who died in the shooting? He got a perfect score on the SATs as a seventh grader or some shit. Pretty sure your mom knows who he is; maybe you should ask her.”
Something squeezes deep in my chest.
Fuck my life, so hard.
“Yo! Dude. Leave him alone.” Conor is finally inserting himself into this torturous conversation, but it’s too late. Damage done. “You’re such a dickhead. Seriously, just get outta here.” Conor’s up in Matt’s face, and per usual, I’m frozen like a statue.
Matt snorts and backs away from Conor with his hands up. “Whatever. You guys are such little bitches. I gotta run anyway.” He motions to Rosa, who’s still sitting over on the ratty sofa in the corner, playing on her phone. She looks up, sees us all in a tight clump in the middle of the room, and grimaces. She stands, pulling her bag up onto her shoulder.
Matt walks over to her and gives her a kiss on the cheek. What a fucking sociopath. He goes from soul-crushing jerk to sweet, caring boyfriend in the blink of an eye.
Rosa pulls away slightly, just for a second, but then he throws his arm around her shoulders and she relaxes back into him. She whispers something into his ear, and he rolls his eyes but nods along to whatever she’s saying. As they pass by Conor and me, Matt mumbles, “See you guys,” like he didn’t just wreck my world.
Conor clamps a hand on my shoulder. “Dude. He is such a prick. I wish he wasn’t such a good guitar player; I’d kick him out of the band in a heartbeat. You okay?”
I nod, trying to shake off Matt’s assholeness and the info he just dumped on me. “Yeah. I’m fine. It’s whatever.”
“You know you aren’t your mom, right?” Conor sounds serious for once. “That girl, she’ll understand.”
I shake my head. “Nope. I bet you she won’t. Doesn’t matter anyway. If you guys decide Lucy’s the right person for the band, I’ll stay out of the way. After tonight, I don’t really have a desire to be in public ever again.”
“C’mon, don’t be like that. You can’t let Matt get to you. You know he loves pissing you off.”
“I don’t get why he has to be such a dick.”
Conor shrugs. “Jealous, probably.”
I snort. “Of what, exactly? My stellar home life? All my adoring fans?” I motion around the empty room.
Conor smirks. “Nah, man. Ever since eighth grade, he’s been trying to nudge his way between you and me. He’s already managed to do it with you and Rosa….” He trails off when he sees my expression.
“He can have her,” I mutter under my breath, like I don’t care. Because I don’t—mostly.
Conor sighs. “The thing that gets me about all this is how nobody seems to remember your mom’s cases from before. Like how she stepped in when my dad got those DUIs and kept him out of jail. She helped keep me out of fucking foster care, man.” He sets his mouth in a hard, tight line. “It’s messed up that nobody remembers that shit.”
“Yeah, well. She only did that ’cause I forced her to,” I protest. “I’m surprised she even took the time—”
Conor levels me with a glare. “I know you have some beef with your mom, but lay off her just this once, okay?”
“Fine.” I turn away from him and keep packing up his shit like the obedient little boy I am.
When we leave the room, Conor’s back to trying to convince me that everything with May will be all right, but I know it won’t be. It never is.
I’m chased by nightmares the two nights after Lucy’s audition. The kind of nightmares the meds McMillen put me on last fall are supposed to stamp out. The dreams are brought on, I’m sure, by the fat envelope that was waiting for me in the mailbox when I got home on Monday night, which I stuffed next to the last one, in the back of my closet. I’ve never gotten two