Charlie rustles.
Can he smell it? Does he know?
Has he gone pee himself?
In between his mumbling he’s been breathing tight, short, shallow breaths, which worry me. The labored sound of them. I tell myself he’s okay because I have to believe he is.
Because I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do.
Last fall, our school participated in the Great ShakeOut Earthquake Drill. It was supposed to teach all of us how to survive earthquakes. The drama department coordinated the whole thing like it was the spring musical instead of preparation for the worst thing that might ever happen to us. Mila played someone with a broken leg. There were triage tents on the football field—one for the dead and one for the dying. Coach tagged bodies in the dead tent.
Leo and I watched from the bleachers while sucking on Tootsie Pops. It was an excuse to get out of class early. I should’ve paid closer attention. I should’ve taken notes.
I miss Leo. I want him here now.
A thought creeps in. One I’ve kept squashing.
What if he isn’t okay?
Would I sense it? If he’s gone? Leo with his chlorine curls and his crooked smile, with one AirPod plugged into his head. In his flip-flops and his board shorts and his sweatshirt with the broken zipper. Leo who does a perfect imitation of our AP English teacher reading Shakespeare sonnets out loud. Leo who rides a skateboard to school and carries an endless supply of Cuties oranges. Leo who presses his fingers into the small of my back in the hallway between classes, making me want to grab his face and kiss him all the way through sixth period. Leo who understands me.
He has to be okay.
He wouldn’t have been on campus yesterday evening.
He would’ve been at home.
With his little brother.
Who he would’ve done everything to protect.
There are people who walk away from earthquakes. Even The Big One. People without badges and hard hats rush into toppled buildings to help. I know this. I’ve seen it. On television. Ordinary people doing extraordinary things.
That is what Leo would do. That is where he’d be. I’m sure of it.
But who was on campus and who wasn’t when the earthquake hit? There would’ve been sports teams and band practice and after-school activities. There would’ve been soccer teams on the football field and basketball players in the gym.
I can see it. The buildings of Pacific Shore broken apart like this laundromat.
And all of the people I know who might’ve been inside them.
I think of the girl in my US government class who kicks ass on Model UN. Is she okay, or was she flattened in a car underneath a broken freeway overpass? And the boy who built the robot that won a national contest and a five-hundred-dollar prize. Is he okay, or is he trapped inside the lab at school where the robotics club works on projects deep into the night? What about the college-and-career-center counselor who helped me compose an email to the coach at Cal? Is she okay, or did she get crushed like Charlie?
The water polo team was in the pool. My friends. My teammates. Coach. What happened there? Did Coach tell everyone what to do like he always does? Was he right? Did they listen? Did he make things better or worse? Or could he not help? Because he isn’t okay?
I wonder these things.
My own version of what happened.
But I don’t know if it’s true.
I don’t know what is and isn’t true anymore.
LIES
We huddled underneath the crackling glow of a fluorescent light in the bank parking lot, waiting for the guy with the buzz cut to bring Mila the beer she couldn’t go a weekend without. While we were waiting, Thea took a selfie. Iris sifted through her Snaps. Juliette blew her bangs from her forehead. I envied the skaters at Sundial Circle. Mila de-hiked her skirt and eyed the front door of the liquor store, worrying her hands into knots over the idea that this guy might take off with her alcohol.
“Seriously. What’s the plan now?” Thea asked. “Because there’s no way I’m actually drinking with this dude.”
“Maybe we have a couple with him,” Mila said.
“But he’s old,” Juliette said.
Mila laughed. “We’re practically eighteen. He can’t be more than twenty-one. It’s like three years. Like a freshman and a senior. Big deal.”
“No, really. How are we bailing?” I said. Because I didn’t want to hang out with this guy when I could be kissing Leo at midnight.
“Shh, here he comes.” Mila stood straighter, smoothing and primping. “I promise I’ve got this. It’s a drink, not a date.”
“Are you sure about that? Because I’m not sure he is,” I said.
We watched him cross the street. He was all swagger, cruising through the middle of Sundial Circle, where nobody looked at him. Nobody said hi. He was just a person who was there. But I wanted someone we knew to look. I wanted someone to notice. I wanted them to track him and see him walking toward us, so they’d come, too. Or at least remember.
“Girls,” the guy said once he was standing right in front of us.
“Ladies,” Mila corrected him again.
He ran his hand across his buzz cut. Smiled that big-toothed grin. “Right. Right.”
I could hear the glass bottles clinking together in the paper sack under his arm when he moved. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry to hand it over. Mila made a grab for it, but he pulled it out of her reach. She looked at me for help, but I wasn’t about to wrestle him for beer I didn’t even want. The whole thing had been a waste of time. I was sure there was plenty to drink at the party. Or someone had an older brother or sister home from college who could get something.
“So,” he said.
“So.” Mila eyed the bag. She was all flirty and batty eyelashes and more lip gloss and I was so fed up I could scream.
“So where are we going to drink this?” the guy said.
My friends and I looked at one another, wondering which one of us was going to tell him, No thanks.
“Oh, come on, I did you a favor. Now do me a favor and come hang out with me.” He ran his free hand over his buzz cut. Looked up at the moon in the sky. Sniffed. Looked back at us. Smiled. “This town is completely void of action. Entertain me.”
Iris and Juliette took steps backward like they might make a run for it.
“Um—” Thea started, but Mila cut her off.
“Where do you want to go?” Mila said, blinking at him.
The guy looked around. Over his shoulder, across the drive-through ATM lane, and all the way to Sundial Circle as the wheels of a skateboard smacked down on the sidewalk with a splat. Then he looked the other way, past the old houses that had been transformed into quaint doctors’ offices with their lights turned off for the night.
“Beach?” He switched the package from beneath one arm to the other. His shoulders got broader. His shirt got tighter. His jeans went looser.
“Meet you there?” Iris said.
He scrunched his eyebrows. “Why would you meet me there when we’re already here together?”
“I need to get my car.”
“I watched you walking from a block away.”
Mila smiled. “Did you now?”
He smiled back. “You don’t have a car here.”
Mila took a step forward, her eyes on the beer. Because that’s all she cared about. And if it took going with that guy to get it, she would go. If it meant taking us down with her, she would.