The next week fades like the sea engulfed in fog. Jax and I meet whenever Matthew texts, but it’s the same thing: that he’s sorry. That he had to play along with the Herons, same way I’m playing along with the Stags. The last text stops me short.
“I’m not pretending,” I tell Jax as he hands me the phone to respond. Jax decided I should continue to respond so nothing looks suspicious.
“I know.” He sips a dark beer. “You giving me this is enough.”
I type my reply:
I saw what I did. You’ve been lying to me this whole time.
It doesn’t feel good to have Jax privy to this—my heartbreak making me feel like I’ve been hollowed out—but I let the betrayal win. Matthew has to be out of my life if I’m going to find Leo’s killer.
I hand the phone back to him and go.
Days tick by, but I stay focused. I stop wondering if Matthew’s texted back, or if Jax is responding as me. I go out and tag with the others whenever Jax lets us. I stop calling home. I work out even more, using the exertion to keep me grounded. Nianna even lets me join her for morning yoga, but only after I ask three or four times. Now that Matthew’s completely lost my attention, I’ve found it easier to bond with the Stags. I’m bolder, more forward with my attempts to click with them. So far, I think it’s working.
By the time February arrives, I’m a sharper shot and have more or less memorized all the faces in the binders. There’s one week of nothing but rain, keeping us indoors. Mako finds a deck of playing cards in one of the boxes downstairs. He, Kate, and I sit in a circle on the floor, our wineglasses nearby. After a couple rounds of Egyptian War, I offer to teach them a game called Hotel.
“So many rules,” Mako says, chuckling as I shuffle the cards after a practice round.
“It gets easier,” I say. “One or two rounds and it makes sense.”
“Why’s it called Hotel?” Kate asks.
“Technically it’s ‘Oh, Hell.’” I deal out the cards. “But we couldn’t say that around my brother, so we made it Hotel.”
Kate smiles. “Your kid brother played this? Dang. Babe, we gotta step it up.”
“Leo was really smart,” I say. “He could do almost all his homework by himself. After I nagged him, of course.”
“Dang, that’s a good kid,” Mako says. “I hated homework.”
I feel my chest begin to tighten. Kate shifts so she’s scooted closer to Mako’s chest. “I’m really sorry he died. How he did,” she says. “It’s not fair.”
I meet her eyes and wonder if she’s thinking about her mom. “No, it’s not.”
Nianna strides in from the kitchen, a sheen of sweat across her brow.
“Good workout?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she replies, voice breathy.
“That’s a cute top,” Kate says. “Nice color on you.”
Nianna looks down at the green workout shirt. Kate’s right—the verdant shade complements her skin tone. “Thanks, dude. Theresa sent it to me.”
“Ooh, what brand?” Kate raises her eyebrows. “Like, Prada gym clothes?”
“Didn’t recognize it.”
“Probably some fancy French label.”
“Knowing Theresa, probably. What are you guys playing?”
“Hotel,” I answer. “Wanna play?”
She opts to go shower instead, and the rest of us resume playing.
“Damn. I want to be Theresa,” Kate says, her eyes alight. “She’s, like, crazy rich. And beautiful.”
“Not as beautiful as you,” Mako chimes in, earning him a smile and playful smack from Kate.
“I guess she hasn’t been around in a while,” Kate goes on. “Nianna’s met her a few times, me and Mako just once. We’re overdue.”
Overdue. Like the devastating earthquake every geologist in California says is coming, but I keep that to myself. The way they all talk about Theresa puts me on edge, like it’s some royal visitation, but it makes me curious, too.
Nianna comes back out and sits with the rest of us. I deal her in, and we spend the rest of the afternoon bidding on rounds of cards and shouting at each other when we lose. I win the first two games easily, but Nianna gives me a run for my money on the third.
“Dammit,” Kate says as she throws her cards down. “I thought I was getting it.”
“It takes a bit of time,” I say reassuringly, but she’s already getting up. “And it’s just a game.”
“Whatever” is her reply. “I’m probably just too stupid to get it.”
“Hey,” says Mako, just as I say, “Kate, that’s not true.”
