A pink bus smashes into a beat-up limo, and the guy behind the wheel lets out a war cry that makes the crowd cheer.
But Kale doesn’t laugh or appear to have seen it at all. Something is bothering him again—the same thing that creeps up on him from time to time, taking him further away from me and further away from everything around him.
Damn it, Kale, just tell me. But I won’t ask.
“Kale?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you okay?”
He gives me an uncertain smile, one that barely touches his lips. “I don’t know.”
I swallow, finding my mouth dry. “What’s up with you and your dad? We ran out of there pretty fast. I know things are different now, with your mom gone and all, but—” I leave it hanging.
Kale hesitates, trying to hide the surprise when I asked. “In what way?”
I feel like I’ve said something wrong, and my heart kicks the inside of my chest with the mistake, unable to take it back. “It’s nothing.” I shake my head. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”
Kale really looks at me now, taking his eyes off the derby. “Harper, I’m serious.” A quick sigh escapes and he looks down briefly, as if to gather his words. “I don’t want it to be like this between us. I don’t want to be like this. I want to know what you’re thinking and what’s going through your mind, especially if it has something to do with me.” There’s a loud crash and more cheering. He continues, “I don’t want to keep secrets from you. Anybody but you.”
“Then tell me.”
“I want to.” Kale’s eyes are glossy before he looks down, so I won’t see what he’s so desperately trying to hide. “But I don’t know how.”
“Start with your dad. What’s going on between you guys? And what has Bryce been up to? I’ve barely seen him.”
I get a smile for that. “Bryce is still around, but he spends more time with his friends than at home. And Dad—” he shrugs “—we’re just not close anymore. He works all the time, and when he does come home, he’s only reminded how much of a screw-up I am. It’s been hard between us.”
“I’m sure that’s not what he thinks.” But it reminds me of Mom, and I know how much that hurts. To not be seen, or be seen and not be wanted.
“No, it is,” Kale replies, nodding. “I see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice. That defeat—like he’s given up trying to fix me.”
“You don’t need fixing.”
“But I do. I would give anything to be different. To be normal.”
I try to smile, wanting to make him feel better, even when I really don’t know what to say. “Sometimes parents only see the faults in their kids, because they blame themselves for the way they turn out. They don’t give themselves a chance to see the good. At least, that’s what I like to believe.”
“I don’t think I have anything good in me, even if he does try to see it.”
“And that’s the mistake he makes—not seeing you.” Mom keeps flashes into my thoughts, haunting me even when I’m trying to forget her. “I wish Libby was here.”
Kale nods. “Me too.”
“Her and her short, simple answers are kind of annoying but refreshing.”
A brief smile appears. “Libby and her everlasting wisdom.”
The round is over now, with the pink bus being the winner. It takes them a while to clear the arena, and Grace joins us before it’s about to start.
“You guys made it!” she says, sitting next to me. “I love your shirt.”
I look down, not remembering what I put on today. It’s my Battlefield shirt. “Oh, thanks. Do you play?”
She nods. “I love that game. It’s so hard to find other people who play it.”
“It totally is!” I can’t help but grin. “You should come over and play sometime.”
Kale says, “You don’t want to play with Harper; she wins at everything.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m okay with coming in last.”
At last, the cars come into the arena and do a show of circling around it. Grace points out Miles to us. His car is an old Nissan Maxima painted four different colors from old body parts he’s had to replace. There’s a spray painted #9 on the doors and a pirate flag flying out the missing rear window. All the cars take their places around the arena, facing the middle.
Miles spots us and lifts a fist out the window. Kale stands and returns it.
It starts with a plume of dust as all the cars speed off. Within minutes, cars are already limping out of the stadium but Miles is still going. He has a weird strategy of driving backward, but it seems to be working. Another car tries to take him head on, but ends up on its side, and before we know it, Miles is the only one left driving, doing donuts for the cheering crowd.
I can’t help but laugh when he stops, climbs on top of his car, and waves his pirate flag covered in dust. Kale laughs, too, and it makes me forget just for a minute that anything is wrong.
17.
Kale
I drive home slowly after dropping off Harper.
A funeral procession for the living.
It’s not often that Dad gets off work early, but the days he does are the ones I dread most. When I’m home doing nothing, he tells me to do something, reminding me over and over how I don’t have a job.
Who knows when Bryce will be home. I feel better when he’s here, even though it makes no difference. Bryce is no replacement for Libby, but he’s better than no one. If Libby were here, it would be different. It would be better. Libby makes Dad happy in ways I never could—she makes us both happier.
I pull up to the house and park under the tree, my thoughts not letting go of Harper and the way her hand brushed mine as we sat on the bleachers.
I need to tell her.
I should’ve done it today, but then my chance was gone.
Small bumps along my arms brush against the inside of my sweatshirt, triggering another shiver before I get out of the car.
It has to be nearly eighty-five degrees, and yet I’m freezing.
I open the screen door.
Squeaking. Slamming shut.
The shower is on upstairs. From where I stand, hesitating to walk deeper into the house, I can see the stack of dishes in the sink. An old cup of coffee on the table and yesterday’s newspaper on the couch.
The phone rings on the hallway table. Again. And again.
I step away from the door and silence it.
“Hello?”
“Hey, you.” It’s Libby. For a moment, hearing her voice while standing in this house, I forget she isn’t here. It makes me wish she was even more. I feel less cold, making me forget about everything wrong with me.
“Hey.” I press my back against the wall and slowly slide down to the floor, staying there with my knees drawn up to my chest. “I’ve been meaning to call you.”
She laughs. “That’s what you say every time. I did try to call yesterday, though, but Dad said you weren’t there. I thought maybe … well, you know. I wanted to try again just in case.”
“Yeah, I’m still here.” The shower continues upstairs, and I trace my fingers along the hardwood floor.
“Good,” she says, “because I can’t talk about this to anyone else.”