Oliver kept jumping. He hoped by remaining in constant motion, he wouldn’t feel Daphne’s rejection twisting against his ribs. With each landing, the shame that accompanied whatever he’d been trying to accomplish on the dance floor eased a bit more off his shoulders.
Maybe he wanted a girlfriend, wanted an Emily.
Oliver jumped higher to knock the thought away. He wasn’t Jason. He never wanted an Emily. But his mind countered itself like a kung fu master, blocking his best attacks. Daphne wasn’t Emily. It was ridiculous to compare the two. One was alive, and one was buried with his brother.
Oliver’s remorse also stemmed from the extinguished glimmer in Daphne’s eyes, from understanding that he’d failed her yet again. Maybe she didn’t want to be with him anymore. He’d done nothing but try to drive her away, and he’d succeeded. Besides baseball, it was the only sport he’d ever been good at.
He didn’t have to dwell for long. Penny maneuvered herself into him. Their bodies brushed against each other as gravity pulled them to the ground. Their shared rhythm softened his knees so he couldn’t jump as high, but Penny continued to jump higher, propelling herself upwards. He couldn’t tell if she was a skilled jumper or if it was a power play designed to make him feel inferior. He’d practically ditched Penny at her own prom. This whole night was making Oliver question his standing as a decent human being.
“You like her,” Penny shouted over the music, neither teasing nor accusing, a statement mixed with a question, delivered with an air of sexiness. Oliver got the sense that Penny had played these romantic games before. She might even be better at them than him, and he felt an odd sense of security.
“I’m not gonna lie, I like a lot of things.” He cringed at his own statement. He’d turned into one of those smarmy guys who said smarmy things to salvage smarmy situations.
The smarminess passed through Penny without evoking any decipherable expression. Perhaps she was immune. “It doesn’t look like she’s interested. And I like a lot of things, too. The things that are jumping right in front of me.”
Oliver appreciated her confidence. It reminded him of his own—bold and slightly false. “Do you want to get out of here?” he asked.
“More than anything.” The line sounded like she pulled it out of her back pocket every time the opportunity presented itself, which was too often. Without thinking more deeply into it, Oliver took Penny’s hand and led her to the nearest exit. He refused to turn and see if Daphne caught them leaving. He didn’t want to be pelted with her smugness from across the room, nor did he want to witness her not noticing.
A black hole in place of the Pacific Ocean amassed outside Oliver's driver window. He was afraid that if he looked outside for too long, it would swallow him up. Penny had taken control of the radio, and EDM wasn’t his favorite. He appreciated the crescendo of composition, but he wanted lyrics, something to sing along with. As long as it wasn’t Elliott Smith.
“You dropped this.”
Penny was holding out her hand. He recognized the paper, its even folds and bent edges, from the corner of his eye. Shit.
“When we were doing all those funny poses for the group photo,” she said.
Bringing the list to prom had been stupid, reckless. It had been a last-minute decision, based on some half-baked rationalization that maybe Oliver could give Jason the chance to experience the prom, too. Ridiculous. Jason hadn’t been there, hadn’t experienced anything.
Oliver was driving to forget. Daphne Bowman and the numbers on the list were disappearing with each bend in the Pacific Coast Highway, and now Penny would have ten thousand questions. Clever of her to wait until he was trapped in the driver’s seat.
He took the list and dropped it into the cup holder, done with it for tonight. He wasn’t going to offer any information. She would have to ask.
“Daphne told me about the list. When we were in the bathroom.”
Something invisible punched Oliver in his Adam’s apple. “What did she say?”
“What do you think she said?”
Oliver smiled because he knew. He could bet his car, his parents’ house, his entire future on Daphne Bowman’s response. “Nothing.”
Penny smirked back, caught in her half-truth. “You both say you’re not hooking up—”
“We’re not.”
“Is that list why you were at Joshua Tree?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t want to talk about it. But if he said he didn’t want to talk about it, she’d want to talk about it even more.
“You’re finding closure?”
Closure. A word only used by people who weren’t searching for it.
“Something like that,” he said.
“I hope you find it. Both of you.” She looked out her window into the black hills dotted with house lights.
“Thanks.” Oliver kept his eyes on the road. Maybe Penny and Daphne had been close friends, once upon a time, odd as it seemed. He flipped on his blinker. “This is it.”
Mitch’s aunt was out of town and through a month-long onslaught of white lies, he’d been granted a key to her beachfront Malibu home. The plan was to camp on the beach because the whole Joe-beige-carpet ordeal still had everyone on guard against indoor spillage. The party was exclusive, so the volume could be controlled—Mitch, Joe, and the Ies. Penny and Oliver were the last to arrive.
“Can you imagine living here?” Penny asked as she took in the bonfire and three small tents set up on the beach. Music rolled in with the smell of burning wood and salt air.
“No, I can’t.” Oliver was well aware of his upper middle-class status. He’d been born to well-off parents who were hardworking and sensible with their money. He’d gotten every possession he’d ever asked for from them, yet they’d managed to keep him from feeling entitled. Even with all of his blessings, the idea of a house in Malibu felt unattainable. The luxury of the waves only the rich could afford.
