Devin Rhodes is Dead

by Jennifer Wolf Kam

  I shrug. I’m not going there, I’m not. Part of me wants more than anything to tell Marcus what happened between Devin and me. But to tell him how things ended would mean telling him that the choice I made changed everything. How can I tell him? What will he think of me? What will he do? “It’s—I can’t.” I really can’t. The words won’t come.

  “I know it’s hard for you to talk about things.” He shakes his head. “But I also know there’s more. There has to be more.”

  “Stop,” I say. “Just stop.”

  “No,” he says. “I mean—” He takes a deep breath. “Do you think, Chad…?”

  “Pushed her into the ravine?” My heart bumps around in my chest. “Do you?” I mean, the way he acted that night, the way he was with the girl in the pharmacy, all over her in a weird, suffocating way. The way he grabbed my arm.

  “They had that problem, Devin and Chad. Remember? Maybe because of us?”

  “What are you, a detective now?” I say. My words are bullets. I don’t mean to be rude, but I need Marcus to stop talking about what happened. I need him to stop thinking about what happened. Because no matter how she ended up in the ravine, I’m the reason it was able to happen. And no one, no one can ever find that out.

  “No,” he says, looking a little hurt. “It’s just, you know, when something like that happens, you try to think of all the possibilities. You never know what you might remember that could help the police.” He digs his hands into his pockets.

  “I know,” I say. “You’re not going to figure out what happened. I mean none of us are.” If I’d been her friend, like I promised, there’d be nothing to figure out. It just wouldn’t have happened.

  “Well, of course not,” he says. “Not if you don’t think about things—try to figure it out. Don’t you want to know?” he says. “If that were my friend, I’d have to know. I’d want to beat the crap out of whoever did it.”

  I take a deep breath and back up. “I just miss her—that’s all.” My voice is softer.

  Marcus nods. “Yeah. I know.” He shifts gears, thank God. “So, who’re you here with?”

  The answer’s not as easy as it should be. Gina and Lizzy were looking for me, their calls unanswered on my phone. Who knows where they are now. They could’ve given up looking for me. Then there’s Devin, my dead best friend, who may or may not be here, too, and who may or may not be trying to kill me. The blood starts to churn again in my body.

  “I’m here with friends,” I say. “I think they’re buying shoes.” My throat is still raw. I bring my hand up to my neck. Did I scream? I can’t remember.

  Marcus nods. “Man, I hate shopping. Although I don’t think it’d make me faint.” He grins and lifts up a high-topped foot. “I’ve had these babies for two years. The more holes they get, the better I like them.”

  “I don’t really like to shop, either.” I say.

  “A girl who doesn’t like shopping? That’s a new one.”

  I shrug. “I’m not much for stereotypes.” I’m trying to stay with him, but my thoughts keep floating back to Devin. I chew on my lip, biting off pulpy flakes of skin. Where is she? What will she do next? Is she watching me now? Is she always watching?

  Marcus waves his hand in front of my face. “Hello, Cass?” He looks at me closer. “You sure you’re okay? Maybe you did hit your head.”

  “I’m fine,” I say. “Who are you here with?” It’s the first thing that comes out of my mouth. Now Marcus thinks I care who he’s here with, even though I really don’t. At least I don’t think I do.

  “Just me,” he says. “Needed to get out of the house for a while, you know what I mean?”

  “Sure,” I say, although I’d give anything to be back on the living-room couch.

  “Here’s your order,” says a pimply kid behind the counter. I instinctively touch my face, grateful for my smooth, clear skin.

  “Thanks, man,” says Marcus. He lifts the tray and turns toward me. “Here, take your soda.”

  I lift my soda off the tray. “Thanks,” I say. I take a long sip, the cold bubbles tearing away the dryness from my throat.

  The food court is crowded. It’s an obstacle course of little kids, strollers, and high chairs.

  “No tables,” Marcus says. “I hate this place on the weekend.” He scans the food court again. “Come on, over there.”

  I follow Marcus out of the food court. We look around near the window. The parking lot is as crowded as the food court, and cars jockey for spaces just the way we hunt for seats. A maroon van pushes its way past a line of cars waiting for spots.

