It’s Rachel Calloway.
That one is almost worse than the others: Graham didn’t kill Shaila. He’s innocent.
Almost.
“Knock knock,” Mom says from behind the door. “Can I come in?”
I stuff the phone under my pillow like it’s contraband. “Mm-hm,” I say.
The door swings open. “You really shouldn’t be sleeping this late. The day awaits,” she says. In a few quick strides, she’s at the window, pulling the gauzy curtains open. The sun is hot and sticky, especially for September.
“I’m a teenager. Teenagers are supposed to sleep.” I roll over onto my stomach.
“Can you take Jared to band practice today? Your father and I are going to run a few errands.”
“Sure.”
“He’s got to leave in five. Car keys are by the door.”
I groan but heave myself off the bed, slipping my phone into the pocket of my flannel shorts.
When I get downstairs, Jared is already waiting by Mom’s hatchback, chewing on his cuticles. He’s picked up my bad habit. Shaila’s bad habit.
“How was last night?” he asks.
“Fine,” I say, and reverse out of the driveway. “Wait. Where’s your bass?” The back seat is noticeably empty.
“They have one there for me.”
“But you always play your bass. You’re gonna get all hunchbacked from carrying that thing around.”
“Not this kind. It’s electric.”
“You don’t play electric, dummy.”
“Make a right here,” he says, ignoring me.
I eye him across the seat. He’s practically dug a crater alongside his middle finger.
“For real. Where we going?”
“Bryce Miller’s.”
I can’t hide my surprise. “Really?” Adam and I tried to get them to pal around for years but Bryce was always kind of a shit, pushing kids around the basketball court, snapping girls’ bra straps. He had a wicked playfulness that made him harmless to me, but scary and unapproachable to Jared.
Jared nods. “He plays guitar. Invited me to jam with him.”
“All right.” I smile and compose a text to Adam in my head. “Does Mom know?”
“Yeah. She was just thrilled to tell Cindy Miller that their youngest ones were finally becoming buddies!” he says, imitating Mom’s over-the-top affect.
A laugh bubbles up in my chest. “This’ll be good for you.”
Jared rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”
I sync my phone and queue up my favorite playlist. All eighties pop. Madonna blares through the stereo and I feel my stomach settle as I follow the route to Adam’s. I know it by heart, could trace the curve along the brick-lined driveway with my eyes closed. Adam isn’t due back from school until fall break next month but just being near his house, his stuff, makes my brain buzz.
“Thanks,” Jared says when I make a full stop.
“Where’s Bryce?” I ask. “I wanna say hi.”
A wooden swing sways back and forth on their porch, creaking in the breeze. I remember how it sags when you sit on it, and how it sinks even lower with two people’s weight.
“Lemme text him.” Jared’s fingers fly over the screen and within seconds, Bryce swings the front door open and walks toward us over the manicured lawn. A rust-colored bathing suit hangs low on his hips. He looks older than Jared and if I squint hard enough, he could be Adam.
Jared leaps out of the car, slamming the door behind him, and they high-five.
“What’s up, Jill?” asks Bryce, leaning into the passenger side window. “How’ve ya been?” Confident and composed, just like his brother. A senior Player doesn’t scare him at all.
“Can’t complain. How was your first week of high school?”
Bryce smirks. “Love it, obviously.”
“Naturally.”
“You talk to Adam today?”
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
“I’m sure he’ll hit you up,” Bryce says. “He just called Mom. He’s coming home next weekend. Some National Young Playwright workshop thing at the county theater. I think he’s teaching kids how to write stage direction or some shit.”
“Nice.” I try to conceal my excitement and bite down on my lip but Jared rolls his eyes. He’s picked up on my not-so-subtle crush.
Bryce slaps Jared on the back. “Ready to jam?”
Jared beams. “Let’s do it.”
“See ya, Jill!”
I wave and wait until they head inside to retrieve my phone.
Just dropped Jared off at your place . . . I guess he and Bryce are finally friends.
Before I can rev the engine, I hear a vibration.
FINALLY!!! Knew our master plan would work out someday.
My face burns and I tear at a cuticle with my teeth.
He says you’re coming home soon?
Yeah. I meant to tell you. Make time for me? Breakfast at Diane’s? Saturday?
My heart swells and I nod my head up and down as if he can see me.
Def.
I close out of our conversation but before I can look away, I see the last message from the night before, the one I had been avoiding.
It’s Rachel Calloway.
But this time, I’m not scared. Adam will know what to do. He always does. We’ll figure it out together. Saturday.
FIVE
I HEAR ADAM before I see him. Some old punk band blares from the speakers of the same vintage Mercedes he’s been driving since his sophomore year at Prep. The sound is so familiar, I’m dizzy with déjà vu. When I climb in next to him, it feels so different from Bruce. Cozy and lived in.
“Hey, kid,” he says. Adam’s dark hair curls and swoops in a tousled, adorable mess. I brace myself for my favorite Adam trait, his left dimple. It only pierces his cheek when he smiles wide. Thank God it emerges as soon as I buckle my seat belt.
I beam back at him and he wraps me in a hug across the console. He still smells like lavender soap and the faint trace of tobacco.
“Diane’s?” he asks.
“Please. I’m starving.”
He starts the car and dials up the stereo, making swift turns as we head up the Cove. I used to go to the diner every Sunday morning after Hebrew school with Mom, Dad, and Jared when we were little. We’d split mountains of blueberry pancakes and overstuffed bowls of hash browns. Hot chocolate for me and Jared, mug after mug of coffee for Dad, who loved to tell us stories about growing up modern orthodox in Williamsburg before it was cool. We’d listen patiently as he went on and on about his grandparents who only spoke Yiddish and died before we were born and before Dad became less religious. Going to Diane’s alone still feels like riding without training wheels for the first time. An adventure of epic proportions.