White Rabbit
Page 29
“I am,” she answers, “but I had a few minutes, and I thought I’d stop at home first to see how my boys were doing. I know you can’t cook anything that doesn’t have microwave instructions, so I got some of those frozen pizza rolls you two like so much. That way I know you won’t starve to death.”
“Ha ha.” I roll my eyes.
“You two have any plans for the evening?”
“Sort of?” Sebastian looks around the room at nobody in particular. “My friend Jake is having a birthday party tonight, so we thought, uh … you know, we might go to that. If that’s okay?”
Many of Sebastian’s friends have actually been pretty cool with the news that he’s dating a guy—less so with the news that said guy is me, as I had predicted, but we’re working on it. Jake Fuller is probably Sebastian’s best friend these days, and as the self-coronated Party King of Ethan Allen High, he’s already guaranteed us a few opportunities—like tonight—to road-test public opinions on our relationship. With my worst enemies at Ethan Allen out of the picture for good, attitudes toward me are proving more malleable than they’ve ever been before, and guys who’ve passively made my life crap in the past are actually willing to speak to me in a pseudo-friendly way all of a sudden. It takes all my strength of character to be grudgingly civil to most of them, but, like I said: We’re working on it.
As soon as Race was released from the hospital with a clean bill of health, he went straight into seclusion, moving to his grandparents’ house in Maine to weather the media storm surrounding the events of Independence Day. From what Sebastian’s heard, the Atwoods are seeking out a private school near Portland that he can enroll in come the fall. In similar news, Hayden has also decamped from Burlington for the foreseeable future, and I have to say I’m relishing every minute of a life without him in it.
Two days after reports of the shootout at Suzy’s American Diner made the news, Peter and Isabel decided to bestow upon their eldest a suspiciously convenient late graduation gift of a six-week European vacation. Hayden left on the first flight out, and is by now no doubt brawling outside nightclubs in Ibiza or drinking himself blind in Prague. If and when he eventually returns to the States, he’ll be bypassing Vermont altogether and heading straight to college in Massachusetts instead. According to April, Lyle’s boys still ride by their house every few days anyway, just in case the prodigal son should make an unexpected return.
April herself is in a very weird place. Of her former clique, Lia is the only member left—and the two of them can barely look one another in the eye after everything that’s happened. My sister was exonerated by the law, but her reputation at Ethan Allen has been permanently tainted, and so she’ll be attending a private school in the fall, too, just like Race. She’s made no secret of the fact that she’d also like to leave the state to do it, but Isabel has flatly refused on the grounds that it would look like running away.
In the meantime, without her popular clique to count on, April’s taken to texting me more and more often—and even inviting herself along when my friends and I hang out. It’s a turn of events that never stops feeling bizarre to me—but, somehow, it actually seems to work. Most of the time. There’s no way Peter approves of our associating, if he’s even aware of it, but he handles his daughter now even more lightly than he used to. April doesn’t always seem to enjoy the downgrade in her social status, which is not a huge surprise, but I think she’s learning that being an outcast comes with the liberating privilege of not having to worry about your image so much.
“A party sounds like fun,” Mom says insincerely, her eyes on the TV while her mind is clearly still back in early July, “but, you know, I’d appreciate it if—”
“If I come home no later than midnight,” I supply automatically, “and wake you up if you’re sleeping, so you know I’m not out getting murdered somewhere. I will, I promise.”
“You know, when most kids say sarcastic shit like that, they make it sound like their parents are paranoid neurotics,” my mother points out dryly. “Somehow, you don’t quite pull it off.”
I make a face at her just as a knock sounds on the front door, and Lucy Kim barges into the house without waiting for a formal invitation.
“Hey, Mom!” my best friend calls to my mother melodiously, bounding past her and hurling herself across the sofa like she belongs here. Which, let’s be honest, she really does. “Hey, dudes. What’s goin’ on?”
“You know, Lucy, it’s the funniest thing,” Mom says with a theatrically pensive expression. “If I weren’t absolutely sure my son and his boyfriend knew it was against house rules, I would almost swear I’d caught them in the middle of ‘Netflix and chill’ a few minutes ago. But they promise me that they are just watching a movie.”