As he surveyed the fire and three tents, the numbers popped into his head from the defunct list. Four and five—skydiving and the Sahara. Biking in Venice and finding the Sphinx. Dancing in the sand and making s’mores. Wishing up to the faint stars and the kiss. The kiss. Time stretched and compressed so the memories were near and distant at the same time.
“You guys made it!” Mitch greeted Oliver at the cooler.
Oliver landed back on Malibu at this campfire, these tents, Penny. “Thanks for having us. Mitch, you remember Penny.”
“Hi, Penny.” Mitch grinned at Oliver a little too widely.
Penny pretended not to notice and browsed the cooler. After surveying the impending damage, she became picky in the way only girls who know they’re pretty can. “Do you have any liquor? I’m not a beer fan.”
“Ask and you shall receive.” Mitch thrust his hand through the ice to the bottom of the cooler and surfaced with the cheapest bottle of vodka money could buy. She kissed him on the cheek, and he flushed the same shade of red as the label on the plastic bottle.
A quarter of a bottle and four beers later, Oliver and Penny sat on beach towels, facing the black roar of the ocean. The conversation when she’d given him back the list, vague as it was, hadn’t been terrible. Maybe he could talk to her like he did with Da—that other person he was trying not to think about. “Penny, what’s your bad?”
“What’s my bad? What do you mean?”
His words slurred, “My brother killed himself seven years ago and—”
She interrupted him, “I’m so sorry, Oly—”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. The sad part is that since he died I’ve been so angry at him, and I tried to be so unlike him that I don’t know who I am. That’s my bad.”
Penny debated for a moment. “I don’t have a bad. I’m all good.”
“Everyone has a bad.”
She spoke to the endless void in front of her. “I kissed someone I shouldn’t have. Messed up everything.”
“What?” This wasn’t the direction Oliver had anticipated, but he couldn’t judge confessions after requesting them. “I mean, who?”
“Is this Truth or Dare?”
“No.” He gritted his teeth. They were back to speaking different languages.
“Then I’m not telling,” she teased.
“Okay, that’s a good start. What else?”
“I like my skeletons in my closet.” She took a serious swig from the bottle.
“I’m not asking about skeletons.”
“I shoplifted once when I was seven. I never got caught.”
The hesitation in her words might have ceased the compassionate from pressing further, but the earlier events of the evening and the licking fire behind him fueled his curiosity.
“What are you most afraid of?” he asked.
“I’m afraid you’re not drinking enough.” She tilted the vodka bottle in his direction, a peace offering. The fire’s shadows highlighted the worry in her face.
If he disrupted the sediment lining her soul again she would ask for a ride home. Kicking up her inner dirt wouldn’t save him, anyway. He took the bottle and gulped, grateful for the burn in his throat.
Enough guzzles later that the questions about the meaning of life no longer seemed pressing, Oliver leaned into Penny’s waiting lips. He was reminded of the temporary greatness in the good-enough-for-now. The kiss was serenaded with the splashing of Mitch and Joe running naked into the ocean. After a flurry of profanities and speculation that their genitalia may never recover, they chanted at the Ies, trying to lure them into following.
“I think I could use another skeleton in my closet.” Penny unzipped her dress and it fell to the sand at her feet. “Are you coming?”
His eyes fell with the dress and stopped at her red undergarments. “Uh-huh,” he managed.
She ran into the water, screaming before the cold took her breath away. Oliver stripped down to his boxers and chased after her.
Where Penny harbored a skeleton, Oliver washed himself clean. In water over their heads, they wrapped their arms and legs around each other for warmth, skin prickled with goose bumps, kicking to stay afloat, kissing to breathe. The waves pushed them in and pulled them out. The current drifted them back to waist-high water. Mitch, Joe, and the Ies catcalled at Oliver and Penny’s exposed upper halves. Penny sank down into the water to hide her now sheer bra, and Oliver kneeled with her. They either needed to move out further or leave the water altogether.
“I’m cold.” Penny shivered with purple lips.
“Me, too.”
“Will you hide me?”
Oliver sashayed up the beach, using his body to screen Penny’s. Mitch and Joe booed across the beach, and the Ies smacked and punched their chest and arms.
In the tent, Oliver and Penny wrapped each other in towels. She took another hefty swig of vodka and poured a little glug on his neck. He jumped.
“What the…”
She attacked his neck with her tongue, giggling.
“Oh, okay. That’s kind of wasteful. But for a good cause. It would probably work better with tequila. You know, with the ocean salt.”
Penny drizzled a glug on her own neck.
“I get it. You’re trying to shut me up.” He licked her neck.
She eased to the ground and sat on the sleeping bag like a cheerleader, legs folded to the side in two triangles. All that was missing were the pom-poms. And her clothes. She reached up and took Oliver’s hands, pulling him down.
“I’m really drunk,” he said. It wasn’t a lie. However, he’d been drunker in previous social situations and never needed to announce it.
“Me, too.” Penny kissed him. Her fingers ran along the band on his boxers.
He envisioned the future. He could close his eyes and let it happen. It would feel so good, so warm, so close. He opened his eyes, expecting to see Daphne. He jerked his head when Penny’s almond eyes leveled with his. Maybe he was drunker than he thought.
“Are you okay?” Her real question was Did I do something wrong?
“No.” He’d answered the wrong question. “I mean, yes.”
Oliver read the impending conversation in the crystal balls of her heavy eyes.
