I didn’t eat much lunch, but I put a lot of effort into moving food around my plate in a creative manner. Once my dad had cleared the plates away, he nodded toward my bedroom, as if to excuse me. Gratefully, I made my way back down the hall and collapsed into bed.
When I woke again, it was dark. I had managed to sleep the entire day. I didn’t feel quite so much like death, at least, but the movie playing in my mind about Devon, the cliff, and my imminent doom still refused to stop playing. I had to know what exactly had happened the night before. I had to know if it really had been a joke, and it only seemed so terrifying because I was tipsy, or if Devon really had been trying to kill us both and just messed up. I didn’t even want to consider the third option—that I was losing my mind. I mean, the idea of going crazy scared the shit out of me, what with my mom and all.
After throwing on my shoes, I made my way quietly out the front door and across town to the Playground. I wasn’t surprised to see the boys there this time, or the bonfire they’d built on one of the graves. To them, it seemed, this was pleasure as usual.
The flames cast eerie shadows of the boys onto the tombstones and the trees—elongated forms that made them look alien, strange. I kept my attention on Devon, who was standing apart from the group, looking up into the night sky with a dreamlike expression on his face. He was dressed in shades of black and gray, and I suspected that the grays had all been blacks at one time. I gave his shoulder a shove—light enough not to start anything, but firm enough to show him I meant business. “What the hell was that, Devon?”
He barely flinched, but I could tell by the set of his mouth that he wanted to react. I wondered what made him stop, but then recognized his inaction for what it was: patience. I was still learning my place in their little group, and Devon was being forgiving of my actions. For now.
From his shirt pocket, he withdrew a semicrushed packet of clove cigarettes. He held it out to me, but I shook my head. Drinking was one thing. Smoking was absolutely another, and I refused to cross that line. When he could tell I wasn’t going to change my mind, he popped one into his mouth with a shrug, lit it with his skull lighter, and returned both to his pocket. It took him two inhales and exhales to formulate a response to my question. He didn’t meet my eyes, but as he exhaled, he said, “What the hell was what?”
Behind us, Scot, Cam, and Thorne broke into laughter over something I hadn’t heard or seen. Shortly after, I heard music playing, which meant that one of them had likely brought out a radio or iPod or something. The song was one I’d listened to myself a hundred times, the singer rambling on and on about knowing what I did in the dark.
What was I so worried about? Maybe it was just a stupid joke gone wrong. Maybe it was nothing to get pissed about in the grand scheme of things. But still. “Last night. The cliff. You know what I mean.”
“You were pretty drunk, my friend.” He sucked on his cigarette, making the ember glow brightly. As he blew out a ring of smoke, the light from the ember dimmed. His face looked gaunt in the semidarkness. “Maybe you fell. Maybe I saved your ass and you totally overreacted.”
I tried to fix the night before in my mind—recall every moment leading up to falling over the edge—but couldn’t. Most of it was a blur. But Devon’s eyes . . . and that sensation of knowing I was about to die . . . that much I could recall. “I didn’t fall on my own.”
“It was just a joke. Call it an initiation, if you will. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. It’s not often we accept anyone into our little group. We like you, Stephen. The boys like you. I like you. It just went too far.” He met my gaze then and held it for a good, long time. This wasn’t the face of a guy who was trying to screw with me, or dupe me in any way. This was the face of a guy who’d welcomed me into his group of friends without, I guess, much hazing at all. Just a quick warning about his sister and my balls, and after that, a harmless prank. I’d known a group of guys back in Denver who’d required an act of violence in exchange for acceptance into their little club. That was serious. This was nothing. So why was I being such a jerk to him over some bad joke gone wrong?
Sighing heavily, I ran my right hand through my hair, raking it back from my face. “We could have gotten seriously hurt.”
Devon finished his cigarette and then dropped it on the ground. “Don’t be such a pussy. Come on.”
Once we reached the group, Devon made the kill sign, slashing his finger across his neck. Immediately, Thorne turned off the music and all eyes were on Devon. Devon said, “So, Stephen just asked me what the hell we were doing last night here in the Playground.”
