Three weeks later, with Christmas only eight days away, I get an early present.
Dear Miss Klein:
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to California State University...
Once my eyes skim that first sentence I clutch the paper to my chest and squeal in delight. After running outside in my pajamas, grabbing everything in the mailbox, and tearing open the first envelope with my name on it, I plopped down on the couch to find out my future. Today is the day I receive my college letters, and it feels just like Christmas: rushing downstairs, feeling jittery with anticipation and excitement, ripping up paper, and holding your breath for either ecstasy or disappointment at what's inside.
Well, after opening my gifts, I'm feeling as merry and jolly as the holidays themselves. According to my letters, I got into all the schools I applied to: Pepperdine, USC, UCLA - and California State. I saved California State for last on purpose, even slipping my finger under the envelope carefully and slowly unfolding the letter. I'm glad I was accepted to the other universities, but Cal State is the only one I really care about now. Cal State is the school all of my friends are going to. It's the school Jason's going to.
I stand up, twirl around victoriously, and collapse onto the sofa again with a sensation of complete exuberance. Can someone burst from so much happiness? Are the festive decorations, joyful noise, and charitable spirit of the holidays making me glow and grin more than usual? Or is my never-ending smile and resplendent mood the kind that's caused by a certain someone? By love?
I sigh, running a hand through my hair, as butterflies fill my stomach. My heart leaps and my face breaks out into a winning smile. That reaction should be my answer. I don't know exactly when I realized I love Jason, but now that things have slowed down, it's easier to realize why. He's making me feel this way. He looks at me in that secret, stolen way, listens to not only my words but my heart and mind as well, touches me with the knowledge that I'm powerless to his embrace and not weak to another's. And of course there's the bad boy charisma and come-hitherness that I wanted first. I wanted his worst before I discovered his best. I think that's the definition of love, or at least an important part of it. The good in him makes me fall harder every day, but the bad in him is what makes me fly and fight while I'm falling so fast.
I know Christmas seems like a cliched and cheesy time of year to tell someone that you love them, but it seems like the right time to me. Obviously I'm happy that I get to spend the holidays with Jason, if I can't spend it with my parents. But telling him I love him has nothing to do with the mood, or the theatrics, or the celebration of the holiday, and everything to do with what I want outside of that. I want plaid shirt days of banned fun... nights when he makes me his own... I want Jason to challenge me, thrill me, surprise me, make me laugh... I want to feel safe and respected... and I want to be with him because I know that I'm wanted, cherished, and loved.
I should be the one to say it first. With us, it's not a matter of admitting it, but rather - announcing it. Asserting it, avowing it. I have to be the one to do it first, because I know Jason, and I know that he needs my support and encouragement to be so vulnerable. If there's anything he's afraid of, it's fueling his depression with too much emotion and letting it control him. I want something else to control him, or at least guide him and save him. I want that something to be my love.
Combine this with all the good news I've been receiving lately, and I'm in a mood that can't be touched. All of my friends got into California State, so we're staying together for whatever challenges lay ahead of us. Tonight we're heading out to the Wreckers' Bando and completely mutilating it, taking out our anger and hatred for them with some reckless vandalism. It's going to be fun.
"Danny, babe, I'm gonna need a nice, big breakfast after last night - " Anna stops dead in her tracks on the stairs, her hand running through her disheveled hair, when she sees me sprawled on the couch. She's wearing an oversized button-down that I'm sure belongs to my brother. "Oh my God, Tessa, I'm so sorry!" she wails, her hazelnut-skinned face reddening.
I sit up and giggle, shaking my head. I'm not offended - she and Danny spend so much time at each other's houses they might as well live together, and her presence is fond and familiar, like a mother or a sister. Danny needs to propose to her already.
"It's okay," I say, gathering my scraps off the coffee table. "Danny's not here. I heard him leave early this morning and he hasn't been back since. I don't know where he is."
"Oh. I should probably put on pants then."
I laugh and gesture to my own pajamas - a Minnie Mouse nightshirt. I was so anxious to get the mail when I woke up that I didn't bother with a robe. Or a brush. I must look frazzled, frostbitten, and frizzy-haired.
"If you want to," I say.
Anna laughs too and shrugs, continuing down the rest of the staircase. "As long as I'm not grossing you out. I'm sorry; I'm so embarrassed."
