“A couple in a room had a fight that night,” Wilson said.
Van looked at Wilson like he no longer recognized him. “You thought I was so fucked up, you could go across the street to run your business? Then tell me I imagined what I saw?” Van said. “You made me feel crazy.”
“We wanted to protect you.”
“From what?”
Wilson shook his head, like he wasn’t ready to answer. “There was some other shit, man.”
“What? Did I do something that night? To Caroline?” Van asked. “Just tell me!”
“What would you have done to her? You barely left the couch.”
“Did you guys do something to her?”
“God, no!”
“But Caroline was there in this backyard. She knew about the trail?”
Wilson was quiet. Then, “She was using it, too.”
“So, all of you lied to me. Just to do drugs without me?”
Wilson remained silent.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Van asked.
“We just started doing different things. You had your band.”
“No, really, Wilson. Why? Both of you could barely look me in the eye.”
Wilson rocked back and forth on his heels. Then, finally, he met Van’s eyes. “I didn’t want to stop and I didn’t want you to see.”
Wilson sat down with us, by Max’s feet. “It was like once I made the first mistake, I couldn’t get out of the hole. We just kept getting in deeper. I knew that when you were around.”
The sirens became just barely audible. Dogs started barking. A light came on somewhere in the vicinity and the sky beyond the fenced yard became a shade brighter. The street was waking up.
Wilson swiped at his cheek with the crook of his arm and stared down at Max. Max stirred, then pulled his knees close to his chest. I didn’t get why Max’s head kept moving and then I realized Van’s hands were shaking.
None of us spoke. Then Van suddenly kicked Wilson’s foot to get his attention. “I’ve got you.” Van’s tone implied, You know that, right? I watched as Van held Wilson’s eyes. “No matter what.”
* * *
The sirens were faint, and then louder and louder until they screamed down our cul-de-sac. Max’s parents, Roz and Pete, were woken up and then everything was a blur of motion as the paramedics worked over Max and calmly asked questions.
When I was pushed out to the edges of the commotion, I backed farther into the dark recess of the overgrown yard. I felt the imposing presence of the greenbelt, suddenly alive to me. Then I saw that the sliding glass door was open, calling me, drawing me into the house.
There was a flurry of movement. Everyone was abandoning ship. The state of the house was night and day from the other times I’d been inside. It was trashed. The contents of a large bag of popcorn had spilled everywhere. Bits of toilet paper were stuck to the floor. Condoms were available on the table and there was a full bar, like they were running an establishment. I saw a forgotten stack of bills on the kitchen table.
My eyes came to rest on the picture frames. Slowly, I stepped forward to take one more look at all three. This time I saw it—it was the one of the little girl with Santa. Up close, it reflected the small amount of light from down the hall a bit differently than the frames next to it, because the glass wasn’t as dirty. I dragged one finger along the top edge of each picture frame. A thick film of dust coated my finger from two. I checked the Santa photo last. It was completely clean. The boys had actually replaced it. They were either that thorough or it had become like a game to mess with Van’s memory.
I counted six people leave the house. Of the three people I recognized, two were complete surprises. They streamed past me, exiting the back of the house, headed no doubt to the hole in the wall. I watched the outline of a girl’s back and for the flash of an instant, I thought I saw her slip into the sheer green block that appeared black at night. I couldn’t see much but I could tell she was gone. It was what Van had described that first night—it did look surreal, like something from a dream.
I heard flushing down the hall and followed the sound to the doorway of a red wallpapered bathroom with an ornate gold sink. The windowless, interior bathroom was the only fully lit room in the house. The countertop was covered with cut-up straws and there was a smell that reminded me of the taste of aspirin.
Seba was scraping pills off the counter and shoving them into his pockets. Then he lowered his head to do a line of something crushed up on the white-and-gold-speckled countertop. He snorted it and had such a look of pleasure on his face, I almost looked away. Seba slowly turned his head and gave me a look that was cockiness trying to mask fear, like he was a little boy who said the spanking didn’t hurt. He knew his time was up and he’d lost the boys.
