Page 17 of Soul So Dark

Adrian nods. He acknowledges it, but doesn’t want to say it, because that would mean there’s a criminal in our family, and that just won’t do. But there already is, whether or not Luca’s been arrested and whether or not Adrian says the words.

I don’t know how he got this way, but it’s how Luca’s been for the better part of two years. He seemed fine, considering the circumstances, in the year following our dad’s death. He graduated that year, much to Adrian’s relief, but after that, he started changing. It happened gradually and, in a bizarre way, all at once. He went from the chill, funny one who I gamed with every night to a shell of his former self; listless, disappearing for days on end, and acting either erratic or like a total zombie when I did see him.

I used to spend a lot of time worrying about him. That is, until my shit started disappearing. That ended when my cleats went missing right before a tournament game Junior year and I had to borrow someone else’s at the last minute. It sounds petty, but soccer is one of the things I’ve always had—it’s always beenmine.And Luca reaching in where he didn’t belong and fucking shit up completely wrecked my mojo. The final straw was last summer when shit went off the rails and we almost killed each other in the middle of the living room.

Since then, I haven’t actually seen Luca, only a shadow crossing in front of a window before a car speeds off or my stuff is stolen by a phantom. Now, I don’t care if I ever see him again. I’m sick of him plundering my life.

“You can use mine,” Adrian declares, trying to piece together any shred of a solution.

I shake my head. There’s not an extra laptop just lying around our house for when our brother goes shopping through our belongings. Adrian needs his laptop to keep the business going and keep everyone in this house, whether they want to be here or not.

“Doesn’t matter,” I clip, “soon, I won’t be needing them anyway.”

Come June, none of this will matter and I make sure to let everyone know it as often as I can.

“I still don’t know why you’re doing this,” he mutters, tucking his water bottle in the side pocket of the backpack.

“Doing what?”

“Signing up to go die a world away.”

I wish more than anything that my dad was still here, especially times like these so that he could make everyone else shut the hell up. My dad did two tours of duty and that was when there was a war going on. But in some kind of sick irony, he survived insurgents and IEDs all so he could come back to the U.S. and die in a car accident.

“Because I don’t have a small fortune to spend on school,” I snap.

“I can get you a job,” Adrian says dismissively.

“So I can work 80 hours a week and grind myself into the ground? No, thanks.”

“You’d rather go off and potentially die just for tuition?”

“Better than sticking around here and dying of boredom,” I mutter as I grab my backpack and storm out the side door.

“I’ll change the locks,” Adrian calls after me, signaling the end of the conversation.

I slam the door and step into the garage. I’ve always loved our house; a mid-century ranch at the edge of Hellbranch Creek. My mom found it when Adrian was three, abandoned for years after being occupied by a hoarder. Mateo Barrera gutted and rebuilt the entire thing while Camila Torres made it look like a feature inInterior Design.There’s a small comfort that everything still looks the way it did when they both were alive.

Except the living room…

I take the opportunity to wallow in my own rage and self-pity, hidden behind the hundred-year-old shade trees, until I pull my 1997 Lexus LX 450 up to the end of the driveway at the top of the hill. The stereo kicks on the last song on my playlist—Joy to the Worldby Three Dog Night. I smile to myself. I used to listen to the same song on my mom’s CD when I was a kid, before someone ripped it to an MP3, and somehow, it’s made it onto my phone when I could’ve just bought the same song off some streaming service with two clicks of my finger.

Nostalgia.

I wouldn’t fight with Adrian so much if he didn’t try to micromanage my future. There’s nothing wrong with what Adrian does; he took over our dad’s contracting firm after he died and kept it going like nothing ever happened. It’s even grown since then. I don’t know that Adrian ever wanted to do anything different, but he clearly wonders why I do.

By lunchtime, I still haven’t shaken this mood. I’ve just finished a slice of that greasy, doughy-ass pizza from Angelo’s when two girls plop down in the empty seats next to Logan, who’s applying more mascara to her already thick black lashes. I glance up and the rage immediately washes over me again. Jordy starts talking to Rory while Jamie sits directly across from me, babbling on about prom and the biology teacher who’s threatening to flunk her. But it doesn’t matter, I’m already in a bad mood and her presence just makes it worse. She’s utterly oblivious, unaware of what Dallas told me yesterday while she was crying in the stairwell.

Jordy taps the tabletop with her palm, getting mine and Aiden’s attention. “Prom is at Hunter’s Landing now.”

Speaking of bad moods…

I don’t even know why Jordy keeps talking to me about prom, much less sits at our table anymore. As if this year hasn’t already turned into a complete shit show, prom was nearly cancelled.

I let out a snicker, recalling the chaos that ensued a couple weeks ago during the last assembly of the year. Principal Copenhaver was busy bestowing some obscure award on a freshman when, all of a sudden, the three sets of double doors at the end of the basketball court flew open and a herd of cattle came thundering into the gym.

Cattle.

Everyone scattered, unsuspecting bystanders screaming as they fled the deafening wave of black angus. Mrs. Wilson flew up the bleacher stairs as fast as her artificial hip would carry her. Charles Matney in the marching band section seized his 10 seconds of fame and trumpeted “Call to the Post” like it was the goddamn Kentucky Derby. As if that wasn’t bizarre enough, three riders on horses followed them in, galloping through the cattle to the front of the gym, dressed all in black with boots, gloves, and motorcycle helmets.