"It's fine, Anna, really. My parents used to tease me with worse."
"Yikes. That makes me feel a little better. Do you want some breakfast?"
"Sure," I say, following her toward the kitchen. I dump the torn envelopes into the trash can, settle into a stool at the breakfast bar, then look down at the letterheads in my hands. Seeing the official, straightfaced font address me as Miss Klein, accept me into a respected institution, and praise me on my accolades and achievements makes everything so real and final. Wow. It's all happening so fast...
"What are you in the mood for?" Anna asks me, bending to examine the contents of the refrigerator. "Pancakes? Eggs and bacon? Coffee and donuts?"
"Anything, I'm starving."
"Me too. I've been really hungry lately." Her face colors again. "I mean, it has nothing to do with what I said when I came down. We haven't been - we weren't - I'm not -" I start giggling and she shakes her head. "Never mind. What were you doing before I came down?"
"Oh - " I gesture to the papers and my ruffled appearance. "Scouring the mail for my college letters. I got into all the ones I applied to."
"Congrats, Tess!" she chirps, balancing a carton of eggs, a packet of bacon, a box of pancake mix, the milk jug, and the tub of butter in her hands. She kicks the fridge closed and pauses, groaning about forgetting the creamer. I chuckle and grab it for her, then shuffle around the kitchen to make the coffee.
"Thanks. So which one are you going to?" she asks.
"California State."
"Awesome. Danny's gonna be so proud of you. And if he mentions anything about Stanford just bop him on the head. He's not there yet." She cheeses and cracks the eggs into a bowl.
I nod and watch the coffee drip in the percolator. With every plop the pot fills more, and I don't blink as I study it, afraid that if I do I'll miss the rhythm. That's kind of how my life feels. It all happened so fast. But that's the thing about the thrill: it's a rush. And if you don't - or can't - keep up with it then what's the fun?
"Tess?" Anna says, jarring me back to reality. She sounds like she's said my name a few times.
"Hmm?" I say absentmindedly. I turn away from the coffee maker, now finished dripping.
"I was asking if you knew what finally convinced your brother to take the internship."
"Oh." I shrug, considering. Back in October the hospital offered to pay Danny's medical school tuition if he did a summer intensive next year. "I don't know. I thought it was you. Every time I talked to him about it he was afraid he'd get too busy to look after me. I told him I shouldn't stop him from his second chance. He only put off med school in the first place for me. And I'm not a baby."
She whisks the pancake mix thoughtfully. "You're not. I told him the same thing, and that I'd be around too. I think he's just worried because he feels responsible for you. You're old enough to be on your own, but still young enough to need help."
"Everyone needs help sometimes," I point out, echoing something Jason told me a while ago. At the time I didn't think he might've been talking about himself.
"Well, your brother didn't admit that until recently. Any idea what he asked me about?" She gives me a knowing smile.
I roll my eyes. "I'm a teenager, I'm a girl, and I'm his little sister. He's gonna get confused. Doesn't mean he can jump to conclusions and make assumptions."
Anna chuckles. "I get you, Tess. But you know Danny. His concern is do-or-die and once he makes up his mind, he doesn't ask any questions."
"True."
"But... I'm not like that. I ask questions. And I'll only get overprotective if you give me a reason to." She pours a pancake in the griddle and turns to me, fisting a hand on her hip. A grin and sparkling eyes light up her face. "So, is it a boy?"
I guess it's all the spectacular, blissful amour I was wrapped up in this morning, because my cheeks burn and I cover my mouth with my hand, giggling nervously. "Maybe."
"What's his name?"
My lips curl with a smile, my heart picks up its pace, my chest feels light. Even his name has an effect on me, because it rolls off the tongue, it sounds as dangerous and enticing as he is, and it's the name I knew him by before he even knew mine.
"Jason McCann."
Anna raises her eyebrows, intrigued by his name as well, and we slip into juicy gossip over our big, wholesome, Saturday morning breakfast. It's fun talking about Jason, school, my friends, and myself to someone who doesn't know but is dying to understand. I love my brother, obviously, but there's nothing like talking to a mother, or a sister. I used to talk Nina about stuff like this, but that was when she was my cousin and my friend. Now blood is the only thing connecting me to her, preventing me from cutting her off completely.