Let’s not do this, he’d say.
Why? Is it me? she’d ask.
It’s the opposite of you, he’d reassure, unsuccessfully.
She kissed him, and he tried kiss Daphne away, but she wasn’t leaving. Visions of their adventures in Joshua Tree, and Venice Beach, and Chinatown swirled in his closed eyes. His best friend was gone, and for a terrifying five seconds he had a lump in his throat that he couldn’t swallow around. He couldn’t even move his tongue to keep kissing Penny. Tears weren’t far behind. He needed to end the Daphne montages by ending the night, and he had two options—have sex with Penny or keep his proverbial pants on and try to spoon away her insecurity until sleep put them both out of their misery. The easier, former option pulled at him with astounding force.
“Oly?” Penny had noticed that his jaw had stopped moving.
“Yeah, I feel kind of woozy.” It was more of a croak than a sentence. He reclined onto the sleeping bag.
“Oh.” Surprise, failure, annoyance, relief, so many emotions rolled off of one syllable, a single vowel.
“I think I need to sleep.” He closed his eyes.
“Look who can’t handle their liquor,” she scoffed.
Tonight, he wasn’t handling anything particularly well. The evening deserved to end with him sleeping in the cold puddle of a lie. “I’m a lightweight.”
“Can I get you anything? Water?”
“No, just lay your beautiful self next to me.”
She rested her head on his chest. “You better not puke on me.”
“Oh, you’re not into that?” he laughed.
“Ew!” She jabbed her fist into the fleshy part of his side.
He closed his eyes and pulled her close. Her breath tickled his cheeks, and he could feel her eyes, closer than her mouth, questioning everything. He relaxed his arms, turned his head, and pretended to be asleep. After a few minutes, she settled against his ribs and his breathing fell into sync with hers.
The next morning, they woke to the chorus of the surf. Penny leaned onto Oliver’s bare chest and propped up her chin with her elbows. “I had a great time last night.”
This was the moment when Oliver should have climbed through the hangover déjà vu and gotten out of the tent.
I can’t do this.
I’m sorry, I think we should just be friends.
It’s the opposite of you. Really.
But Oliver was still trying to piece together where the ocean ended and last night’s dreams started. Penny had one foot in each. “Me, too.”
• • •
The day at Disneyland was a blur, as intended. Joe had borrowed his mom’s SUV so they could ride together and save gas money. Oliver tried to drive separately, but Joe gave him a glare that threatened their friendship, and Joe didn’t bluff. Fortunately, the Ies and Penny slept the whole way, and Oliver made a playlist that would keep Joe awake. Upon arrival, the crew chugged the leftover cooler contents, loaded up on gum and mints, and made their way into the park. Penny marked her territory with Oliver on each ride, holding his hand in line, kissing him to celebrate each passing minute, pulling him behind a bush and sucking on his ear. It was claustrophobic and, appropriately, Oliver’s world felt small (after all). He hadn’t had the we should just be friends talk. It was a difficult conversation to strike up when constantly surrounded by Mitch and Joe and the Ies. Every moment they were alone Penny countered by attaching her face to him.
Oliver bought her cotton candy as a distraction. “If the roller coaster got stuck upside down, what would be your biggest regret?” He wanted her to respond by asking him the same question.
“Uh, nothing, because they would get us down and we’d be fine.” She tore from the blue cloud of woven sugar.
“What if they could only save one of us, and you had to sacrifice your life to save mine?” He chuckled to soften the hypothetical. “Not that you owe me your life or anything.”
She groaned off the question. “Why are you a sad drunk, Oly?”
“I’m this sad sober, too.” He flashed her a somber smile that she refused to believe.
She tapped the inside of his knee with hers. “No, that isn’t who you are.”
Her words summoned the wind. The fog of uncertainty that had been surrounding Oliver dissipated into the immaculately cultivated grounds in every direction. The answer was clear, probably always had been, but he was finally able to see it. He wanted to be seen, wanted someone who wasn’t afraid to lift up his dark corners and dance in the soot. “All the good and all the bad.”
“What?” Penny was losing patience.
He didn’t have time to explain. “I have to go.”
“To the bathroom?” Worry flooded her eyes.
“Home. I’ll take a cab. I’ll pay for it, if you want to come. Please, come.”
Penny’s face blistered at his proposition. “You’re going to ditch me here?”
The fury in her voice pinched the nerves in his neck. He took a deep breath. “Penny, I’m so sorry. I can’t date you right now.” I didn’t realize, but there’s someone else, edited for cruelty.
“What?” Penny wasn’t used to rejection. Her undeveloped skill of hiding hurt, anger, and dismay allowed her emotions to take over the landscapes of her face.
The pain in his neck doubled. “I’m a huge asshole, I know. I hope we can be friends.”
“Seriously?”
“You can beat me with your cotton candy if you want.” He hoped suggesting physical harm upon himself would prove his sincerity. He was not expecting the empty gesture to fill his eyes with blue fluff and the edge of the cardboard cone to dig into his nose.
“We’re in the happiest place on Earth!” Her exasperation cried up to the sky.
He scraped the sugary cobweb off his face. “Well played. But, I mean it, Penny. I think you’re a cool person, and I’d like to be your friend.” The top layer of fibers had already melted onto his skin, staining his face with sugar. When he opened his eyes, Penny was gone. All the children and adults in his vicinity stared at him, the unexpected attraction of the day. They were unsure whether to laugh or show concern.
