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“I was eight years old, and it was just like any other day,” he tells me. “My mom kneeled down at the side of my bed and woke me up, and I went to school, and…” He sniffs again, his breaths shaky when he adds, “It was just like any other day… until it wasn’t.”
With bated breath, I wait, and I wait, and I wait some more.
“I remember being pulled out of class, and my grandpa was there with two police officers. They sat me down and told me that my parents were dead.”
A gasp catches in my throat, forms a knot so big it’s impossible to breathe through it.
“I didn’t find out until later that he’d taken her out to a field about ten miles north of here, and he shot her. He called the cops right away to turn himself in, but as soon as they got there, he raised his gun at them, and…”
I’msobbingnow, my shoulders shaking with the force, and Jace continues to trace my palm.
“There were never any signs,” he says, but he’s talking to himself. “There were no mood swings, no arguing, no abuse.Nothing.She was his light, and then… then the world was filled with darkness… but they loved me, Harlow.”
“I know,” I cry.
“They would never leave me.”
“I know, Jace.”
“They loved me…”
36
Harlow
Jace drove me home right after he told me about his parents, saying that he just needed some time to be alone. As soon as I entered my house, I found my dad on the couch in the living room, and I immediately fell into his arms. I hugged him. Told him I loved him and that I appreciated every single thing about him. Then I went to bed and cried a thousand tears for a little boy who lost his light in the most tragic, most heartbreaking way.
Jace doesn’t go to school on Mondays, and when I asked Jonah on the ride there what Jace does instead, he shrugged, told me to ask him.
I planned to ask him the following day, but my chance comes earlier than expected. It’s just after dinner, as I’m about to melt into the couch for my nightly phone scrolling session, when headlights appear through the living room window and disappear just as fast. A moment later, a car door closes, and then the familiar sound of a basketball bouncing on concrete. A smile tugs on my lips, and I school it justbefore opening the back screen door. Jace is in his usual black basketball shorts and shirt, and he stops mid jump shot when he must hear the door swing open. “Where do you go on Mondays?” I call out.
He completes the shot, the ball not even touching the rim as he scores effortlessly. He grabs the ball again, bouncing it casually as he says, “I take college classes.”
“College?” My eyes narrow on him, trying to decide if he’s joking or not. “What classes?”
“Computer Science.”
Surprised, I tease, “Jace Rivera, are you anerd?”
“Geek. Notnerd. Big difference.”
I don’t reply, because I have nothing to say. I got the answer I needed, and so I step back, let the screen door shut between us. Then I shuffle back to the couch and lie across it. Just as I’ve pulled up Instagram, I hear the back door open, then close, thenlock. Seconds later, an insanely hot six-foot-fourgeekyballer stands over me. He says nothing. Does nothing. Just looks down at me. I shift my attention from him to my phone and smirk as I type in his name. Jace doesn’t have an Instagram page, at least one that I know of, but he has afan page. “You know someone created a fan page for you?”
“You lie,” he deadpans, taking the phone from me. Heglaresat the screen, scrolls up a few times, before handing it back. “That’s weird.”
I click picture after picture, mostly of him during games. “You look good.”
“Yeah?” His lips lift at the corners. “You spend a lot of time looking at them?”
“No.”Yes. “Can I help you?”
Hands now on his hips, he looks around. For what? I have no idea. “I read about this movie calledHoosiers.”
I sit up. “And?”
He stays standing. “And I don’t have the streaming service it’s on.”
“Geek like you, I’m sure you can work it out.”