by Natalie Lund
“No, it doesn’t. But I’m hoping you can forgive me someday.”
“Get out.”
“Shane, please talk to me.”
Suddenly it all seemed funny. Here he’d been, afraid that she was going to break up with him because she found out he’d been cheating at school. And she was the one who’d cheated on him.
“Why are you laughing?” she asked, and he realized that he must be laughing out loud. He doubled over so that his head rested against the steering wheel, and clutched his stomach, where her admission had settled.
“I can’t talk to you if you’re like this,” she said, which only made him laugh harder. She couldn’t talk to him? And what even was there to say now?
The car door slammed, and she was gone.
He looked up—still laughing or possibly sobbing now—and saw her waiting at the stoplight to cross Ocean. She had her pillow clutched to her chest and was resting her chin on it like the much younger girl he’d first fallen in love with. The memory punched him. He had to get away before he said something to punch back.
* * *
• • •
Back at home, he sat in the driveway for a while, trying to compose himself so he could face his parents and sister. But each time he thought he’d stopped crying, he started again. He texted Israel and Nate.
Cass cheated on me.
What? Israel texted back. With who?
Shane hadn’t thought to ask that question, but now it was all that mattered to him. Who would she have thrown five years away for?
So sorry, man, Nate texted. You okay?
There was a knock on the window. Meg stood with her hands on her hips. She was in jeans and a T-shirt with her college’s name in gothic print. There was something more adult about her than there had been months before when she first left for school. Her cheeks were plumper and her skin brighter and clearer. Would he ever look that fresh-faced and collegiate? No, but Cass would. He could imagine it now—her own filling out, hips rounding instead of poking out like shelves, Greek letters stretching across her chest.
Shane wiped his face and unlocked the doors.
“Why are you moping in the car?” Meg asked, opening the door and bending to see him.
“Cass.”
“What about her?”
His gut instinct was not to tell the truth, not to poison Meg against her. But why would he bother to protect her now? “She cheated on me,” he said. “At the volleyball tournament.”
“Seriously?”
He nodded.
“Wow. I never would have expected that. She seemed so high and mighty all the time. Queen Cass, you know?”
He didn’t respond.
“How’d you find out?”
“She told me.”
Meg rolled her eyes. “Of course she did, and I bet she expected you to forgive her because she was doing the right thing.” She sighed. “Come here, Sandy.” She grabbed him under the arms and dragged him into a half-seated hug. Her chin dug into the top of his skull. It was the sort of violent hug she’d given him when they were kids and their mom demanded they hug to make up after a fight. “I’m going to be real with you. You guys weren’t going to make it through college. So now you get to have a free senior year. Playing the field. Banging all the ladies. Whatever it is you gross dudes say.”
He laughed, and she squeezed him tighter.
“I know it sucks, but you’re going to be okay.” She released him from the vise-grip hug. “Now come inside so we can eat.”
“Okay.”
She straightened up. “What do you want?”
He realized she was speaking to someone else. Shane glanced in the rearview mirror, and there was Cass again, still clutching her pillow and duffel bag. She’d taken off her sweatshirt and tied it around her waist, and the gray of her T-shirt was darkened under her armpits and around her neck. She’d actually walked from the beach where he left her—not that it was a great distance.
“Leave him alone,” Meg said. Even at his age, it still felt good to have his older sister’s protection.
“I’m sorry,” Cass said from the bottom of his driveway. Meg took his arm, and he let her pull him toward the stairs up to their front door. “Shane, I’m so sorry.” Her voice wavered at this, and he was glad for it. At least she’d lost something too.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
SHANE
Twenty-six days before
SHANE FELT LIKE glass. Like he might shatter. He hadn’t gone to school in years without stopping by Cass’s condo first. Today, simply walking past the turn to her complex made him tear up. He wasn’t sure how he was going to make it through this last week of school filled with reminders of her—let alone the actual presence of her—without breaking.
Israel was in his early-bird class; Nate was staying home another day because of his knee or because he was avoiding Israel. Shane was being forced to try something new, step out of his routine. He headed for the cafeteria, which smelled of doughnuts and cereal milk. He sat next to Marcus and a few guys from the swim team, trying to act normal, but he couldn’t remember what that looked like. Was he laughing at the right time? Could they tell something had happened?
Marcus swiveled toward Shane. People used to confuse the two of them because they were both tall and skinny, but lately Marcus had been bulking up to get on a college team, and his shoulders were massive compared to Shane’s. It wouldn’t surprise him if Cass had chosen a boy who looked more like Marcus.
“Tien told me what happened. I’m sorry, man,” Marcus said.
Shane managed a nod in response, but it felt like another chip in his glass. “How does Tien know?” he asked weakly.
“I think the volleyball girls told everyone.”
Was that why Cass had told him? Because she knew she’d get caught? Another crack. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep himself from breaking.
