I don’t answer, brushing past her through the gym’s entrance. She clicks after me in her high heels, a cameraman trailing in her wake, but the guy at the front desk stops them both. I’ve been going there for years and they’ve been pretty cool through all this. I disappear down the hall while he argues with her that no, she can’t buy a membership on the spot.
Luis and I bench-press for a while, but I’m preoccupied with what’s waiting outside for me when we’re done. We don’t talk about it, but in the locker room afterward he says, “Give me your shirt and keys.”
“What?”
“I’ll be you, head out of here in your cap and sunglasses. They won’t know the difference. Take my car and get the hell out of here. Go home, go out, whatever. We can swap cars again at school tomorrow.”
I’m about to tell him that’ll never work. His hair’s a lot darker than mine, and he’s at least a shade tanner. Then again, with a long-sleeved shirt and a cap on, it might not matter. Worth a shot, anyway.
So I hover in the hallway as Luis strides out the front door in my clothes to the bright lights of cameras. My baseball cap sits low on his forehead and his hand shields his face as he climbs into my Jeep. He peels out of the parking lot and a couple of vans follow.
I put on Luis’s hat and sunglasses, then get into his Honda and fling my gym bag across the seat. It takes a few tries to start the engine, but once it roars I pull out of the parking lot and take back roads until I’m on the highway toward San Diego. When I’m downtown I circle for half an hour, still paranoid someone’s following me. Eventually I make my way to the North Park neighborhood, pulling in front of an old factory that was renovated into condos last year.
The neighborhood’s trendy, with lots of well-dressed kids a little older than me filling the sidewalk. A pretty girl in a flowered dress almost doubles over laughing at something the guy next to her says. She clutches his arm as they pass Luis’s car without looking my way, and I feel a bone-deep sense of loss. I was like them a few weeks ago, and now I’m … not.
I shouldn’t be here. What if someone recognizes me?
I pull a key out of my gym bag and wait for a break in the sidewalk crowds. I’m out of Luis’s car and in the front door so fast, I don’t think anyone could’ve seen me. I duck into the elevator and take it to the top floor, letting out a sigh of relief when it doesn’t stop once. The hallway echoes with empty silence; all the hipsters who live here must be out for the afternoon.
Except one, I hope.
When I knock, I only half expect an answer. I never called or texted to say I was coming. But the door cracks open, and a pair of startled green eyes meet mine.
“Hey.” Kris steps aside to let me in. “What are you doing here?”
“Had to get out of my house.” I close the door behind me and take off my hat and sunglasses, tossing them on an entry table. I feel silly, like a kid who’s been caught playing spy. Except people are following me. Just not right this second. “Plus, I guess we should talk about the whole Simon thing, huh?”
“Later.” Kris hesitates a fraction of a second, then leans forward and pulls me roughly toward him, pressing his lips against mine. I close my eyes and the world around me fades, like it always does, when I slide my hands into his hair and kiss him back.
Part Three
* * *
TRUTH OR DARE
Chapter Nineteen
Nate
Monday, October 15, 4:30 p.m.
My mother’s upstairs, trying to have a conversation with my father. Good luck with that. I’m on our couch with my burner phone in hand, wondering what I can text to Bronwyn to keep her from hating me. Not sure Sorry I lied about my mom being dead is going to cut it.
It’s not like I wanted her dead. But I thought she probably was, or would be soon. And it was easier than saying, or thinking, the truth. She’s a coke addict who ran off to some commune in Oregon and hasn’t talked to me since. So when people started asking where my mother was, I lied. By the time it hit me how fucked up a response that was, it was too late to take it back.
Nobody’s ever really cared, anyway. Most of the people I know don’t pay attention to what I say or do, as long as I keep the drugs coming. Except Officer Lopez, and now Bronwyn.
I thought about telling her, a few times late at night while we were talking. But I could never figure out how to start the conversation. I still can’t.
I put my phone away.
The stairs creak as my mother comes down, brushing her hands on the front of her pants. “Your father’s not in any shape to talk right now.”
“Shocking,” I mutter.
She looks both older and younger than she used to. Her hair’s a lot grayer and shorter, but her face isn’t so ragged and drawn. She’s heavier, which I guess is good. Means she’s eating, anyway. She crosses over to Stan’s terrarium and gives me a small, nervous smile. “Nice to see Stan’s still around.”
“Not much has changed since we last saw you,” I say, putting my feet on the coffee table in front of me. “Same bored lizard, same drunk dad, same falling-apart house. Except now I’m being investigated for murder. Maybe you heard about that?”
“Nathaniel.” My mother sits in the armchair and clasps her hands in front of her. Her nails are as bitten off as ever. “I—I don’t even know where to start. I’ve been sober for almost three months and I’ve wanted to contact you every single second. But I was so afraid I wasn’t strong enough yet and I’d let you down again. Then I saw the news. I’ve been coming by the last few days, but you’re never home.”
I gesture at the cracked walls and sagging ceiling. “Would you be?”
Her face crumples. “I’m sorry, Nathaniel. I hoped … I hoped your father would step up.”
You hoped. Solid parenting plan. “At least he’s here.” It’s a low blow, and not a ringing endorsement since the guy barely moves, but I feel entitled to it.
My mother nods her head jerkily while cracking her knuckles. God, I forgot she did that. It’s fucking annoying. “I know. I have no right to criticize. I don’t expect you to forgive me. Or believe you’ll get anything better than what you’re used to from me. But I’m finally on meds that work and don’t make me sick with anxiety. It’s the only reason I could finish rehab this time. I have a whole team of doctors in Oregon who’ve been helping me stay sober.”
“Must be nice. To have a team.”
“It’s more than I deserve, I know.” Her downcast eyes and humble tone are pissing me off. But I’m pretty sure anything she did would piss me off right now.
I get to my feet. “This has been great, but I need to be somewhere. You can let yourself out, right? Unless you want to hang with Dad. Sometimes he wakes up around ten.”
Oh crap. Now she’s crying. “I’m sorry, Nathaniel. You deserve so much better than the two of us. My God, just look at you—I can’t believe how handsome you’ve gotten. And you’re smarter than both your parents put together. You always were. You should be living in one of those big houses in Bayview Hills, not taking care of this dump on your own.”
“Whatever, Mom. It’s all good. Nice to see you. Send me a postcard from Oregon sometime.”
“Nathaniel, please.” She stands and tugs at my arm. Her hands look twenty years older than the rest of her—soft and wrinkled, covered with brown spots and scars. “I want to do something to help you. Anything. I’m staying in the Motel Six on Bay Road. Could I take you out to dinner tomorrow? Once you’ve had some time to process all this?”
Process this. Christ. What kind of rehab-speak is she spewing? “I don’t know. Leave a number, I’ll call you. Maybe.”
“Okay.” She’s nodding like a puppet again and I’m going to lose it if I don’t get away from her soon. “Nathaniel, was that Bronwyn Rojas I saw earlier?”
“Yeah,” I say, and she smiles. “Why?”
“It’s just … well, if that’s who you’re with, we can’t have messed you up too badly.”