“That makes no sense,” I say. “I mean, he had the most attractive girl in school. Literally. I saw the sophomore superlatives. She won most attractive in last year’s yearbook. There’s a picture.”
“The world is a wondrous and mysterious place. And there’s no accounting for taste.” He takes another pointed look at my Vans. I scratch my chin with my middle finger.
“I don’t want Liam to ask me out.” Theo leads me to his car and even opens his passenger-side door for me with a little bow. Sees his performance all the way through, except he doesn’t make me sit in the back. The interior of his car is pristine, so different from Scar’s parents’ Honda, which is filled with candy wrappers and gas receipts. “Even if I should be, you know, flattered.”
“Why not? He’s a cool guy. Maybe not the brightest, but still—” Theo swings out of the parking spot and navigates easily out of the lot and onto the freeway. He’s a more comfortable driver than I am, moving in and out of lanes as if he owns the road and he’s just being kind by letting the other cars share it. “Oh shit, don’t tell me it’s because of Ethan.”
“It’s not because of Ethan. And he’s not who you think he is,” I say, hating the obvious defensiveness in my voice.
“You totally have a girlie boner for him.”
“He’s my friend.”
“You weren’t here.” Theo’s face turns dark, and at first, I think he’s just acting. Trying out a new role: troubled. “Trust me when I say you don’t want to go there.”
“What do you mean I wasn’t here?”
“When Xander died. I mean, we all knew he was using, but heroin? That stuff is crazy dangerous. And he was like a god at school, before. Because of Oville.” Theo cuts off a mom in a minivan, ignores her honks. “They were going to start playing real gigs, like on Sunset. We were all shocked when he OD’d. But not really, you know what I mean?”
“What does that have to do with Ethan? I mean, yeah, so they were in a band together, but that doesn’t mean Ethan’s an addict too.” I wonder what that must have been like for Ethan, watching one of his bandmates slowly kill himself. Whether he felt as helpless as I did when I watched my mom fight against an invisible army of spreading cancer cells.
“Xander was Ethan’s older brother.”
“What?” I ask, even though of course I heard him the first time. It’s just that I never put a name to what I recognized of myself in Ethan’s eyes—that look on his face when he stares out the window, the shell shock, the insomnia. Grief. “Ethan’s brother died? From a heroin overdose?”
I say it out loud, just so it seeps in and starts to make sense. Because a thought is forming in my mind, and if I’m right, it will change everything. I am a ninja, and I’ll be stealthy and slow and deliberate. Fight for what I want. But I am not a ninja, and I am confused and spinning. It’s starting to come together too fast, and my heart is barely beating, too slow, and I whip out my phone because I want to ask SN outright, not wait until our big meeting.
Three simple words: “Are you Ethan?”
Ethan, Ethan, Ethan.
The new mantra in my head, happily replacing whoreslutfatuglybitch.
Was the lie that simple? A sister substituted for a brother? And how could I have not even considered it? How blind I have been to everyone and everything around me.
Ethan, Ethan, Ethan.
I didn’t even dare to hope. I barely dare to hope now.
I put my phone away. Shake my head to redirect my thoughts. I’ve been wrong once. I shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Wait. See.
But. Ethan.
“Are you okay?” Theo asks me. “You look a little green.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Fine.”
SN: did you know that there isn’t a Waffle House in the entire state of California? we have to go to Arizona.
Me: Why do we have to do that?
SN: WAFFLES. your favorite word. my favorite food. kismet. thought it would have a certain amount of poetic charm for us to meet in one.
Me: Yeah, appreciate the sentiment, but not going to Arizona with you.
SN: fine. then let’s meet at IHOP. what are pancakes if not waffles in another form?
Me: Are you this weird in person?
SN: just you wait.
Me: I’ve been waiting. I have my theories about you, by the way. New theories.
Are you Ethan? Please. Be. Ethan. But I don’t say this. When I really think about it, we’ve grown so good at talking around things, never drilling straight to the point. I think about studying with Ethan, our chats at Starbucks, wondering if he’s dropped a single clue. No, nothing that I can think of, even with twenty-twenty hindsight.
I click back to some of Ethan’s old messages. Crap. He uses proper punctuation. Capitalizes the beginning of each sentence.
I lie on my bed, close my eyes. Send out a wish to the universe. Not to God, because if he exists, he’s ignored me too many times before.
SN: you do? hope I’m not a disappointment.
Me: Ha. Hope you’re not too.
SN: you’ve always said this arrangement is unfair—me knowing who you are but not vice versa—but when we meet, I don’t know. I think everything will suddenly flip.
Me: So when are we doing this flipping? And don’t you dare waffle.
SN: Tomorrow after school?