Chapter 4
My mother obviously has a sixth sense. I never told her I had a girlfriend, but one morning at breakfast she asked, “When do we get to meet her?”
I felt blazing heat rising up my neck. “Who?”
Mom checked her BlackBerry. “What about Friday night? You could bring her home for dinner.”
I muttered, “We’re going out.”
“Go out after dinner,” Dad said. It wasn’t a request.
Our relationship was so new and fresh, I didn’t want anything to spoil it. What if she didn’t like them, or vice versa? Surprisingly, Swanee seemed kind of flattered by the invitation.
She must’ve smoked a ton of weed before she came, though, because she couldn’t stop giggling and her eyes were bloodshot. I could see Mom and Dad exchanging glances.
During dessert, Dad asked, “Where are you two going?”
“Ice-skating,” Swanee said.
Really? I thought we were going to a party. Skating sounded much more fun.
On the way out, Dad pulled me aside and handed me his keys. “You drive.”
I snagged Swanee’s sleeve and told her, “I have to drive.”
She covered her mouth and snort-giggled through her fingers. “Busted,” she said. “Wha’ gave me away?”
Her slurred speech? The bottle of patchouli she’d bathed in?
The next morning I got a text at 6:48 AM:
I picked up my car after my run. Your dad’s a total a-hole. Do your parents hate me?
No, of course not, I texted back. My dad has strict rules about DUI or riding with anyone who isn’t sober
I was perfectly fine
Except she fell asleep before we even got there. What I didn’t add is that is one of Dad’s rules I actually agree with.
The next day Mom told me she and Dad wanted to get together with Swanee’s parents. “Why?” I asked. Were they going to rat her out?
“Because that’s what parents do,” Mom said. “They get to know one another.”
In what century?
“Oh my God!” Joss shrieked when she heard. “Can I go? I have got to see this.”
“Can she?” Swanee asked me.
“I don’t know why not. Ethan will be there.”
“What about Genjko?” Swan asked. “He is the family conversationalist.” Joss cracked up.
I hoped that meant they weren’t serious.
It ended up he didn’t come, thank God. I admit I was already more than a little worried about Mom and Dad’s reaction to Jewell and Asher. Swanee’s parents are free spirits—in an ultracool way. Asher has a long ponytail, and Jewell shows off a lot of skin with her fake-bake tan.
The evening turned out okay. Swanee wasn’t high, and neither was Joss. Aside from the bottle of wine that Jewell and Asher put away, everyone was on their best behavior.
The next time I saw Jewell, she asked, “Did we pass inspection?”
My face flared. “With flying colors.”
Mom and Dad never talked about the Durbins, even though I had a strong suspicion they didn’t approve. And Swanee was careful never to come over again stoned, which I appreciated. If Mom or Dad had forbidden me to see her, it would’ve been all-out war.
LT’s messages go on and on.
6:10 AM: I left you 2 vms. Wassup?
6:15 AM: You were going to text me before you left. Remember?
12:02 PM: Are you having fun? Wish I could’ve gone with you to Keystone today. Next time
“There won’t be a next time,” I think out loud. Who is this?
2:12 PM: Call me when you get home. Te amo, mi amore
Swanee was taking Spanish this year as an elective. Personally, I plan to take something fun like photography or screenprinting.
Amore, I repeat to myself. Doesn’t that mean love?
There were texts throughout last Saturday, into Sunday, and the whole next week. I lie in bed and try to scan them all. A lot are half English, half Spanish.
8:23 AM: Mass this morning then my little bro’s b-day party at Chuck E. Cheese’s 
. I probably won’t see you this weekend. CALL ME. Te extraño mucho
Monday. 9:03 AM: I’m texting in Am. Hist. Snooze alert. Where are you?
In an urn, I think.
11:45 AM: Call me. Text me. I’m on my way to lunch, but I’ll keep my cell on
1:34 PM: Why haven’t you called? Are you OK?
“No,” I say. “She’s not okay.”
2:10 PM: Practice. But I’ll be done by 3. CALL ME. I left you 100 vms
An exaggeration. Still, I wish I could listen and see who this person is.
3:22 PM: What did I do? Are you mad at me? Please, Swan. Tell me what I did
It’d be a kindness to call this LT person and let her know Swanee will not be returning calls or texts.
I’m startled when my cell rings. It’s after midnight.
“Would it be okay if I came over?” Joss asks. “I need to get out of this fucking asylum.”
I feel for her, but I can’t wallow in her grief, plus mine. I don’t think Mom and Dad would be too thrilled about her showing up at this hour, anyway.
“I’m tired,” I tell her.
She hesitates a moment, and then disconnects.
Another text comes in from LT:
Please, Swan. Call me. Te amo con todo mi corazón
Whatever that means.
My curiosity gets the best of me. I hit Recent Calls and redial Joss.
“Shouldn’t you be asleep?” she says sarcastically.
I deserve that. “Do you know anyone with the initials LT?”
She pauses. “Why do you ask?”
I could tell her I stole—borrowed—Swanee’s cell. Or not. “I saw the initials in Swan’s room when I was in there.”
“Who gave you permission to go in her room, anyway?”
“No one. I was just…” Trespassing? Trying to resurrect her from the dead? Joss was either barred from the room or had more respect than I did.
“Who’s LT?” I ask again.
“Where did you see the initials?”
Where? “On a piece of paper.”
There’s such a long pause, I think Joss has left me hanging.
“Joss?”
“You don’t want to know who she is,” she says.
“Why?” I ask.
She disconnects again. God, she can be so irritating. On Swanee’s cell, I open her contacts list. Great. Her entire list is initials only. AVP. That’s me. Alix Van Pelt.
AD. Asher?
GD. Genjko?
JD. Joss or Jewell? Must be Jewell, because Joss got her phone taken away for sending lewd photos to some guy.
LT. She’s in here.
Swan doesn’t have a very long list. Five or six more contacts.
Another text comes in. Why does she keep calling? Surely she knows Swanee is no longer available to take calls. Her death has been in the newspaper and on TV. How could anyone be so out of touch?
I suppose there could be a simple explanation. LT was out of town. She doesn’t read the newspaper. She doesn’t live in Colorado—except she mentioned Keystone.
I read the latest text.
Please. Please tell me what I did. Please, Swan. Te amo con todo mi corazón
I get up and grab my laptop off my desk, turn it on. I Google the Spanish phrase.
My breath catches in my throat: I love you with all my heart.
Even though it’s the middle of night, I’m wide awake. For some unknown, ungodly reason, I reply to her text:
Hey
Immediately, I get a response.
OMG. OMG. OMG. Where have you been?
I reply:
Here. I’ve been right here
She goes on:
Why didn’t you answer? Why didn’t you call?
I reply:
I lost my cell
For a week? Why didn’t you use cell tracker?
I smack my forehead. Stupid answer.
My iPad’s on the fritz 
OK. Sorry. Hope you get it working
That sounds like she doesn’t believe me. I wouldn’t believe me, either.
She texts:
When can we meet? I have a game every night this week, but what about Saturday?
What kind of game? I wonder. What kind of game is she playing? Te amo. I’m so sure.
I text her:
We’ll talk tomorrow
“Shit,” I think aloud. That was a dumb thing to say. Now what?
She texts:
You sure you’re OK? You sound mad
I’m not mad
I don’t text: I’m dead.
Tomorrow we will talk and I’ll get to the bottom of who this LT person is. I’ll tell her about Swanee and be done with it.
She texts:
Duerma con los angelitos, querida
I Google the translation: Sleep with the angels, sweetheart.