Page 12

Dallas

My phone vibrates again, and I know it’s Shelby.

The last time I spoke to her was at Evie’s funeral, and that was limited to as few words as possible. I don’t know if she kept it cordial to be polite or if it was just because Carter, Maddie, and Austin were there, too, and she didn’t want to risk getting called out again in front of everyone.

I don’t know why I haven’t answered her texts. Maybe because so much has happened in a two—going on three—week span of time and I can’t handle much more, even something as small as this. Nothing ever happens in Dire Ridge, and even though Evie lives in Canaan, she’s still Evie… my Evie. And I should be talking about all this with Shelby, but I can’t because she went and did something shitty at the exact time when she should’ve done the opposite.

My phone vibrates yet again and I let out an exasperated sigh as I glance down at it. It’s not Shelby, but I still don’t want to answer it.

AUSTIN (8:12PM): R U on? The headset arrived

I should be glad it’s Austin. In many ways, he’s the one better suited for dealing with this shit show my life has turned into. He’s a year older than me, and being close friends with a sophomore made the start of high school way better. He can be an idiot, especially when he’s around his basketball friends, but he always knows how to turn the most boring event into a good time. I can be dramatic and petty and completely outrageous with Shelby, but when she’s too off the chain even for me, I can be low-key and snarky with Austin. One look from his caramel eyes beneath his signature swath of sandy blonde hair and I’m cackling.

He’s always been the laidback, preppy one with his skateboard and Boston University gear, replenished annually by his parents each fall after they return from Homecoming weekend at their alma mater. I know if I finally break down and talk to him, he’s going to try and convince me to respond to Shelby because there’s no doubt they’ve been talking about me this entire time. Because he’s always the one to smooth over tense situations.

But it’s still more comfortable here in my pink cocoon. I make myself pick up my phone and start typing, but another text comes through before I finish the first word.

ALEX (8:15PM): Wanna play Diablo?

Well, shit.

I stare at the text for a few seconds, unsure of how to respond. But, soon, my fingers start to move and type out a quick response.

ME (8:16PM): Yes. What’s your handle?

I turn on my PlayStation and start loading the game. A few seconds later, my phone buzzes with his response.

ALEX (8:16PM): Obi GYN Kenobi

I let out a snort and squeeze my eyes shut with a giggle. It takes about 30 more seconds to search for Alex, send him a friend request, and join his party. But when I do, my heart sinks. In addition to Alex, there are six more players who I don’t know.

And that’s a problem, because no one outside of Austin and Maddie knows who I am. And I intend to keep it that way.

Just then, Alex’s smooth voice comes through my headset. “You’re American Ass Eater? ” he asks with a chuckle.

I smile to myself despite the unexpected situation. I’m pretty proud of it.

ALEX (8:19PM): You’re muted

ME (8:19PM): I know

ALEX (8:20PM): So unmute

ME (8:20PM): No

ALEX (8:20PM): But I want to talk to you

I don’t make friends online. He should know why, but he’s a guy and is probably oblivious to it. I’m just like every other girl who naively thought I’d fit in with everyone else on the Internet just because I liked playing the same game. And if existing in the same space wasn’t a lesson, then being good enough to beat some of those raging incels was a master class.

A seventh-grader can only take so many rape and death threats before pressing mute and leaving it on. And tonight’s no different. I’m disappointed, but I don’t know the other names on my screen, and the last thing I’m going to do is open myself up to more abuse.

So, I don’t.

I could just leave, play games with Austin, and tell Alex the truth the next time I see him, that online gaming isn’t safe for girls. But I don’t do that, either. Instead, I keep playing on mute and no one seems to care.

About an hour later, I finally decide to respond to Alex’s last text.

ME (9:14PM): If you want, you can come over and play again sometime. It doesn’t have to be Tomb Raider.

My phone starts vibrating with a call and Alex’s name flashes across the screen.

“Hi,” I answer, putting it on speaker after realizing I’ve been wearing my headset for no reason.

“Did I scare you off already?” he asks. “I can turn it down to lame-ass mode if it would make you more comfortable.”

“No, but I don’t play with people I don’t know.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t like other players telling me they’re going to find where I live so they can rape me 50 times, slit my throat, and then skull fuck my dead body.”

Silence.

He asked…

“What if I like Tomb Raider? ” he asks, not missing a beat as he moves through the map just as fast as I do. He’s basically my only competition at this point.

“It’s not multi-player,” I point out apprehensively.

“Didn’t you ever learn how to take turns?”

The corner of my mouth curls. “What if I’m more selfish than you?”

“I highly doubt that.”