Oliver took off and weaved through the horde of sweating, sunburnt people, joyful barriers between him and the future. Through her irony, perhaps Penny was right about this being the happiest place on Earth. It all depended on who was standing next to you.
During the long ride home, Oliver tried to doze to pass the time, but his heart was in his stomach. The stickiness coating his face wasn’t helping. The cab pulled up to the Bowman residence. As usual, the empty driveway and yard offered no clues as to who was inside. Oliver stepped up to the door and rang the bell. He waited for Daphne to answer. After that, he didn’t know, didn’t care.
Instead, Daphne’s dad opened the door and the excitement circulating in Oliver’s chest dissipated. Tim looked nothing like Oliver had imagined, appearing both older and younger than his preconception. His forehead was etched with lines, but his eyes held the same blue youth as Daphne’s.
Tim’s face lit up in recognition and dimmed in correction, knowing and not knowing the face before him.
“I’m Oliver…Pagano.” Oliver cleared his throat. “I’d like to date your daughter. Please. Sir.”
Tim nodded, affirming his own sanity. He did know this face. “Jason’s brother. You look like him.”
The inevitable resemblance romanticized by memory. Oliver tucked his chin, his reflex at the mention of this curse that time couldn’t break. His eyes and bone structure would always be a mirror for Jason. Oliver’s reflection was the living remains.
“Both good-looking boys,” Tim continued.
“Thank you. But, I’m not much like Jason.” The theme of the last seven years bore repeating.
“You want to date my daughter. That makes you more like him than anything can make you unlike him.”
Oliver’s shoulders sagged. The Bowmans sure knew how to prove him wrong when it came to Jason.
Tim picked up on Oliver’s body language. “But, I understand what you’re saying. Would you like to come in?”
“No, I’m going to loiter on your doorstep, if you don’t mind.”
“Her mother and I will have to talk about her dating. It’s a contentious matter. As I’m sure you’re aware.”
Oliver nodded.
“You gave Daphne that drawing, with the mask and the knife?”
“She showed you that?”
“Her mom looks through her stuff,” Tim admitted.
Daphne hadn’t exaggerated the police state of her household.
Tim brushed off his remorse in parental fashion, as though it hadn’t existed. “You’re talented. Is that what you want to do after college? Work in art or design?”
The suggestion caught Oliver off guard. “I don’t know. I hadn’t considered it. Maybe.”
“Well, it was a great gift. She’s a fighter, that one. Stronger than any of us.”
“Yes, she is.”
“When Daphne was little and first started dressing herself, she would wait…” Tim paused, determining the least masochistic way to tell his story. He swallowed, but somehow his throat sounded drier than before. “She would wait until Emily ate breakfast to see what Emily was wearing and find the closest thing to it. Daphne marched up with her cereal bowl in her matching outfit and Emily would act so annoyed. But her mom and I saw right through it. Emily was flattered. She knew she was Daphne’s hero.”
Oliver smiled, thinking of the Emily-approved outfits Daphne still wore.
“Even now, I can’t believe how Emily knew that, and still…” Tim’s sympathetic glance fell on Oliver. “Well, you know better than anyone.”
Oliver hadn’t been placing himself in the context of Tim’s story. Jason hadn’t been his hero. He’d never dressed like Jason. They’d played video games together, but Oliver had adjusted to one-player games without sentimentality. Oliver only missed a few of the comic book titles he’d stopped buying after his brother’s death. And Jason had been a wrestler, a sport Oliver had no interest in.
Suddenly, the realization struck him. Baseball. Oliver had buried it. Something painful now radiated in the afternoon light.
Oliver had devoted his summers to baseball in grade school. He’d been an outstanding player, winning scholarships to various camps. Though baseball wasn’t Jason’s sport, he’d played catch with Oliver every time he’d asked, which had been virtually every day from March through October. Even on the dark days and the summer before the end, Jason had never protested. After Jason died, Oliver had continued to play for a while, but it wasn’t fun anymore. He stopped improving, stopped caring. His teammates caught up and surpassed his skill.
Oliver had always attributed this loss of interest to finding greater appeal in football and basketball—sports with cheerleaders. But it had all stemmed from Jason, from Jason’s absence in the backyard, Jason’s baseball mitt tucked away in a closet, collecting moths. The realization yanked Oliver’s breath from his throat.
“Daphne needed a hero…” The man in the doorway housed a monster of regret.
Oliver pretended not to notice that Tim was tearing up. The effort revived Oliver’s lungs. You could still be her hero. Oliver drove the words from his mind to his mouth but couldn’t get them out.
Tim bowed out as gracefully as the haunted can. “I don’t know when she’ll be home. But if you change your mind, the door’s open.”
“Thank you.” At that moment, Oliver was thankful for countless things, one of them being Jason.
Tim closed the door and left Oliver alone on the doorstep. He stared out into the front yard, never checking his phone, willing time to pass, judging the hours by the lowering of the sun in the sky, the yellow flame melding to orange and pink and purple.
