Page 16

Dallas

We’re not even out of the parking lot of the Starliner before I’m scrolling through every social media app I have, searching for a guy named Jesse with dark hair, who lives somewhere near here, and who may or may not have a picture of an orange dirt bike in his profile. But it’s no use, no one matches his description enough to even message and ask. He’s still a ghost who vanished into the night.

After my fruitless search, I notice that I have an unread text. Part of me is dreading opening it and seeing a long, panicked message from my mom thinking I’ve been abducted and murdered. But when I see it, I forget all about the mysterious stranger who invited me to climb on his bike and live a different life for an hour or two.

Fine, maybe I don’t forget him completely, but at least for a few minutes.

ALEX (7:23PM): Check under your bed when you get home

ME (9:42PM): For monsters?

ALEX (9:46PM): I’d say yes but I’m at Aiden’s right now

“I’m home!” I holler as I practically sprint across the living room and up the stairs.

I think my mom calls something in response from the Master suite, but I’m already gone. Clearly, I made the right decision by not going with Jesse because they definitely would’ve heard a dirt bike outside, even down by the road.

As soon as I flip the lock on my doorknob, I dive onto the carpet and flip up the comforter to look under my bed. There’s a cluster of dark objects just out of view and when I grab for the first one, I knock another over with a clatter. They look like a bunch of CD cases, which is weird. But when I start pulling them out, I realize they’re PlayStation games, and the cases are old, not like the larger ones I have now. Metal Gear Solid, Resident Evil 2, Crash Bandicoot, Final Fantasy VII, Medal of Honor, Silent Hill, Spyro, Vagrant Story, and multiple discs of the Tomb Raider games.

And then my jaw drops. The last thing I pull out from under the bed is an original PlayStation console. The big grey brick is unmistakable. And it looks so… old.

I get up and scurry over to my TV, unplugging and switching around cords until I make enough space for the new console, which includes digging around in a gallon plastic bag filled with random cords and adapters. Then I open it and pop in the original Tomb Raider before returning to the pile of games for the controllers. But as soon as I pick them up, I give pause.

Aw, shit…

A black cord hangs from each one, not more than five feet long. They’re not wireless. And of course they wouldn’t be wireless; this thing is ancient. But I guess that also means they won’t die right in the middle of playing. I’ll just have to get some extensions for them. Do they even sell those anymore?

It doesn’t matter. It’s still really cool. And I can’t believe Alex brought all this here and left it for me.

I plant my ass on the carpet, not even bothering to change or take off my boots before the game loads. I reach for my phone, but then stop. For some reason, thanking him for this seems like something I should do in person rather than over a text. Because this is something I can’t and don’t want to share with anyone else. And I want to keep it that way— just for me and him.

I’ll find Alex tomorrow at lunch and tell him what I played first.

But as excited as I am about these games, and the longer I play, I keep glancing down at my phone. It’s not too late, maybe Alex could come over and play with me. Is Colson home? I didn’t even pay attention to whether his Civic is parked out front. But does it matter?

That didn’t stop him last time…

●●●

I stay up until almost two in the morning playing Tomb Raider. The graphics are so different than they are now, so I keep mashing down the buttons on the controller thinking that there’s a lag until I realize that the characters move slower and that’s just how it is. But, still, I can’t wait to play more.

I zip up my black hoodie and slide my glasses up the bridge of my nose, making sure to toss my purple case into my bag. Then I make sure to unplug the PlayStation console and stash it, the controllers, and all the games back under my bed so no one can ask any questions.

I’m halfway through a bowl of cereal before Colson comes swaggering downstairs. Scott emerges from the bedroom at the same time and takes a couple of shakers out of the cabinet. He fills both of them with water and a couple scoops of protein powder and shakes them up. He slides one across the countertop to Colson, who chugs it in less than 10 seconds. They’ve maintained this ritual since Colson started high school and went full-bore into soccer. And, this morning, I watch all of it with both awe and resentment.

Everyone acts completely normal, like the last few weeks haven’t been something straight out of a horror movie. Michael fucking Myers could stroll through the front door and both of them would still be downing their shakes, counting macros, and probably ask if he’d mind using his big-ass kitchen knife to chop some produce for a smoothie. Never mind that Scott still has Colson’s gun locked away in his safe and Colson still has no idea that he had a total mental break in my room and almost tore my arm off.

Then again, I could tell him. I could say something. I could’ve told him what he did that night he came into my room and asked what happened to my TV. But I didn’t, because as angry as I am at everyone else for ignoring what he did, I want to ignore it, too.