To my left, Markus snorted. “If I remember it right, a shitload of vodka.”
“But mostly schnapps,” Nick chimed in.
Devon let them have their laugh, but then said something that made the very air change. It felt heavier, somehow, and tasted kind of metallic. But maybe that was the last of the hangover talking. Devon said, “He seems pretty worried that we might throw him off a cliff or something.”
I glanced at the others, who were all watching him quietly, fearfully, as if waiting for him to speak again. I cleared my throat in embarrassment. Why had I come here tonight? Even if I was remembering right about the cliff and all, why did I feel the need to break up the party? Maybe I was determined to ruin the small bit of happiness I’d found here in Spencer. Maybe I didn’t really believe that I deserved happiness anywhere.
Without waiting for their response or approval—he needed neither, when it boiled down to it—Devon looked directly at me. “Like I said last night: once you know it, you can’t unknow it. You’re either in, or you’re out. We want you in. In on all of our secrets. In on all of our fun. But we don’t let people in lightly. So be careful with your choice here, Stephen.”
Everyone seemed very concerned about my ability to make the right choices lately. Everyone but me. I seemed happy enough to let everyone else make the decisions for me.
Devon stepped up to me. The group hushed, like maybe we were going to brawl or something. I hoped not. Devon was lean, but he looked tough. And I’d never been in a fistfight before. In a low voice, he said, “So. Are you in . . . or not?”
I looked around at the boys and, last, at Devon. “What happens if I’m not?”
Markus and the other boys laughed like I’d just said the funniest thing they’d ever heard. Devon shrugged casually, but something about the light in his eyes said that he was feeling anything but casual at the moment. Maybe I’d surprised him with my response. Or maybe I was wrong and he didn’t really give a crap what I wanted. “Only one way to find out.”
I glanced at Markus, who offered me a reassuring smile. Then I met Devon’s eyes, wondering what exactly I was getting myself into. I swallowed hard. It was my life. And it was my choice how I decided to live it. With a nod, I said, “I’m in.”
Devon wore a small, knowing smile, as if he’d never had a doubt. “Then let’s do this.” Thorne turned up the music again and Markus placed a bottle in my hand. I had no idea what was in it, or even whether I could really trust this group of guys. I just knew that I wanted this moment to last, and I didn’t care what came next.
Now mattered. Not then. Not someday. But now.
I pressed the bottle to my lips, tipping it up, letting the clear fluid empty into my mouth, burning my throat. A hand backlit by the bonfire reached out and lifted the bottle farther, and I drank and drank until it was empty. I knew that hand belonged to Devon. I knew that he and the boys probably got piss drunk in the cemetery every night, all summer long. But I didn’t care. I just wanted to belong. And forget. And enjoy.
The evening became a happy blur. At one point, Devon challenged me to a race back into town—just him and me. The boys all paused then, watching us with expectant looks on their faces. I wasn’t sure how to read them. Did they feel left out? Annoyed? I wasn’t sure.
Once Devon said the words, we both stood there, facing each other, waiting to see if the other would go through with i
t and run. Devon moved first, so fast that I might have fallen behind if I’d hesitated for even a moment more. But I darted after him, my lungs burning, my legs aching as we moved from dirt path to asphalt to sidewalk. We ran until my stomach cramped from laughter, and when we reached William Spencer’s mansion, Devon began to climb. I followed, pulling myself up on grates and pipes while planting my feet on bricks that stood out from the building’s surface. I used whatever footholds and handholds I could find, and we scaled the building all the way to the roof. Devon was first to reach it, and he balanced his way to the small tower at the very top, gripping the weather vane with his right hand to steady himself. I climbed up beside him, knowing that Devon had won the race, but not giving a damn.
The night sky stretched out above us, an endless velvet blanket riddled with millions of bright holes. I was feeling breathless, but not out of breath. Tired, but not at all ready to sleep. This was our time—the midnight hour—and there wasn’t a single damn thing that anyone else could do about it.