“That’s right,” I sigh, “you share a brain with Colson, Aiden, and Mason. You have to be incredibly selfish and conceited by default in order to qualify for that exclusive status.”

“ Shit, Dal,” he drawls, the tone of his voice reaching through the speaker and sending a cascade of goosebumps across my shoulders, “that’s harsh,” he chuckles.

“I know my brother,” I shoot back.

“But you hardly know me, ” he counters, “since you’ve spent the last seven years completely ignoring me.”

My brain glitches out for a moment. “Ignoring you? ” I blink and suddenly I’m hit by a skeleton archer.

I let out a small gasp and my mouth falls open in shock. How was I just killed by a skeleton archer? How could I have just been killed in such an idiotic way?

“Ooh,” Alex chuckles, “brutal.”

Suddenly, I’m downstairs in our basement, sitting on the scratched leather sectional with the four of them, playing Doom and Halo . Colson’s little sister. But I was good, I could beat them at any game we played, until they figured out that they could cheat by scaring me and breaking my concentration. But still, I was allowed to be part of their group, if only for just a couple of hours. That is, until they got to high school and became soccer stars.

They became an untouchable force that everyone fawned over and I never saw them again. And if they were downstairs on that sectional, it sure as hell wasn’t with me. But it was OK, because by then, I had Evie…

My jaw tightens and the pain starts to boil over. Ignoring him? Alex probably doesn’t even remember that I was there. He probably doesn’t remember that he used to always bring Haribo Bears with him and share them with me while we played. He probably doesn’t remember that I was just as good as them.

Probably because he doesn’t fucking care.

“Is Aiden on here, too? What about Colson and Mason?” I don’t doubt for a second that these other anonymous losers are my brother and his friends. In which case it’s a good thing I erred on the side of caution and kept my identity secret. “Did you tell them my handle?” Now I’ll have to change it because none of them know it, and I really like it, so that makes me even angrier. “Is that why you asked me to play?”

“No, Dal,” Alex sighs, “I just wanted to—”

I don’t stick around to hear what he just wanted to do. I mash my thumb down on my phone screen, ending the call, and toss it off the edge of the bed to the floor with a tiny thud. Then I knee-stomp off my bed, storm over to the shelf, and jam my finger down on the power button of the console.

I don’t need this. Just like I don’t need my brother having psychotic sleepwalking episodes by night and paranoid outbursts by day. I don’t need Alex Barrera literally appearing out of nowhere and trying to fuck with me for fun so he can also try to forget that we all live in some weird alternate universe.

And maybe Alex does care like he did that one day in the cafeteria. Maybe he’s stepped out of his superstar heartthrob bullshit long enough to remember who I am. Maybe it dawned on him for two seconds that I remember what he was like when he was just a shitty little middle schooler who thought he was cool because he could do a flip off the rope swing at the creek. Maybe he’s suddenly come out of his arrogant fog to acknowledge that my world is a pile of rubble.

Or maybe he’s just looking for a distraction like I am. Except his idea of distraction is making me look like an idiot— Colson’s little sister. Except now my mom isn’t here to scold them to leave me alone. She’s somewhere else, with Scott, dealing with the fallout left behind by some monster who murdered Evie and disappeared into the night.

Maybe Alex fucking Barrera hasn’t changed at all.

●●●

I should’ve taken Colson up on his offer today. Especially today. But things are still weird from Saturday night when he came into my room and showed me a picture of some guy he hates while I was under duress.

Then again, when are things not weird these days?

I could’ve overlooked his psycho bullshit for one day to find some peace for seven hours. I know Colson would’ve said yes if I asked him; driving the backroads for hours, burgers for lunch in Hellbranch where we wouldn’t get caught ditching school, hiking in the woods. OK, maybe not hiking in the woods, but I’d even go to the creek like he suggested if it was just with him.

But the opportunity is gone. I’ve already spent the lunch period in the library pretending to do homework. I don’t even have homework. School’s almost out, which is the only thing I look forward to now. Hell, as a freshman without a date, I can’t even go to prom.

I let out a snicker, remembering the drama that unfolded after the awards ceremony when a herd of cattle came thundering through the gym. Fortunately, I was halfway up the bleachers, otherwise I’m sure I would’ve been crushed by everyone trying to leap out of the way. It was also really gross. A mob of muddy, drooly cattle aren’t exactly the cleanest animals. They step in their own shit and don’t bat an eye.

Gazing around the library, I catch sight of Sydney and her friend at the circulation desk. I recognize her as one of the girls at Colson’s car after school—the one with the wild teal eyes. When I walked through the heavy double doors, Sydney didn’t ask questions, just said hi and let me go find a seat at a table hidden near the back of the stacks.

