What We Knew (25 page)

“Remember when someone plastered pickle slices all over Trent’s car?” he asked.

I did. Bumper to bumper. All those green scabs made it look diseased. It wouldn’t have been a big deal except it was winter and the pickles froze.

“That was me.”

“No way!” I shoved him and he fell sideways. “You did not! Why?”

“Because he’s an asshole.”

I rewarded him with more frosting. I even let him hold the spoon. “Tell me something else,” I said.

“I don’t like to brag, but I once did two hundred push-ups,” he said. “Not in a row. In a year.”

“Keep going.”

Scraping the bottom of the can, he said, “I’m adopted.” I rolled my eyes at him. “It’s true,” he said. “When I was a baby my real mother tried to drown me in a bathtub.”

I took the spoon from his hand and put it on the step, then took his hands and held them under my chin. “That’s sad,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That one’s a downer. Here’s something everybody knows but you—”

A burst of gunfire sent us scrambling for the door. Inside, on the floor, Foley pressed my head to the carpet. “Stay down,” he breathed. Maybe it was all the sugar, or Foley’s curls tickling my neck, but I started laughing. Another round of explosions sounded out front. Foley gripped me tighter, and then the bitter stink of sulfur hit us. I crawled to the storm door and watched our neighbor’s kid kick a smoldering string of firecrackers. I wanted to march across the street and yell at him, but I punched Foley instead. “C’mon,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”

I think we spend the majority of our days experiencing life through a pinhole, but every once in a while the aperture widens, flooding our senses with electric clarity. There’s a shifting—you can feel it—as every cell in your body awakens and you realize you’re perfectly present in the moment. I was having one of those moments as Foley and I drifted through shadowy lots, in and out of alleys, aimlessly wandering until Foley pointed to a soda machine glowing brightly beside a vacant building and shouted “Race you!” and “Loser buys!” Sprinting down the deserted street, I pushed hard to beat him. Maybe he let me win. I don’t know. Raising my arms in victory, I spun around, marveling at the rarity of everything: the light. The air. The sidewalk beneath my feet. As Foley fed a dollar into the slot, I gently removed the hoop from his ear and threaded it through my own.

“So what were you about to tell me?” I asked. “Before the little pyro next door scared the crap out of us.” I pushed the button for orange, but nothing came out.

“I was going to declare my undying love for you.”

“No, really,” I said, pushing the button again. I pushed the next button, and the next, every single one. Foley tried, too, and then kicked the machine for stealing his money.

“Do you think we’ll ever be more than whatever this is?” he asked, touching the hoop in my ear. His finger trailed down my neck. There it was again—that connection. Like we’d always been together. Like we’d be together always. There was no escaping it. Was it something we created—the two of us together—or was it just Foley? I can’t explain it, the power he has to make you believe you’re the most important person in his life. Ask anybody. It’s not just me.

“It’s not complicated,” he said softly. “It’s either yes or no.”

My heart swung back and forth, strangling in its own noose. I stared blankly over his shoulder until he lifted my chin and reached inside me with those eyes, shaking loose whatever was stuck.

“Do you remember the first time we kissed?” I asked.

Foley leaned against the soda machine and pulled me to him. “I was about to ask you out,” he said. “But you ran away.”

“You were not,” I said, wriggling out of his arms. “And I didn’t run away.”

“You did,” he said. “You’re always running away.”

I reached around his hip and tried all six buttons again. “We’re supposed to be keeping it light,” I said. “There’s still a ban on deep conversation.” The guts of the machine clanked loudly, startling us both. A can of something dropped into the black tray. Grape, which wasn’t even a selection. I popped the top and offered Foley the first sip, but he shook his head. “I should probably head home,” he said. He stepped back unsteadily, as if an invisible hand had him by the collar. “Long story, but I’m grounded. I’m not supposed to be out. I escaped.”

“Will I see you before school starts?” I asked.

Foley frowned. “Probably not.” Eyes locked on mine, he walked backward, one foot directly behind the other, like he was measuring the distance between us.

“Wait,” I called, pulling his earring free. Foley squinted. “You don’t want your hole to close,” I explained, but he just turned and jogged off, waving as he went.

Foley was right about me running away. I’d forgotten that part. Freezing and giddy, my heart so full of strangeness, I’d
had
to tell Lisa. So I had run off.