After we finish eating I insist on cleaning up the kitchen, so Anna disappears upstairs to get dressed. I'm clearing the pans from the stove and carrying them to the dishwasher when the house phone rings. I pause in the middle of the kitchen for a moment, puzzled. Who would be calling the house phone? Why do we still have that thing?
It keeps ringing shrilly from its receiver on the wall beside the microwave, so I figure it's important. I set the cookware down and scramble for a dish towel, then pick the phone up, walking back to the dishwasher.
"Hello?"
"Hello," a male's direct, authoritative voice answers. "This is Detective Mills. I'm the head sheriff of the homicide division at the San Diego police precinct."
I'm perplexed, apprehensive, and stunned, all at once. "Sheriff? San Diego?"
"Yes, m'am. Going on forty years. May I speak to Daniel Klein?"
"Um, he's not here right now," I say carefully. "May I take a message?"
"I'd prefer it if I could just speak to Daniel myself. This information is strictly confidential. I tried his cell but he didn't answer, and this is the only other number I have on file. He asked me to call on the weekend."
"Well, I'm Daniel's sister, Tessa Klein," I relate, leaning against the edge of the sink. I don't know if that pitch creeping into my voice is caution or curiosity. "So any information you have for him can be shared me with me. I'll give him the message as soon as he gets home."
There's a pause on the other line, plus some shifting and a shuffling of papers.
"Of course, Miss Klein, you're his sister," Detective Mills reiterates. His voice changes from severe and businesslike to as caring as a cop can manage. Not exactly sympathetic, but caring. And sort of cautious. He clears his throat. "I realize that this a delicate matter for you and Daniel, and he probably just didn't want to mention it to you. Perhaps that's why you're unaware and weren't expecting my call."
"I'm sorry?"
He clears his throat again. "Your parents, honey. I understand that they were shot a few months ago, and the case was never closed. Completely."
I stare at a grey linoleum tile on the floor, suddenly feeling as cold and dull as it is. But then as quickly as it comes, it passes. I swallow and say, "Yes, that's correct."
"Well, back in October, I contacted your brother, proposing that you come in for some identification of suspects. I figured there was a possibility you could find a lead."
"Yes, I remember." My mind backtracking to the call Danny got on Halloween. It made him uneasy until I told him I didn't want to do it, and why. "I declined purposefully."
"Of course. Daniel called back and told me that you didn't want to participate, and that's fine. He consented to some further investigation instead."
"What does that mean?" I demand, suspicion and anger rising within me.
"Your brother asked us to search for suspects, follow up on any leads, and basically reopen the case. He told us to do whatever is necessary to find who murdered your parents."
I clench my fist and my skin grows hot. I can't believe Danny would go behind my back on something like this - something I made clear I didn't want to do. "Let me guess," I say through gritted teeth, "you found something."
"Not yet," Detective Mills hedges. "We've been working on it for weeks, but I'm sure something will come up soon. We're thinking it was an organized crime act."
"No offense, Detective, but I don't care what it was. I told Danny that I didn't want to dwell on the past. I don't think it's fair that he made this decision without me, or better yet, without my agreement. Thank you for your help, but I'd appreciate it if you ended your investigation immediately. I want no part of it." I exhale through my nose defiantly, thinking that I'm handling this very maturely for someone who's burning with anger right now.
Mills is quiet for several moments. At last he speaks in a voice lurking with regret. "Yes, of course, Miss Klein, I understand," he confirms. "Your involvement was optional from the beginning, as it is with sensitive cases like this one. Can you give your brother one last message for me, though? He called for some information three weeks ago as a concerned civilian. He suspected someone and we checked up on him, just to be sure."
I examine my nail beds. "And who is that?"
"McCann. Frank McCann. He's clean, no record. He's the CEO of a government weapons dealer, and I don't doubt that some illicit business deals go down on that front, but none that we could track. I guess your brother got some ideas because of the name, but you can tell him we got nothing."
I blink, pull the phone away from my ear, and stare at it until I hear the click of the line disconnecting. Then I slam the phone back down on the receiver, sink down to the floor, and put my head in my hands, feeling like my brother has betrayed me as badly as my cousin has.
*****
Later on that night, when Danny still hasn't returned, I go down to the living room and wait for him. I'm dressed and ready to go out with the crew to the Bando, but I'm not leaving until Danny gets here. I plan to confront him on this matter immediately.