He threw up his hands in mock exasperation. “Can’t anyone at this school handle their drugs?”
“Stay away from Max and Wilson,” I said. Maybe it was three in the morning. Maybe I had lost my filter after no sleep for weeks, but I also meant it.
Seba laughed at me, reminding me of a spoiled young nobleman in the red-and-faux-gold powder room. “Those two thought they were so cool, that they were all Risky Business with this place. They weren’t even making real money.” Seba put his face right up to mine to study me. Then, as if he’d come to his conclusion, “Do you know how boring you are? I don’t get why those guys are so careful with you and so scared for you to find shit out. The only exciting thing about you was your father’s picture in Us Weekly with a barely legal, pregnant Brooke Carter. I remember thinking that was so cool.”
Jack appeared at the door. “Let’s go. Now there’s a fire truck.”
Seemingly in no hurry, Seba said, “Van’s going to get sick of you so fast. Whose idea do you think it was to break into this house in the first place? You don’t party, you can’t keep up with him like his much hotter girlfriend.” He pushed past me.
I decided not to mention the dusting of white ringing his nostrils like powdered sugar.
The flashing lights brightened the front rooms behind me. I knew the house well enough to know I could probably slip out the back porch and into my own yard and avoid the crowd. The wood floor creaked and I used my hand as a guide against the greasy walls as I crept to the back of the house.
I caught sight of movement outside a bedroom window. I knew I needed to go but just for a second, from my usual distance, I looked out the window at Van and Wilson by Max’s side, the three of them just beyond my grasp.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
MONDAY, APRIL 18
Van didn’t text.
I hadn’t bothered trying to sleep. Actually, when was the last time I’d even sincerely tried? Life had become too exciting for sleep.
Max.
I took up Van’s post and stared down at the house. The house used to live large in my mind like a monster from a horror film. What had made it so terrorizing was not knowing exactly what was going on inside, only that something was. Now the house reminded me of a bad teenager who had been caught and chastised. The paint looked sad, the porch looked droopy. It was just a rich kids’ playground. How they’d managed to stay so quiet and keep other people quiet, I’d never know. For a moment, I remembered the lonely little girl with the braids who sat by herself on that porch. Where the hell was she now? We all cared so much about Max, but that little girl had been practically invisible. I hadn’t wanted to see her. She’d reminded me of helplessness, and of adults inside who left you to your own devices.
I moved to the street-facing window. The light of a fresh spring morning blossomed over the cul-de-sac. Everything looked mussed, as if neighbors had trampled on their grass to run out to the middle of the street, to gather, to watch.
The street reminded me of an aisle at Target selling postseason holiday goods. Too much of a good thing. Too many pretty colors. Too late of a night. The cul-de-sac looked hungover. Van’s house was uncharacteristically quiet though all three cars were in the driveway.
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Why hadn’t he texted? Should I not have left when I did last night? Did Van think I was selfish, leaving him to deal on his own?
I placed my hands over my eyes and saw Max’s slowed breathing all over again.
I heard a hum below and uncovered my eyes. Pete, Max’s dad, swung his royal-blue Prius into their driveway and unhurriedly climbed out. From where I stood, I couldn’t see more than his grizzled man-bun and pajama pants. If I was closer, I’d see his chipped, painted toenails and smell a whiff of pot. Like Max, he was skinny, but he walked in a kind of stagger as if he was tripping on pants that were too long. Max’s parents had been multimillionaires before they were thirty and, as far as I could tell, devoted most of young retirement to rescuing cats.
Pete picked up the newspaper from the driveway, unfurled it, and began to read the front page. His relaxed body language told me his son had to be okay. A couple of cats came running from the shrubs at the sound of Pete’s arrival and swirled about his ankles on the warming blacktop.