I startle when the bell rings, signaling the end of lunch, and then realize that I am, in fact, starving. I make a mental note to bring snacks for the rest of the year in case I need to hide out in the library again. But now I’m dreading last period, where I’ll have to sit through an awkward hour and a half next to Shelby, pretending I haven’t already finished my part of the final project while she fumbles around trying to finish hers.

Finishing out U.S. History is uneventful, but the dread sets in the closer the red numbers on the digital wall clock get to the bell. Safely on autopilot, a neutral expression plastered on my face, and my feelings securely tamped down where no one can see them, I head down the stairs to the first floor, hoping that another herd of cattle bursts through the doors and come barreling down the hallway.

Instead, I run straight into someone coming from the other direction. I let out a gasp and begin to apologize when, suddenly, he throws his arm around my shoulder and backs me through the crowd.

“Hey!” I yelp, jerking my head around.

But relief washes over me when I see that it’s Austin.

“Where the hell have you been?” he asks. “I thought you were going to be on last night.”

“Yeah, me too,” I reply, adjusting my shoulder strap, “but I got sidetracked.”

“What’s up?” he asks, immediately noticing my less than enthusiastic tone.

I let out a huff and look up at him. “I can’t stand the thought of setting foot in that room. This thing with Shelby is still weird.” I don’t know what else to say. Maybe that’s it.

Austin leans against the lockers and glances around in thought. “So, let’s not,” he shrugs.

“And do what?”

“We can go to Ryland’s. I’ll buy you a Diet Coke.”

He knows I’m always in the mood for a Diet Coke, especially if I don’t have to pay for it. And especially if it’s from a fountain machine instead of a bottle.

With a quick nod, Austin and I hurry out the back door before the crowd clears and one of the security guards can catch us. Once off campus, we walk a block to his Range Rover and head into town, where Ryland’s Drug sits on Main Street, nestled between a law firm and an antique shop, all of which have existed in the middle of Dire Ridge for decades.

The green leather booths and matching stools lining the old-fashioned counter will start to fill after school lets out because it’s where you find the best cheese fries in town. But, for now, we have the tables to ourselves. Once I have my Diet Coke in one of Ryland’s quintessential red dimpled plastic cups, I feel slightly better. But maybe that’s also due to the rush I’m getting from skipping school.

Delinquency is exhilarating, and it’s even more exhilarating when cheese fries are involved.

Austin rakes his fingers through his hair and rests his arms on the back of the booth. “I don’t think Shelby left you out of Zero Reckoning on purpose,” he begins, finally getting to the point.

“Not inviting me to a movie after we meticulously planned to go together would indicate that it was indeed on purpose,” I reply, pulling a cluster of steaming fries and cheese from the pile and dunking it in the cup of Ranch dressing in the middle of the plate.

“You’re not wrong,” he concedes with a slow nod, “but it could’ve just been a misunderstanding.”

“Or not,” I counter, “and they ditched you, too, for your cousin, ” I point out.

“Yeah,” he smiles, “there’s that. All I’m saying is maybe she just made a mistake.”

“You don’t have to mediate.”

He lets out an exasperated sigh when it’s apparent that I won’t let it go that easily.

“I mean, it was obviously a shock to everyone when…” he trails off, his eyes wandering out the window to the bucolic avenue outside.

I crack a smile. “You’re not very good at talking about this, are you?”

“You’re right,” he takes a swig of his Coke, “I’m terrible at this. It’s why I’ve been asking you to play games with me, because that’s what we do and I’ve never had anyone close to me die, so I really don’t know what that’s like. And now that basketball’s over, I can’t handle this level of drama.”

“I knew you had an ulterior motive,” I grin.

Austin’s right, in the spring and summer, he’s insufferable. He might look like the definition of chill, like he belongs on the beach rather than in the cornfields, but when he’s not playing basketball, he’s like a squirrel bouncing around from one idea to another, always making plans to stay busy. I never get bored with him, but he can also be really shallow when it comes to conflict. He just wants to have a good time, and other people’s feelings sometimes make that really inconvenient.

“Look, I’ll make you a deal,” he finally says.

“What kind of deal?”

“Say yes first.”

“Hell, no!” I scoff. “Your deals don’t usually pan out.”

“Fine,” he agrees, “talk to Shelby, work things out, and I’ll get us all tickets to go see Zero Reckoning again.”

“Why is it my responsibility to take the high road when she’s the one who fucked up? That can’t possibly fall to me.”

“Shelby’s prideful,” he blurts out, letting his palm fall to the table with a smack.