  Marcus stops in front of one of the mall benches.

  “Free bench, cool.” He sits down and puts his tray on the bench next to him. “Sit down. I don’t bite, remember?” He opens his bag of food. “Unless you’re a cheeseburger.” He shoves the burger into his mouth.

  I realize that Marcus is trying to joke with me. But I’ve forgotten how. Nothing seems that funny anymore.

  I look out the window again. A motorcycle has cut someone off and won itself a spot. Some people work that way, I guess.

  I take my place next to Marcus on the hard plastic mall bench.

  Before

  “COME HERE,” MARCUS SAID. After a trip to the food court ice-cream stand, we’d left the mall completely. Now we were about two blocks away, in the parking lot of a smaller strip mall. “I want to show you something.”

  I followed him behind the strip mall into a parking lot with two large overflowing Dumpsters. Apparently the “Garbage-Be-Gone” label was a misnomer. Behind the parking lot was a neighborhood with small cookie-cutter houses, brick and shingle, with small grassy backyards. “Through here,” Marcus said. He climbed through a broken spot in the fence, then held out his hand to me from the other side.

  “Isn’t this trespassing?” I said. And then I thought, God, I am such a colossal dork for even saying that.

  “Not if you live here,” he said.

  I reached for his hand and let him pull me through. We were in a small yard filled with flower bushes, hanging pots, and ceramic planters. “This is your house?”

  “Not exactly,” he said. “My aunt Marisol lives here, but she watched me after school for a few years while my mom was at work, so it’s kind of like I lived here.”

  “Will she be mad that we’re just showing up?” I said. I tugged on my shirt. I wasn’t planning on meeting his family anytime soon.

  “No,” he said. “She wouldn’t care anyway, but it just so happens that she’s away this week. Visiting my grandma in Sacramento.” He grinned. “Won’t be home for a few more days.”

  “Oh,” I said. Then I got it. My stomach went all fluttery. “Oh.” Marcus was still grinning at me. I wanted more than anything to go into that house with him.

  He walked over to the back porch, ducked under a jingly wind chime, and lifted up a worn straw doormat. “Spare key,” he said, holding it up. He pulled open a tattered screen door and popped the key into the door behind him. “After you,” he said. We walked together into the house.

  “Make yourself at home,” he said motioning to a plaid loveseat in what was probably the family room. The walls were old and wood-paneled but cozy and covered with paintings.

  Marcus noticed me staring. “Watercolor,” he said. “My aunt was really into it a few years ago.” He pointed to two large planters in the room. “Now she throws pots.”

  “She throws them?” I looked around the room. “Why?”

  Marcus laughed. “No, she throws them, as in makes them. She’s a ceramicist. That’s how they say it.”

  My cheeks grew warm. “Oh,” I say. “Got it.”

  “You’re cute,” he said.

  I knew my cheeks were bright red. I turned away. “Your aunt sounds cool.”

  “She is,” said Marcus. “Total opposite of my mom.”

  I checked off another point in the “pro-Marcus” column. My mother thought she was cool, but that was a far cry from actually being co
ol.

  I sank into the couch, and when he wasn’t looking, I loosened the string on my cargo pants. After a large Swiss mocha chip cone from the ice-cream shop, I needed the reprieve. I could almost hear the deep red marks on my stomach sighing with grateful relief. I propped myself up against the armrest and brought my knees up to my chest.

  “Mind if I join you?” said Marcus. Before I could even answer, he sat down, then stretched his long body across the couch and rested his head against my knees, which sent a virtual lightning bolt through my body. Marcus turned on the TV.

  “This show sucks,” he said, flipping the channel. He did it again and again, and the channels went by in a blur.

  “We could watch a movie,” I said.

  “We just left a movie,” he says.

  “But we didn’t see it,” I said.

  “Wait—hold on a sec.” He jumped up from the couch. “Be right back.”

  “Where are you going?”

  He turned and grinned, then disappeared down the hallway.

