Thea, Iris, Juliette, and I huddled together behind Mila, like we were doing one of those silly team-building drills Coach made us do last year where we had to gather behind a teammate and catch them when they fell.
“We were wondering,” Mila said, “if you could do us a little favor.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” She smiled. “Do you think maybe you could buy us some beer?”
He grinned that grin again. It made him look knowing and dangerous all at once. “How old are you?”
I figured that was it. No way was he going to get tangled up buying beer for a bunch of high schoolers.
“Twenty,” Mila said with so much confidence even I almost believed it.
“Really?” He smirked. “You sure about that?”
“I swear. Just a few months shy of my birthday. But we’re stuck here killing time before heading back to college.” She pouted then inspected her fingernails. “Can’t get out of this town fast enough, you know what I mean?” She leaned in conspiratorially. “So what do you think? Can you help us?”
“Depends. Do I get to share this beer with you?”
My brain was screaming, Abort, abort! but Mila kept going.
“Sure.” She turned to us. “That’s not a problem, right?”
Thea’s mouth popped open, but she shut it again when Mila raised her eyebrows in a warning glare that said, Don’t even.
At least there were five of us and only one of him.
“Sounds fun,” Juliette said.
“Seriously?” Iris muttered under her breath. “Helping my grandma use the bathroom sounds more fun.”
“See?” Mila said to the guy. “It’s perfect.”
“Okay then.” He crossed his arms over his chest, which made him instantly look a million times bigger and stronger. Like a bouncer outside those skeevy dive bars by the pier where the drunks hung out to day drink. “I assume you’re paying?”
Mila dug into the front pocket of her skirt and pulled out a ten. “Whatever you can get with this.”
He laughed. “So not the good stuff?”
“Just do your best,” Mila said. “Feel free to pitch in for something better if you want. We’ll meet you over there at that parking lot behind the bank.”
She pointed across the street and his gaze followed. My own gaze snagged on Sundial Circle—the stretch of sidewalk in the middle of town where all the skaters hung out. I scanned the crowd for Leo but only spotted a girl I knew from my astrophysics class as she went flying off a concrete bus bench on her board with her arm stretched out behind her. All I could think was how much more I wanted to be skateboarding over there than talking to this guy over here.
“You girls are a trip,” the guy said, shoving the ten into his back pocket. “I’ll meet you in five.”
CHAPTER FIVE
6:42 P.M.
I try calling my mom again but still can’t get a connection. I think of our last conversation. About Coach Sanchez. And the romantic getaway. And me losing my shit. You’ve ruined my life. Some of the last words I said to her.
And why? Because she fell in love? Because she found someone she actually wants to be with after I leave for college? Is that really the worst thing that ever could’ve happened to me? Because it could very well be the best thing that ever happened to her. After my dad died when I was four months old, my mom sank all her energy into a doctorate degree and work. But now she could have love, too, and I don’t want her to. All because I’m afraid of how it will make me look.
I’ve got only thirty-seven percent left on my phone’s charge, but I allow myself one more glance at my lock screen. It’s a photo Leo took of us in front of my locker before the first-period bell rang on the first day of school. He told me to smile at the camera, but then he surprised me with a kiss on my cheek at the last minute. The picture is slightly blurry and a little bit sideways, but it captures me laughing and happy and whole, so the sight of it makes my heart hurt.
I dial Leo at the risk of losing another percentage point on my battery, but nothing happens, so I let the screen go dark and picture him in my head instead. I see him with his skateboard dangling from his fingertips and his backpack slung over his shoulder, waiting for me outside the gate of the pool deck. Telling me about his own afternoon workout or his homework load for the night. Leaning over and kissing me even though I smell like chlorine and sunblock. I want to be there with him now. But instead I’m sweaty and cold all at once, with sticky armpits and a bloody sweatshirt and chattering teeth. I smell like this laundromat. Like dirt and wood rot and the dank mildew scent of leftover washing machine water. I’m sure that smell has crept into every square inch of my skin and hair follicles. Festering.
The blood on my sweatshirt is dry now. The sleeve is hard and crackly and pulling at the fine hairs on my arm as the winter darkness of a February evening takes over. There isn’t light coming from that sliver above me anymore. A little less hope.
I try to stretch my back. I twist one way and then the other. My muscles are cramping, and I want to be able to stand up and extend my arms high over my head to stretch the way I do before a game. But nothing in here is the way it is out there.
This space is too quiet.
Charlie is too quiet.
I whisper his name through the dark.
He doesn’t answer, and I call out louder.
More silence.
What if ?
No. I can’t think it.
“Charlie!” I yell. “Answer me!”
“Shit,” he hisses. “What is it? I’m here.”
The sound of his voice is a relief. Hope again.
“Don’t do that. Don’t make me think I’m here alone.”
“Don’t worry. It was just a catnap.”
A catnap. That’s what my mom used to tell me when I was four and started protesting weekend naps because I’d gotten old enough to know what I’d be missing while I was asleep. Sprinklers and swings and snacks and shows. Time with her after a long week of work and school. My mom would settle me in her own bed, surrounded by her pillows and her safe mom scent. She’d smooth my hair back from my face.
“It’s just a catnap,” she’d say.
“Meow,” I’d say back, and she’d smile.
“Sleepy kitten. Close your eyes. Think of balls of yarn as blue as the sky. And walking through the tall green grass. And bowls of cold milk.”
“Meow,” I’d say again, softer this time. I was seeing all she wanted me to imagine and I’d push my hand across my face, pretending it was a paw. “Meow.”
My mom would keep petting my head, a relaxing, perfect rhythm that made my eyelids heavy.
“Sleep, little kitten,” she’d say. “There will be plenty of time to play and see the big wide world when you wake up again.”
“Hey, Ruby?” There’s an uptick in Charlie’s voice that interrupts my kitten dreams. I can tell he has a new thought. A new worry.
“Yeah?”
“Should we be concerned about a gas leak or carbon monoxide poisoning? Asking for a friend.”
I hadn’t even thought of those things. What does carbon monoxide poisoning feel like? Would we drift off to sleep and not know we were dying?