Page 50 of The Bright Lands

She froze, her straw between her fingers. “How did you know that?”

Joel smiled wider, trying to calm the panic he saw in her eye. “Because I used to live here.”

Kimbra lapsed into silence. Her eyes were swollen and weighed down with bags. She hadn’t straightened her hair in several days, Joel saw. Frizzy split ends tickled her neck.

“KT and I are leaving in the spring, the day after Finals,” Kimbra said. “Just get in a car. Head west. We’ve been talking about it since we were kids.”

Joel nodded, waited.

“Do you think he’s okay?” she said.

“I really don’t know. He hasn’t spoken to you?”

“No. Nobody’s seen him since school on Monday.” She paused. Her voice cracked. “You don’t think he might have been—it’s just, he wouldn’tknowanything to get killed over. He’s stupid. Really. I love him but he’s not very smart.”

“Maybe he got spooked,” Joel said. “Needs a chance to calm down.”

“I heard Dylan sent you a text saying the same thing.” She bit her straw.

Joel felt the Adderall ticking in his brain. He played with a fork. “Is it true that KT got in some trouble over the summer?”

“Trouble?” Her surprise looked genuine. “What trouble?”

“I don’t know. With the cops? At home?”

“His mom’s always trouble,” Kimbra said. “But summer was mellow.”

Joel readied himself to go. It had been worth a shot. He pulled a card from his pocket and slipped it across the table. “Listen, if KT gets in touch with you, maybe I can help.”

“Help how?”

“Depends on the situation.”

Kimbra gave him a last long look, pulled a little notebook from her backpack and jotted down a number. Her eyes shot around the diner before she passed it to Joel.

“That’s me,” she said. “If I can do anything to help find him—”

The diner door clanged open.

“Here comes trouble,” she murmured.

Mitchell Malacek and Garrett Mason had arrived. The Perlin boys let out another fake cheer. They started bawling like cows, began to sing a rendition of the Bison fight song so vulgar it made even Joel raise an eyebrow. Garrett Mason flipped them a finger.

Mitchell Malacek had the same golden hair as his father, the mayor, which he wore long and pulled back in a mussy bun. Garrett, though far heavier than his older brother, still held the same permanent, spiteful light in his eyes as Ranger used to wield. Joel recalled something Wesley had said on Sunday, a mention of Ranger being hurt in Afghanistan.

An idea struck.

“Excuse me,” he said to Garrett, and when the younger Mason fixed him with his hard brown eyes Joel felt the same cold twist in his gut as he’d experienced ten years ago, the moment Ranger had emerged from the football field’s toilets. Joel forced himself to smile. “I was wondering if your brother was around.”

“Unless you grown a pussy you ain’t his type,” Garrett said and turned away. Mitchell snickered and shook his head. The Perlin boys let out a whoop.

“I just had a few questions for Ranger, some sympathy. I heard he got hurt.” Joel refused to be shaken off so easily (though Garrett and Mitchell were intimidating in more ways than he’d anticipated—up close, both boys were jarringly handsome). “Maybe talk about the old days.”

Garrett looked back at him, his tongue running over his teeth in a gesture Joel recognized. “Is that right?”

“You’ll never learn,” Mitchell Malacek said. “Maybe if you’d minded your business in New York your brother’d be alive.”

Joel felt the air rush out of his chest. He struggled to say, “Excuse me?”