I can’t help but smile. Austin’s right; we all have flaws, and this is Shelby’s.

“I’ll think about it,” I shrug, “ if you throw in milkshakes. And if you dress up with me. I have plenty of black lipstick.”

“I’ll buy you milkshakes, but you can fuck right off with that goth bullshit.”

Whatever. Austin puts on a front, but he likes all my pink goth bullshit, especially the horror movies and horror games.

By the time we clean the plate of cheese fries and my Diet Coke is nothing more than a few cubes of ice, we have 10 minutes until the final bell rings at school and I have to meet Colson in the senior parking lot.

“I’m holding you to the movie,” I say, reaching over the console to give Austin a hug before climbing out of his Range Rover, “and the milkshakes. Maybe I’ll just bleed you dry since your parents give you unlimited credit.”

The Bostwicks told Austin the credit card they gave him in eighth grade was only for “back-to-school shopping” and “sports equipment” and unspecified “emergencies,” which then turned into basically everything else in relatively short order. And, yet, he still has it, buying things like movie tickets for everyone, which I also won’t turn down.

“We’ll see,” he replies with a flash of his eyes.

After he drives off, I’m reminded that my brief escape with cheese fries and Diet Cokes are over and now I have to go home. Making my way to the back of the parking lot, I catch sight of Colson waiting for me and let out a groan when I also see Mason, Aiden, and Alex still at the Civic with him.

As soon as I arrive at the car, Colson’s eyes dart from me to the entrance of the lot. “Where were you?” he asks, squinting at Austin’s vehicle as it disappears down the street.

“Field trip,” I reply, strolling through the middle of their circle.

My arm brushes against Alex’s and he steps out of the way just in time before I knock into him on my way to the passenger side door.

Mason grins over his shoulder as I jerk the door open. “Bostwick finally shoot his shot off the court?”

“Bet he makes more of them than you do,” I retort.

“Doubtful, but he’s persistent, isn’t he?” Mason shoots a smarmy look at the rest of them. “He’s been following Ole Dally around since when—kindergarten?”

I throw my bag inside, glaring at him over the door. “Maybe, instead, we should talk about who you’ve been following around lately.”

You’d have to be living under a rock not to notice that whenever Sydney’s friend with the teal eyes shows up, Mason is soon to follow.

At that, Colson and Alex shift their gazes to Mason expectantly, smiles playing behind their eyes. Aiden’s eyes remain fixed on me like he’s studying a specimen, and making my skin crawl.

“Jealous?” Mason winks. “There’s plenty left for you, but you might need a step ladder.”

Like a light switch, the humor disappears from Colson’s face, replaced with a terrifying glare reserved only for those who’ve committed the worst of indiscretions. And as soon as he catches Mason’s eye, Mason flinches like he’s been startled.

“OK, OK, sorry,” Mason attempts to head him off, apologizing to Colson rather than me.

So, what else is new?

Before Mason can make himself look any dumber, their friend, Josh appears at his shoulder, chuckling to himself. “You all hear about Mrs. Johnson?”

“The Spanish teacher?” Mason asks.

“Check it out,” he stifles a laugh, “someone hijacked her screen during class and started broadcasting porn.”

“ What? ” Colson bursts out laughing.

“Swear to God. And then she couldn’t close it. A message popped up in Spanish before she pulled the plug, but someone took a picture before it turned off. It said—” Josh can barely keep it together, “it said to type, I’m a dirty lizard woman from a well , in English for it to stop. Like it was password-protected!” he barely croaks out before descending into fits of laughter.

Amid the boys’ howling, I stand behind the Civic snickering to myself and secretly wishing I’d been there to witness such a spectacle. But then I do a doubletake when I catch a pair of russet brown eyes staring at me. Alex raises his chin and casts me a mischievous grin. My smile fades for a moment while I read the nuance behind his eyes.

Did he do that?

I catch myself smiling, only to avert my eyes again. I duck into the car, hoping the window tint will mask the laugh threatening to escape my throat any second. I’m still angry with him. I need to stay angry with him…

When Colson and I are finally on our way home, I realize that three familiar vehicles trail behind us; a dark blue Chevy Avalanche, a sporty black Lexus, and an older white Lexus SUV, belonging to Mason, Aiden, and Alex. Normally, I wouldn’t give it a second thought, but tonight is the first time they’ve been to our house since Evie was found.