But how? As I sit in the same spot I lounged in this morning, sinking into the middle of the couch cushions, I consume myself in thought again. Except this time, my thoughts wander to dark, bitter places. I don't really know what to make of this. Of Danny not only directing a fucking Law & Order episode about our parents' death, but trying to dig up dirt on my boyfriend's dad just to satisfy his own misplaced suspicions and "concerns".
I'm annoyed, I'm offended, I'm bewildered.
Annoyed because he ignored and disrespected my decision to leave our parents' death in the past so we could move past it. Or just me, I guess, since he went ahead and dug it up anyway. Do my feelings and choices about this not matter to him?
Offended because he told the police McCann was a person of interest - which is an absolute lie - just so he could receive information that he hoped would justify his disliking. He knows that that's the only thing that would justify it - because otherwise Jason has given him no reason. Except maybe this "change" Danny insists he's responsible for. But since when is confidence, adventurousness, and a sense of worth a bad thing? Forget the late nights and long drives and new clothes. Why can't Danny see how happy Jason makes me? Why can't Danny believe that a change was coming sooner or later, and that his dislike doesn't give him the right to blame the person who helped it happen?
And finally, I'm bewildered because I had to find out this way. In a way that makes me feel like I'm not trusted. Danny doesn't trust me, or my judgment, or my emotions. That's not a good feeling. I know my brother just wants to look out for me and is doing the best he can without my parents around, but why not just tell me? If he really cared for my feelings about the situation, he would've come to me before he called the police again, or asked me about Jason instead of going behind my back and lying.
So how do I confront Danny about this? I'm obviously furious, and I could just attack him, because that would surprise him. He knows I only get angry when people insult me or someone I care about, and either way he'll probably feel guilty. He should. Then he might get just as angry and defensive as I am, because that's what he does when someone makes him feel guilty, and at least then I'll be somewhat satisfied. Payback is very in right now.
Suddenly the doorknob to the front door turns and Danny enters, looking like he just won the lottery. I don't say anything as he glances around the living room, probably trying to find a light to turn on, and when he finally sees me his face breaks out into a smile.
"Hey, Tess, is Anna still here?" he says, rubbing his hands together in excitement. He reaches into his pocket and starts to pull something out. "I've gotta show you the - "
"You wanna tell me why you're checking up on my boyfriend?" I ask calmly, but dryly, so he knows right away that I know everything, and I'm not happy. No need to draw out the inevitable. I skewer him with a glowering gaze.
Danny is stunned for a moment before realization dawns on his face. He grimaces and turns his face away. "I knew I should've answered that call," he mutters, like he's scolding himself. Then he looks at me cautiously, as if wary of my reaction, and inches toward me. "Tess, before you get mad, let me explain."
"I'm already mad, so you better talk fast."
He closes his eyes for a moment and sighs, collapsing into the armchair across from me. He pinches the bridge of his nose and squints like this is embarrassing for him to say. "Please don't think that I don't respect your choice, Tessa. I understand that bringing up all these unanswered questions about Mom and Dad's death makes you uneasy. I told Detective Mills you didn't want to do any identification or interviews. But I couldn't let someone get away with murdering our parents just because I was afraid of what I might find." His brow furrows with fierce intent. "I figured that as long as you weren't involved directly, then I could find out what I wanted. So I consented to a full investigation."
"And you didn't tell me?" I say, mad and hurt and confused. My eyes burn with the threat of tears. "These are our parents you're talking about, Danny. I still stand by what I said, but don't you think I would want to know if this was turning into a homicide case? What if the police found something? Then I would've gotten involved anyway. I'm the one that saw them get shot."
Danny's eyes widen like he can't believe I'm saying this so plainly. When he sees that I'm not very affected he shrugs, at a loss for words, before sagging his shoulders in defeat. "You were doing so well, Tessa," he declares. "You made friends, you were doing well in school, you were working hard. I couldn't mess that up with anything that might make you unhappy. But..." He shifts uncomfortably, and his expression cools. "Then I started noticing your behavior. The new attitude and clothes and friends. It's like you're rebelling. Young and acting up. Or out."
"Acting out?" I repeat with incredulous rage. I take my feet off the coffee table and plant them on the floor. "Danny, you've gotta be kidding me. Have I gotten in trouble? Have I given you a reason not to trust me?"