The swish of curtains caught my eye. Faces peered out to watch Pete. The fishbowl.
I sensed the strength of the community gathering like a tornado. Led by the retirees, certain neighbors would want to take charge and clean up the mess of the house that had corrupted kids beneath their noses. Emotional messes, well, each family would handle that differently. Wilson’s moms would be mortified and wonder if they should move. Roz and Pete would take the opposite route and treat Max like he was their friend, maybe blame someone else. I doubted they would make him go to counseling. I had no idea what Lisa, not to mention Kevin, would do.
I checked my phone again. Nothing. I felt selfish even wondering whether Van was thinking about me and what happened between us.
His water glass from just hours ago sat on my nightstand. The tall glass was a favorite of my mother’s; it was tinted a Caribbean blue and decorated with gold leaf, part of a set once bought from a fancy department store in Beverly Hills. Dust already skimmed the top.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
MONDAY, APRIL 18
I waited restlessly for Izzie and the others in front of the auditorium—our after-school meeting spot. Today, the school felt claustrophobic and clammy and polluted.
As far as I could tell, Wilson and Seba had been absent. My heart leapt when I thought I saw Van’s car in the parking lot first thing in the morning. But when I looked closer, it was a completely different car. He wasn’t in class and he wasn’t in any of the usual places where I might see him from a distance.
How’s Max? How are you? That was all I had texted at 4 A.M. It hadn’t occurred to me that he wouldn’t respond. Unless something was really wrong. I wanted to know how Van felt about the hole in the wall and about Max and Wilson lying to him, mainly because they hadn’t wanted to disappoint him.
By midday, word had spread far and wide about last night: the secret party house, Max having his stomach pumped, and the naming of names of who had been there. I heard in math class that Max was home from the hospital. By lunch, everywhere I went, it felt like there was whispering. Kids seemed to look at me differently, speculatively.
I hadn’t seen Izzie yet today because of her orthodontist appointment. She’d texted me a photo of a dog poster in the waiting room because she knew I loved puppies. The image of five golden retriever puppies tugging on a rain boot made me wish Izzie and I were ten instead of seventeen.
“What the…” I saw the teal-painted fingernails wrap around my sleeve just as I registered the voice, then Izzie’s bewildered face.
“Hi,” I said.
“What happened? I got to school and everyone is saying that Max overdosed. And you were there?” Her dark eyes were as large as I’d ever seen them.
“It was alcohol poisoning. Not an overdose. There was a lot of commotion next door.”
“His head was in your lap?”
Wow. That fact was wrong but the level of detail surprised me. I scanned the hallway for Van again, automatically, the way I always did in this hallway at this time of day. He must have had his phone taken away. That was all I could come up with.
“Max’s head wasn’t in my lap. It was in Van’s.”
“Were you with all of them? Before that, I mean?” Izzie’s expression showed her total confusion at the social reordering. I was supposed to be up in my room, separate from the boys because that was how it had been since she’d met me.
I felt a tap on my shoulder. “Can I talk to you for a second?” The voice near my left ear was hoarse and wrecked, like its owner had been up too late, partying too hard.
Caroline fixed me with a preoccupied gaze and I noted that she didn’t acknowledge Izzie.
“Of course,” I answered. I could just hear Izzie’s thought-text that our conversation wasn’t over. Next thing I knew, Caroline pulled me by the hand into an empty classroom. Heads turned in our wake.
The classroom’s linoleum floors shined like they’d just been polished and my white tennis shoes slipped a bit on the waxy surface as I entered. I reminded myself that I hadn’t done anything wrong. This was Caroline being worried about what I knew. It made sense—with her cool daring, I could see her experimenting with everything. Seba had no doubt loved that he’d had Max and Wilson keeping secrets from Van. But Seba must have especially loved that Caroline was lying to Van. She was the girl Seba really wanted but could never get.
Caroline plunked herself inelegantly into one of the desk chairs and slunk down low. Her phone fell out of her pocket and bounced on the shiny floor. “Dammit,” she muttered. When she inspected it, I saw that the screen had shattered.
