“Where’ve you been, anyway?” Brian asked.
“Asleep in my room.”
Brian rolled his eyes, and Dev flicked a Cheerio at my face. “Been doing something in his room, that’s for sure.”
“Oh! Markos has a girlfriend,” Cal said. “I saw them walking together by Junior’s Auto.”
“Oooh, who is she? Hot?” Dev asked.
“Not bad. Her name’s Diana North. Crazy red hair.”
“Fiery,” Dev said.
“She’s in his year, I think,” Cal said. “Friends with Ari Madrigal.”
They barely paused at Ari’s name, just long enough to think of Win—Win and Ari, Ari and Win—and then hurriedly covered up the thought with more talk.
“Bring her over, Markos, I want to meet her,” Mom said.
“It’s not like that.”
Mom frowned. “What’s it like, then?”
“You embarrassed of us?”
“Afraid we’re going to steal her away?”
“Friendly advice,” Brian said, which was practically a catchphrase for him. “Bring her over, don’t bring her over, but don’t get too committed going in to senior year. You’re going to want all your options open.”
“You’re too young to commit to anything, is what Brian means,” Mom said, and Brian shrugged in semi-agreement.
“Still, bring her around,” Dev said. “Once Markos gives her up, maybe she’ll want to go out with me.”
“You’re not her type,” I said, and Dev laughed. “Besides, we’re just friends.”
The whole table turned and looked at me. I shouldn’t have said anything. Better for them to think I was hooking up than to wonder What’s wrong with Markos now? I could see them gearing up to ask questions I didn’t want to answer, and so I got up before they could open their mouths.
“I’m going to sweep the woodshop.”
As soon as I was outside I had the urge to find Diana and complain about them. I didn’t think she’d understand, and she wouldn’t like that they talked about her, and anyway she was babysitting all day and I had shit to do, so the idea faded.
I had an imaginary conversation with myself instead, letting my mind wander as I walked into town.
—I hate my family.
—You don’t hate them.
—I hate that they think they know me.
—Don’t they?
—No! They think I’m exactly like them but younger. Like I am them when they were younger. Dev sometimes forgets I don’t play water polo, you know? Because he did.
—They love you.
—Yeah. As long as I don’t embarrass them.
—What would embarrass them?
—Not being a real Waters man.
—What does that mean?
—Not being cool. Getting too drunk at the bonfire. My failed Homecoming prank. Everything I do.
—What else?
—Diana. No. I don’t know. Maybe. She’s not what they’re used to.
—You’re not giving them enough credit.
I stopped walking. Leaned over. Put hands on my knees. Gulped air. Felt the ground tilt under my feet. A normal block, vacation rentals on all sides, no one out yet because it was too early in the morning for tourists.
In my head, for a second, I wasn’t talking to myself. All I could hear was Win.
Win had loved my brothers. And they loved him, too—not that we ever talked about Win since he died. Not that we talked about anything real at all. Sometimes the three of them and Mom talked about Dad, but it was always the same carefully preserved stories, and I didn’t remember any of them. Win, we ignored. If I had died instead of Win, I bet they would’ve been happy to share stories about me with Win all day long. But there was something about me that made them shut their mouths. Not When I could move again, I stopped thinking of anything at all and ran the rest of the way to Waters Hardware, my family’s store. In the back of the store, there was a full woodshop with all the carpentry and other manly gadgets anyone could ever want. It’s my understanding that my dad opened the hardware store so he could make himself this woodshop.
I ducked past rows and rows of junk and unlocked the shop’s tiny, almost hidden door. I swept up quickly—Mom would never notice the difference—and decided to weld some leftover pipe into a bong, even though I’m not supposed to use the welder on my own. They even locked it up in a corner cage in the shop, as if I didn’t know exactly where they kept the key on a hook by the woodshop door. Welding took up all my concentration, so I made five more—there’s always a market for drug paraphernalia, as long as Brian didn’t find it—and the hours went by, until I saw Ari Madrigal in the shop’s closed-circuit camera bank.