“Dude,” Marcus said, jerking his head over his shoulder toward the cafeteria entrance. Cass was there, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, dark circles stamped under her eyes. Momentarily, Shane’s heart ached toward her.
He turned his back, but the swim team was silent around him. She had to be walking this way. He braced himself for her hand, long-fingered and light on his shoulder. Would he be able to resist taking it?
But it was her voice that touched him first, thick with tears. “Can we talk?”
He didn’t turn around.
“Shane?” Her voice rose in pitch. “Please, I’m so sorry.”
One thing about broken glass was that it could cut. “Get away from me, you bitch.” He said it loudly. Too loudly. The whole cafeteria froze; Marcus’s spoon stopped an inch from his mouth.
“Whoa,” one of the guys whispered under his breath.
Immediately Shane regretted it. He was a person who liked other people, who wanted them happy and laughing. This wasn’t him.
He turned around slowly, and Cass lifted her chin defiantly at him. Shane felt his love—that injured, fragile thing—wobble to its feet. She was so proud and strong.
“You can’t talk to me that way. I know I did something terrible, but it doesn’t excuse—” She swallowed hard.
He almost apologized. He almost took her by the elbow and led her from the cafeteria so they could talk, but Israel was there instead. Before Shane could do or say anything else, Israel was the one guiding Cass out of the cafeteria, murmuring softly to her as they walked.
Shane stood. He wasn’t sure what else to do; everyone was still watching—like they’d watched him get pulled from the elementary classroom by the literacy specialists or sit reading picture books with the teacher. He grabbed his backpack and left through the other exit. As soon as he crossed the threshold, the cafeteria exploded with sound. Laughter and gasps and whispers and their names over and over.
Cass and Shane broke up.
Did Shane just call Cass a bitch?
Shane found his way to his first-period classroom—he wasn’t sure where else to go—and sat there, leaning against Mrs. Gutierrez’s door. He tilted his head, hoping gravity would force the tears to run back into his head. He only had a few minutes until the bell rang and the empty hallway flooded with students, their voices pinging against him like hail.
When he opened his eyes, Izzy stood above him, her jaw working angrily back and forth. “How could you do that?”
“Where’s Cass?”
“Not your business anymore.”
“I know.” Shane rubbed his forehead, which was pounding now. “I shouldn’t have said that to her.”
“Damn right. Cass deserves way better.”
“Don’t I deserve better too?” He knew his voice was a whine. “I mean, she cheated on me.”
“I don’t feel sorry for you,” she said, and there was a hint of a smile beneath her glare.
“You didn’t tell her, did you? About the vocabulary test?”
“I didn’t have to tell her,” she said, emphasizing each word like a snap.
Did that mean Cass already knew he’d cheated on tests? That he couldn’t read? Before he could ask more, the bell rang and Izzy turned the doorknob, unconcerned that he was leaning against the door. He sat up and she stepped over him without another glance.
Shane pushed himself to his feet. He couldn’t fall to pieces here, right in the middle of the hallway.
* * *
• • •
Outside, under a blanket of heavy clouds, Shane walked south. The island was only seventeen miles long, and their school was plopped right in the middle of it. He could walk the whole thing and be back before the final bell. He could apologize, and if Cass forgave him, they could get back together.
Shane tried to imagine their senior year. She’d probably overcompensate with sweetness, and he’d have to try to bury any distrust or resentment as he hosted pool parties filled with people who used to be his friends and were now just hoping to see a train wreck.
Then what? She’d still leave for an excellent college and be surrounded by overachieving, motivated college boys with big shoulders. It would happen all over again.
As though in response, thunder rumbled off the coast. He walked toward it, until he reached the beach houses in Seabreeze Cove. They were five years old now—as old as his relationship with Cass.
A crack of lightning lit them in icy gray. The clouds broke, and the rain fell in sheets. The wind drove it into him sideways, stinging his skin. He wrapped his arms around his forehead to shield his eyes and ran for one of the houses.
He leaned against a piling under the blue one, teeth chattering. It felt like such an insult that here he was, shattering from the inside out, battered by wind and rain, while these houses stood unaffected, uncaring. Ready to age on past him.
And Cass was nowhere in sight.
TRANSCRIPT
INTERVIEW WITH VICTORIA CASTILLO
Officer Reynold: Thank you for coming in today.
Victoria Castillo: You’re investigating whether they died by suicide or accident?
Officer Reynold: We’re investigating all options at this point.
Victoria Castillo: You said you didn’t find a note when you searched his room. If it was a suicide, wouldn’t you have found a note?
Officer Reynold: That’s not always the case.
Victoria Castillo: Did you try their phones? They spent more time on those than talking to us.
Officer Reynold: The phones were destroyed in the water, and it will take a little while for the records to come in. Ms. Castillo, did Israel have a history of depression or mental illness?
