Between Now & Never (3 page)

Mom doesn’t notice, just smiles. Everything goes silent.

I start chewing my own nails.

“Was there something else you wanted to tell me, Julianna?”

Both Mama and Dad are looking at me now. My throat dries up like a weed in the Sonoran Desert. I ache to tell them about Vic, that he’s about to do something stupid. But Mama’s roommate is a second-degree murderer and Dad’s creative juices are flowing again. And besides, it’s all just suspicion. I don’t know for sure that Vic is on drugs.

I look down. “No.”

“You sure?” Dad asks.

I look up into his blue eyes. Whole weeks have gone by when he’s been too engrossed in sculptor la-la land to notice I exist.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

We exchange hugs as the disturbing scent of questionable cafeteria food drifts our way. Like bad spices and burned meat. Mama’s face ages ten years by the time she steps back. Her eyes bleed pain, ooze regret. I’ve got a feeling things will only get worse for her, too.

She’ll spend every holiday for the next two years in prison. She won’t see me or Vic graduate. And even when she gets out it will be more of the same. She’ll never live a day without scraping by. She won’t live her big dreams. She never wore the crown. Stupid prison. Stupid homicidal roommate. Stupid Vic. Stupid, stupid pageant.

“I’ll do it.”

The words are out before I think better of them.

A little of the old Mama leaps back to life now. “You . . . you’ll do it? The pageant?”

Curse this reckless mouth of mine. “Yeah, yeah,” I say twice. Now who sounds like she’s trying to convince herself?

“That’s wonderful!” Mama beams and looks at Dad. “Oh, Jon, you’ll have to help her.”

Dad throws on a grin that disappears as soon as she looks away.

“I can’t wait to hear all about it.” Mama runs her hands down my hair, cupping my face.

I take heart despite the knot of dread lodged in my gut, proud that I could give her some source of excitement, unpromising as it is.

“You are beautiful,” she says and presses her lips to my forehead, lowering her voice. “Keep on living,
mi joya
. Keep on loving.”

It feels like the end of the world when I let go and watch a guard escort her back to her cell. The idea of floating—more like
tripping
—across a stage in heels and an evening gown with a smile plastered on my face like some Barbie doll is enough to end my world.

Sunshine sears my skin when we step outside. Dirt spotted with cactus as far as the eye can see. Not even weeds stand a fighting chance here. Don’t get me wrong, I grew up an Arizona girl through and through. And loved it. But lately I find myself longing to hit the road in search of air I can breathe without cooking my lungs. A place where I can be anyone, become anyone. A weed that stands a chance.

Dad tosses me the keys. I make the catch.

“Figured you could use some practice.”

I’m not sure whether he’s trying to be nice or slamming my skills.

I unlock the driver’s side and slip into Rusty. Vic took our nicer Yaris on a date.

Thick lashes and blue eyes meet my reflection in the rearview mirror. Not quite as blue as Dad’s, but blue.

Still, maybe Mama is right. At least I’m easier on the eye than I was a year ago. Glasses have been swapped for contacts. A few miracle products from the hair salon and I was a new woman by Valentine’s Day, my poufy mane tamed into shiny black locks. Lucas asked me to my junior prom two months later and we’ve been together since.

Dad starts tapping his thumbs on his legs, drumming out a tune. Visiting Mama sure cheered him up. Hopefully it lasts.

Maybe Mama
will
get a couple of months shaved off her two-year sentence. I take a deep breath of hot air as I shove the key into the ignition and coax Rusty to life, feeling a liberating sense of freedom seep into me. Mama doesn’t have that luxury.

Shifting the car into drive, I exit the parking lot with fresh resolve. A promise is a promise, and I’ll sing a song or do a little dance on-stage if it means not letting her down.

C
ody’s Room: Jimmy’s things.
I stare at the label on the box, just me and this box in a big empty room. This is all that’s left: one box. A time capsule from better times. And I have no idea what’s inside.