  I played with the string of my cargo pants. Where was he going? My legs bounced up and down as I sat on the couch. Here I was alone with a boy in his house. Well, sort of his house. What was I thinking? I didn’t do things like this. I started to worry that we should head back to the mall. No doubt Devin and Chad were almost done with their movie.

  But then my heart got going as Marcus appeared again, holding a guitar.

  “My aunt’s,” he said.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said. Nothing like the beat-up one I used. It was smooth and polished to a golden hue.

  He held it out. “Play for me.”

  “No way,” I said. My cheeks grew warm. “I can’t.” I’d never played in front of a boy before, and I didn’t want to start now. Not when things were going so well. What if I got nervous and messed up?

  “Sure you can,” he said. He moved closer, arms outstretched, the guitar balancing on them.

  “Really, Marcus, I’m not that good.” I didn’t know why I said that, because I was good. Really good, actually.

  “If it makes you feel any better,” he said, “I’m completely tone deaf. Even if you blow it, I’ll still think you rocked the house.”

  “Oh, fine,” I said, reaching for the guitar. I sat down on the couch and slung the strap over my shoulder. “But only for a few minutes, okay?”

  “Deal,” he said, still grinning. He sat down on the carpet in front of me.

  I strummed a few chords—the guitar was nicely tuned. “Your aunt still plays?”

  “Yeah, at night, to relax,” he said.

  I nodded. “Cool.” Then I began to play. I started with a few chords and then transitioned to one of my own songs, the song I’d been working on the past few weeks. I’d never played it before for anyone—only the first few lines for Devin. I got really into it, my eyes closed, my fingers found their way across the strings like they always did. For a moment I wasn’t there anymore. I was inside the song, its cadence and melody a part of me.

  When I was done I opened my eyes and lay the guitar beside me on the couch. Marcus started to clap. His smile was beaming.

  “That was awesome,” he said. “Especially when you shifted into A minor—really gave the song layers.”

  “I thought you were tone deaf,” I said, my lips curling into a smile.

  “I thought you weren’t very good.”

  “Okay, fair enough,” I said.

  Marcus got up from the floor and moved in next to me on the couch. There was that lightning bolt again. I took in a quick breath.

  He smiled and leaned toward me, and I prayed he couldn’t hear the blood pumping double-time throughout my body. Marcus slowly unhooked the guitar strap from around my neck and pulled it off over my head, looking at me all the while. Right at me. He placed the guitar gently on the floor.

  I chewed on my lip. “So…want to watch that movie now?” And as the words came out, I silently kicked myself for being such a complete and utter dork.

  Marcus moved in even closer. “I have a better idea.” He wrapped his arms around my neck and brought my face toward his.

  Then we were kissing. Me and Marcus. Really kissing. And because Marcus was kissing me so hard, I couldn’t get enough air, so I pulled away and coughed.

  “Sorry,” I said, but he nudged my head back down toward his and kept kissing me, slightly more softly.

  “You okay?” he said, his lids half-open. I was appalled because I swear I could see my saliva on his lips.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’m fine.” He knew. He knew I had no idea what I was doing.

  “You want me to stop?” he said.

  I shook my head. “No.” I didn’t, but I wished more than ever I’d read some bad romance novels. Or at least the good pages.

  “Good,” he said. Then, in an amazing feat of acrobatics, Marcus pulled me across him, and my body flopped down right on top of his. Thankfully there was no thud, but I closed my eyes tightly. I didn’t even want to imagine an aerial view: my short flabby body engulfing his long, skinny one.

  “Ow,” I said instinctively, even though he hadn’t hurt me. It was a diversionary tactic—lame, but the best I could think of at the moment. I shifted my weight onto one side of him.

  “Sorry,” he said, looking up. “Should I stop?”

  “Just a bad angle,” I said, then I kissed him again.

  We stayed like that for I don’t even know how long, me on top of Marcus, the two of us probing each other’s molars.

  Even though it was all more complicated than I thought, and definitely less-hygienic, I was enjoying myself. I thought, Wouldn’t it be great if Devin knew where I was? Wouldn’t it just be perfect?

