Right then, a guy comes from the side of the Dumpster, leaning over so he can light something as he walks. At first I think it’s Finn, because the guy has the same blond hair, the same razor-sharp build, but when he stands, inhaling, and sees me, my breath catches.
Even though Finn’s brother, Johnny, must be in his midtwenties by now, he looks like he’s about forty. He’s literally skin and bones, a shadow version of Finn. I register the line of scabs on his arm.
The corner of Johnny’s mouth creeps up right before he exhales a cloud of smoke, skunky and dank. His eyes narrow, like he’s trying to figure out who I am.
“Can I help you?” he asks.
“Um . . .” I step back. “I was just looking for someone, but he’s not here, so, um, yeah, have a good night?”
He gives me such an obvious once-over, eyes lingering at my chest, leering, that I immediately want to take a shower.
“You sure you’re not looking for me? I’ve got stuff you might want.” He holds up what he’s smoking and licks his lips slowly, then stares at me harder. “I’d even be open to trading, figuring out a special arrangement between you and me.”
All the blood in me freezes, and for a second I can’t move, I hate him so much.
He narrows his brow. “Wait a minute. Do I know you?”
I shake my head. “No, and no thank you. Have a good night,” I say, walking as fast as I can back to the front of the restaurant, tossing my float in the nearest garbage can.
I cringe at my ever-present manners, the fact that I just politely declined some creepy sexual harassment. Johnny didn’t deserve that. What he deserved was a solid kick in the shins, or elsewhere. I can’t believe I told him to have a good night.
I’m moving so quickly, second-guessing myself, that I nearly run right into Finn.
“Whoa,” he says, hands resting on my shoulders for a second to slow me down, his face lighting up when he sees it’s me. His hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, an apron folded down across his waist. I can see more of his tattoo: a skull and crossbones.
His smile is easy. “Ruby said you were looking for me.”
I take a step back, force a smile of my own, but I can’t meet his eyes. I wonder if he knows what his brother is doing out back. I wonder if he’s going to join him.
“Hey, so I’ve still got ten minutes on my break. Want to hang out for a bit?”
“No.” My voice is shorter than I intended, but I want to get as far away from Johnny as possible.
Finn looks confused, and I fumble through my bag and grab the gift card, holding it out, my hands still trembling slightly from my encounter with his brother. The navy polka-dot ribbon I tied around it earlier looks pathetic now.
He looks at it in my hands but doesn’t move to take it. “Parker, are you okay? Did something happen?”
“This is for you,” I say. “For the art store on Route 42—Vinchesi’s? I thought you could use it to get some more paint. For your messages.”
He’s still standing there, so I move a step closer, but he doesn’t take it.
Everything around me feels hot and dizzy, my vision too sharp.
“I wanted to thank you for the ride and for the job lead. I quit my internship after all, and I’m working at Carla’s now.” My words are rushed, and I just want him to take the gift card already. “So I picked this up for you, to pay you back.”
“Parker, you didn’t have to get me anything.”
“I know I didn’t. But I figured you could use it. And now we’re even.”
His face hardens and he steps back, changing in front of me. “I don’t need your charity.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Sure it isn’t.”
I look at him, trying to find the boy who helped me at the bridge, who helped me at the hospital, but the person in front of me is furious. I don’t know what just happened. I try to review my words, but I’m so flustered from my encounter with his brother that everything around me feels too electric and nervous to make sense. And then, like I conjured him Bloody Mary–style at a slumber party, Johnny comes around the corner.
“Finny. There you are. I was looking for you.” He chuckles when he sees me. “Girlfriend trouble?”
“No. Parker’s not my friend,” Finn says, his voice far away. “She’s just paying back a debt.”
“Will you please take it?” I ask, shoving the gift card against his chest, trying not to look surprised at the strength there, how he doesn’t waver even with my push. His gaze is like ice.
I let go of the card and it drops to the ground. I sling my purse over my shoulder, leaving Finn Casper and his brother behind me.
I keep my gaze forward, my walk purposeful, speeding up as I get closer, until I can shut myself in Mom’s car, my hands still shaking as I lock the doors.
They don’t stop until I’m halfway home.
Twenty-Four
WHEN I WAS IN first grade, Finn’s brother, Johnny, broke my wrist.
It was a chilly January day, and Finn had entrusted me with his Walkman while he ran back inside to get his hat. I was listening to the heroes song when an older kid, one with dirty-blond hair, came over and stood in front of me. I had seen him once or twice—I was pretty sure he was a seventh grader.
I tried to focus on the music, hoping if I didn’t look up, he’d just go away.
“Hey,” he said.
Then again even louder. “Hey.”
I hit stop and took out the earbuds.
He pointed at the Walkman. “Where’d you get that?”
“It’s my friend’s,” I said. My shoulders were scrunched up by my ears, my body trying to shrink into itself.
“Is your friend Finn Casper?”
I didn’t know whether to nod or not, but the boy sneered.
“I knew he stole it. Give it to me. Now.”
I didn’t like this person. I didn’t like what he’d said about Finn and how he was trying to scare me. I shook my head, my voice small. “Finn said not to give it to anyone.”
The boy laughed then, and it made me want to hide.
But I held on to Finn’s Walkman, my fingers pressing harder against the plastic.
“Tell Finn he’s going to be sorry,” the boy said, turning to leave. I started to slump back in relief, my fingers loosening, right as the boy spun around and triumphantly snatched the Walkman out of my hands.
“No!” I cried. “It’s not yours!”
He started walking away. “Whatever. Tell Finn to come get it from me if he wants it back.”
I looked at my empty hands. I couldn’t believe he took it. I didn’t know what I’d tell Finn. I was pretty sure that Walkman was what he loved most in the world. So I stood up and started running toward the boy’s back.
“Hey!” I yelled. “Come back!”
Johnny turned and started laughing at me.
“Give it to me!” I yelled, catching up with him. He dangled the Walkman right above my grasp, and I jumped, trying to snatch it back.
Johnny kept laughing. “Guys, look at the puppy!” he said, turning to some of his friends.
The moment of distraction was the window I needed, and finally, my fingers touched the Walkman. Unfortunately, my grip wasn’t secure, and instead of taking it back, I pulled it out of Johnny’s hands and it fell out of mine, onto the blacktop, cracking.
I will never forget the look on Johnny’s face then, how for a second he looked soft and sad. And then he turned toward me, his whole body twisting into a snarl, and he shoved me so hard, I fell backward, my hands flailing out uselessly behind me.
I heard the crack as my body slammed against the pavement, my right wrist folding under me.
The pain was like my scream—white-hot and sharp—and I curled to the side, around my arm, sobbing.
Kids started gathering around, trying to figure out what had happened, and someone called for a playground monitor, but I was having a hard time focusing. Johnny had picked up the Walkman and was wiping his eyes with his arm, trying to press different buttons.