AS ZOEY WAS SIGNING THE letter, Claire was riding her bike the eight blocks from her house to Jake’s. She stuck to the shore along the rocks, going past the dock and along the beach before turning into the steep driveway. It was too steep to ride her bike without getting hot and sweaty, so she leaned it against the McRoyans’ mailbox and walked the rest of the way to the house.
She knocked at the front door and stood there on the porch, swatting away the flies that buzzed around the porch light. There was no answer, and when Claire looked, she noticed that there were no lights on inside.
She walked around the house, following the path past the garbage cans to the lower level where Jake’s basement room opened onto the patio. Light spilled from his room.
“Claire?”
Nina’s voice. She had come from the other direction, appearing through the bushes.
“What are you doing here?” Claire asked.
Nina grabbed her and pulled her away, out of the pool of light from Jake’s room. “What am I doing here? What are you doing here?”
“I’m stopping by to see Jake,” Claire said calmly.
“You’re stopping by to see Jake,” Nina echoed incredulously. “Since when do you stop by to see Jake?”
“Since he asked for my history notes.”
“Puh-leeze.”
“You know, I don’t have to check with you before I stop off and see a friend,” Claire said icily. “But since you’ve poked your nose into my business, how about if you tell me why you’re here?”
“Just passing by,” Nina said.
But Claire noticed a white envelope stuck in the waistband of her sister’s shorts. “What’s that?”
“Nothing,” Nina said instantly.
Claire laughed. Nina never had learned the knack of lying very well. “Okay, you don’t have to tell me. But I’ll bet it’s something from Zoey.”
Nina’s eyes flared in unwilling acknowledgment.
“What, some mushy letter? Is she apologizing for making him look pathetic in front of the whole student body?”
“Does Benjamin know you’re visiting Jake in his bedroom at night?” Nina asked sharply.
“I don’t think so,” Claire said.
“I bet he would be a little suspicious if he did,” Nina said.
Claire made a wry smile. “Benjamin is always suspicious of one thing or another.” She started to walk away, but Nina held her back.
“Claire, this is pretty sleazy, don’t you think? Even for you. I mean, I don’t even know if Zoey and Jake have officially broken up yet. And I know you haven’t officially broken up with Benjamin.”
“I’m just stopping by to give Jake my history notes,” Claire said flatly. “Besides, Nina, I know how happy you’d be if I did break up with Benjamin, so don’t try throwing that in my face.”
“What are you talking about?” Nina demanded, a little too shrilly.
“Give me a break. Benjamin’s the one who’s blind, I’m not. I know you’re all hot for him.” She walked away, relieved that Nina said nothing further to stop her.
Well, that had been a piece of unfortunate luck. Nina was sure to tell Zoey, and she might even work up the nerve to tell Benjamin.
On the other hand, so what? These were minor secrets, in the grand scheme of things. As long as she could keep the real secret from all of them, everything would be all right.
Jake sat on his bed, staring at a dusty cardboard box, and took a long swallow from the beer. It was lukewarm, from one of the cases his dad kept in a corner of the unfinished rec room for times when he had a bunch of people over for a barbecue.
Two empties lay crumpled in his trash basket. A third empty lay on its side on the floor.
He took the lid from the cardboard box and sneezed at the dust that rose from it. The box was marked JAKE’S JUNK in black Magic Marker. He turned it over, spilling the contents onto his comforter. A Red Sox pennant, from the time Wade and he drove all the way down to Boston to watch a game, just the two of them. Come to think of it, that had been the first time he’d ever had a whole beer. Wade had used his fake ID to buy them some. By the end of the game, it was Jake who’d had to drive all the way home, even though he was just fifteen and didn’t have so much as a learner’s permit.
Great day. The only time he’d gone to a ball game with Wade. Great day.
He drank some more of his beer, ignoring the sour taste, and opened a scrapbook. Newspaper clippings of Wade when he was the star full-back on the Weymouth High football team. A photo of the whole team together, Wade right at the front, looking cocky, as always. A ticket from Wade’s junior prom. He was dead before his senior prom.
And the newspaper article about the accident, a sort of dividing line in the scrapbook. Before that article, most of the stuff was Wade’s. After, it turned to pictures of Jake himself, standing with the whole team and looking cocky.
A ticket from his own junior prom. He had taken Zoey, of course.
He finished the fourth beer and fumbled on the floor for the next one, cracked it open, and grimaced as he swallowed.
Zoey, of course.
He didn’t dance very well, couldn’t seem to keep track of the rhythm, and anyway he looked like a big trained bear wearing a suit or tuxedo, but Zoey had never minded.
Well, maybe she had. Maybe that was it. Maybe she was tired of dancing with a big trained bear who couldn’t keep the beat. Maybe that was it. Maybe.
