Then she sends me a YouTube link. My finger hovers over it briefly, before I do the exact opposite of what she said and drop my phone in my lap. It’s horrible, I know, that I’ve let almost the entire school day go by without checking in with my best friend. The problem is, I have absolutely no idea what to say. How do I explain any of this? The call with Daniel was already enough of a disaster. Before I put the phone to my ear, a small part of me was hoping to hear concern in his voice. That part now feels like a sucker.
I wonder, sometimes, what my relationship with my brother would have been like if he were the older sibling, and our entire dynamic hadn’t been built on him usurping what I thought was my rightful position in the family. When we were little, he was like my shadow, following me everywhere. I never minded, though, because he was funny and imaginative and affectionate in a sweet, goofy way. He used to yell “Best sister in the world!” while trying to tackle me, but it was like getting jumped on by a puppy since he was so small and skinny back then. He outgrew me physically first, and that was okay. That was expected. It wasn’t until he started outpacing me at school that the dynamic between us changed.
If Daniel were eighteen instead of sixteen, maybe I’d feel admiration for all of his accomplishments rather than jealousy. Maybe he’d be caring and helpful toward me, instead of relishing my every misstep. And creating a few, just for the hell of it.
Cal is about to go straight when he shouldn’t, so I remind him “Right on Fulkerson,” and he swerves.
“I knew that,” he claims.
“Okay, but slow down,” I say. “We need to take a left onto Avery Hill…right here.”
Cal makes the turn onto Charlie’s tree-lined street. It’s similar to mine: the homes are stately without being garish, the space between them is wide, and the landscaping is lush. Charlie’s house is a deep barn-red, contrasting with the whites and grays of his neighbors. “That’s it,” I say when it appears around a bend, causing Cal to brake abruptly. Not quickly enough, though, and we sail right past.
“I’ll just turn around,” Cal says. He does, and parks across the street from Charlie’s house. “Now what?” he asks.
There’s a distinctive red Jeep in the driveway. “Well, he’s home,” I say. “Or his car is, anyway. So maybe we should go over there and…knock?”
Cal makes a face. “You sure that’s a good idea? What if whoever killed Boney is after Charlie now? He seemed pretty panicked on the phone.”
“Then he might need help,” Mateo says, unclicking his seat belt. “Why don’t you guys stay here and I’ll talk to him.”
“By yourself?” I twist in my seat to look at him, confused and alarmed. “You can’t! It might be dangerous.”
“I’ll be careful. Back soon,” he says. Before I can argue further, he shuts the door and walks briskly away from the car.
Cal watches his progress up the St. Clairs’ driveway with a thoughtful expression. “Ivy, can we talk about how weird Mateo is being?” he asks.
“Weird how?” I ask.
“Like how he barely answered any questions about being on that list. And now all of a sudden he wants to separate? What’s up with that?” Mateo is at the St. Clairs’ front door now, alternately knocking and ringing the doorbell.
“He’s being brave,” I say, and Cal’s eyes practically roll out of his head.
“You didn’t say that about me when I took off,” he reminds me.
I have no good answer for that, so I focus on Charlie’s front door. “It doesn’t look like anyone is home,” I say just as Mateo twists the doorknob. The door opens and he steps inside, closing it behind him.
Cal stiffens in his seat and peers through the windshield. “Did somebody let him in?” he asks. “Or did he…”
“Go in on his own?” I finish. “I think he did.” My heart starts beating uncomfortably fast. I don’t know why, but watching Mateo disappear into Charlie’s house is the worst feeling I’ve had in a while—and that’s saying something, considering the day we’ve had.
“Okay then,” Cal says, his eyes on the door. “Should we wait?”
“I guess.” We lapse into silence and I stare at the dashboard clock, watching its numbers change with agonizing slowness. Cal starts fiddling with the car radio, turning up the volume whenever he lands on a song he likes. Then, within a few seconds of listening, he turns it down and switches stations again.
When five minutes and what feels like forty songs have passed, I can’t stand it any longer. “I think we should follow him,” I say.
Cal exhales, and I can’t tell if it’s with relief or frustration. “You really like following people, don’t you? That’s, like, a thing with you.”
“Only in certain circumstances,” I say, reaching for my door handle. “Are you coming?”
“Of course.” He turns off the engine, and I feel a surge of gratitude until he has to get one last jab in. “Wouldn’t want you to think I’m not brave.”
The street is perfectly quiet and peaceful, the only sound around us the occasional chirp of a bird. Charlie lives in the kind of neighborhood that requires dual incomes, so nobody’s home in the middle of the day. The only car within sight is his Jeep.