Lucy widens her eyes and pulls her mouth down in an “oopsy” face, and then says, very chipper, “Rufus would never dream of violating a parental boundary, Mrs. Rufus’s Mom. Why, I remember the time I wanted to try that soda pop stuff I’ve heard all the kids talking about, and Rufus said, ‘No way, Jose,’ because soda pop leads to fornication—”
“Oh my gosh, okay—I surrender!” I exclaim. “I apologize for almost Netflix-and-chilling, all right?” Burying my face in my hands, I moan, “I should never have introduced you two.”
“Too late,” Mom says brightly, rising to her feet and straightening out her clothes. “Anyway, I suppose I should probably go and meet that client. Cross your fingers, because this could be a big fish.” Leaning down, she ruffles my hair affectionately. “See you later, kiddo. Have fun at your party.” At the door, she tosses back over her shoulder, “And, just so you know, I’m not going to go sit at the end of the block for a while and wait to see how long it takes for you to get rid of Lucy.”
Lucy and I both roll our eyes as the door slams shut.
My final showdown with Peyton resulted in two cracked ribs and a series of incredibly gnarly flesh wounds, and for a while there, my body was a Frankensteiny road map of damaged skin held together with stitches and staples. They gave me a course of nuclear-powered antibiotics at the hospital, and then kept me for a couple nights while they waited to see if I would develop some kind of horrible infection anyway. In all that time, my father did not bother to send me so much as a get-well-soon card; but on my last day, I did receive an unexpected visitor in the person of Isabel Covington.
She kept her remarks brief and to the point, offering up a terse “Glad to see you’re feeling better,” and then informing me—in the manner of a business associate imparting news of vaguely promising figures in the latest quarterly projections—that the police had officially cleared April of any wrongdoing in Fox’s death. “She wanted to come see you, but I didn’t think that would be appropriate.”
And then, into my hand Isabel pressed a blank envelope containing four thousand dollars—cash—before walking back out the door without another word.
When I presented my accumulated six grand to my mom a few days later, she was nearly speechless. I told her not to ask where it came from, and she didn’t. Probably, she assumed I’d stolen it from Fox or Arlo, or maybe off Peyton’s dead body—or possibly that it was hush money from the Atwoods, Whitneys, or Forsyths. All I knew was that if she learned most of it came from Isabel, she’d never have touched it; so I kept that detail to myself, Mom paid off the bank, and the wolves were gone from our door.
As for Peter, the man has spent the past few weeks working overtime to un-sully the Covington name and distance it from the scandalous events of the Fourth of July. He’s made sizeable donations to several notable charities; he managed to get himself quoted in no fewer than three different newspaper articles about the dangers of teenage drug abuse; and he wisely refused to take on a wrongful death suit against the Forsyths organized by Fox’s parents. More importantly, he never filed that restraining order against me and seems to have grudgingly accepted that I was in no way involved in Fox’s death.
“Hey, um … so I kind of gave Jake Fuller your phone n
umber?” Sebastian says to Lucy, peering up at her on the couch. “I believe I’m supposed to tell you that he thinks you’re cute. He hasn’t called you yet or anything, has he?”
“As a matter of fact, I did get a text from him the other day,” Lucy remarks. “It says…” She draws up the messages on her phone and reads aloud from the screen. “Sup?”
“Jake’s … not very smooth with the ladies.”
“No, I dare say he’s not.”
“Any chance you want to come to his birthday party tonight?” Sebastian wrinkles his nose. “I’m supposed to make it sound like I thought of it myself, like you can come or not come and it’s no big deal, but I think he really wants you to come.”
“That depends.” Lucy swings up into a sitting position and eyes my boyfriend smartly. “I don’t suppose Mr. Fuller has ever mentioned feeling like an ass for calling me a ‘fag hag’ in the eighth grade and then laughing like it was a hilarious insult?”
“Uh … no.”
“And I don’t suppose he’s ever apologized for implicitly calling Rufus a fag, implicitly reducing me to Rufus’s sidekick, or implying that there is somehow something wrong or shameful about enjoying the company of The Gays?”
“Uh…” Sebastian starts to panic in the face of Grammatically Accurate Lucy, which shows that he’s definitely developing an accurate sense of her danger zones.
“Well, you may tell Jake Fuller that if and when he is ready to apologize and have an adult discussion about these issues, I am willing to listen.”