Victoria Castillo: No. I mean—well—no.
Officer Reynold: You seem uncertain about that.
Victoria Castillo: [Pause] We took him to the doctor once because he was having strange dreams. But the doctor said that was normal.
Officer Reynold: What about lately? Did you notice anything different about your son’s behavior in the past few days or weeks? Any big fights?
Victoria Castillo: Maybe he was a little moody. A little stressed about school. He got a lower grade than usual in economics. He wants
Officer Reynold: We’re just trying to get the full picture at this point, ma’am.
Victoria Castillo: And what if there isn’t one? Or what if there is, but he took it with him?
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
IZZY
Three days after
OUR HOUSE IS silent: my dad is gone, Luna—finally—is settled on the couch watching for Israel out the window, and my mom is back in her room, the word suicide planted in her brain.
I feel like I want to shiver out of my skin.
My dad has been returning home well after midnight. He makes himself an arepa with fried cheese—I can smell the toasty corn flour from my room—and falls asleep to the sound of infomercials. I’m not sure if he and my mom are even talking. I’ve heard that couples sometimes fall apart after losing a child. Israel probably knew that, too, but either he thought our parents would be different or he didn’t care.
After college my dad was working in the oil industry. He got laid off in a recession and started working construction to keep us afloat, which is how he ended up a contractor. He says it was all for us, but anyone who believes that is kidding themselves. It was for Israel, so he could go to New York to make bigger, more secure money. Even now our dad is still only working for Israel—to escape his loss.
I miss Israel’s music, Nate’s and Shane’s voices as they grab snacks from our kitchen, my mom talking on the phone to her sister back home.
“Mami, are you going to Shane’s funeral with me? It’s in two hours,” I call through her door.
She says something, but it’s too soft for me to hear.
“¿Qué?”
This time I can hear her, the words anguished but loud: “No puedo.”
“Fine,” I say back loudly. It’s not like I want to go either. I’ll go for Cass because she would—she will—do the same for me.
She’s pissed at me, though, because I keep trying to tell her about the dolphins. Cass would never call it that; she’d say irritated. I am the irritant, that tiny piece of sand under her fingernail or the popcorn kernel in her teeth. People think I’m oblivious to their little signals—the sighs, the arm crosses, the strained voices, and the locking of jaws. I’m not an idiot. I just don’t believe that I need to be a receptor for every feeling other people broadcast. I make enough of my own noise.
But Cass has loved me at my cruelest, at my neediest, at my weakest. She loves me when I don’t love myself. For today, I can shut up about dolphins and boats.
* * *
• • •
The church is already packed, the whole island here whether they knew Shane or not. Meg has pulled a chair up to the head of the coffin, and she’s petting Shane’s hair. His cheek. His hand. The thought of touching the body that is supposed to be Israel makes me feel like vomiting.
Cass is hovering beside her mother, along the outer aisle of the church and as close to the coffin as she can be without being near Shane’s family. She’s wearing a black dress and has a yellow purse across her chest—something that seems so out of place on her and in this room. Her eyes are glassy and she’s paler—as though she’s a print of herself. She thinks she’s the reason he’s gone, I can tell.
“You okay?” I ask. Her mom takes a few steps away from us; considerate, but I know she’
s still listening.
“I’m sorry about Shane,” I say. Really, I am sorry about what she believes happened to him. But I’m not sure she knows everything there is to know. A month ago I thought about telling her how I’d seen him cheating on quizzes—testing if it broke them—but she did that all on her own.
I hug her, and she drapes herself on me. The weight of her grief surprises me.
Cass won’t go up to the casket now with Meg there. She keeps clutching her stomach, and I imagine that’s where it hurts, where the need is clawing away at her.
I sit with Cass and her mom in an off-to-the-side pew. Tears stream down Cass’s face, but she remains silent and immobile. I’m not sure where she learned to cry with such stillness.
The funeral progresses in much the same way as other funerals I’ve been to. There are memories and prayers shared. There are flowers and somber musical interludes. There are audible sniffles and gasps, which make me tear up too. Because my mom isn’t here. Because my brother caused this pain. Because he isn’t home right now, studying and being an overachiever. Because there might be a whole ocean between us.
After the funeral, people file out of the church to attend the luncheon in the attached building. There will probably be a small window before they load Shane into the hearse for the family-only burial later this afternoon.
Cass’s mom is talking to another parent, so I grab Cass’s hand and pull her toward the front of the church.
“I’ll run interference with Meg,” I say.
“I shouldn’t go up there.” Cass tries to loosen her hand from my grip.
“You do what you need to do.” I say it more forcefully than I intend, but she nods. Sometimes Cass needs someone else to be the decider.
At the front of the church, she cries again. This time, I can feel her stillness, the way it seems to roll over her. The only movement is her nostrils fluttering with her breath and those tears, fast and free-falling.