"Not yet," he snaps, instantly returning my fire. "But it's not you I don't trust. It's your boyfriend."
"He has a name."
"Yes, I know. I asked you for his last name when I took you to his house on Thanksgiving for a reason. I just wasn't getting a good feeling about him after that. So I asked the police to do some research on the McCann name."
"You mean you lied and told Detective Mills that it was a suspect name," I correct him sharply. I rise to my feet and scowl down at my brother like he's a dirty, abandoned hound. "I can't believe you would go behind my back and do something like this. To me, and to Jason. I don't care what you think about how much he does for me, or how much money he has, or how much I've changed since I've been with him. It doesn't give you the right to go snooping. He's clean, anyway, so I guess the joke's on you. But the fact that you went looking for something bad makes me feel like you don't trust me. Or care about my feelings. And you know what else makes me feel like that? You continuing on with Mom and Dad's case. I told you I didn't want to go down this road. Why couldn't you just leave it alone? I said I thought it was best if we just let the past be the past and let them rest in peace. I meant it."
We glare at each other for another moment simmering with palpable tension: me looking down with my arms crossed over my chest and my mouth set in a displeased frown; Danny watching me with bitter, searching eyes, like he's trying to find the source of all my infuriation, but is mad himself because he just can't.
Finally, when I feel that the weight of my words have sunk in completely, I shake my head, brush past Danny, and stalk over to the staircase. I'll just wait for Jason in my room, and I'll text him not to come to the door. My conversation with my brother is over, and I don't want to have to interact with him anymore than is absolutely necessary.
But then all hopes of a standoff are abandoned as my foot reaches the bottom step. Behind me I hear Danny stand abruptly, and when he speaks his voice is loud, sharp, and cold, like the bullets in a gun - and what he says pierces right through me just like one would.
"So you're okay with the fact that our parents were just shot point blank?" he demands, spitting the words like they're poison. They are to me.
I wheel around. I thought walking away from him gave me the time to calm down, but now my blood boils like someone injected liquid heat into my veins.
"Of course not!" I yell. "How dare you even say that to me? Did you ever stop to think that I don't want to do this because I don't want to relive it? Don't you think that seeing our parents shot did something to me? Did you ever consider that maybe it haunted me, gave me these terrible nightmares, so bad that I couldn't sleep and had to - " I stop, my voice shaking too much to even deliver the confession. I press my fingers to my temples and squeeze my eyes shut to slow the tears down - there's no way I can stop them now - but fighting them somehow makes them comes faster. I open my eyes and feel like they're drowning me in misery.
Danny stares at me, taken aback, but I see none of his conviction dissolve. "Tess," he says carefully, "I'm sorry; I had no idea. But that's even more reason to search for some justice. It'd give you closure - "
"No! It'd open doors that need to stay closed. You know why? Here's another thought that you didn't have. What if you go digging and the people who did it come after us?"
"Is that what you're really afraid of? The police aren't gonna let that happen, Tess. They're gonna go after any and all suspects."
For some reason all I can think about is Frank McCann and how he's completely evaded the police. That's what a crime boss does, though - makes sure that no trail leads back to him.
"You're putting too much faith in them," I point out to Danny. "The police. There's ways to get around the law."
He eyes me. "What are you saying?"
For a moment I feel my resolve slipping. He's looking at me like he thinks I know something, and there's no way I'm giving him any fuel for his suspicions about Jason or his father. I'm not even going to tell him that Frank is a weapons dealer for the government. At this point Danny will probably invent some conspiracy theory about that, since he has nothing criminal to inspect.
I just shrug and shake my head, dismissing him.
Danny crosses his arms over his chest. His brow puckers into a frown over his grave eyes, like he's back to being disapproving and bitter. "You know, Detective Mills told me that it was probably an act of organized crime. You know what that means?"
I told the sheriff earlier that I didn't care, and I still don't, so I say nothing.
"It means Mom and Dad were killed over a matter of negotiation. They were a teacher and a therapist, Tessa. Someone powerful or influential had it out for them because they didn't repay a favor, or a debt, or money," he says so sourly it's clear that he's implying something.