From way up here, the town of Spencer looked beautiful. Magical, almost. I took it all in for a moment before speaking. “So, I gotta ask. What would you have done to me if I’d said I wasn’t in?”
“Killed you.”
He hadn’t even hesitated before answering, and there wasn’t so much as a hint of a smile in his expression.
“You’re full of shit.” I was pretty sure he wasn’t, but what did I know? Too little, I feared.
“So’s the world, Stephen. It’s also full of monsters with friendly faces.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, well. You’re still full of shit.”
A smile touched his lips, but faded quickly as he looked out over the town. “From up here, it almost looks like a nice place to live.”
A chuckle escaped me. “Alcohol has a way of making things look different.”
“Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.” He withdrew a flask from an inside pocket and unscrewed the cap, offering me a swig. When I shook my head, he took a gulp of whatever was inside, then closed the flask and put it away. “Tell me about Denver.”
I shrugged, taken aback some by his sudden interest in my past. “What’s to tell? It’s cold in the winter, but the people are nice.”
“I bet the mountains are awesome.” His expression looked almost dreamy, and I wondered for a moment exactly how much booze he could handle before falling off a roof.
“Why just bet on it? Why not move there?”
Storms rolled into his eyes, casting out the dreams that had been there. “You don’t get it, Stephen. Some towns are like glue. And some people are just stuck. Entire families, man. For generations.”
“What about after high school? Why not apply to college somewhere else? Or get a job and move?”
Venom invaded him then, as if my suggestion really angered him. “Because some people don’t have the luxury of choice, Stephen. And I’m one of them. I have a D average at an already crappy school. I’m stuck. In goddamn Spencer, Michigan. Until the day I die.”
We both went quiet for a few minutes, until finally, Devon broke our collective silence. “Cara was asking about you.”
A record needle immediately scratched across the soundtrack that had been playing inside my mind. I swallowed hard, trying to keep my obvious interest in the subject hidden behind a curtain of aloofness. “Yeah?”
Devon took a deep breath and blew it out through his nose, not meeting my eyes. “Yeah.”
Without saying anything else, he climbed down from the tower, onto the main roof. As I began to follow, he gestured to my feet and to the loose shingles. But when he spoke, I knew that he wasn’t concerned for my safety. He was talking about Cara, and reminding me of our little conversation by the reservoir the night we met.
He said, “Watch your step.”
Despite the fact that it was in the eighties and sticky-hot, I felt a chill in the air. One that could only be attributed to the strange undercurrent of fear that I had of Devon, and the understanding that no one, apparently, was allowed anywhere near his sister without his consent. But I couldn’t leave Cara alone now. It was too late for that. It was too late for a lot of things.
chapter 8
Dropping down the last few feet to the grass below, I looked up at the mansion, amazed that we’d climbed so high—especially without getting caught or breaking our necks. Devon was already on the ground waiting for me, as if to make sure that I made it down okay. After I landed, we made our way to the sidewalk, where Devon lit another clove cigarette. The smoke smelled sweet, like pipe tobacco. But that didn’t mean I enjoyed it being blown in my face.
Devon’s attention was focused on a car making its way slowly down the street toward us. It was small and sporty, and in the soft light of the streetlamps, it looked to be a cool, metallic blue. Nothing at all like Dad’s crappy Beetle.
Devon inhaled sharply, making the ember on his cigarette glow orange, as the car came to a stop beside where we were standing. The driver’s-side window buzzed as it went down. Lane leaned out and gestured for me to come closer. Lane’s friend Casey was sitting in the passenger seat. After a moment’s hesitation, I approached the car. “Hey, Lane. What’s up?”
“Need a ride?” The inside of the car reeked of cheap beer. So much for his ice-cream-social image.
“Nah. I can walk. It’s not far.”
“Sure you’d rather walk? Might not be safe.” His eyes moved immediately behind me to Devon—an action that was both arrogant and insulting. He was implying that Devon was some kind of criminal . . . and while, okay, that might not be far from the truth, he had no business pointing it out to me or anyone else. Lane didn’t bother lowering his voice when he spoke again. He might’ve spoken a little louder, just to be sure that Devon heard him. “You know that guy?”
