though, she’s not reading a book or scrolling through her phone like she normally is. She’s just standing there, statue-still, letting the tears slide down her cheeks. She glances up at me and makes this choking noise from the back of her throat.
And then I know: Malcolm is dead.
I feel a selfish punch in my gut. What if that was Wyatt? Then I put that aside, go to Rachael, and wrap my arms around her. “Hey, hey,” I whisper. “It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.”
“He’s dead,” she sobs, clutching at my shirt with feeble hands. “Jesus Christ, he’s really dead.”
“Do you have anyone I can call?” I ask.
“They did—the doctor, I mean. My mom’s coming.”
“Okay, that’s good. That’s good. It’s okay, honey.”
She’s seventeen years old but she looks decades older with the tears ravaging her makeup. She twists her hands together in grief. “He didn’t even like that stuff,” she whispers. “It was a one-time deal.”
I wait with her until her mom arrives. The tears dry up, but I can see a mask settling into place behind her eyes. I know with this weird foreboding sense of finality that I’m watching someone change for good, seeing someone harden up and leave a little piece of her soul in the past. It makes me shiver.
But eventually, I can’t hang around any longer. I have a job to do. Rachael barely notices when I leave.
When I walk past the EMT room, I get an absurd flashback of Angelo pressing me against the wall. Suddenly, I want to be back in the club with him, in our own self-contained universe, where there’s just champagne and beer and kinky sex and nobody cries, nobody ODs, nobody ever dies.
That, too, I leave behind.
I get outside to the ambulance. Ricky is leaning against it, smoking a cigarette. Flicking it away, he says, “What died and climbed up your ass? Seriously, Dani, you solid?”
“As solid as your fucking skull,” I snap back, a little meaner than I intended. I sigh. “Come on, let’s get to work.”
He nods and, for a change, says nothing. Ricky might be a jerk and a party hound, but he’s a good EMT when he puts his mind to it. He really does care about the job, and if he thinks I can handle the night and whatever problems it’s gonna bring, that’s good enough for him.
He climbs into the driver’s seat and I get in next to him. But I can’t get the sound of Rachael’s tears out of my head. I keep thinking about Wyatt. Those could be my tears. If he doesn’t follow through on his promise to me, they very well might be.
As Ricky blares through the traffic, I grab my cell and call Wyatt.
“Sis?” he warbles when he answers.
Beside me, Ricky is grinning like a jackal as he pulls around a corner. I turn away, not wanting him to see the look on my face.
Because Wyatt is high. I can tell just from that waver in his voice.
“Just thought I’d check in, bro,” I say, trying for chirpy and carefree.
“Oh,” he replies absently. Between Betty’s sirens in my ear and the music thumping in the background on his side, it’s hard to make out his words. I listen closer. “You gonna say sorry for going all CIA on my ass or what, then? Or is it just that I’m not your little leotard anymore?” His voice is harsh but unsteady. He trips on the wrong syllables, taking pauses where they don’t belong.
I cringe hearing Wyatt describe his gymnastics in the same way Ricky does. “No,” I say firmly. “I just wanted to say hi. There was—”
It’s a bad idea, telling Wyatt about the OD. But the thing is, I don’t really have anyone else to talk to about heavy-hitting stuff like this. Zora and Quinny would listen, sure, but unloading the dark thoughts weighing on me isn’t my real goal anyways. No, here’s the rotten truth: I’m trying to guilt him into not doing any drugs tonight. So I tell him.
“Please,” I say to finish my pathetic little spiel. I know before I even wrap it up that I missed the mark by a mile. Wyatt couldn’t care less.
He laughs, but it’s more of a strangled sound. I wince when I get an intrusive memory of his childhood laughter—high-pitched, carefree. That strangled noise and the laughter don’t even belong to the same species. I feel sick.
“Thanks, sis. That’s just what I need to get me in