Sebastian makes a strange face. “I don’t think you realize just how clueless Jake is. If I tell him all that, the only thing he’s going to hear is that he maybe has a shot.”
“Arrrgh, boys.” Lucy flops back on the couch, disgusted. “You’re all so stupid and dumb. Life would be so much easier if you weren’t so freaking hot.”
“Tell me about it,” Sebastian says, ruffling my hair.
I punch him in the arm.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book started as just an image in my mind—of a boy finding his sister at a murder scene in a lonely lake house—and I’ve got a lot of people to thank for what it took to bring Rufus, Sebastian, April, and their friends (and enemies!) out of my head and onto the pages you’re holding.
To my exceptional editor, Liz Szabla: thank you for loving this story as much as I do, for knowing when the characters needed an extra push or two, and for always making my work stronger. I’m already looking forward to our next endeavor together! And to my amazing publisher, Jean Feiwel: thank you, once again, for letting my dreams come true by turning this story into an actual book.
To Molly Ellis, my lifesaver, combat trainer, and publicist: thank you for being The Actual Best literally all of the time. I could not have made it this far without you! To Caitlin Sweeney, marketing magician: you were one of my earliest champions, and I’ll never forget it. Thank you for everything.
To be frank, my extended Feiwel and Friends/Macmillan family is peerless. My deepest gratitude to Rich Deas, Mandy Veloso, Kim Waymer, Allison Verost, and Jon Yaged for all that you’ve done to see that my Pinocchio became a real boy; and many thanks also to Brittany Pearlman, Ashley Woodfolk, Heather Job, and Kelsey Marrujo (and Emma Mills, Marissa Meyer, Anna Banks, Kami Garcia, and Leigh Bardugo!) for making my Fierce Reads experience an absolute pleasure.
My marvelous agent, Rosemary Stimola, has been the Gandalf to my Frodo: giving me her counsel, wisdom, and trust, and always, always helping me find my way. Thank you, again, from the bottom of my heart for all you’ve done—and for answering all my emails, no matter how frantic or bizarre they get!
So much gratitude, also, to my debut crew, the Sweet Sixteens—you guys gave me a YA family and taught me so much. A million thanks to Kristin Cast for her support and generosity (and for sharing my love of Drag Race!) And all my love and respect to the bloggers and booksellers—in particular Stacey Canova, Jennifer Gaska, Angie Mann, Susan Rowland, Vee Signorelli, Eric Smith, Nena Boling-Smith, Rachel Strolle, Katie Stutz, and Heidi Zweifel, all of whom I owe a special debt—who have befriended me, talked up my work, and/or saved my butt at BEA (you know who you are). This industry is lucky to have people like you.
My friends and family have put up with a lot of my breathless panicking over the years—and even more of my half-baked, sardonic one-liners—and I want you guys to know how much I appreciate it. To my support systems in L.A., Michigan, Phoenix, Chicago, and beyond: you guys keep me going, and I thank you for it.
To Tapani Salminen and Erkki Mäkelä: thank you both so much for years of generosity and friendship. I wrote this book while living on Hämeentie and finished my own edits of the manuscript on my birthday at your house, so this story is inextricably woven into the time we shared with you during our years in Finland. Paljon Kiitoksia!
And, once again, I have saved the best for last. Uldis, this book will find us in our thirteenth year together. From the Valley to Hollywood, from Hollywood to Helsinki, and from Helsinki back to the Valley, our own story is full of thrilling adventures and surprising twists. I can’t wait to see what comes next. As a wise sage once said, “The rest is still unwritten!” Es tevi mīlu, Ulditi.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Caleb Roehrig’s debut thriller, Last Seen Leaving, was called one of the Best YA Novels of 2016 by Buzzfeed.com. Caleb lives with his husband in Los Angeles. Follow him on Twitter: @MikalebRoehrig. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
One Month Later
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
Copyright © 2018 by Caleb Roehrig
A FEIWEL AND FRIENDS BOOK
An imprint of Macmillan
175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010
fiercereads.com
All rights reserved.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.
ISBN 978-1-250-08565-8 (hardcover) / ISBN 978-1-250-08564-1 (ebook)
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First hardcover edition, April 2018
eBook edition, April 2018
eISBN 9781250085641
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