number, screw them,” Autumn says.
“Screw them,” I repeat.
Molly squeezes my hand.
“Screw them,” she whispers.
* * *
I win again, but I throw two genuine gutter balls with my left hand.
“You did it for Molly,” Nash says as he drives me home.
Yeah, Nash drives me now. That’s a thing. It’s kind of the only option, if I want to socialize with Le Crew on the weekends. I don’t have a car and Gramps has rejoined his brotherhood friends for Saturday night card games. I’m so happy he’s going out and socializing that I don’t even care that I had to stop treating the Corolla like it’s mine.
“Did not. Bowling lefty is hard,” I say.
“If you say so. But thank you,” Nash says. He turns the radio down so the soft rock guitar hums in the background. “I love Moll, but sometimes it’s hard to empathize.”
“I’m stressed too,” I say. “I get it.”
“But at the end of the day, Molly is going to get into Cornell. If not, well, at least she knows she can still go wherever she wants. Molly is getting out of here, and …” Nash’s knuckles are white against the steering wheel.
“You’re not,” I say, finishing his sentence.
Nash nods. I suck in a breath and think about what words should come next. At first, I was nervous accepting rides from Nash—I almost said no. But I’ve been starting to like hanging out with Le Crew too much to continue to turn down bowling. The rides are usually a mash-up of stupid jokes and car karaoke, though. Not this.
“Why?” I ask.
Nash shrugs.
“Money. Paranoia. Fear. Hypochondria. All of the above. It changes daily. I swear, if my parents had it their way, I’d never leave the house. I get it, sometimes. But I’ll be lucky if I can convince my parents to let me live on campus at UConn. Molly is sobbing over Cornell and Autumn is lusting over USC and Sawyer has multiple offers from recruiters—and it’s hard not to hate them sometimes.”
“That sucks,” I say.
“A lot,” Nash says.
Rain ricochets off the windshield, beating down heavier than the quiet drizzle that has accompanied the first part of our drive home. I focus my eyes forward, watching the windshield wipers crank up in speed, trying to imagine what the hell will come out of Nash’s mouth next.
Online, Kels and Nash are going to New York. We’ve always acted like it was never even a question. But it’s so much more complicated than getting in or not. Especially if his parents are seriously not letting him leave Connecticut.
“Yesterday, my mom asked me what I thought about getting my degree online. She tried to argue the economics of it, but she’s so transparent. I nodded along and told her I’d consider it, but seriously? Just because Nick left home and died doesn’t mean I’m going to.”
Nick? Nash’s words don’t compute. Am I forgetting something? This seems like a major thing to forget. My brain runs through every story Nash has ever told Kels or Halle—until it hits me like a punch in the stomach.
Neither of us knows who Nick is.
And now Nash is driving too fast and it’s downpouring.
“Nash,” I say.
He’s never told Kels about anyone named Nick. He told me he’s an only child. Or maybe I assumed. I don’t know. I do know I’m the last person in the entire world who should be in this car with Nash right now. Where is Molly or Autumn or Sawyer or literally anybody else?
“Nash, slow down.”
We hit a giant puddle and the car hydroplanes. Headlights blind my vision, so I cover my face with my hands and scream. Nash regains control of the car and I’m suddenly having an out- of-body experience, because I’m literally screaming at him to pull over, to pull over right now. He pulls into the parking lot of the Middleton Public Library, the first place we met, of course.
Nash presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
He’s crying. Then I’m crying.
We’re a hot mess.
And I can’t help but think if we had just hydroplaned into a tree and this was the end, Nash would never know I’m, well, me.
“Nash,” I start.
“I don’t know why I said that,” Nash says.
“Nick?” I ask, thinking back to Rosh Hashanah and our moment on the swings. Nash saying, It sucks so bad, losing the people who are supposed to still be here.
My insides clench before Nash even speaks, and for the first time, I really hate that I