I stare at him unblinkingly for a few minutes as my mind absorbs his words. Then, something dawns on me, drastic emotion seizes me that I feel like I'm going to explode. Or maybe something within me has already snapped, like my non-confrontational composure, because all I want to do is slap my brother as hard as I slapped my cousin. I shouldn't feel hatred towards the family members I have left. But the love I have for the ones that are gone has nowhere else to go, so maybe it's just turning into hate.
"That's why you looked into McCann!" I scream at Danny, tears flowing from my eyes now. These are tears of anger, because the pain is all in my chest. "You were trying to put two and two together and jumped to conclusions because of his money. You're so intent on justice and clouded by ridiculous suspicions that you think my boyfriend's father killed our parents!"
Danny steps forward, holding out a tentative hand. "That's not - "
"No, it is. Don't try to save face now or make up some excuse about how you're looking out for me. You lied and abused my trust and tried to implicate Jason's family. You call that looking out for me? That's how you chase me away." I pause, bearing the gravity of this situation, and then laugh in disbelief. "No. No way. Hell no. I'm leaving." I push past him and stalk toward the door, grabbing my jacket off the back of the couch.
"Tessa, where are you going?"
I spin around quickly, my hand on the doorknob, so I can shout the words to his face. "The hell away from here, that's for sure! And don't worry. I'll be back later. Jason will bring me home." I throw the door open. "In case you didn't notice, he always does at the end of the night. Even though I'm starting to feel more at home with him than I do here. Guess our house isn't a home anymore, huh?" I hiss mockingly.
"Tessa!" Danny yells after me.
"Danny?" Anna calls out from upstairs, right before I shut the door. I totally forgot that she was still in the house. That's going to be an interesting conversation when she comes down. If I wasn't so hurt and angry I'd laugh.
Wintertime darkness has settled over the night, and my tears are making my vision blurry, so I swipe them away and blink rapidly. I randomly make a left when I get to the curb of the townhouse and storm down the sidewalk. I don't know where I'm going - all I know is that I need to walk off the emotions swimming in my head and churning in my stomach. It's making me nauseous. It's almost like that day I decided to walk off the side effects of my Adderall - and Jason ended up rolling up behind me and giving me a ride. That's the one that started it all.
I don't expect him to roll up now, nor do I particularly need him to. I'm only focused on my stroll and not much else. Not even what Danny did, the argument I just had with him, or the fallout I should expect from both. Only on walking. I wrap my arms around myself, tugging my jacket closer to my skin to shield it from the cold. People think it doesn't get cold in California, but on the contrary, we have seasons, and the seasons determine the weather.
I'm not sure how long I walk. It's long enough to calm me down. Even my surroundings provide some solace - probably because it's so quiet and empty. The amber glow of the street lamps illuminate a row of identical houses on one side of the road, and a fenced lot, empty of any cars, on the other. I expect to see a "Prohibited" sign or a master lock preventing access - that's what the Bizzle Gang has prepared me for - but it's completely open to the public. Beyond the fence is what looks like a park with a playground, swing set, and asphalt. It looks like a nice place to sit and be alone for a while longer.
I walk over to the fence to get a better look. As I'm peering through, I get a sudden spark of devious inspiration, probably caused by my leftover anger, and decide to climb it. Since the lot isn't off limits, hopping it wouldn't be trespassing, but it would be disturbing the peace. Why not? I'm feeling everything but peaceful.
Once I finally get a good foothold and reach overhead to hoist myself up, my phone rings from my pocket. I grimace down at it, thinking about ignoring it, but I recognize the special ringtone. It's Jason.
I hop down and prop a foot against the fence like I'm posted up. "Hey, babe."
"Hey, baby girl, where you at?"
"I don't even know," I reply, with a casualness that's probably totally insane right now. I think I'm at the point where you get so distraught that your demeanor seems emotionless.
"What?" Jason says sharply.
"I... got into an argument with Danny and I walked out. Well, stormed out. It was bad."
"I'm coming to get you."
"How are you gonna get me if I don't know where I am?" I glance around at my environment, now a bit warily. I spot a bench a little ways down the sidewalk, and drag myself over to it. Once I sit I bring my knees to my chest, balling up protectively. I don't regret storming out, but not paying attention to where I was going wasn't very wise.
"I'm coming to get you," he says again, unfazed by the dilemma. "I'm on my way to your house anyway." He pauses. "When you left home, did you make a left or right?" he asks me.