There was the picture of them together in front of a snowman they’d made in the circle. They were both wrapped in parkas and hats and laughing out clouds of steam.
And there they were on Town Beach, the ferry in the background. He was lifting her up, holding her in his arms, and she was smiling and laughing. Of course, Ninny had taken the picture, so most of his head had been cut off.
He closed the book and rocked forward, not caring that tears were rolling down his cheeks. He couldn’t look at any more pictures. He wasn’t drunk enough yet to think about her. He might never be drunk enough.
It took several seconds for him to realize that someone was tapping at his sliding glass door.
Zoey. Only Zoey came this way, straight to the sliding glass door.
He got up and forced himself to walk slowly to the door. If she thought she could just come and apologize and right away he’d take her back . . . well, she should think again. He wasn’t going to let her off the hook that easily.
He wiped his face and slid open the door, forming a cold, forbidding expression on his face.
“Hi, Jake.”
He stared, wondering if the beer was distorting his vision. “Claire?” he said at last.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m sorry I’m not Zoey.”
“I’m not,” he said.
“Can I come in? I knocked upstairs at the front door, but—”
“My folks and my sister are over in Weymouth at some movie.”
Claire glanced at the pile of mementos on his bed. “I don’t want to interrupt you if you’re busy,” she said.
“Just junk,” Jake said. He swept it back into the box and dropped the box onto the floor. He looked around uncertainly. The only chair he had was over by his desk. But Claire solved the problem by sitting at the end of his bed. He sat at the head, crossing his legs.
“I just mostly stopped by to tell you how sorry I am about you and Zoey,” Claire said.
Jake nodded. It was safer than trying to speak on the subject of Zoey. He found the last beer of the six-pack and held it out for her.
“No, thanks. I haven’t been interested much in drinking since . . . you know, since the accident.”
“Well, I never drink and drive,” Jake said. “I’m not Lucas.” The name made him crumple the can in his hand. Some of the beer spurted out of the top and he drank it before it could stain the bed.
“No, you’re definitely not Lucas,” Claire said.
He looked at her sharply.
Claire smiled. “I mean, you know how I feel about Lucas. I can’t understand why his father hasn’t gotten rid of him yet.” She leaned closer and put her hand on his. “Are you okay?”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to still the quaver in his voice. “Yeah, I’m fine. It was just kind of a surprise, was all.”
He fell silent, slipping back down into darkness, memories of Zoey, always laughing or smiling. That’s how he thought of her. Always smiling, always so small in his arms.
“It’s tough,” Claire said, interrupting his thoughts.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I said, it’s tough. Losing a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend,” she added with a wry smile. “I mean, I’ve lost a few of those over the years. Remember that guy Rick I used to go out with in eighth grade?”
“Yeah. Whatever happened to old Rick? What happens to old boyfriends when their girlfriends dump them?”
“He started going out with Courtney Howard. They’ve been together ever since.”
Jake smiled ruefully. “So what you’re telling me is don’t worry, there are other girls?”
“I thought I was being more subtle than that,” Claire said.
Jake smiled, but the smile couldn’t last. His face fell, and Claire’s eyes grew sad and sympathetic. She moved closer, sitting beside him, and put her arm around his shoulders.
“It’s okay if you want to be sad, Jake,” she said softly. “I won’t like you any less if you cry. And I would never tell anyone. I’m good at keeping secrets.”
Jake let her pull his head against her shoulder, and his tears did run down onto the white cotton of her blouse.
For a long time they lay that way, silent. Jake felt waves of bitterness, waves of anger, followed in turn by terrible sadness, loneliness.
Except that in his loneliness he felt Claire’s warmth beside him. Felt her arm around him. Even, to his embarrassment, felt the soft swell of her breasts.
Soon the tears dried up. That’s enough, he told himself. Enough tears for Zoey. Right now Zoey was probably in Lucas’s arms, kissing that creep. And he doubted very much that she was even sparing a moment’s thought for him.
Strange what you learned about people. He would never have guessed that Zoey could be so cold-blooded.
And he would never have guessed that Claire could be so sympathetic.
“Thanks for coming over,” he said, looking up into her dark eyes. The first words spoken in a long time.
“Anytime, Jake,” she whispered.
Her mouth was so close to his that he could feel the words. So sweet to hear his name from her lips. So nice to be this close, to know that he wasn’t really all alone.
Her lips were different from Zoey’s. Fuller, softer, yet more forceful. It was she who kissed him, she who parted his lips with hers.
They had kissed once before, a long time ago, it seemed. Back then, he had been overwhelmed by feelings of guilt. Now it was as if all the life that had drained out of him came rushing back. And guilt wasn’t even a memory.