The limo bus pulled into the driveway at the last shades of sunset. Daphne’s bare feet stepped down onto the concrete, her heels dangling by the straps clutched in her hand. Her blue-gray sheath bore the wrinkles of a fun night and a long day. A chorus of goodbyes spilled onto the driveway behind her. She laughed and waved at the bus, her shoes flopping around like puppets on strings.
Oliver clambered to his feet with stiff knees and a belly full of firecrackers. The movement on her porch caught Daphne’s eye. She didn’t pause or speed up en route to the front door. The fire under his ribs compelled him toward her.
As the bus backed out of the driveway, Janine’s voice shot through the cracked window and rolled across the lawn. “Stop!”
The limo bus screeched to a halt. Janine demanded with utmost seriousness, “Do not move this bus.”
The bus lurched on its wheels, shifting into park. Behind Daphne’s head, Oliver noticed the shadows of dark faces against the window, a captive audience for his lawn theater. Daphne kept a safe distance between the two of them. Oliver estimated the space to be the length of her arm plus the length of the shoes and their straps, should she be tempted to use them as weapons like Penny had.
In the hours spent waiting on her doorstep, Oliver had come up with three things he could say. With each step toward her, he’d left them behind, one by one, flattened beneath his shoes crunching on the grass. If she wanted an explanation, he could supply it later. “Can I be your boyfriend?”
The comeback flashed across her forehead: I don’t know, can you? She searched his eyes for the truth, waiting for him to rescind his words, erase the mistake, as he’d done so many times before. Before she could question any longer or louder with her bright eyes, he closed them by stepping into her with a kiss. Their mouths pressed and pulled. With each movement, the weight from the last seven years lifted off his shoulders. His hand reached to her face and caressed her jawline. Her shoes clattered on the driveway as her hands moved to his chest, her body fitted against his.
The kiss ended on its own terms, her soft lips brushing against his one final time. Excessive whooping filled the bus, to the point where the driver had to open the door to let the noise escape into the evening breeze. Oliver hung his head, a deep blush conquering his cheeks. Daphne flashed ten fingers behind her, wiggling them against her tailbone. He knew it meant something good.
“That’s right, baby. Nothing less!” Janine yelled from the bus doorway. Behind her, Mel laughed. She looped her arms around Janine’s waist and kissed her neck. The door closed, leaving them in silhouette as the bus eased onto the street and into the sunset.
Daphne stood still. She and Oliver looked at each other like they were new people. “Your eyebrows and eyelashes are blue,” she said.
“I got what I deserved.”
She stuck out her lower lip but decided against further questioning.
“Want to go for a walk?” he asked.
The enthusiasm in Daphne’s nod suggested that if he’d asked her to trek to the nearest landfill and dig for pennies, she’d have the same reaction.
“Let me change.” She went inside.
“I’ll be here.”
Oliver waited for half an hour before Daphne reappeared in a T-shirt, jeans, and the Emily boots.
“High maintenance,” he quipped.
“I had to call my mom, make sure we’re all on the same page about me going for a stroll with someone of the opposite sex. I don’t even remember what I had to sign away to be standing here right now.”
“But you’re here.”
“I’m here.”
He took her hand. Their fingers fit together as though they were designed for this very moment.
• • •
Oliver prepped in the mirror for his first real date with Daphne—dinner and a movie on a school night, another step into adulthood. His lungs prickled in a good way, like he was grabbing the world and holding on for the ride. He celebrated the special occasion by working extra texturizer through his hair.
As Oliver crossed Daphne’s yard, the static in his chest hardened to lead. The front door floated ajar, creaking with the draft. Oliver stepped back and gave the house a once-over. All the windows, and the garage door, were closed. Everything appeared normal. He pushed the front door open and poked his head inside. “Hello?”
The sound of shuffling feet and the hiss of running water came from the kitchen, but he couldn’t see anything. He tiptoed through the living room. Only a sliver of the kitchen was visible through the crack of the doorway, but he made out reddish, syrupy splotches on the floor. With each step, they grew redder. Blood. A butcher’s knife rested beside the sink. Daphne was the pair of feet, darting across the doorway.
He charged over, too scared to call out her name. When he reached the doorway, the sight of blood stopped him in his tracks. The larger-than-expected quantity of it was drizzled all over the floor, the counter, and the sink. Against the blue-red, the tile brightened to avalanche white.
Daphne opened and slammed drawers, leaving bloody smears on the wood. Her T-shirt quivered between her shoulder blades, and her breath sounded as though it was being wrenched from her throat. Oliver stepped straight through the chaos to reach her. He grabbed her arms and turned up her wrists. The skin was unscathed, blue veins under blood-crusted skin. His relief came out in a curt exhalation, the first time his lungs had worked since discovering the open front door.
Daphne’s eyes shot up to meet his. “It’s from my dad.” She shook off Oliver’s hands. “He’s in the garage.” She grabbed a stack of dish towels from the drawer.
“I didn’t…I saw all the blood, the knife…”
She turned off the faucet. “A knife in a kitchen. Imagine.” It sounded more like spitting than words.
The scream of the approaching siren startled them both.
“Stay here.” She bolted out the door connecting the house to the garage.
Voices murmured through the wall and Oliver heard the garage door grind up. He lingered in the kitchen for a few minutes. He thought he might be sick. To distract himself, he moved to a clean patch of tile, streaking it crimson with the bottoms of his shoes.
