“Not because you actually liked it,” Jeremy joked, a smile on his face. “You know, it’s okay to say you like anime. The stories are amazing. Way better than American cartoons.”
“Agreed,” Caitlin admitted, remembering how much she used to enjoy watching the episodes with her brother. They’d settled on the couch together, sharing a bowl of Parmesan-and-pepper-covered popcorn and discussing what crazy machine they’d have the inventor character Bulma build for them. “Do you still watch it?” she asked.
“Sure, though it’s only available online or on DVD these days,” Jeremy said. He peeked at her. “If you’re ever in the mood, I’m game.”
Caitlin’s face reddened again. “Oh, no. That’s okay.”
Jeremy looked at her evenly. “I get it. It’s not really Josh’s thing.”
Caitlin lowered her head. She wanted to tell him she didn’t do everything with Josh, but that wasn’t really true.
She looked at Jeremy again. His features looked a lot like Josh’s—they both had the same honey-brown eyes, the same high cheekbones, but Jeremy’s face was sharper, his chin and nose more pointed. The two of them were so different, Josh sporty and Mr. Popular, Jeremy a lot like Taylor—quiet, introspective, more into books than sports. Whenever she was at the Fridays’, he would sit at the end of the dinner table reading while Josh and his buddies played Madden.
It was strange. When they’d been kids, Caitlin and Jeremy had shared a tent on camping vacations and spent hours together in the back of the car playing I Spy. Now they were almost strangers.
She cleared her throat and looked at the action figures, then at Jeremy. “You come here a lot, huh?”
Jeremy nodded. “I try to come every week.”
Caitlin felt more tears rush to her eyes. “You do?”
“Of course I do,” Jeremy said, pushing his hands in his pockets. “I miss him.” Then he cocked his head at her. “Aren’t you supposed to be at soccer right now?”
Caitlin lowered her shoulders. “I pissed off the coach.” She looked at her brother’s grave again. “And then I just needed to talk to him.”
“I know the feeling,” Jeremy said softly.
She swallowed hard. “Sometimes I’m not sure I’ll ever get over it, you know.”
Jeremy squinted. “Maybe you don’t have to. And maybe that’s okay.”
It was the most perfect thing he could have said to her. It was what she always wanted Josh to say. “Thank you,” she said softly.
Jeremy looked surprised. “For what?”
Caitlin shrugged. “For coming here. For saying hi to Taylor. For understanding.”
“Well. You’re welcome.” Jeremy stood up and brushed off his pants. “I should probably go.”
Caitlin nodded, and before she could overthink it, she threw her arms around Jeremy and hugged him. After a moment, he hugged her back. And as she stood there, warm in his embrace, she realized that it was the first time since her brother died that she didn’t feel so terribly alone.
CHAPTER THREE
EARLY THURSDAY EVENING, MACKENZIE WRIGHT, dressed in a patchwork skirt with her long, unruly blond hair clipped back from her face, sat in the passenger seat of her best friend Claire Coldwell’s car, humming along to Dvo?ák’s New World Symphony. Mrs. Rabinowitz, their Honors Orchestra conductor, insisted they live, breathe, and sleep the piece until their upcoming concert. Mackenzie absentmindedly moved her fingers along with the melody, as if her cello were right there in front of her rather than tucked in the hatchback of Claire’s blue Ford Escape.
“Hello? Earth to Mackenzie.” Claire waved a hand in front of Mackenzie’s glasses.
Mackenzie snapped to focus, realizing that Claire had been talking to her. “Oh, sorry. I’m kind of out of it today.”
Claire glanced at Mac sympathetically, her perfectly pink lips pressed together. “Me too,” she confided. “That assembly about Nolan was so awful. I can’t get over that he’s just . . . gone.”
Mackenzie glanced out the window, staring at the too-green front lawns of the passing houses. Nolan might be gone, but there were reminders of him everywhere—photos of him on the walls, news programs about his “accidental overdose,” the morning announcements saying that his funeral was on Sunday, just three days from now. And that assembly, ugh. The principal had shown the pictures of Nolan’s marked-up face that Mac herself had posted anonymously from an internet café. Leave it to Beacon High, pressure cooker of all pressure cookers, to even make a memorial assembly intense.
But most intense were Mackenzie’s own memories of that night. “Can we change the subject?” she mumbled.
“Sure. Have you heard back about your audition schedule yet?” Claire said.