The door to her room slams, and I try and distract myself from the ugly pit in my stomach by gathering the cards back up. Mako goes after her and comes back a few minutes later, looking dejected as a kicked dog.
“Is she okay?” I ask.
He takes a huge breath. “She’ll be fine. Just went to take a nap.” He finds the beer she was drinking and finishes it in one gulp.
“I know this might not be my place,” I say quietly. “But have you guys ever talked about her seeing a therapist?”
Mako nods. “She doesn’t want to go.”
“I think it could really help her.”
“So do I,” he says. “I bring it up sometimes, but she says she’s not ready.”
I set the deck aside. “Okay. Let us know if we can help ever.” Next to me, Nianna nods her assent.
“Thanks,” he replies. “It’s fine, though.”
Nianna gets another bottle of wine, and slowly the conversation turns from somber to normal.
“This is kind of a weird question,” I say, once we’re a glass or two in. “But how did you guys find me that night I was recruited? Like, did you know I was going to SFO?”
“Oh, God,” Nianna says. “We staked out your place for hours. Seriously, Val, who stays home all day on their birthday?” She waves her hand emptily, smiling. “Anyway. We waited. Mako here was about ready to just call your house and creepily tell you to come outside.”
“No, I said a doorbell ditch,” he interjects. “I wanted to leave a note to tell you to come outside.”
“Whatever,” she replies. “When you finally left, we followed you. Jules, Cameron, and Kurt stayed behind in case we lost you.”
“Worked out though,” Mako says. “We got you in the end, didn’t we?”
Something about hearing the word we is so comforting. I’m part of this now.
When we finally call it a night, I head to the basement feeling really good—slowly but surely, I’m fitting in. Jax has to see that.
I’m so close, Leo. I’m not sure what he would think of me, think of this. But I hope he’s looking down on me, proud.
I’m not standing still anymore, and I’ll never just stand still again.
The rain finally lets up, and Nianna and I go to the Mission to hang up some Stag posters and tag, if we can. I still feel nervous being alone with her after she yelled at me about not really being a Stag, but we’re both desperate enough to get out of the house for a while that when Jax gives the okay to Nianna, she doesn’t object when I invite myself along. She invites Kate, too, but she didn’t want to get out of bed.
“I’m worried about her,” I tell Nianna as we lock the door behind us.
“Yeah,” she replies. “Me, too. She comes and goes.”
We take the train and exit at Sixteenth and Mission. A billboard announcing that the SFPD is hiring has been marked up with black and red paint, mustaches and googly eyes drawn over the faces of the officers. Their motto reads: ORO EN PAZ, FIERRO EN GUERRA. Gold in peace, iron in war.
We walk up Sixteenth and I catch the smells of melted cheese and warm dough from the pupusería in front of us. My mouth waters. “Do you want to get food?”
Nianna gives a half shrug. “Sure.”
We get a table facing the street. I order three pupusas—two mushroom and cheese and the other just chicken. I usually just get two, but I am in the mood to stress-stuff my face with greasy food.
“I don’t think I’ve eaten here before,” Nianna says.
Leo loved this place, I want to say, but it comes out, “They fixed it up since I was last here.”
The waitress brings us our plates just as I’m tugging my hair into a ponytail—the stuffy air is making me sweat. The pupusas shine with marvelous grease.
Nianna takes a bite. Her eyes go wide. “Holy shit.”
“Told you. The best.”
The sound of cars rolling by carries in from the street as we eat. From somewhere far-off, a siren wails. I finish the chicken pupusa and move on to the other ones. Nianna refills both of our waters. Not for the first time, I admire the tattoo on Nianna’s wrist. An arrow suits her: always looking forward, always looking to make her mark.
“What do you think you’ll do after the Wars?” I ask. “What’s your after?”
She slouches down and thinks. “There’s never been an after in my head. Never been a person with a lot of options.”
“You’ll have them soon.”
“I could go live with Theresa, I guess. Maybe travel abroad.”
“Where would you go?”
“Ireland. I’ve been thinking about it. My dad was from there, and I think I have some distant relatives there.”
There is so much more I want to ask her—but I don’t get my chance. A fire truck blasts by on the street, its lights spinning. Nianna turns, her eyes following, and both of our phones buzz.
