“I’ll see if I can get the car and text you in a few.”
Jesse walks into the kitchen, where his mother is baking bread. That’s what she does when she’s stressed. For months after Jamil died, Jesse’s dad would make daily food bank runs to donate fresh loaves. Now, when Jesse walks in, his dad is at the table, silently watching as she kneads.
He spots Jesse, nods and goes to leave the kitchen. Jesse motions for him to stay, but he shakes his head and squeezes Jesse’s shoulder as he passes. It’s only then, as his dad leaves, that his mom notices Jesse’s there.
“Oh,” she says.
“Hey, I —”
“I want to talk to you,” she says, and wipes flour from her hands. “About the steroids.”
He stiffens, and then he reminds himself that he’s the one who wanted to come clean. That means he’s going to have to talk about it.
“You said you took them for training,” Mom says. “During the off-season.”
“Yes, but if you’re going to argue that that makes it okay —”
“Did you know what kind you were on?”
He tells her, and she wants to know the dose, and when he finishes explaining, she says, “That’s a common one, and at that dose, it’s hardly going to —”
“Mom…”
More towel wiping, though he doesn’t see a speck of flour on her brown hands. “Steroids serve medical purposes, too, so I’m familiar with them. The one you were on is widespread among recreational weight lifters, and to them, it’s not much different than protein shakes and egg whites.”
“If it wasn’t a problem, my trainer would have asked you to get them for me.”
“Yes, but on a scale —”
“I don’t want to judge this on a scale.”
“Using them for training is very different from using them on the field. Even a drug test wouldn’t have shown any trace. They’d be out of your system.”
“Great. So if I announce that I used steroids for training, no one will care? The coach won’t get in trouble? No one will demand I return my awards?”
She stops the hand wiping. “I’m not sure you’d want to go that far.”
“Exactly. What I did was wrong. I knew it was wrong. I kept doing it.” Jesse leans against the counter. “I made a mistake, and I’m going to ask you to let me own that mistake. I’m not going to publicly announce that I juiced – but only because it would cause problems for the team. I’m just going to quit, okay? But between you and me, we know what happened and that those trophies belong in the trash. Keep the ones I earned. My academic ones. I want to get back to earning more of them.”
She throws her arms around him. “I’m so proud of you.”
He sighs. “I know. Just… don’t be afraid to let me stumble, okay, Mom? I appreciate the support, but these days I really need a kick in the butt more than a pat on the head. Anyway, I was coming in to say that I’m going to visit Skye. She’s dealing with some stuff —”
“That’s right. What happened at school?”
“Stuff.”
“More specifically?”
He checks the microwave clock.
“You can spare two minutes to tell me what’s going on, Jasser.”
“She’s being hassled, and she’s being blamed for it.”
“Blamed for being hassled?” His mother straightens to her full five foot two. “That is unacceptable. Even to suggest that someone is responsible for being bullied —”
“They don’t think she is being bullied. They think she’s making stuff up for attention.”
“It’s that VP, isn’t it? Mr. Vaughn. I don’t know what’s happening in his personal life, but lately he seems to view his job as an inconvenience. I tried to talk to him about your attendance record, and he made excuses for you.”
“Okay, but —”
“Accusing Skye of orchestrating a campaign of bullying against herself is preposterous. It’s an excuse for the school not to dig deeper. I presume Mae is handling it.”
“She’s siding with Vaughn.”
“What?”
“I don’t know what’s going on there. Maybe she’s just confused. Skye’s upset, though, and I want to get her out of the house for a while.”
His mother nods. “Good idea. If you’d like me to talk to her aunt —”
“Mom? No.”
“I just want —”
“You want to help. I know. If things reach that point, then sure. But for now, just let us handle it, okay? We’ll ask for help if we need it.”
When he checks the clock again, she says, “Go. Take my car. Just be home by eleven, please.”
Skye
I hate sneaking off on Mae. It feels childish. It was different when I was a child and I snuck out as a lark. That was innocent stuff, only going as far as the corner store to get a candy bar. Those bars tasted of bravery. Today’s escape tastes of cowardice.
Except it isn’t cowardice as much as exhaustion. I’m too tired to fight with Mae. I’m hungry, and I want to flee this bitterly cold condo and hang out with a friend.
I start a playlist on my laptop, keeping it low enough that Mae won’t think I’m trying to piss her off. Then I bunch up my comforter so if she glances inside, it’ll seem like I’ve gone to sleep. Finally, I leave a note. Gone for dinner with Jesse. Back by eleven.
Escaping the condo isn’t a problem. Mae’s in her office with the door shut. When I’m in Jesse’s car, I say, “Pizza?”
He turns a corner. “I was thinking since you found that option less than nutritionally sound, we should just abandon all pretense and eat…”
He points to a sign ahead, and I laugh.
“Yes?” he says.
“Please.”
We’re waiting in line at the Creamery.
“You’re getting frozen yogurt, aren’t you?” I say. “With fresh strawberries.”
“Hell, no. I’ve changed, I eat far worse now.”
“Uh-huh. So, strawberry sauce instead?”
“Ha-ha. Nope, I am getting a milkshake. With” – his hand sweeps the candy jars – “all of that.”
“Uh-huh.”
We get up to the counter. I place my order. It takes a moment for the clerk to stop gaping as Jesse snickers behind me. Then she says, “I, uh, don’t think we can put gummy bears in a shake.”
“The blender chops them up. It’s fine. But I’ll need a spoon.” I turn to Jesse. “And he’ll have…”
“A milkshake with…” He’s looking up and down those candy jars, with an expression of mild panic, as if realizing his folly.
“May I?” I ask.
He exhales softly. “Sure.”
I turn to the clerk. “He’ll have a shake with frozen vanilla yogurt and peanuts. Oh, also chocolate-covered peanuts. And peanut butter.”
When we head for a seat, he says, “Apparently, I really like peanuts.”
“It’s for protein.”
“And I need protein because?”
“Because I saw you run.”
He stiffens, just a little, and stops unwrapping his straw.
I continue. “I saw your face. You love running. It’s the crap that came with it that you hate. I don’t want to see you throw out the baby with the bathwater.”
“I’ve never understood what that means.”
“It’s a stupid idiom but a fine sentiment. If you’re cleaning up your life, get rid of the crap, not the good stuff. Quit the track team. Keep running. Maybe train for a half marathon. I could do it too, and then you’d be guaranteed to beat at least one person.”
He laughs. Then he bumps his milkshake against mine, like a toast.
“Missed you,” he says.
“I know.”
He laughs again and leans over the table. “But if I keep running, you have to do something too.”
“Cheer you on?”
“That goes without saying. But you also need to write me a story.” He puts his straw in. “That’s the deal. You can make it about me running.”
“From a bear?”
“Only if I escape.”
“You won’t need to, I’ll rescue you.”
“Awesome.”
“So, deal?”
“Deal.”
We drink our shakes and talk. We don’t discuss what’s going on. We just talk. We’ve been there about an hour when I get a text.
Tiffany: I have something.
Tiffany: It’s important.
Me: What is it?
Tiffany: Can’t say. Need to show you.
Me: Out with Jesse. Swing by your place after?
Tiffany: Dad won’t like that. He doesn’t want me associating with… people connected to the shooting.
Me: Tomorrow?
Tiffany: It’s urgent.
I check the number again. It’s definitely Tiffany, but this sounds suspicious.