Oliver had never been good at following instructions, and he needed air. He removed his shoes, crossed the carpet, and waited on the driveway. It occurred to him that he was watching this gruesome scene play out mere feet from where his brother had died. He kneeled and hung his head to keep from vomiting.
Under the fluorescent lights in the garage, Tim’s pale face was ghoulish green. His blue eyes lost all resemblance to Daphne’s as they drifted around the room. Blotches of pink emerged through the bandages on the underside of his left forearm and in the crease of his palm. He wobbled on his feet and made strange sounds that never took the shape of words. The paramedics struggled to load him on the gurney.
“No, don’t try to walk, Dad. Sit down.” Daphne was the adult, as usual, injecting normalcy into the situation. Tim protested with incoherent babble but resigned himself to the gurney. The metal creaked in acceptance.
Daphne’s face pulled taut, ready to snap when no one was looking. She followed the gurney into the sundown spectacle. Neighbors gathered where the base of the driveway met the road. Their whispers crept over the boundary of the street. Oliver met Daphne halfway down the driveway, watching the gurney legs lurch up and slide into the ambulance. He doubted that in the past five minutes she’d forgiven him for insinuating that she was suicidal and/or accident prone, so he didn’t try to hold her hand. He brushed her arm so she would know he was there. Her stillness hinted that she’d already discerned his presence.
“It’s just like that night. I was right here. The ambulance.” Her voice was simultaneously thick and light. She almost sounded drunk.
He wanted to say the thing that she would say to him if their worlds were reversed. He scrambled through the sage ridges of his intellect, empty and out of time. His response was inadequate but necessary. “He’s going to be fine, Daph.”
His words mended no wounds and her eyes pitied him. She climbed into the ambulance. Oliver wasn’t sure what he’d failed at, but he was determined to fail better. “I’ll be waiting at the hospital.”
The ambulance doors closed on her distraught face. The vehicle pulled away, graciously waiting a block before igniting its siren. Oliver dragged a garden hose from the side of the house and sprayed down the garage and driveway. The neighbors scattered, nothing to see lest their toes be stained with blood.
He knew which hospital to go to; he’d been there before. Oliver sat in the waiting room for an hour listening to the squeak of shoes on the never-quite-clean floor. The last time he’d sat in this room was the night Jason died. Oliver had rushed to the hospital in a similar manner. It was the only time that he’d ridden in his parents’ car without wearing a seatbelt. Not comprehending the severity of the situation, his mom and dad downplaying expertly, Oliver had relished the rogue adrenaline of avoiding the belt and buckle. They hadn’t noticed his liberated shoulders jostling against the backseat, his body open and susceptible to injury. The price of freedom.
At the hospital, his parents had been quiet. They had cried, but not overtly. They must have sensed Jason was gone before getting confirmation and held it together for Oliver so as to not upset him. He loved and hated them for this. In one sense, he hadn’t been scarred by their cries for the rest of his days. On the other hand, for the duration of his parents’ lives, he would have to hold his wits about him under terrible circumstances when all he wanted to do was crumble and let them sweep up his wreckage.
When he spotted Daphne walking down the hall, he jogged to meet her arms. The way they clamped onto his back before he came to a full stop restored his faith in himself.
“I’m sorry.” For your deadbeat dad, and for accidentally thinking you were trying to off yourself. He squeezed her tighter.
“My mom’s here. We’re only all together if something bad happens.”
“Want to get out of here for a few?” It was a well-intentioned, yet selfish, request.
“I can’t leave.”
“Maybe some food?”
She nodded, and her chin dug into where his neck met his shoulder.
In the hospital cafeteria, they each took a tray and shuffled through the long, eclectic line: bereaved visitors ceding to sustenance, staff wishing they’d packed a dinner, and patients proving they could feed themselves in hopes of release.
Oliver hadn’t eaten a cafeteria lunch since sophomore year. If he put on blinders and didn’t breathe through his nose, he could pretend they’d travelled back in time and he and Daphne were in the school lunch line. He settled on a chicken cutlet, mashed potatoes, and corn. But not just any corn—magical cafeteria corn that’s bathed in a top secret substance so it tastes unlike corn or anything else on Earth. His nostalgia was quickly overpowered by the scent of bleach.
Daphne played it safe and plopped a premade tuna salad sandwich on her tray. “He lost a lot of blood, but he’ll be okay. Maybe some nerve damage in his hand.”
They were nearly to the cashier when Daphne stopped moving with the pull of the line. Her lips quivered, and the trembling spread to her jaw and downward. The silverware clattered on her tray. Oliver didn’t hug her, fearful that he might break a seal that needed to stay intact. She was on the brink but still holding together.
“Hey, it’s okay. You’ll feel better after you eat.” He dumped the contents of her tray onto his and pushed against her so she slid the final few steps to the cashier. The seal broke. Her hands sprang to her face, sobs leaking through the seam where her pinkies met. The cashier gave Oliver a concerned look while she counted his change.
He wrapped his free arm around Daphne and led her to a table near a window so she could face outside. He moved his chair close to hers, and she lowered her shield. The capillaries under her eyes and around her nose looked like they’d been drawn on by a spider with a red pen at the end of each of its legs. And there was black makeup everywhere.