“Shit,” she says.
We don’t think, just move. I grab my jacket and slide an arm through, racing for the door. Nianna beats me to the street.
“It’s Jax,” she says. “Herons just sent a message through IRIS. Says to watch the fireworks.”
“Fuck.”
We follow the truck.
Nianna and I shoulder our way into the growing crowd. She stops at the corner and puts her hand in front of me like she did the night Jax shot Michael Hennessy. A firefighter is shouting for the crowd to back up.
It’s a house, a beautiful Victorian with white trim and shapely bay windows. Smoke pours out of the windows and rises into the afternoon sky in thick, black plumes. The front door has been pushed open. Across the street, an EMT puts a mask over the mouth of a little boy. His mother, red-faced from crying, strokes his hair. Two more kids cling to her legs, the whites of their eyes bright against sooty cheeks.
I put my hands to my ears. It is all noise. Noise and light and a biting smell I know will knit into my clothing surer than the finest thread.
I look at the pale faces of the crowd, their eyes reflecting the bright orange flames. A few houses down, a news crew is setting up a broadcast. The reporter has a pamphlet in his hands, the Boar logo clearly on it.
“I don’t understand,” I say. “The IRIS said it was the Herons.” My Stag phone buzzes and so does Nianna’s. We read Jax’s text together.
“It is the Herons,” she says. “They’re framing the Boars…”
“… by burning some innocent family’s house down?” I say, my voice rising in question as we look back over to where the fire engine is pouring water onto the flames.
I listen in on the news reporter as he speaks to the camera. “We’re getting early reports this may be associated with the so-called Red Bridge Wars that, as many here in the city know, have been getting increasingly popular with the city’s youth in recent years.”
“Damn these gangs,” an older woman mutters from behind me. In her hands is a canvas bag bursting with groceries. “It’s enough to make me sick.”
“It’s enough to make me leave,” says a beefy guy next to her. “I don’t want my kids growing up with this shit.” There’s a murmur of assent.
Nianna tugs me by the elbow. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
Nodding, I turn to follow her—when a hand clamps down on my shoulder like a steel trap.
“You’re one of them.” The beefy guy spins me gruffly, pushing my shoulder so hard I bump into Nianna, who bumps into someone else. “You’ve got one of their tattoos.”
Oh fuck. I put my hair up back at the restaurant.
It’s as if someone whispers hate into the ears of the crowd, and each one is a willing listener. I try to shove my way through, but someone yanks my hood back, sending the zipper straight into my neck. Locking eyes with Nianna, I silently beg her to go, to protect herself.
“We didn’t have anything to do with this,” she says, eyes afire. “And we don’t want any trouble.”
“If you didn’t want trouble you shouldn’t have joined the gangs,” a youngish Hispanic guy shouts back. Beside him, his girlfriend looks equal parts embarrassed and scared.
“Come on.” Nianna grabs my hand as she barges past the Hispanic guy. We make it a few feet before others start shouting. A shrill voice starts screaming for the police, and we really start moving.
Hands grab at me, my sweatshirt, my hair. Beside me, Nianna’s thrown a punch and is spitting fire at a guy who yanked her bandana off her head.
We’re not going to get out. No, Valerie, I tell myself. You MUST.
Just there—a break. I dart toward it, Nianna right behind me, and we’re running back toward the BART station. Something heavy collides with my skull and my vision swims as I fall onto the ground, causing a group of teen girls to jump back and yelp. As Nianna pulls me up I touch my hand to my head and my palm comes back bloody.
“Shit,” Nianna says, seeing the red. I let her lead me away, checking to make sure no one is following. Adrenaline sparks in my blood as we dash back around a corner. We duck into a gift shop and hide ourselves behind the window display.
“You okay?” I ask. My hand shakes as I put it to my head.
“Fine.” She notices me holding my head. “Are you—oh shit.” Nianna swears under her breath and hands me her bandana.
“Here.”
“I’m fine.”
“Oh, shut up and let someone take care of you for once.” She works the fabric around my hair and ties the knot. The lotion on her skin makes her hands smell like cherry blossoms. “Come on,” she says. “Let’s get out of here.”
We take the long way home.