not to say anything else. But he’s my little brother, and if there’s anything little brothers never do, it’s bite their tongue.
“What’s the deal, Chelse—” he starts.
I actually stomp my foot and shoot out a shhh at him.
“Are you—”
“I’m nothing, okay, he’s my—we just went—because—kayaking—” These words come out pathetically, even though I’m trying so hard. Kind of like when you shake and shake a nearly empty bottle of shampoo, pumping furiously, and all that comes out are a few watery drips of foam.
“It’s not like you’re not seeing people,” I say. “Going out. I’m on vacation, dope.”
“A vacation from Gabe, you mean?”
“Brand,” I hiss.
“I don’t like this, Chelse. Gabe has been with you through all the shit, you know? He stood by you through everything, after the accident. And now you’re—”
“Calling him tomorrow.”
“No way,” Brandon barks. “You’ve called him later at night than this. I know how you guys are—used to be—at home.”
“There is no ‘used to be’ about me and Gabe.”
“Then prove it,” Brandon says.
“There is no cell reception out here,” I growl.
“You really think you’d have to fight a hundred people to use the pay phone in the lodge? Place is completely empty right now—”
“Why don’t you lay off? I’ll call him when I want to,” I shout.
But Brandon shakes his head, shouts back. “You’d have complete privacy right now. Why wouldn’t you want privacy to talk to your boyfriend on his—”
“There a problem in here?”
I flinch, look up to find Dad standing in the doorway, a solid black silhouette like those outlines of heads and shoulders I always see on TV, at target ranges on prime-time police dramas.
But I’m the one that feels like the world’s aiming right at me.
Clint
out of play
Todd reels backward, his shoulder thumping against the bed of the truck.
“Damn it, Morgan,” Greg shouts, pushing me away from Todd, sending me stumbling backward. “This is getting old. You think we didn’t lose somebody, you stupid asshole?” He pushes me again. I’m already off-balance, so my feet tangle and I trip. The seat of my Levi’s smacks against the dirt road.
“Not like I did,” I shout.
“I’m not talking about Rosie, I’m talking about my friend,” Greg says, towering over me. “You’re here, but you’re not. You hide away in textbooks, in fifteen stupid summer jobs. And I’ve had enough.” He kicks my foot, then lunges forward and grabs the collar of my shirt. “You want me to beat the bullshit out of you? I’ll do it, Morgan. And I’ll feel good about it. Gimme a reason.”
His face is less than a foot from mine. The hand that isn’t gripping my collar is clenched into a fist.
I finally swivel my arm, pull his hand off my shirt.
“Ass,” I spit, standing and dusting the dirt from the back of my jeans.
Todd’s still wiggling his jaw back and forth, testing it to make sure it works.
“We got a six-pack and we’re headed to the lake,” Greg says. “You gonna follow us or not?”
Calm hasn’t taken hold of me completely, but looking at Todd’s face, red from where I hit him, I instantly feel bad. And I’m really not sure what I’m so pissed about anymore. Not sure why any of it—Chelsea telling Mom at Pike’s she has a boyfriend, or Kenzie flirting with me, or Todd making assumptions—should make me so angry.
“That’s gonna leave a mark,” Todd says, squatting to get a look at his face in his truck’s side mirror.
“Whatever,” Greg says. “Anything’ll help you look better.”
“Don’t I even get any sympathy?” Todd asks. “I bet some pretty girl at Pike’s would give me sympathy.”
“No Pike’s. Not tonight,” Greg says. “Just drive.”
I shake my head, climb into the cab of the GMC. I follow the Chevy, under the moonlight, already tasting the tinny cold of a can of beer.
Chelsea
double dribble
No,” I snap at Dad. “There’s no problem.”
Brandon reaches for my cell and all the paper messages, but I snatch them away from him so furiously, I accidentally scratch him.
“Hey,” Brandon yelps.
“Chelsea,” Dad chastises. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I need to make a phone call,” I snarl through my teeth, glaring at Brandon.
“Don’t be too overjoyed about it or anything, Chelse,” Brandon mumbles. “I mean, he’s only your boyfriend.”
“A phone call,” Dad repeats, oblivious to what Brandon’s just said. “At this time of night. You can’t do it tomorrow?”
“No, I can’t do it tomorrow.” Every last drop of my pent-up anger comes out in my words. “What do you care, anyway?” Suddenly, out of nowhere, I’m not talking