“When does Alex leave?” Scott asks, gulping down the rest of his shake.

Leave?

“The Monday after graduation,” Colson replies as he rinses out his shaker, “Adrian’s still giving him shit about it.”

“I’m not surprised. Their dad was a Marine, and even though he died in that car accident and not overseas, Adrian’s probably hyper-aware of everything that can go wrong now.”

The Marines? Alex is leaving for the Marines?

Did I know that? I don’t think so. I just assumed he’d be going to school with Colson and Mason or at least staying around here. I hadn’t really thought about it. I never cared until now…

I’m still marinating on this revelation in second period when Mr. Kelly starts setting out empty boxes for a group activity in Psychology. Tasha Emmerich, a junior with flaming red hair and more ambition than I can fathom in my current state, fishes a piece of paper out of the box. The other two guys at our cluster of desks look relieved that she’s taking the lead, per usual.

Tasha holds up the paper and examines the assignment. “OK, so ours says to write down four facts about ourselves that no one knows on separate pieces of paper, then fold them up and place them in the box. We mix them around, and then draw each one out and try to guess who it belongs to.” She studies the paper and reads the italicized print at the bottom, “After you learn which fact belongs to each person, can you identify any biases or misconceptions in your guesses? How do assumptions like these inform your everyday behaviors, whether subconscious or realized?”

This shouldn’t be difficult. Since this is an elective class, it’s not like I know any of the upper classmen that well anyway.

About 15 minutes into the exercise, a whiney voice calls across the room.

“Mister Kell-aaay… ”

“Miss Harrington,” Mr. Kelly calls back from the podium, not looking up.

“Can we still get extra credit for turning in old homework?”

“You mean corrected homework?”

She stares back at him blankly, which causes Mr. Kelly to peer down at his laptop with a sigh.

“No, Jordy, I’m afraid not.”

“ Why? ” she shrieks indignantly. “You said we could last week! Or is that only if we’re two percentage points away from a 105 like Landon? ”

Landon McGraw, another senior, glances up from his diligent note-taking, slightly surprised to hear his name. Jordy’s not wrong, Landon probably does get a 105 on everything. He also has the best posture of any human I’ve ever seen. He looks like he’s already in his 20s and belongs in an office building somewhere with his khakis and button downs, always sitting at his desk with his chair completely scooted in, his back arrow straight, and his hands either clasped in front of him or holding a pencil ready to take notes—or get another 105 on a quiz.

In any event, he isn’t perturbed by Jordy’s sarcasm. He probably thinks she’s an idiot anyway, so he just smiles politely and goes back to his work.

“No, Jordy,” Mr. Kelly replies with a hint of amusement, “to turn in corrected homework, you have to have completed it in the first place, and you haven’t turned in any of the weekly assignments since—” he squints at his screen, “January 12 th .”

Jordy rolls her eyes with a huff, and then starts gazing around the classroom until her eyes fall on Macy Halbert, the sophomore sitting at the set of desks next to mine.

“Maybe I should take one of Macy’s spells she scribbles down in that book of hers and time travel back to January so I can care,” Jordy mutters with a sardonic smirk.

Macy looks up from her paper and purses her black cherry lips. As much as she tries to scowl, I can see her deflate and a flash of embarrassment behind her hazel eyes before she puts her head back down to hide behind her black and red-streaked hair.

In an instant, I’m back in that restroom the day I came back to school after Evie was murdered, trapped in that stall, listening to Jordy and her stupid friends. I cast a glare at the back of Jordy’s head and then, before I realize what’s happening, I hear my own voice fill the silence.

“I’m sure you’d have to get someone to read them to you.”

There’s an audible snicker, followed by another, and then another. Did I just say that out loud? I must have, because when I look up, Marshall Malone and Luke Wahler are cackling on the other side of the table from Jordy.

Jordy whips around. “Who the hell are you, her goth girlfriend?” she snaps through slitted eyes.

“Settle down, Harrington,” Mr. Kelly barks.

I hold her seething eyes for another moment before turning back to my work. My hand trembles as I try to write down my first fun fact about myself, but I don’t know whether it’s because I’m so enraged by Jordy bullying Macy or that I just put a target on my own back.

Whatever. That was wholly uncalled for. What did Macy ever do to Jordy or anyone else?

When I look to my left, Tasha is concentrating a little too hard on tearing more pages out of her notebook, trying to avoid eye contact. But when I glance across the room, Landon is looking right at me. He smiles and lets out a silent laugh before going back to his work.

