I hesitate. I don’t even know if it’s really there. The whole thing could be a product of my scrambled brain. But maybe it’s not. “Of the construction site the day Brandon died.”
“Huh.” Luis is quiet for a moment, scanning the room to see if anybody else needs his attention. They don’t, and he turns it back to me. “Why do you want it?”
Good question. “I can’t remember much about that day, because of the concussion,” I say. “Some of the things that people tell me happened don’t make sense. I guess I’d like to see it with my own eyes.”
“Luis!” Manny pops his head out of the kitchen. He’s like a fun-house mirror image of Luis: bigger, broader, and a lot more confused-looking. “Do we make guac with garlic or without?”
Luis looks pained. “Jesus, Manny. You ask that every day.”
“So…with?”
“I gotta go,” Luis sighs, getting to his feet. “You want anything?”
“Alfajores,” I say. “But no rush.”
He leaves, and I gaze around me. Now what? I’d been relying on Phoebe to keep me company, and I don’t really know what to do with myself alone in a restaurant. What did Maeve used to do for all those hours? I pull out my phone but immediately put it back when I see I have thirty-seven ChatApp notifications. Maybe later.
The door opens, and a guy my age walks in. I squint until I place him—it’s Intense Guy from a few weeks ago. The one who came looking for Phoebe until Manny and Luis scared him off. I glance at the counter, but nobody’s there. This time, the guy doesn’t stride forward but drops into a corner table and slouches low in the seat. Ahmed, one of the servers, heads over to bring him water. They speak briefly, but nothing about the conversation seems to raise red flags for Ahmed, who leaves the table with his usual pleasant but preoccupied expression.
Intense Guy puts his head down when Manny makes a brief appearance at the counter, but otherwise he scans the room like he’s watching a movie. Ahmed brings him a cup of coffee, and the guy just keeps sitting and staring without drinking it. I’m glad now that Phoebe’s not working, because I have the feeling he’s looking for her again.
Why? Who the hell is this guy? Emma’s ex Derek, maybe? I’ve already forgotten his last name. I grab my phone and pull up Instagram, but it’s pointless—there are millions of Dereks.
After about fifteen minutes of me watching Intense-Guy-slash-Maybe-Derek watch the room—which is just as riveting as it sounds—the guy tosses a bill on the table and takes off without ever having touched his coffee. I’m left with the same vague, uneasy feeling I had in my parents’ kitchen earlier.
I’m missing something.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Maeve
Thursday, March 19
Cooper tenses, winds up, and hurls a blistering fastball across home plate. The opposing batter looks like he’s swatting at a fly when he misses, and the entire stadium erupts into cheers. The batter, down on strikes, hurls his bat toward the dugout in frustration and stalks away.
“Poor sport,” Kris murmurs beside me, putting out an arm so Cooper’s grandmother, seated on his other side, can lean against him while she gets to her feet for a standing ovation. She does it every time Cooper strikes somebody out, which has been a lot this game. It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
We’re at Goodwin Field at Cal State Fullerton on Thursday night, part of a capacity crowd watching Cooper pitch against UCLA. The stadium seating is like a horseshoe around the field, and we’re almost directly behind home plate in a section that’s full of Bayview High students, past and present. I got a ride here with Addy, who corralled Nate as soon as he showed up and is forcing him to be social. I think I caught a glimpse of Luis sitting with a bunch of Cooper’s ex-teammates, but I looked away before I could be sure. After two weeks of total silence, I don’t even know what I’d say if I ran into him tonight.
My phone buzzes in my hand. I expect a text from Bronwyn, who’s been checking in on Cooper throughout the game, but it’s just my mom asking what time I’ll be home. I still can’t get used to how quiet my phone is ever since I disabled the PingMe alerts. I’m glad I listened to Phoebe about that, especially since the Truth or Dare game ended on its own. I’d like