hate phones and social media. I hate everything. And everyone.

  Except Ben.

  And Hope.

  I want her back.

  Ben

  I spent the next two days coaxing B to pay attention to work, and not, if you can believe it, trying to touch her in ways her parents wouldn’t like. Her depression was a mood killer, for sure, but more than that, I really wanted to help her. She’d been counting on being valedictorian forever, and if she blew exams, which started in three days, that would be the end of that. I couldn’t let it happen. B kept losing focus and didn’t seem to remember even the most basic scientific term and author names. I might not have helped enough at the dance, but I could try to help with this.

  Watching her struggle made me consider B’s request, but murdering Clay wouldn’t help B with exams. Plus, if given a choice, I’d rather see B eat Clay’s heart in the cafeteria. That thought made me laugh at first, but then it made me think about everything again. I slipped off to call Clay. I didn’t plan on yelling at him. Not exactly. I really was worried about him. Even if what he did was wrong, the guy had to be hurting.

  He didn’t answer his phone.

  Beatriz

  I knew I was a mess. I knew I was about to blow everything, but I couldn’t make myself care. The thought of going to school made me sick, which was crazy because, honestly, for the past five and a half years, it was the place I’d felt most at home.

  At my house studying, whenever Ben put a hand on mine or moved my hair behind my shoulders, my heart beat a little faster, letting me know that I wasn’t completely dead inside. He was trying so hard to make things better for me and I wished I was together enough to show him how much I appreciated it. I just kept worrying and replaying all that had happened in my mind, blaming myself for things that were not my fault.