I folded my fingers over the silver hoop and followed a restless current toward home, longing for what might be. But nobody can know the future. It’s a trick the heart plays to get its own way. It was safe what we had—Foley and I. What I felt was singular and terrifying. Something so deep I could lose myself. Or him. Forever.

It seemed crazy to risk it.

It was dark when I stopped and unclenched my fist. Fastening the hoop through my earlobe, I thought,
One more thing to end up in the bottom of my trunk
and then froze. That back-of-the-neck tingle like someone was behind me, watching, waiting, but I shook it off. There was nothing to fear. The real monster was in his recliner, watching a baseball game. I knew because he had the volume turned way up, loud enough for me to hear the play-by-play from across the street.

twenty-nine

It was stupid and reckless, but I did it anyway, shrugging off the sinking in my gut as I climbed through Katie’s window. My landing was shockingly ungraceful and loud. Not that it mattered. Larry was at work. The ghost of his lunch—hot dogs and coffee—still hung in the air, overpowering any trace of Katie that might’ve lingered. There was nothing left of her or Lisa. The house was all Larry now. The phone rang and I tripped over Larry’s boots. I kicked them under the table and then froze, waiting for the answering machine to pick up. It was still Katie’s voice on the message, but it clicked off when whoever was calling hung up. Tiptoeing down the hall toward Lisa’s room, I wondered what the hell I was doing. What did I hope to find besides a lumpy mattress and some bobby pins, dust perimeters marking the voids like crime scene chalk? It
was
a crime scene—her room. The sun was shining through the window, but something dark loomed. In a twisted way, I’m one of the lucky ones, I guess. I didn’t have to live with Jerrod McKinney. I never worried he was lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike again. After I left Troy, it was over.

The phone rang again—once, twice—but that’s not what sent a rush of adrenaline to my arms and legs. In the heightened silence that followed, the unmistakable clicking of key probing lock. Larry. He’d forgotten something. I raced for the upended mattress leaning against the closet and fit myself into the wedge of space. Cowering, my nerves crackled as he stalked around the kitchen.
Stay calm,
I reasoned.
He’ll be gone soon.
But then his pace changed. The stalking turned to creeping, like he’d sensed something off. A rippling dread seized my stomach and seeped lower. As he moved from room to room, slowly, methodically—the giant sniffing out the intruder—I choked back a whimper. But then the footfalls ceased. At Lisa’s door. A pressure in my bladder swelled. I pinched my eyes shut, bracing for the booming voice.

“Please don’t hurt me,” I blurted.

It was the same full-body scream from that night at Trent’s, only amplified by the echoey room. The softball bat in her grip dropped to the carpet and rolled. Clutching her heart, Lisa let loose a string of curses. “You are so dead, Kolcun!” she shouted, snatching up the bat and advancing.

“Hold that thought,” I said, scrabbling out from under the mattress. Unbuttoning my shorts, I ran for the bathroom and slammed the door. Elbows on knees, I sighed heavily, the release deflating me until my phone vibrated. A text bubble from Lisa:
Prepare 2 die.
Out in the hall, her phone chipped with my response:
Drop ur weapon. I surrender.
And then:
Hand sanitizer?
All the nice soap was gone. In its place was that rough stuff Larry used. I dried my hands on my shorts rather than use his towel.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, swinging the door wide.

“What are
you
doing here?” Lisa countered.

I shrugged. Lisa slit her eyes like she suspected I was keeping something from her. “I swear,” I said. “I was wondering the same thing myself.”

Bat in hand, Lisa marched toward the kitchen.

“How’d the audition go?” she asked, poking through the snack cupboard.

“I’m pretty sure I bombed,” I said. “Why have you been ignoring me?”

Lisa pulled a chip clip from a red-and-yellow bag. “You always think you bombed,” she said, crunching a triangle. “And I wasn’t ignoring
you,
per se. I haven’t talked to anyone. You got D’Angelo for English?”

“Yeah,” I said. “You?”

Lisa made a yuck face and spit the chip in the sink. “Don’t eat these,” she said. “They’re stale.” And then, like it was no big deal: “I’m supposed to have Richardson, but I’m not going back. I’m transferring to East Glendale.”

Maybe it was shock, but my first reaction was anger. She was ruining everything. The kitchen went all blurry and I dropped to the floor, gritting my teeth. “Temporarily, right?” I asked, but I already knew the answer. Lisa stretched above me and swatted at something on the top shelf. A can of mixed nuts fell in my lap. Dropping down beside me, she shrugged and combed through the peanuts for a cashew. “We’ll still see each other,” she said.

