I sit across from my mother at the kitchen island and meet her tired eyes with a pang. My fault. “Obviously you saw the news,” she says. “Your father’s talking to Robin about what, if anything, this means for you. In the meantime, we got a lot of questions when we walked past that zoo out there. Some about you and Nate.” I can tell she’s trying hard to keep her voice neutral. “We might have made it difficult for you to talk about whatever … relationships you have with the other kids. Because from our perspective the best way to keep you safe was to keep you separate. So maybe you didn’t think you could confide in us, but I need you to be straight with me now that Nate’s been arrested. Is there something I should know?”
At first all I can think is What’s the least amount of information I can provide and still make you understand I need to help Nate? But then she reaches out and squeezes my hand, and it hits me with a stab of guilt how I never used to keep things from her until I cheated in chemistry. And look how that turned out.
So I tell her almost everything. Not about bringing Nate to our house or meeting him at Bayview Estates, because I’m pretty sure that’ll send us down a bad path. But I explain the late-night phone calls, the escape-from-school motorcycle rides, and, yeah, the kissing.
My mother is trying so hard not to freak out. I give her a lot of credit.
“So you’re … serious about him?” She almost chokes on the words.
She doesn’t want the real answer. Robin’s answer-a-different-question-than-the-one-you’re-trying-to-deflect strategy would work well now. “Mom, I understand this is a bizarre situation and I don’t really know Nate. But I don’t believe he’d hurt Simon. And he doesn’t have anybody looking out for him. He needs a good lawyer, so that’s what I’m trying to help with.” My phone buzzes with a number I don’t recognize, and I grimace as I realize I need to answer in case it’s Mrs. Macauley. “Hi, this is Bronwyn.”
“Bronwyn, so glad you picked up! This is Lisa Jacoby with the Los Angeles Ti—”
I hang up and face my mother again. “I’m sorry I haven’t been straight with you after everything you’ve done for me. But please let me connect Mrs. Macauley and Eli. Okay?”
My mother massages her temple. “Bronwyn, I’m not sure you understand how cavalier you’ve been. You ignored Robin’s advice and you’re lucky it didn’t blow up in your face. It still might. But … no, I won’t stop you from talking with Nate’s mother. This case is messed up enough that everyone involved needs decent counsel.”
I throw my arms around her and, God, it feels good to just hug my mom for a minute.
She sighs when I let go. “Let me talk to your father. I don’t think a conversation between you two would be productive right now.”
I couldn’t agree more. I’m on my way upstairs when my phone rings again, and my heart leaps when I see a 503 area code. I can’t keep the hope out of my voice when I pick up. “Hi, this is Bronwyn.”
“Bronwyn, hello.” The voice is low and strained, but clear. “It’s Ellen Macauley. Nate’s mother. You left me a note.”
Oh, thank God thank God thank God. She didn’t hightail it to Oregon in a drug-induced haze. “Yes. Yes, I did.”
Cooper
Saturday, November 3, 3:15 p.m.
It’s hard to evaluate exhibition games anymore, but overall this one went pretty well. My fastball hit ninety-four, I struck out the side twice, and only a few guys heckled me from the stands. They were wearing tutus and baseball caps, though, so they stood out a little more than your average gay basher before security escorted them out.
A couple of college scouts showed up, and the guy from Cal State even bothered to talk to me afterward. Coach Ruffalo started hearing from teams again, but it strikes me as more of a PR play than genuine interest. Only Cal State is still talking scholarship, even though I’m pitching better than ever. That’s life as an outed murder suspect, I guess. Pop doesn’t wait for me outside the locker room anymore. He heads straight for the car when I’m done and starts the engine so we can make a quick exit.
Reporters are another story. They’re dying to talk to me. I brace myself when a camera lights up as I leave the locker room, waiting for the woman with the microphone to cycle through the usual half-dozen questions. But she catches me by surprise.
“Cooper, what do you think about Nate Macauley’s arrest?”
“Huh?” I stop short, too shocked to brush past her, and Luis almost bumps into me.
“You haven’t heard?” The reporter grins like I handed her a winning lottery ticket. “Nate Macauley’s been arrested for Simon Kelleher’s murder, and the Bayview Police are saying you’re no longer a person of interest. Can you tell me how that feels?”
“Um …” Nope. I can’t. Or won’t. Same difference. “Excuse me.”
“The hell?” Luis mutters once we’re past the camera gauntlet. He pulls out his phone and swipes wildly as I spot my father’s car. “Damn, she wasn’t lying. Dude.” He stares at me with wide eyes. “You’re off the hook.”
Weird, but that hadn’t even occurred to me till he said it.
We’re giving Luis a ride home, which is good since it cuts down the time Pop and I need to spend alone. Luis and I drop our bags in the backseat, and I climb into the passenger seat while Luis settles himself into the back. Pop’s fiddling with the radio, trying to find a news station. “They arrested that Macauley kid,” he says with grim satisfaction. “I’ll tell you what, they’re gonna have a pack of lawsuits on their hands when this is done. Starting with me.”
He slides his eyes to my left as I sit. That’s Pop’s new thing: he looks near me. He hasn’t met my eyes once since I told him about Kris.
“Well, you had to figure it was Nate,” Luis says calmly. Throws Nate right under the bus, like he hadn’t been sitting with the guy at lunch all last week.
I don’t know what to think. If I’d had to point a finger at someone when this all started, it would’ve been Nate. Even though he’d acted genuinely desperate when he was searching for Simon’s EpiPen. He was the person I knew the least, and he was already a criminal, so … it wasn’t much of a stretch.
But when the entire Bayview High cafeteria was ready to take me down like a pack of hyenas, Nate was the only person who said anything. I never thanked him, but I’ve thought a lot about how much worse school would’ve gotten if he’d brushed past me and let things snowball.
My phone’s filled with text messages, but the only ones I care about are a string from Kris. Other than a quick visit to warn Kris about the police and apologize for the oncoming media onslaught, I’ve barely seen him in the past couple of weeks. Even though people know about us, we haven’t had a chance to be normal.
I’m still not sure what that would even look like. I wish I could find out.
Omg saw the news
This is good right??
Call when you can
I text him back while half listening to Pop and Luis talk. After we drop Luis off silence settles between me and my father, dense as fog. I’m the first to break it. “So how’d I do?”
“Good. Looked good.” Bare-minimum response, as usual lately.
I try again. “I talked to the scout from Cal State.”
He snorts. “Cal State. Not even top ten.”
“Right,” I acknowledge.
We catch sight of the news vans when we’re halfway down our street. “Goddamn it,” Pop mutters. “Here we go again. Hope this was worth it.”
“What was worth it?”
He pulls around a news van, throws the gearshift into park, and yanks the key out of the ignition. “Your choice.”
Anger flares inside me—at both his words and how he spits them out without even looking at me. “None of this is a choice,” I say, but the noise outside swallows my words as he opens the door.
The reporter gauntlet is thinner than usual, so I’m guessing most of them are at Bronwyn’s. I follow Pop inside, where he immediately heads for the living room and turns on the TV. I’m supposed to do postgame stretching now, but my father hasn’t bothered to remind me about my routine for a while.
Nonny’s in the kitchen, making buttered toast with brown sugar on top. “How was the game, darlin’?”