I studied her while she swiped her thumbs across the surface of her phone, testing to see if it still worked. For Caroline, she looked disheveled in a white T-shirt with very slight yellowing at the armpits. It didn’t seem fitting for her to be wearing something with a flaw that other people could see. Something was off, and it put me even more on edge than I always was around her. Why was I always on edge around her? Because I wanted to impress her? Because I fell in love with her boyfriend while they were dating? Because I had a girl crush on her and wanted to absorb how to be perfect at everything?
I remained standing, not quite knowing what to do with my hands. How did she know a teacher wouldn’t walk in and ask us to leave? All the rules I worried about, she never bothered with.
Satisfied, Caroline replaced her phone in her pocket. Then she surveyed me. I shifted nervously, crossing my arms loosely. Maybe this was going to be about me helping her keep the drug use and partying from Coach Mike, but it was mainly going to be about Van. It was a long time coming. I’d been surprised she hadn’t said anything after she saw me with Van the night they broke up.
Caroline began chewing her nails and I noticed they were bitten to the quick. She was nervous. A memory of her face from the day of the meet, seconds before I hit my head, popped into my mind.
“You were with Van last night? That’s what I heard.”
She didn’t say it meanly or possessively. Just conversationally, the tip of one nail between her teeth.
I was having trouble forming an answer—what would Van say if someone asked? I’d always assumed he’d want to hide it. I settled on, “The whole thing was right next door.” She knew what I was talking about.
“I heard he was with you in your house when Wilson called.”
“We’re just neighbors.”
Caroline nodded as if this made sense to her and she could live with that. “Have you spoken to him today?” she asked.
Caroline stopped chewing her nails and folded her hands tightly like a little girl in church. A parent’s voice was obviously ingrained in her head: Stop chewing your nails! It struck me how little I’d heard about Caroline’s family. I knew her parents had moved back to California in January and Caroline was finishing out the semester in Texas, living with family friends. It was one more fact about Caroline that made her seem like she was ten years older than me instead of one.
But right now, she looked more her age than I’d ever seen her. Messy, deliberately working to appear relaxed in her slumped position in a high school classroom, signs that read NO VAPING posted on the beige wall behind her.
I shook my head. “No, I haven’t talked to him.” He wasn’t her boyfriend anymore, I reminded myself. Why had she brought me to this room? Did she want him back as soon as she’d heard a rumor about Van and me?
Once I gave this answer, Caroline relaxed for real. She unclasped her hands and draped her arms over the back of the chair, back in a power pose. I saw fresh red stains on her white shirt. Splinters of glass from her phone must have made her fingers bleed.
“I won’t tell Mike. Don’t worry,” she said, shifting gears and sounding more controlled, more like herself. She stood, crossed to the overhead projector that sat on a cart next to me, and began to fidget with its settings for no apparent reason. I wanted to tell her to stop, that it might mess things up for the teacher who used it.
“There’s nothing to tell Mike. There was commotion beneath my window. That’s it,” I said. She was suddenly making this about me.
“Yeah, but you don’t want to be associated with any of that. I would get far away from those guys.”
I half turned to leave the room, wanting to finish the uncomfortable conversation. I didn’t like that I couldn’t pin her down. Was she threatening me? Or trying to be helpful? In my past dealings with Caroline, I’d always believed she was looking out for me. I prided myself on reading people well. That came with being an outsider. Always observing. But this time, I wasn’t so sure.
“Ingrid, I’m saying this as someone who has spent a lot of time with those boys. At least for the last couple of months. Don’t let them get you off track,” she said. Now she sounded authentically kind. “I’ve heard Mike tell you the same thing they used to tell me in gymnastics—that you’re not a normal teenager. You’re better. Anyway, Van said he’s going to be under house arrest for a while, which makes it easy. He’s hard to stay away from.”
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