Mom saved some stuff from Jimmy’s closet, said it was for me. Moving here was a new start for Mom. After seven years of Jimmy’s side of the room sitting as it always had, she tackled it like she feared her resolve would buckle to grief any second. She ripped the sheets off the bed, wiped dust from the furniture, and boxed up the baseball decorations, art supplies, and LEGO creations that hadn’t budged since Jimmy put them together.

When all was said and done, Mom sat on Jimmy’s bed, her hair crazy. She looked around at the boxes on the floor, the empty shelves on the wall, the bare mattress, and cried.

I don’t blame her. I wasn’t ready to say good-bye to any of it either.

I shove the box of Jimmy’s things in the corner of my closet and finish bringing in box after box. Dad wasn’t about to hire a moving company at the expense of a “good family project,” and Mom didn’t want to move last weekend, while I was at the tournament. Forty-seven boxes later, Dad waltzes through the garage door wearing his official POLICE T-shirt, the black one with gold letters that he wears to execute search warrants and arrests. “Warrant’s over,” he announces. He has the nerve to smile. “What can I do to help?”

My cell buzzes in my pocket. New message from Vic Schultz.

Call me a wimp, but telling my parents about Vic and his mom hasn’t happened. Maybe it’s the thought of Dad going special agent on me with that frown of his or the idea of Mom second-guessing our move here and bursting into tears again.

Y
O ESÉ
,
Vic’s message reads.
C
ONNOR’S HOUSE TONIGHT
. T
OURNAMENT FILM IS READY TO WATCH
. P
ARTY ON AT
9. I’
LL PICK U UP
.

I help Dad move in the furniture, unsure how to walk this dicey line with Vic. Coach was happy to take me on, especially after my luck at the Reebok Classic Run last month. Top performer. Schultz and Rush: It’s already created some buzz, which is good for me. I’ll take any help I can get attracting scouts this summer, this fall.

Still, I already miss my team at Desert Mountain High. Telling my coach and the guys I was leaving to play for another team sucked. I still wish I could commute up there for my senior year, but Dad wouldn’t have it.

“Give me a hand with this mattress,” Dad says.

I walk up the ramp behind him, wondering how he’d react if I told him everything. About Vic and his mom. Would that change his mind?

“We’ll move this in before I jump in the shower. I feel like I’ve got meth all over me. Not the most pleasant search warrant.”

I cinch up the drawstring on my basketball shorts and grab the mattress. “Drug warehouse?”

“No,” he says and shakes his head. “It was a home. They had kids, too. Those are the worst kinds, the warrants and arrests when kids are there to watch it all.”

I think of Vic. I think of Julianna and wonder if they were there when it all went down with their mom.

“These drugs,” Dad says with a grunt as we lift the king-size mattress, “they mess with the head. You get a guy on drugs with a weapon and you’re in a different ballgame.”

My sister Rachel is stealing glances at her phone, smacking her bubble gum and bobbing her head to the music plugged into her ears while pretending to wipe down a kitchen cabinet. Eight-year-old Lizzy is flying her flutter fairy, her bright eyes and carefree smile reminding me of what Rachel used to look like. Blond hair free of pink streaks.

Dad and I set the mattress down in the master bedroom. He heaves a deep breath, his blue eyes clouded by the ill effects of knowing too much. Seeing too much.

“Son, stay away from—”

“Drugs,” I finish before I have to hear it again. “Got it.”

“They’re everywhere,” Dad says, the inflection in his voice rising like I’m not taking him seriously. I’ve only heard this speech a million times.

I take my hat off, scratch my head. “Got it.”

“You’re starting up at a new school, Cody, and although it’s a good school, you can find trouble anywhere.”

My point exactly. “Then why don’t you let me finish my senior year at Desert Mountain?” I protest.

“That’s out of the question.”

“Why?”

“I won’t have you driving up there every day; it’s dangerous,” Dad says, as protective and stubborn as ever.

“You drive all over the valley every day.”

“Because I have to,” he says.

“Do you realize how many people I’ve upset, moving from one Division 1 school to another?”

