I sniffle. “Is that more profound wisdom from your dad?”
“Funny. You’re very funny. No, that’s all me.”
He peers at me. “Your eyeliner is a little smeared. You look like a very sad lounge singer. It’s a good look for you.”
I sigh. “I have a scar. On my knee. From the wreck. It itches.”
“Mine, too.”
“I think about it all the time. The accident,” I say. “Candy. I dream about her.”
He nods. “I liked her. She was kind. I remember that. Not many people are, really, when it comes right down to it.”
We are quiet. Then he says, “You could do better than Gage Galt. Or I should say, differently. I mean, he’s benign. Does he even talk about anything but baseball?”
“We never talk. He prefers to do other things.” It’s out of my mouth before I realize what I’m saying.
Daniel says, “Wait, what do you mean, ‘other things’？”
Just then, a group of kids, Gage among them, tumble onto the practice field, Gage complaining, Nah, I’m tired. Not right now.
Yeah, man, just a few. Let’s have some fun.
Roly Martin, Gage’s catcher, squats at one end of the field. He holds his bare hands like a mitt. Weaves a little on his haunches. He seems drunk. Here, buddy, right here. He thumps the inside of his palm.
“Emory, are you hooking up with Gage Galt?” Daniel says.
“Please.” I touch his arm. “Don’t tell anyone. It just…kind of happened.”
It feels like a huge weight has lifted off me, saying it out loud.
“Emmy?” Joey is suddenly here, standing in front of the bleachers, staring at us.
My brother’s voice is…thick. And his face looks droopy, somehow. Like the muscles are too relaxed.
Fear floods through me. I know that face.
He’s high.
My stomach sinks.
“Oh,” Daniel says. “Hey, Joe.”
“Joey,” I say. “Oh, no. No.”
A couple of girls walking onto the field slip, catch each other’s elbows. Whoops. Someone tosses Gage a ball.
I can’t see for shit, he says. The practice field is unlit, the stars above us blunted by the clouds.
Come on! everyone shouts.
Gage’s foot paws at the mound. I don’t know.
Galt, Galt, Galt.
Joey’s eyes are red and soft as he squints at me. “Did I hear that right? Is that why you’re out here crying? Why’s your makeup all messed up? Did Gage Galt mess with you?”
“Joey, let’s just go home. Now. Let’s leave. Give me the keys.”
I stand up, teetering a little on the bleachers.
“What did he do to you?”
Joey’s voice is uneven. He looks over at Gage, on the pitching mound.
Galt, Galt, Galt. Gage tosses the ball lightly in his hand.
“Let’s just take a step back,” Daniel says, getting up. “No biggie. She was rebuffed on the dance floor by Stud Muffin out there, but I think we’re handling it. High school, am I right? You know what Tim Burton once said? ‘The only things that scare me are high school and my relatives,’ and—”
My brother turns and takes off onto the field.
“Oh, god,” Daniel says. “Uh, I’m not really the fighting type and these guys…oh, hell.”
He takes off, too, and I run after him, flashes of pain shooting up my knee.
Joey is high and I have to stop him.
Gage is in his windup when Joey shouts something like Hurt my little sister. Gage, startled, whips his head toward Joey.
“Joey, no, man. No, I’m sorry—” Gage cries, but his foot slips, his arm still poised midair behind him.
Gage falls backward on his arm. There’s a sickening snap.
Everything stops.
Someone screams. It isn’t me.
It’s Gage.
TWO
25
“HE’LL BE OKAY.” DANIEL is nervous, tugging at the seat belt across his chest. “I’m sure it’s not bad. Oh, turn here.”
I turn right. I’m driving, being extra careful because of my knee and since I haven’t driven a car since the accident. Joey is in the backseat, his face a mixture of dread and sickness. He’s rocking back and forth.
I can’t believe it’s happening again: my brother in the backseat of a car, fucked up. And that again, I had a role in disaster. If I hadn’t had beers at the party, I could have driven us home. If I hadn’t asked Gage to dance, Joey wouldn’t have tried to attack him.
And I can’t stop the tiny voice in my brain, either, whispering: But nobody makes your brother get high, do they? He keeps doing that all by himself.
“Are you okay?” Daniel asks.
“No!” I yell. “No, I’m not. Nothing is okay. Nothing is ever going to be okay. I just keep messing everything up!”
Daniel touches my arm. I shrug him off. I need to concentrate on the road, catch my breath, think. Think. Because my parents, my mother, are going to be ballistic.
We all heard the snap. Heard Gage scream, watched him writhe on the ground. There’s no way this isn’t bad.
Roly Martin ran to him first, pushing Joey away. Priscilla and the other girls ran to get help. One boy called 911. “Should I?” he kept asking, holding his phone up. “I’m not sure? Yes? No? Somebody help me!”
Daniel yelled, “Call!”
We stood on the field, watching as the crowd grew bigger: the teacher-chaperones, including Simon Stanley, running from the gym, panic in their eyes, kids taking pictures, filming, because it never really happens if you don’t post it somewhere, right?
The more kids who came, the farther back we receded, until we were on the very edge of the crowd. Joey’s shoulders were hunched, his eyes sloppy.
“Oh, god, what did I do?” he mumbled.
“Nothing,” Daniel said. His voice was firm. “He slipped, is all, when you yelled. He might’ve slipped without you yelling. The grass is very sketchy right now. It’s dark. He couldn’t see to get his footing properly.” He tried to mimic Gage in his windup and release and just looked awkward and uncomfortable.
“Joey,” I whispered. “Why did you get high?”
How many days did he have that are gone now? I can’t understand why he would do this. I don’t care about Gage, I just care about Joey right now. And this is bad.
“You’re mad at me. I know you should be mad at me. It’s okay.”
Okayokayokayokay, just like he used to say.
“I’m not mad at you.” I grabbed his arm, but he shook me off. “Just tell me what happened.”
“Lucy Kerr happened. I was having a cool time with Amber. Thought we might dance and then Lucy came up and was all, ‘Just thought you should know your new friend is a loser and a druggie and oh, let me tell you about my friend Candy. You don’t want to get in a car with this guy.’？”
“Oh, god,” I said. “Joey, no.”
Daniel winced.
Joey said, “So I left. Found Noah out by the trailers in back, you know, where they do overflow history and stuff. It just…I just needed my feelings to stop. I feel sick. I gotta get out of here…”
He started stumbling toward the parking lot and the car. I caught up to him, Daniel behind me, and I stuck my hand in Joey’s back jean pocket, dug the keys out.