“Who’s Tanner Barnes?” August asked.
“Remember Coach Junior?” I replied. “He made it happen, it was him.” Luke, the roof, the fall—or the jump, really, but jump sounds intentional and fall sounds accidental and what happened to Luke was an unfair mix of both.
Brit turned her face up to Dash, mascara running down her cheeks. She reached up both arms and he picked her up easily, like a little kid, and carried her to the car. August opened the door to the back seat and Dash set her inside.
“Hey!”
I spun around. Tanner Barnes was lumbering toward us.
“Yeah, you. What the fuck?”
August moved toward him, and Dash straightened up from the back seat, snapping Brit’s door shut and then tossing me the keys.
I was torn. Brit needed me, and we needed to get out of here, but if there was going to be a fight—a confrontation, an anything—I wanted to help.
“Can I help you?” August intercepted Tanner, his tone bright. “Are you lost? Do you need me to call you a ride?”
Dash strode toward them, taller than both, his hands in loose fists at his sides.
I hesitated a moment, and then got in the car.
I glanced at Brit in the rearview mirror as I started the engine. Her eyes were shut, her head tipped back.
Outside, Tanner was now pushing into August’s space, shouting something; Dash was edging between them.
I hated the sound of yelling. I didn’t want to see anyone get hurt. I didn’t want anyone to get in trouble. I desperately wanted to be home in bed with the fan on, looking over at Ciara’s side of the room—you could change what was over there, but it would always be her side of the room—even if it made me sad. I wanted to hear the TV from the living room, the low murmur of my parents’ conversation: Five letters, “not a whit.” Four letters, “almost fall.” The wanting was so strong, I could hardly remember why we came here in the first place, I could hardly think of a way out of it.
Until I eased the car up alongside them and laid on the horn, blaring long and loud and unforgiving.
Tanner jerked back. Dogs started barking. I didn’t let up as August and Dash retreated. August hopped into the passenger side, Dash in the back.
I sped off, leaving Tanner in the street, fuming. Or at least I assumed. Didn’t have much time to assess as he was disappearing in the rearview mirror.
Lord help me, I’m never going back.
thirty-seven
The trip back to Acadia was nothing like the trip down. Blasting Brit’s road-trip music, the anticipation of finally making headway on the Megan Pleasant mission.
This was muted, the road stretching out, dark on either side except for the illumination of our headlights.
I could hear Dash murmuring to Brit every now and then, but otherwise it was silent. Until August said, “So … fun night?”
“Don’t.”
“What? I’m serious. That dude? Super charming.”
I didn’t reply.
“Wish I could’ve been there when Brit kicked his ass,” he muttered after a moment. “Getting his phone was somewhat satisfying, though.”
“What?”
“Nicked it,” he said, and when I looked over, he was holding a shiny gold phone. “Just in case.”
“What? Why? Why would you do that?”
August shrugged. “In case Brit wanted to blackmail him or something. I have to figure out how to unlock it, but you know there’s got to be some kind of embarrassing shit on there.”
I pounded the heel of my hand against the steering wheel. “You can’t just take people’s stuff!”
“Well, apparently he took Brit’s brother’s future first, so …”
“We have to go back.”
“What?”
“We have to give it back. We can … put it in his mailbox or something.”
“I know exactly where I want to put it and it’s not his mailbox.”
“I swear to God—”
“Will you both just shut up?” Dash rumbled. The headlights from a passing car lit up the interior for a moment, and I could see Brit in the back seat, tucked into Dash’s side, expression vacant and unfixed.
“It’s a crime, August,” I said, trying to keep my voice under control. “You could get arrested. You could go to jail. You think you’d be the first person concerned about that.”
I didn’t have to look over—I could feel August’s eyes on me. After a beat, a silence nearly too thick for the car to contain, I heard the crank of the window being lowered. The Cutlass didn’t have automatic windows.
“Fine,” August said, and then tossed the phone out.
I slammed on the brakes.
“Why would you do that?”
He didn’t respond. He was looking down at where I had thrown my arm out to stop him from hitting the dashboard.
I dropped my hand, placed it back on the steering wheel, and eased the car onto the shoulder. Parked, unclicked my seat belt, got out of the car.
“What are you doing?”
I slammed the door and started marching resolutely back in the direction we had come.
Another door slammed, and footsteps fell in behind me.
“This is stupid. You’re being stupid.”
“You are,” I said, in possibly the weakest comeback of all time, but I couldn’t help it. My head was pulsing, tears building behind my eyes. “You don’t think, you just do stuff, without stopping to think about how it might affect people—”
“I know exactly how this is gonna affect him—he can’t call Ubers or send people pictures of his dick. What a tragedy.”
I stopped, my sneakers grinding to a halt against the pavement. I squeezed my eyes shut and several hot tears slipped down my cheeks fast, the heavy, stinging kind, dripping off my jaw and splattering on my shirt.
“Look, I know you care about everybody but maybe don’t extend it to that jaghole,” he continued, until I looked back at him, and his brow softened immediately with something like confusion.
“What are you doing?” he said.
“We have to find the phone,” I replied, trying to suppress the waver in my voice.
“We’re just—arguing.” He shook his head minutely. “We’re just saying stupid stuff like people do. Right?” He stepped toward me. “Because I’m … because I suck, and you said the jail thing, and that was … pretty accurate, and I just … I …”
“We have to find the phone,” I repeated, scanning the ground, gone blurry with tears.
When I glanced up again, he was still looking at me, face thrown in relief in the light from the nearby telephone pole. After a moment, he nodded.
“Yeah, okay.”
* * *
We found the phone. Scattered in pieces along the side of the road.
We both stood and stared down at it, like we were looking into an open grave. August had his hands in his pockets.
“Well,” he said.
I shook my head. The tears had dried up. Mostly I just felt … empty.
“It’s fine. It’s whatever.”
“You were right. I shouldn’t have taken it.”
“I don’t feel like you actually even think that.”
“I mean, I definitely think he’s an asshole who deserves to have his phone crushed into a million pieces. But. I feel bad.”
“No, you don’t.”
His voice was soft. “I feel bad that you feel bad. I don’t … ever want to do anything that makes you feel bad.”
I laughed. It was brittle.
“What?”
“Nothing.” I shrugged. “Just. You’re so full of shit you don’t even realize how full of shit you are.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why did you kiss me?”
“I didn’t.”
“Fine. We kissed each other. But still.”
“We didn’t. It didn’t happen, remember?”
“August, I swear—”
“It was for research.”
“It wasn’t.” I couldn’t help the break in my voice. “Don’t bullshit me, okay? Just be serious for like one second.”
“Because I wanted to,” he replied. “Because I couldn’t not.”
“Then why did you leave?” I blinked hard, willing more tears away. “I felt … really bad. I felt like an idiot, and you just … you didn’t even care.”
“It’s not—” He shook his head. “I did. I do.” When I met his gaze, there was something pleading in his expression. “You’re … my best friend, Sophie.”
I didn’t speak.
“You’re my best friend, and nothing here is gonna last.”
“What do you mean?”
He looked away, and when he spoke, it was halting: “I can’t stay here. With Kyle and Heather. I can’t stay.”
“What? Why?”
He just shook his head again.
“August.”
“You know I never even met Kyle until everything with my mom? But he and Heather have given me a place to stay, and food, and clothes, and it’s … They’re so kind, but they’ve got Cady and Harper and I won’t be a burden to them. They don’t owe me anything. So … as soon as I turn eighteen, I’m going to leave. That was … that’s been my plan from the start.”
The information slotted into place. “They won’t … It’s not like they’d kick you out. They would never do that.”