Dad’s stern brow line is unrelenting. “Basketball. Isn’t. Life. I put my hopes on pro baseball, son, and it didn’t pan out.”

I get it. He’s trying to protect me from the same disappointment he faced. Dad was a short stop for the Arizona State Sun Devils. He doesn’t need to say it; I know he always wished I had stuck with baseball. But that was Jimmy’s sport.

“Look,” he says, “you can do whatever you put your mind to. But you’re a genius, Cody. You speak three languages, you have great people skills, and you’re manipulative when you want to be.”

“Is that a compliment?”

Dad’s voice lowers, becomes almost a growl. “Not to mention you have a smart mouth. And you’re stubborn.”

“That makes two of us.”

The vein in Dad’s forehead bulges. “You’ve held a 4.0 GPA. . . .”

So what is he worried about?

“What about the FBI?” he asks.

“Dad—”

“I thought you had your heart set on it,” he says. “You
and
Jimmy.”

“Jimmy’s
dead
.”

His gaze wavers, drops to the ground. I look down, too, wishing I could take some things back. I wonder when this started—me and him arguing. It didn’t used to be like this.

“Just choose your friends wisely,” Dad wraps up the conversation before hitting the shower.

“Sounds good,” I say, thinking better of my earlier impulse to tell him about Vic’s mom. My phone buzzes again, reminding me of the text I never responded to.

Connor’s house, nine o’clock. Specks of dust float around me, catching the light from the setting sun streaming in through the window.

S
OUNDS GOOD
,
I text to Vic.
I’
LL MEET YOU THERE, THOUGH
.

I’
LL PICK U UP
,
Vic replies.

O
N MY WAY TO GET U BRO
,
Vic sends.
S
EE YOU IN A FEW
.

I check the clock, confused. It’s not even eight o’clock. I text Vic the five-digit gate code, jump in the shower, and fly down the stairs before Dad gets done with his. I’m still pulling my shirt over my head as Vic’s clunker rolls up.

Mom is already at the front window, peeking out.

“I’m heading out,” I say.

“Oh, good,” she says, eager for me and my sisters to make friends here. Settle in to her hometown of Gilbert, Arizona. “With who?”

“Vic.” I leave it at that.

“Oh, from your team! Well, I’d love to meet—”

“No!” I push the door closed, eyeing the master bedroom door at the top of the stairs.

Her eyebrows pull together.

“We’re in a hurry,” I lie. More like we have an hour to kill.

“Oh,” Mom says, checking her watch. She tugs my shirt down into place. “All right then, next time.”

“Yeah, maybe so.”

“Have fun,” she calls as I scoot out, “and be safe.”

“I will.”

I jump in.

“Sweet house,” Vic says.

I glance back at the huge house, situated in the corner of Chadwick Estates, where Grandpa and Grandma Chadwick’s farm used to be. Dad steps outside.

“Let’s go.”

Vic pulls away. I watch Dad from the side mirror. He gives a little wave, and nerves twist in my gut.

Vic and I sit in silence for a while, both lost in our thoughts.

“Why are we so early?” I ask.

Vic switches lanes. Grips the wheel.

“Vic?”

“Huh?”

“You texted: nine o’clock.”

“Oh, uh, yeah. Well, we’re meeting at Connor’s at nine.”

“Yeah, and it’s eight fifteen.”

“Yeah.”

I give him a questioning look, but he doesn’t look my way.

I wait a good minute for him to reply before deciding he didn’t hear me right. Or didn’t understand. Or plain isn’t listening.

“Look, man,” Vic says, “you got my back, don’t you?”

I stare at him. “Your back?”

“Yeah,” Vic says with a forced smile.

“What do you mean?”

He mops up the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. It’s hotter than sin outside, that’s for sure, but I get a feeling he’s sweating over something else.

“Vic, what’s the deal?” I ask. “You’re dripping sweat.”

Vic checks his rearview mirror for the fifth time in a row.

“Aw, nothing, man. I just need you to hang around for a bit. Watch my back.”

