43.

HERE WAS ANOTHER THING about being famous Anthony would have to get used to: famous people had a strange fascination with boring lectures.

He and Spencer got invited to San Francisco for the big launch of the new iPhone. The night before, Spencer was doing the Jimmy Kimmel show and Anthony wanted to go down and hang in the wings. He wanted to see the city with Chris Brown, who was going to be the musical guest, and Anthony figured the singer might take them around Hollywood if Anthony could get a chance to talk to him. What better way to celebrate finally being reunited, if only briefly, with Spencer? Of course Alek wasn’t there. This would become a pattern. It was rare for Spencer and Anthony to find time to get together these days, but even rarer for Alek to be there.

Anthony watched from the dressing room as Spencer sat down for his own experience with late-night TV, bobbing back and forth to try and get comfortable. I know, it’s weird, right? To try and face the audience and the host at the same time. Kimmel stood up and gave Spencer a standing ovation, then the audience did too, and Anthony watched Spencer shifting awkwardly on his bad arm, trying to find a comfortable way to sit with his thumb in its plastic sheath.

“You look good, you look healthy,” Kimmel said. “You just got back to the United States right?”

“Yeah, just a couple days ago on the . . . shoot, what was the date?”—Spencer closed one eye, winking; Anthony recognized his friend’s flustered face—“Shoot, I don’t even know.” Backstage Anthony laughed and shook his head. C’mon, bruh!

“It was like, last Tuesday . . .”

Kimmel came to the rescue. He held up a picture of the three boys on the train just before the attack, then the picture of Spencer in a wheelchair just after, X-style bandages above his right eye, on his left bicep, his left thumb wrapped in tape, and rivulets of blood streaming down his chest.

“Well, you don’t have a shirt on anymore,” Kimmel said, as if that were the only problem with the picture, but the audience was still ooooing at the sight of Spencer looking like he’d been put through a meat grinder.

“I heard that you were a big Golden State Warriors fan.

“I am, I am.You know, I didn’t get to watch as many games as I wanted to because I’ve been on a seven-hour time difference in Portugal.”

“Well, we have a visitor who wanted to say hello to you. Let’s go outside right now and see—okay, you see that gentleman right there?” Behind Spencer, a giant wrap-around screen flickered to life, with a live video feed showing the glimmering front grill of a brand new convertible in an alleyway.

Backstage, Anthony’s jaw dropped.

“You gotta be joking,” Spencer said, “no freaking way,” more to himself than to Kimmel.

“That is Klay Thompson.”

“Wha . . .” Spencer popped up and spun in his seat.

“He’s . . .” The headlights went off and the car stopped. An awkward silence. “Klay doesn’t drive stick.”

“Is he stalled-out right now?” Spencer was excited.

“Maybe Klay could walk,” Kimmel said, “it’s only like fifteen feet.” Now the crowd began to roar as the car lurched forward in the alley behind the studio, and Kimmel ad-libbed about the basketball player’s struggles. “These guys make so much money they don’t drive stick.”

Klay got out of the car, walked through a door, off camera, while Spencer and Kimmel stood up to go stage right, where Klay walked in, shook Kimmel’s hand, and hugged Spencer as the crowd cheered. “Klay has some things for you.”

Klay dutifully began handing gifts over to Spencer. First a hat: “I got plenty of them, you know.” Spencer laughed. “I got a jersey for you, my man.”

“He saw you had no shirt so he brought you a jersey,” Kimmel said. Spencer laughed; the crowd laughed louder.

“And also, Klay, do you have the keys to that vehicle?”

“I do.”

“Brand new Chevy Camaro convertible and so—we heard you didn’t have a car.”

Spencer still hadn’t composed himself. He let out a high-pitched “What?” and he spun again toward the car.

“And we heard you were moving back to Sacramento. Do you know how to drive stick?”

“I can, I can! I learned in Portugal!” Anthony was moved by how jubilant Spencer was; he was genuinely excited, and all of a sudden Anthony didn’t see the pressed air force uniform or the photo with the blood or the person people were starting to call Captain America. All of that fell away and Anthony was looking at twelve-year-old Spencer, over the moon about a new airsoft gun for Christmas.

“Well, beautiful, because that Camaro is for you . . . you never have to get on a train in your life.”

AFTER SPENCER GOT HIS CAMARO, he and Anthony met up with Alek for dinner at Arnold Schwarzenegger’s house. Just another day in the life.

Anthony sat out in the yard, still thinking about how surreal all of it was, how nice a house this was, how big Arnold’s fireplace was, and why, by the way, you’d need a fireplace, let alone a big one, in Southern California, when he heard footsteps from somewhere off in the yard. He knew Schwarzenegger had some kind of big dog, but whatever it was moving around behind him sounded really heavy. The footsteps grew louder, the dog got closer, Anthony turned around and almost jumped off the patio.

“What the fuck is that?”

His host looked up.

“Sorry.” Anthony tried to recover. “Pardon my—is that a horse?”

“Oh yes,” Arnold’s girlfriend said, “That’s Whisky. It’s a miniature horse.” She smiled politely, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

“She’s a—is she like . . .” Anthony couldn’t think of what to ask; this situation had never presented itself before. He’d never had to make conversation about livestock on someone’s patio. “She’s here like, permanently?”

“Um, Yeah. She’s here all the time.”

That night, they had rooms at a swanky hotel in LA, and Anthony was in the lobby on the phone telling his dad that rich people in Los Angeles kept horses in their houses, when a group of what had to be at least twenty girls walked by single file to the elevator. What the . . . Behind them was a guy Anthony recognized.

“That’s A$AP Rocky—Dad, hold on. I gotta call you back.”

Anthony decided to try out his new celebrity status with the famous rapper.

“A$AP! What’s up!” A$AP smiled, and took the hand Anthony had offered. “Hey—”

“It’s me, Anthony Sadler.” A$AP’s smile dimmed a little; he pursed his lips and gave a little shake of his head.

“From the train!”

Still nothing.

“The terrorist on the train; you didn’t hear about the train attack in France?”

“Sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Now he was clearly getting impatient, Anthony feeling less confident, less like a peer, more like a stalker.

“Okay, no prob, no prob. Well, where’re you guys going?”

“We’re going up to a penthouse party.”

“Okay, I might see you up there . . . ?”

“All right.” No invitation came. Anthony had bungled the approach; the rapper had no idea who he was and wasn’t about to let him up with his parade of girls. Anthony tried the hostesses, two girls in slip dresses standing by the elevator and flanked by security guards.

“Hey! Hello, how you girls doing? I’m one of the train heroes, you think I could get up there? Spencer Stone’s with me too, he’s up in his room.”

The girls looked at each other. “Sorry, you’re one of the whats?”

Does no one in LA read the news? He pulled out his phone, figuring he’d fight LA with LA—he’d do what people here in the land of spectacle probably did on a daily basis, he googled himself. “Look! I’m not making this up. This is CNN. It’s serious!”

Finally one of the girls relented. “Okay, I might be able to let you up but not until everyone on the list is in. Come back with your friends in a couple hours.” So they did. By the time they got up to the penthouse, A$AP Rocky was gone, but so be it. It was still a penthouse party in LA. They’d make do.

The next morning, they had to catch a four o’clock flight in order to make it to Northern California for the iPhone launch. Anthony still didn’t get it. Why did people get so excited about going to lectures? At the launch, Spencer and Anthony walked into the hall, the lights dimmed, and they promptly fell asleep.

Next to them Al Gore, Barry Bonds, Joe Montana, and a bunch of other celebrities watched nerds talk about computers.