He’d seen her cry before, been the cause of the tears. Those tears had tumbled down her cheeks with grace, as effortless as drawing breath. These tears possessed her, unwilling to relent until they had all been cried out. He knew it was partially his fault. There was nothing he could do to make it better, to make it go away. He was just as helpless now as he’d been at eleven years old, in this same hospital. History was repeating itself, and it wasn’t easier the second time around. Seven years’ worth of tears were building in his eyes, too.
His instinct was to resist, hold his eyes open to dry them out, but it wasn’t working. He wanted to appreciate the breakthrough, the fete of experiencing something that moved him to tears. The truth was he hated himself for crying at this moment. He hadn’t cried since Tricia’s breakup letter, head buried in his pillow. Now, in public, in front of the one person he needed to be strong for, he was falling apart.
“I thought you knew me.” She looked straight through him.
“I know you.” A tear licked against his cheek and the sensation was so foreign it startled him.
“You thought I’d slashed my wrists. You thought I was like them. Because I told you I was scared of becoming mentally ill. I never should’ve told you that.”
“No. You were standing in all the blood. There was so much blood. I lost my mind.” A goatee of tears collected on his chin.
Daphne grabbed his hand, which meant his face looked more discombobulated than hers. With her touch, he let go. The embarrassment washed away with the deluge of tears. Empty and full and free.
“You don’t want this. Tears in a hospital cafeteria.” Her self-deprecation couldn’t camouflage the fear. She thought he was going to break up with her.
He did his best to not sound insulted. “Daph, this wet face I’m sporting, it’s been a long time coming and it feels kind of amazing.”
“I don’t know if I believe you.”
“Why would I lie?” he asked.
“Why would you tell the truth?” Daphne responded.
“Because it’s what we do, you and me. We’re slayers of the truth.”
Her eyes sparked with something he couldn’t identify, another mystery for another day.
“This isn’t a breakup meal.” He wiped his nose.
“You do that? Breakup meals?” She took a bite of her sandwich as an excuse not to hold his hand or look at him.
“It’s happened. Usually unintentionally.”
“Usually.” Daphne rolled her eyes.
“Is this how we fight? You lift a word or phrase that I’ve said and roll your eyes?”
She caught herself rolling her eyes again and almost smiled.
He smirked. “I like it. And you’ve mastered it.”
“We’re not fighting.”
“And I’m not breaking up with you.”
“Okay.” Even if she believed him, she still couldn’t look at him. “My dad decided to prune the shrubs with the electric trimmer. While wasted.”
“Shit.”
“He slashed his wrist and nearly lost a finger. He says it was an accident, but you can form your own conclusions. And he’s blaming it on poor gardening skills.” Her eyes were dry, but she was inconsolable. At least her sandwich was gone.
“Look, you’ll be out of here soon. One more summer, and you’ll be away from them all.” And from me. It was almost enough to send another tear down his face. He swallowed against it.
Daphne’s gaze met his. She’d added the from me as well. Maybe this whole meltdown was equal parts pruning incident and their own severed nerves. Daphne didn’t have it all figured out anymore.
He welcomed her to his world with a wistful grin and a shrug. “And your parents only have so many limbs they can cut off, so there’s a light at the end of the bloody tunnel.”
Daphne smiled, nearly laughed. Every piece of Oliver went warm.
“Can I have some of your corn?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe you should be punished for ordering poorly.”
She dug her fork into his plate. “What do you want for ordering wisely?”
“Nothing I don’t already have.”
“I’m sure you can come up with something.” She winked, and his heart leapt. He had a few ideas, but he kept them to himself while he let her eat all of his corn.
The fatigue of the evening set in and smothered the playfulness between them. They cleared their trays and an empty elevator whisked them downstairs. The fantasy of time travel to a shared school cafeteria dissipated when the elevator doors opened to real life. Daphne dropped his hand in the waiting room.
“Do you want me to go in with you?” he asked.
“No. Thanks. I’m sorry you had to see him like that. It’s him, but it’s not him. But it’s him. I wish you would’ve known him…before.”
“You wouldn’t be nearly as interesting. I probably wouldn’t like you at all. I know you wouldn’t like me.”
“I barely like you now.” Her mouth tilted slyly.
“Exactly.” He’d said all the right things and meant every word. He was learning. She kissed him goodbye and it was better than the sidewalk after Joshua Tree or the driveway after prom.
Oliver went home and sought out his parents. They were combing through design books in bed.
“Goodnight.”
He could tell by their incredulous expressions that they questioned his motives. His dad recovered, not wanting to scare off the rare sighting of their son after dark. “Goodnight, Oly.”
“How was the date?” His mom asked.
“Fine.” Oliver took a step to walk away but turned back. “No, it was great.”
His parents both smiled, sharing his excitement.
“Goodnight.” He headed to his room.
“Sweet dreams,” his mom called down the hall.
Oliver followed her advice.
• • •
While Tim healed, at least superficially, a full calendar of social activities distracted both Oliver and Daphne from the present and the future. They also gave Oliver the opportunity to earn Janine’s approval. Daphne’s best friend made little attempt to hide her skepticism. Janine was as friendly as she needed to be, and he would have to prove the rest. He finally won her heart with the suggestion of a norae bong outing. She even punched him in the shoulder, a little too hard. And Daphne was impressed at his attempt to make a positive memory out of the prom miss. The sore shoulder was worth it.