Whoa now. “Watch your back?” I repeat, not liking the sound of this.

My eyes sweep the interior of the car. Doors unlocked—check. Empty chip bags, some tinfoil, BIC pens with no ink barrel or tip, and a car jack that could be used as a weapon in a bind.

We turn down Power Road heading north. Away from Connor’s.

The car accelerates and so does my pulse. Vic darts a glance at the setting sun, his fists clenching and unclenching on the wheel.

I piece together the two odd items: tinfoil and pen barrels—a
straw.

Ah. “What kind of
stuff
are you doing, Vic?” I ask. “Weed? Meth? Coke?”

A bit of the apprehension dissolves from Vic’s expression and his gaze meets mine with eager curiosity. “You got a preference
esé
, because I can hook us up.”

It hits me hard: Vic’s raw talent, his height and strong build. A rare combination of size and offensive skill. He’s a good jumper, too. Huge, and yet he has a soft touch. Everything a ball player should be. And all for
this
?

“No, Vic. Just . . . no. You’re shooting up?”

“Hey, I’m no needle junkie.”

I glance at the foil and straws. “Smoking.”

“Yeah, man. You in?”

I close my eyes. Let out a deep breath.

“Some foil and a straw, and
bam,
” Vic says, “we’re set. You got a lighter?”

“No.”

“We’ll snag one at the store on our way back.”

“Our way back from
where
?” I ask. “Where are we going?”

Vic pulls behind a store not far from the Superstition Springs Center. Kills the engine.

I grab the door handle in case.

Bushes and a low brick wall line the alley. A streetlamp puts off a weird glow. No other cars in sight. No eyes. Only me and Vic and whoever else is on their way here. I swallow hard. Ready to split.

“You seriously never been smacked, have you?” Vic asks.

Smacked?
I almost laugh. “No desire whatsoever.”

“That’s what they all say. Just wait
esé
. These dudes got the good stuff.”

I think about Vic and the list of basketball scholarships he’s already been offered, offers I’d kill for: Arizona, Arizona State, Cal, Oregon, Texas A&M, Utah, Virginia. I look Vic square in the eye. “I’m gonna walk home if you don’t start the car back up.”

Vic jabs at my arm like I’m teasing. “Come on, man.”

“Get out of here, Vic,” I say, one last attempt to talk some sense into him. “You don’t want this.”

Vic shakes his head, one elbow on the door, his thumb brushing his chin, his other hand still holding the wheel. “Nah, nah, man. I got no choice. I gotta get the money to them, bro. They’ll come for me.”

“Wait,
what
?”

“The
money.
This was my first time selling and I didn’t get enough dough.”

I didn’t think this could get any worse. “You’re using
and
selling?”

“Yeah,” Vic says, sounding like I shouldn’t act so surprised.

I pull out my wallet. “How much do you need?” I pull out one twenty. Two. Three. “I got sixty bucks.”

“Try a grand.”

I stuff the cash back in. “A grand.”

Vic lowers his forehead into his hands and stretches the skin above his brows with his palms. Like he can make it all go away if he pushes hard enough. “Yeah, a grand. I got about three thou. I owe them four.”

I massage my own forehead. “Vic, come on. Let’s get out of here. Talk to the police—”

“Psh,” Vic mumbles a sound. “Cops? You serious? And get myself into more trouble than I’m already in?”

“Why did you need the money so bad in the first place?”

Vic regards me with disbelief. “You ain’t holding nothing back, are you, rich boy?”

I glance around at the narrow back alley, noting a jumble of grocery carts near a Dumpster. “Well, since you dragged me out here and I assume there’s a drug deal going down any minute, I figure I might have the right to ask.”

“Fair,” Vic says, “and if you know some guys who need a fix, we can split it fifty—”

“
Why,
Vic?” I ask, yanking him back on track.

“Because I stole from my family,” Vic blurts out. He brushes his thumb along his chin again, a nervous habit, I figure. Julianna’s outburst about stolen money the other day slides into place. Maybe she wasn’t making it up.