The four of them disappear into the basement, emerging a couple of hours later at the same time I decide to come down from my own safe haven. Scott’s reclining on the sofa in the living room, dialed into the local news, fretting about gas prices and some scandal with the city council. My mom is at the other end of the sofa, peering at emails on her laptop through reading glasses that she only wears in the evenings. In addition to her black hair and scant height, I also got the bad eyes. She looks exhausted and, somehow, simultaneously wired. I’m not sure whether she’s working or dealing with more fallout, but she’s a realtor, so her odd work hours aren’t surprising.

“Eat the lasagna first,” she calls to the boys from the sofa, “I don’t want it to go bad.”

I linger next to her as the four of them start unloading the refrigerator and microwaving one plate after another.

“How are you doing?” she asks quietly, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye as though she doesn’t want anyone else to hear.

I don’t respond, which isn’t like me, but I’m not happy with her. Or Scott, for that matter. But she doesn’t seem to notice.

“Have you eaten?” My mom always asks the same question following some kind of tragic event, and this time is no different.

In our house, when comfort is needed, food is love. Usually, it’s our mom who’s making the piles of food for others, but not this time. Now, we are the ones who everyone is baking casseroles for because they feel sorry for our dreadful misfortune.

I slide one side of my headset off my ear. “Not yet,” I mumble as I scroll through the playlist on my phone.

Once the boys are finished rifling through the refrigerator, I open it and marvel at the shelves stuffed to the brim with containers of food, ranging from non-descript storage containers to Styrofoam labeled with the names of four different restaurants in town. I pull out one of the pre-made grilled chicken and strawberry poppyseed salads on the bottom shelf.

“How far are you in Witcher now?” Colson asks as I open a drawer to get a fork.

“I stopped playing,” I sigh, popping open the clear plastic container.

“ What? ” Colson sounds positively offended. “Why? I even told you what to do,” he argues, jamming a fork into his steaming pile of lasagna.

Yeah, before you went caveman on me in the middle of the night…

But he doesn’t wait for a response. “Then what are you playing?”

I almost say, nothing , but he would know that was a bold-faced lie.

“ Tomb Raider. ”

“I should’ve known,” Colson rolls his eyes in response, “fucking Lara Croft over here. How many times have you beat each game?”

“Lost count,” I say, drizzling the dressing over the lettuce before shutting the lid again.

Colson gives a tsk, tsk. “What a waste of potential,” he says pompously before turning and heading toward the patio door with Aiden.

Mason says nothing, having learned his lesson from earlier. But when Alex follows them across the kitchen, he slows and leans down.

“ Angelínaaa… ” he hums under his breath as he passes.

I set my jaw and put my head down, trying to ignore him and the fact that a wave of goosebumps is skittering down my arms.

Once the boys disappear with their overflowing plates of cheese and pasta to the back patio, I disappear back upstairs to eat my salad while losing myself in an episode of Fear the Walking Dead. Afterward, I continue my newfound ritual of meticulously creeping along the perimeter of my bedroom and confirming every one of my possessions is clean, in its place, and not smashed into smithereens on the floor. At least my bedroom is one place that I can maintain some shred of control.

I gently brush my fingertips over the shelves until I come to the consoles next to my TV. My hand lingers for a moment on the PlayStation and I come to a halt when I hear the sounds from outside, no longer masked by the TV. The boys’ voices drift up to the window from the patio below, punctuated by shouts and brief outbursts of laughter. I can hear Alex’s voice now, and its familiar lilting cadence, but I can’t make out what he’s saying.

Angelínaaa…

He could just be messing with me again. But all the same, I step away from the shelves and grab my phone off the comforter, pulling up our texts from yesterday.

ME (6:03PM): I look nothing like Angelina Jolie

To my surprise, it’s not one minute before he responds.

ALEX (6:03PM): Good thing…too tall for my taste

ME (6:04PM): Have fun with the other ? of your brain

ALEX (6:06PM): You still never said whether I can play TR with you

ME (6:06PM): Let me know when you’re ready to be humiliated

ALEX (6:12PM): Tonight

I hesitate, immediately balking at the idea of playing with all of them, especially after I may have already done so under insidious circumstances. I shouldn’t play with Alex again, not after that. I should stick with my own friends and forget that I even texted him that one night after Colson acted like a psycho— again —and I had a mini panic attack about it.

But part of me still wants to. Even after last night, for some inexplicable reason, Alex still feels…safe.

ME (6:15PM): Not with the rest of them

I’m going to be clear and not leave any room for doubt. After a few minutes, I assume he’s decided against it, but my phone buzzes again.

ALEX (6:21PM): Leave your window unlocked

ME (6:22PM): It’s always unlocked

ALEX (6:24PM): That’s not very safe

My muscles pull at my cheeks, and I can’t resist laughing to myself.

ME (6:24PM): You’re right. Any creep could just come in…