“This sucks,” I said. “You know that, right? What about Gabe?”

Lisa touched the heart pendant he’d bought to replace the one she’d lost in the woods. “We broke up,” she said. “I broke up with him.”

“Why?”

“It was easier than explaining what happened.” Lisa dropped her head. “Promise you won’t tell anyone,” she whispered. “Ever. If anyone asks, just say my mom and Larry split up and we moved. Understand?”

I did. Everyone would think differently about her if they knew. Tragedy does that. It becomes your identity. Like a sign around your neck: I TRIED SUICIDE. I HAVE CANCER. MY FAMILY LIVES IN A VAN. MY STEPFATHER MOLESTED ME.

“This is bullshit,” I said. “Why is he still walking around? Why isn’t he in jail?”

“It’s complicated,” she said, picking at her nails. “My grandmother thinks it’ll be easier on everyone if I just forget everything that ever happened. Move on. Start over.”

“What about your mom?”

Lisa snorted. “My mom doesn’t know what to do. She says it’s up to me.” She grabbed the bat and used it to stand, then stepped over my legs and opened the fridge. “Adult beverage?” she asked.

I raised my eyebrows. We never touched Larry’s beer. Ever. Lisa was sure he kept count.

“What’s he gonna do?” she said as she tossed the drawer for a bottle opener. “Ground me?”

I wrinkled my nose at the skunky fumes but took a sip anyway. “You’re gonna report him, right?” I said. “Your grandmother’s wrong. He deserves to rot in jail.”

“He deserves worse than jail.” Lisa chugged her bottle and opened another. “You must think I’m an idiot,” she said. “For believing in him—Banana Man. What happened in the woods…” She shook her head sadly. “I wish I could do something.” Lisa blew across the top of the bottle, making it whistle. “Part of me knew,” she said. “That’s why I didn’t trust Larry to protect Katie. But then another part of me kept thinking how she’s just a kid.” She shrugged. “Why would he want her when he had me?”

My stomach curdled at the wrongness of her question.
She
was just a kid.

Lisa checked her phone. “My mom thinks I’m at the mall.”

I put down my beer and scooted closer. “Why are you here?”

Lisa’s jaw tightened. Her eyes floated toward the ceiling, trying to stanch the tears. I drew my best friend to me and squeezed her tight, but she stiffened. Is it possible to hold someone too close? I knew the rhythm of her heart, her breath, the way her bones felt pressed against mine, but when she pulled away, I realized the person I thought I’d been holding was someone else. We’d never again be as close as we once were. His shadow loomed between us. I don’t think I’ll ever know what compelled me to break into their house that day, but I knew why Lisa was there. If I’d asked her, she would’ve denied it. But I knew.

While Lisa dried her eyes, I helped myself to another beer and then hefted the bat, testing its weight. Can two wrongs ever make a right? Maybe. But I doubt it. The thought of protecting Larry felt like a betrayal, but really I was saving Lisa. From herself. From making the biggest mistake of her life. I raised the bat over my shoulder and swung.

The bottle on the counter exploded, raining beer and glass across the kitchen. Lisa yelped, “What the hell!? What the—” But I swung again, aiming for the dishes in the drainer. The tumblers were plastic, but the plates shattered nicely—flowered shards skittered across the tiles. I went after the microwave next, bashing a hole in the door. Woozy but clearheaded, I turned and offered Lisa the bat. A wicked grin split her face. She wanted to start with the fridge.

Orange juice. Milk. Salsa. Larry’s special pickles. Everything except the last two beers ended up on the floor and walls. Dripping with back spatter, we sidestepped the broken glass and exploded cartons, and moved on to demolish the rest of the house, shattering mirrors, breaking lamps, overturning everything in sight. Coffee table. Entertainment center. Larry’s recliner. I knew someone would call the cops eventually, but I hurried things up by putting a speaker through the front window.

Sitting in the police cruiser, waiting for my mom to come get me, I wondered if Larry would regret not pressing charges, later, when the reality of what he’d narrowly avoided had sunk in. Or would he just be grateful? Grateful that the broken shards weren’t his bones or that the sticky mess coating the floor wasn’t his blood. Grateful again a few days later that it was the cops hauling him away in cuffs and not a coroner hauling him away in a bag.