  I moved away from Marcus’s lips and kissed his neck. I was amazed I even thought to do this, and Marcus responded with a gentle, “Mmmm.”

  We continued kissing, but now I had Devin on the brain, and I couldn’t shake her. She was going to flip out, and I kind of wanted to see that happen. I wanted her to see what I’d done, tell her where I’d been.

  I pulled away. “Devin and Chad,” I said.

  “Cute couple,” said Marcus, eyes still closed, kissing my neck. “Not.”

  “They’re probably looking for us.”

  Marcus lifted his head, eyes still dreamy. “Maybe.” He leaned back in to kiss me.

  I pulled away again. “Let’s go back,” I said. My issue was two-fold. I couldn’t really leave Devin at the mall—her dad was my ride home. But I really couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when she discovered I’d been with Marcus. That the chubby old oinker Cass had actually found herself a man. A cute one, too.

  Marcus rolled over and then leaned back on the opposite armrest. He ran his hand through his bangs and sighed. “Okay,” he said. “Okay.” He sighed again and shook his head. “You’re right. We should go back.”

  I started to get up, but he leaned over quickly and pulled me close. “Marcus, come on, I—” I pulled away again, but he held on tight.

  “Glad we started over, Cass,” he said. Marcus planted a quick, soft kiss on my lips. It was so light, so gentle, we barely touched, but the feeling reached from his lips and rushed throughout my body.

  My eyes were still open, so I saw that Marcus was smiling. I turned around and leaned back into him and let myself smile, too. He wrapped his long arms around my middle easily, and I didn’t feel big at all. In Marcus’s arms, in fact, I was just the right size.

  AFTER

  “I HAVE A CONFESSION TO MAKE,” Marcus says, as we sit together on the mall bench by CheezieBurger.

  “What’s that?” I say.

  “I kind of knew you’d be at the mall today. That’s why I came.”

  “What?” I say. “How?”

  “I called you again and your mother might’ve mentioned that you’d be here.” He shrugs, palms up.

  I sigh. “Of course she did.” But for the first time, I’m not actually annoyed with her.

  “So what do
we do now?” Marcus asks, leaning toward me.

  “About what?” I take a sip of my soda.

  “About us?” He shrugs. “We could’ve talked about it that night, but there wasn’t really a good time.”

  “There was the ride home.”

  “You were pretty quiet,” he says.

  I nod. “I’ll give you that.” I was angry then and also confused and still reeling from what had just happened.

  “I’ve thought about you a lot since then,” he says.

  “You have?” I’d thought about him, too. But mostly I thought about Devin.

  “Yeah, I mean, we had a good time.” He looks at me, then runs his hand through his hair. “Didn’t we?”

  “We did.”

  “Best bench-warming date I ever had.” He smiles. “Although things really picked up when we got off the bench.”

  “Yeah.” I laugh, but really it’s all wiped out for me, all negated by what happened next. Everything in my life breaks down to before Devin died and after. I don’t deserve to have good memories like that.

  “How’re your songs?” he says, leaning forward. “The ones you were writing?”

  I shrug. “I haven’t—I’m not….” It seems like so long ago that the guitar was ever anything important to me. That I could ever pick it up without my fingers going numb.

  “I get it.” He runs his hand through his hair again. It’s sticking up a little on top like a rooster, but it doesn’t look bad. Actually, he looks great. “I’m, uh, I’m glad I ran into you.”

  I turn toward Marcus. He’s looking at me. Somehow our faces are close, so close I can see hints of stubble poking out from under the coffee hue of his skin. I can even smell the linen scent of laundry detergent.

  “Me, too,” I say. Despite everything he reminds me of, I really am happy to see him.

  “Cool.” He smiles and moves his hand toward mine. At first he just rests it there, on top of my hand, but then he grasps my hand and holds on. I feel this small gesture all the way up my arm, to my shoulder, and it wraps around me. Marcus squeezes my hand, then leans toward me.

  My heart bumps faster, knocking itself out in my chest. I try to slow my breath, but it forces its way out.