"Left."
"Did you make any turns?"
"No. I've just been walking. I'm across the street from a park. Does that help?"
"Yeah. I know where you are, baby, don't worry. You sound shaky. Just stay on the phone with me."
I nod, even though he can't see, and rest my head on my knees. The sound of his voice is enough of a comforting presence. It was enough to help me fall asleep when I couldn't otherwise.
"So tell me about the argument," he suggests after several minutes. His tone is light, soft, soothing. It makes me want to smile even though I can't. "What happened? You okay?"
"Not really," I admit quietly. "It was bad. So I'd rather tell you when you get here. Is that alright?"
"Yeah, baby girl, I get it. Tell me some good news then. Something to make you happy and distract you. I wanna hear that smile."
I laugh tensely. "I can't think of anything."
"Think harder."
I rack my brain and idly run my thumb over the spikes on my boots. "Well... I got into California State. I got into all the schools I applied to. My letters came in the mail this morning."
"Congrats, baby. You deserve it. But I still don't hear a smile," Jason notes, almost warningly.
"That's because I'm not smiling." I sound petulant.
"Obviously. But you better."
"Why should I?" I pout and tease him back. "When you smile you're usually getting ready to laugh at me."
He laughs at me now. "That's not true. And you should because I said so."
"That's the oldest excuse in the book."
"I wrote that book. Which means you better listen to me, or else."
"Or else?" I repeat, tasting the words. "Sounds serious. Make me happy enough so I can smile, then. You always do."
"Yeah, I know. I can make you do a lot of things."
"Mm-hmm..."
"Look up, baby girl."
I lift up my head and am actually startled when I see Jason standing before me. I was so busy listening to his voice on the phone that I didn't notice when it started coming from right in front of me. His car sits at the curb, sleek and shiny in the night.
He hangs up the call, then hands me a steaming Styrofoam cup. I can tell from the design that it's the holiday hot chocolate from Hard Rock Caffeine that I've been drinking since December started. It's my favorite. I take it gratefully, and the heat warms me as much his presence does, and as much as the small smile that finally spreads across my face does. He looks so good - hair messy, eyes bright. He smirks before sitting and pulling me under his arm. I curl against him and hug his waist. I love that when I hug him, I can hear his heartbeat.
"Thank you," I murmur, then take a sip of the hot chocolate. It's sweet and rich; it soothes my throat and fills the empty ache in my stomach.
Jason kisses the top of my head and cinches me tighter. I stay there for a couple minutes, wanting to breathe until I take him in. At last I sigh and sit up just enough to see his face. He has a really cute nose, I notice randomly, that makes him boyish and adorable, no matter how much he tries to deny it. But that smoldering gaze, chiseled jawline, and wicked, sleek mouth is all man.
"Were you crying?" he asks me, lifting my chin so he can check before I even answer. He searches my eyes, then tucks a piece of hair behind my ear and brushes his fingers down my tear-stained cheeks. He's being so gentle; I wonder if it's because he knows I'm in a fragile state. "Do I need to punch your brother? Do you want me to?"
Believe it or not, I laugh a little, because I know he's serious. But it's a sad laugh, one that's tensed on the verge of tears. "I definitely wanted to. I wanted to because I was so angry, or maybe because I wanted him to hurt as much as I was."
"What happened?"
I chug down a few gulps of my cocoa as if it'll help me speak. "Okay. So I never mentioned this to you before, but on Halloween, Danny got a call from the San Diego Police Station. The sheriff wanted to know if I would come in and do identification, because it's protocol for witnesses of drive-bys. A.k.a. me, when I saw my parents killed."
"Identification?"
"Yeah, they bring in suspects and line them up, and you have to point out anyone familiar," I explain. "But I told Danny I didn't want to do it. By then I had finally started to move past it. And you were helping me with my nightmares. I knew that dwelling on it would only make me feel worse, and I didn't want to go looking for answers and end up with more questions."
The wind picks up for a moment and rustles Jason's hair. He rubs my shoulder, transferring more heat. "So what'd Danny say when you said you didn't want to do it?"