I looked over my shoulder at Devon, who took another drag on his smoke before dropping it to the ground and grinding it into dust with his shoe. I couldn’t read what he was thinking for sure in his expression, but I thought I had a pretty good guess. I turned back to Lane, making sure to keep my voice just as loud as his so that Devon would definitely hear. “Yeah. We’re friends.”
Lane pursed his lips, looking very much like he was holding back a mouthful of vomit. What was it about a guy like Devon that made a guy like Lane sick? Or was he about to retch over having misjudged me for a fellow racquetball fiend? His top lip twitched as he said, “You should be more careful who you make friends with, Stephen. That whole family is trash.”
Backing up, I returned to my place on the sidewalk beside Devon. “I am careful. Thanks.”
Lane hit the gas and his tires spun until they squealed, sending smoke and the smell of burnt rubber into the air. As Lane peeled away, Devon flipped him the bird.
I shook my head. “That guy is such a douche.”
Devon shrugged, his eyes still keenly locked on Lane’s retreating vehicle. “He doesn’t matter.”
“And he knows it,” I said. “A guy like Lane? He’ll never matter.” The smoke from Lane’s tires settled onto the pavement before disappearing.
“Will any of us?” Devon cocked an eyebrow at me, and I found myself speechless for a moment. It had sounded like an admission of self-doubt, but that couldn’t be. A guy like Devon was in charge, confident, and never doubted anything. Did he?
In the grass behind us, a cricket chirped its opinion. My mouth felt dry, in spite of or maybe because of all the drinking I’d done. “You headin’ home?” I said.
“Not yet.” He turned on his heel and headed back down the sidewalk, in the direction of the Playground. Offering me a halfhearted salute over his shoulder, he said, “Later.”
“Later.” The word fell flat in the surrounding night air.
The walk home was quiet and empty—the way that small towns get once the sun goes down. In the distance, I could hear a dog yowling, but even that didn’t last. No one was outside, and the air had that heavy feeling of after midnight. I wasn’t scared or unea
sy. Just peaceful. Maybe this place wasn’t so bad after all.
Stopping at a light on the end of my street, I looked up hopefully at Cara’s house, and it must have been my lucky night, because there was Cara sitting on her front porch swing. Her eyes were downcast, her hands folded delicately in her lap. As I moved closer, I saw the glint of tears on her cheeks, which made my feet move faster. When I stepped up on the porch, the boards beneath my feet creaked, drawing her attention. She dried her eyes with the palms of her hands and I sat next to her, not saying anything at all, not knowing what a guy was supposed to say when he found a girl he cared for crying her eyes out in the middle of the night. We sat there together, swinging slowly. After a while, I reached out and took her hand in mine. Then I waited. For what, I didn’t know. For whatever Cara needed me to wait for, I guessed.
Fireflies lit up the front yard—bright spots amid the darkness. I watched them, occasionally squeezing Cara’s hand, reminding her that I was next to her. With her.
Finally, she spoke, her voice raspy, as if her tears had been pouring for a long time before I’d found her there. “She’s crazy, y’know. Everyone sees it. Everyone knows it. But no one talks about it. My mom is crazy, my dad is gone, Devon might as well be gone. Meanwhile, the only money we’ve got comes from life insurance checks, and I’m left here, picking up the pieces of her crazy every day.”
I didn’t want to lie to her. I didn’t want to tell her what everyone had probably already told her before. That her mom just needed some time, that her dad was in a better place now, that Devon would come back to her eventually. I wanted to tell her the truth. “Your brother’s a jerk for leaving this all on you. It sucks that you lost your dad. And you’re right. Martha is crazy.”
For a moment, I wondered if I was doing the right thing—maybe she really had wanted me to spout some bullshit about how everything was going to be okay. But then I looked into her eyes and saw relief. Relief that someone had recognized what a truly shitty situation she was stuck in. Relief that someone understood.