So, what are four secrets about myself? Everything truly interesting that comes to mind are things I would never tell any of these people. After staring off into space for a few minutes, I can’t help but smile when the first idea comes to me.

I made it through Sen’s Fortress in 10 minutes…

But my favorite game is Tomb Raider…

My brother’s best friend gave me an original PlayStation…

And now my only goal today is to make it to lunch so I can thank him for it.

●●●

Spoiler alert—I didn’t write any of that shit down for the group activity in Psychology. I scribbled down a few things about my dad’s ranch and my cosplay costume for GalactiCon last year; enough to satisfy the assignment but not be totally boring. By the time I get to the cafeteria, Alex is already sitting at his usual table with his back to me when I get in the snack line. I open my bag and surreptitiously shoot off a text to Alex while I’m waiting.

ME (12:06PM): How good are you at Vagrant Story?

“Tonight,” Austin appears at my shoulder, giving me a start.

“What?”

“ Zero Reckoning. Tonight. 7:30 . Forget the weekend, it’s still sold out. This is the only time I could get tickets before next week.”

When I hesitate, Austin furrows his brow. “You’re not busy, are you?” he asks incredulously.

Sometimes I don’t know whether he’s joking or just oblivious.

“That depends,” I cast him a disinterested look, “are milkshakes involved?”

“I’ll take that as you’re free, so yeah, we’ll go through the drive-thru at Dairy Queen on the way.”

“What about the black lipstick?”

“Yeah, I’ll wear your lipstick, too…” Austin shifts his jaw like he’s trying not to laugh, but then snaps it shut again with a smile.

“What?” I ask, sliding the lid to the cooler open and fishing around until I find the sandwich I want.

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, “I don’t want to get punched.”

It has to be a dick joke. It’s always a dick joke.

I slide the lid shut again. “You’re gross.”

Just as I turn back around, I see Alex pull his phone out of his pocket and look at the screen. I can’t see his face, but a few seconds later, he looks up and his head slowly moves from side to side, looking for me. I rake my bottom lip through my teeth to hide my smile while Austin keeps telling me about the plans for tonight.

But it immediately disappears when a blonde girl appears next to Alex’s chair. It’s Jordy, the senior from my Psychology class. The dull roar of the cafeteria makes it impossible to hear.

Does he know her?

She turns and sits on the edge of the table, facing him while she begins talking. She keeps smiling at him in a way that makes me think they’re not just friends. Would Alex actually be attracted to someone like her?

What am I saying? Of course he would. She’s thin and blonde and her skin looks like it was airbrushed onto her bones like one of those girls I watch on YouTube who post makeup tutorials.

But she’s so… mean .

It’s annoying the hell out of me that I can’t see Alex’s face. Not like I can read lips or anything, but I could still see his facial expressions, or something. Or maybe I don’t want to see how he’s looking at her. Because she’s still talking and still smiling and it doesn’t look like she’s leaving anytime soon.

Then, to my utter horror, Jordy swings her leg over Alex’s knees and takes a seat on his lap. He leans back in his chair slightly, but otherwise doesn’t move. I can’t hear what Austin’s saying, or if he’s even still talking. Sounds mute and all I can hear is a rush like my ears are filled with water.

Now I feel ridiculous for sending that text, as if a couple of nights playing video games with me qualifies as anything meaningful. But we still talked about our dead family members, didn’t we? Does he do that with everyone? But the fact remains that I’m not sitting at their table, I’m not the one talking to him about fuck-knows-what right now, and no one knows that I’m anything more to him than Colson’s little sister.

Just like before.

Watching her sitting on Alex’s lap, right in front of everyone, is only another stark reminder that I’m not one of them, and I’ll never be one of them. But he laid next to me on my bed, reading my book, and then kissed me before sneaking back out my window. He did that. And now I’m completely nauseated by it. But I’m not going to cry like I did last time. I’m never going to cry in front of any of them ever again.

Instead, I look on out of the corner of my eye as Jordy drapes her arms over Alex’s shoulders and leans forward, but I turn away before her lips meet his. A sour mixture of betrayal and humiliation swirls in my gut, and I can’t watch anymore.

I turn my back to listen to Austin while I block out everything around me. And then I feel it; the one thing that I thought made me different from Colson. Pure rage burns through my heart like a wildfire and drips through my ribcage like acid. And at that moment, there’s nothing but darkness in my soul.

Because I hate Alex fucking Barrera.