in my stomach grows larger. Soon it’s going to swallow my entire body, and all that will remain will be a pulsing mass of anxiety. I haven’t heard from Lucy since our blowup Friday night. This is the longest we’ve gone without speaking in years. But I can’t think about it right now; if I do, I might implode. I can’t imagine my life without her.
“What?” Zach looks over at me with raised eyebrows, and I realize that I just said Lucy’s name out loud, like a total freak. I flush.
I shake my head. “Nothing. Sorry, I’m just stressed.” I haven’t told him about the fight.
“It’s okay.” He hesitates, then grabs my hand. It takes all my willpower not to snatch it back. He’s helping me; I like him. I want to be normal; I want to be a girl who’s in a car with a boy who likes her, driving to a normal destination. That’s all I want.
But I know better than most that you can’t always get what you want.
Or even what you need.
“So, what’s the plan?” Zach is trying his best to be chipper, which is hilarious, given our current situation. “When we get there…do I come in with you? Is that allowed?” He pauses. “Look, I’m not trying to be your mom or anything, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go in there alone.” A tiny part of my brain snorts and thinks, If you were being like my mom, you wouldn’t even be in this car, but I’m too distracted to say it out loud.
Instead I reply, “You read his letter. I have to go alone. That’s the only way he’ll talk to me.” I sound like a robot. Zach’s face is tense, his forehead creased. I remind myself that the reason he’s involved in this mess is because of me, and that I should be nice to him even though my default mode is Evil. “Look, I appreciate your coming with me. Trying to protect me or whatever…” I trail off. Draw a shaky breath. I can’t find the energy to continue. The landscape flies by outside the car, the palm trees that line the freeway zipping past in a streak of green.
We’re getting closer.
I dig my nails into my palms, and the pain reminds me to get it together. I need to do this. I owe it to Jordan. I need to hear his last words, even if they come from the mouth of the monster who murdered him.
Zach’s silent, driving.
“I’ll be fine,” I mumble. I square my shoulders like I’ve done so many times this past year and try to trick myself into believing my own bullshit.
He presses his lips together and I can tell he wants to say more, but he nods. “All right. I’m here. If you need me.”
I nod.
We’re quiet the rest of the ride.
* * *
—
About twenty minutes later, we pull up outside the complex. It’s made up of two jails in downtown LA: Men’s Central and Twin Towers, where David is. From the outside, the two towers look nondescript. They don’t look worthy of their names, of what’s inside them. Just a couple squat, ugly, medieval-looking gray buildings. The most startling thing about them is the lack of windows. You’d never guess that inside is a maze of hallways, thousands of inmates, and terrible living conditions. You’d never guess that inside is my brother’s killer. Even though I’ve been getting envelopes postmarked from this complex for almost a year, I never thought about it as a real place until the other night. I had no idea any of this was here.
After we park, we sit in the car for a minute, silent and still. Zach keeps trying to catch my eye, but I can’t bring myself to look at him. I’ve been pulling at the cuticle of my thumb over and over since we got off the freeway, and it’s starting to bleed. My hands are a mess of scratches and torn skin.