Singing in the small, dark room, Oliver was endeared to The Drama Crew for life. Or at least until the end of the summer, but he was trying not to think about that. He focused on the dancing faces surrounding him, the best one with her face next to his, matching his volume into the microphone. He and Daphne Bowman were an entity forged by depth and time, a shared tragedy and a quest to make sense out of the misunderstood. Now they were also bound by bad pop music.
The list resumed. Daphne pointed out with disdain that running with the bulls had been a Jason contribution, and Oliver couldn’t disagree.
Daphne scowled. “Cows freak me out. I don’t like looking something in the eye before I eat or wear it. I couldn’t even look at the chicken suit without a pang of guilt.”
“The running of the bulls is their chance to eat you back.”
“I’m a girl, I’m not allowed to run with them. Sexist bulls.”
“Let’s have a different Spanish celebration,” he said. His lips spread to a wide, devious grin.
“That look in your eye scares me.”
“It should.”
That Saturday, Oliver’s enclosed backyard became a warzone, and Daphne the first victim. He delivered the shot quickly and accurately. She moaned and touched the gash beneath her ribcage, squinting down at the smattering of orange-red coating her fingers. Blood and seedy guts oozed from her shirt, dripping down her leg. When her eyes rolled up to him, for a split second, he was actually afraid.
“You’re going to pay for that Oliver Pagano,” she growled.
Daphne tightened her grip on the weapon and launched the tomato with a piercing war cry. The intimidation worked. His knees locked when they couldn’t decide which way to run. The tomato pegged him square in the shoulder, the entrails squirting his face.
“Ah, my eye!”
The impact jolted the contents of his brain, making space for today’s date. It thudded against his skull: April 28th. He’d forgotten Jason’s birthday, the one day of the year he allowed happy memories of his brother and Emily.
Jason hasn’t made it through the front door before Oliver bounces into his personal space.
“Can we play catch?” Oliver steps on Jason’s toes.
“Ow! Dude, stop. Maybe later.”
“Please!”
“I have to take a shower.” Jason pulls the soaking wet Quickee Car Wash T-shirt away from his stomach. When he lets go, the fabric sucks back against his skin.
“Now! Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease…”
“Fine,” Jason says.
Oliver grabs his hand and leads him to the backyard.
“Surprise!” The backyard ignites. Thirty bodies spring to life. Party hats and streamers catch the sun’s glare. The entire wrestling team turns “Happy Birthday” into a raucous fight song, cheering after every line. Oliver’s parents join in. They light sparklers and make yellow magic against the evening sky. Emily stands front and center, a sheepish swivel in her hips.
Jason smiles, genuinely surprised. Oliver looks up to him, expecting acknowledgment for his pivotal role, but Jason only sees Emily.
“The look on your face,” she laughs. “Happy birthday to me.”
“You did this?” Jason asks.
She shrugs, nods, blushes.
“I hate you,” he says, but his voice speaks the opposite.
“I hate you, too.” She wraps her arms around him, he squeezes her tight. She whispers into his ear.
Daphne’s whisper from New Year’s tickled Oliver’s ear drum. “You’re afraid of falling in love with me.”
He stood in the midst of a different celebration, holding a tomato. Daphne crept toward him, a fierce creature, seething, ready to kill him with love. Countering her steps, he let the fear pass over him in the shadow of a cloud. Today wouldn’t be about Jason. Or Emily. Maybe next year.
“It stings!” Oliver blinked like a demented flirt and massaged his eye socket.
Daphne granted him no mercy and pelted Oliver with three more tomatoes when he turned his back to clean out his stinging eye. Janine nailed him with one on the ass for good measure before hurdling over lawn furniture like an Amazon warrior. She charged toward Mitch, Joe, and the Ies, stunned in a huddle against the fence after witnessing Daphne and Oliver’s gore. Behind Janine, Mel and The Drama Crew followed, armed with heirlooms.
Mitch and Joe reciprocated, hurling a few tomatoes at the advance with glancing wounds. Mitch and Joe scattered and drew The Drama Crew after them, leaving Janine to prey on the weak. The Ies shrieked and ducked, but it was too late. Red grenades blasted against their bowed heads, dyeing their hair red. They whimpered and groaned in a fabricated way that sounded more like achievement than pain. Janine punished them for lying with two more tomatoes to the back.
“Don’t be victims! Throw your damn tomatoes!” drill sergeant Janine screamed at them. Mandie grunted and threw a tomato. It floated five feet to Janine’s right and nearly took out a sparrow on the bird bath.
“You will never survive the zombie apocalypse,” Janine shouted.
Thunk! The left half of Janine’s face oozed red. No one was more surprised than Jamie, who beheld her empty hand in wonder. In their smartest move yet, the giggling Ies retreated to the other side of the yard before Janine could retaliate. She scraped the seedy muck off her hair and flung it to the ground.
“Baby birdie’s learned to fly,” Janine snarled, a proud predator. She raised her arm, ready to attack the nearest running body, which happened to be Mel. They blasted each other at the same time, all is fair in love and war.
Coral streaks arched over the backyard, bloody rainbows ending in sickening splats. Red-splotched bodies staggered across the lawn in the warped game of tag. Howls of laughter called up to the sky, a prayer and an answer.