"Well, he said he understood why, and I thought that that was the end of it. But the sheriff called the house today and I found out that Danny consented to a full investigation anyway. They haven't found anything so far, but that's not the point. He didn't respect my decision and hid what he was doing. This is important; this is our parents' murder. I felt like he didn't care about my feelings. Then he implied that I'm okay with the fact that Mom and Dad were just shot point-blank, and that's not true." My voice quavers at this last part, and my eyes sting. Jason takes my hand and laces our fingers. "I told him that if the police had found something, I would've gotten involved anyway. And that's why I want to leave this alone. It's gonna haunt me if I keep wondering. Of course I'm not ever gonna be okay with my parents dying - but they died protecting me, and that's all I want to know about it."
Jason is silent for a while as he considers. He strokes my knuckles with his thumb and hugs me close under his arm. "I'm sorry, TK," he murmurs sincerely. "I know this is hard for you. I wish I could say that I know how you feel, but I don't. I wasn't there when my mom was killed. I heard about it afterwards."
I set my cup down and press my hand to his flushed cheek. His skin is feverish despite the cold - or maybe because of it. "Baby, that doesn't make it any less worse. And it doesn't mean that I can't confide in you. You know what it's like to lose someone you love - senselessly."
"I do," he agrees after a few moments. "But one thing was different. I wanted the guy who killed my mom to be locked up, and my dad made sure he was for the rest of his life. Killing him would've been too easy. I wanted him to suffer." His eyes flash menacingly for a minute before settling on mine. "Remember when I said I'm here for you if you change your mind?" I nod. "I know how you feel about it, TK, and I'm not trying to pressure you, but my dad can find who did it without all the mystery you're worried about. And he'll kill them slowly, with no mercy, so they can feel half of what you've been through." He squeezes my hand, small and delicate in his, to emphasize how feeble I can be - or the fact that I'm still here after all of it. Then that smirk of his adorns his lips. "But only if you want to."
I manage to smile back at him, but bitterness grips me as his words remind of the other thing my brother did. "Thanks, Jason. But I think your dad should lay low for a little while," I tell him.
He furrows his brow. "Why?"
I tell him about Danny snooping into the McCann name, leaving out the part about him thinking he had to do something with our parents' murder. That's so ridiculous that I can't even repeat it. So I just explain Danny's recent distaste for my actions and choices - and him.
To my surprise, Jason is amused at the whole thing.
"Damn," he mutters, laughing. "I really thought I was shaping up with you. And convincing your brother that I'm not all bad. But I can't help it. My real self will come out eventually, no matter what I do. I'm toxic." He smirks.
"You're not toxic," I protest, rolling my eyes. Then I look him up and down and press my lips together. "Well...you should probably wear a warning. But you're not toxic."
"You sure?" he taunts, lowering his face closer to mine. He gazes at me alluringly and moves my hair so he can touch my neck. With his other hand he grasps my leg behind my knee and puts it over his, tugging me closer. "I'm definitely not as sweet as you."
My breath catches as he presses his lips to mine and kisses me passionately. I clasp him around his neck, twining my fingers in his hair, holding him to me, not allowing him to deny me any taste or touch. If he thinks he's toxic so be it. I want all of him, like a poison that's so good it doesn't matter if it hurts.
*****
Miley, Za, and Khalil are lounging on the front steps of the Bando - a two-story brownstone with boarded-up windows and a rusted banister - when Jason and I get there. They put out their blunts and purse their lips at us like we've been up to no good.
"Where y'all been?" Za asks, hopping up and brushing off his jeans.
"We ready to get this show on the road," Khalil says.
"And we couldn't get started without the supplies," Miley points out, nodding her head to Jason's car - it's across the street behind Za's, the only two on this abandoned lot.
"Sorry, guys," I say, squeezing past them to reach the top of the stairs. "I got into an argument with my brother and he pissed me off real bad. So let's get to it." I step up to the threshold and kick the door open, not even bothering with the loose doorknob.
"Damn." I hear Za laugh behind me. "Okay."
The bottom floor of the building is a carpeted parlor and hallway. The dark-red wallpaper peels off the plaster and the lights in the sconces have burned out. There's a rickety-looking staircase at the back of the room that leads to the second story. It smells kind of stale and mildewy, giving away how old it is just as much as the shabby interior. But I ignore all that and stalk straight up the staircase with clear intent and purpose. And a lot of deviousness. I don't know - something happened on the way here. Something like my pain and anger transforming into a rampage of destruction. I just need to find the place.
"Jackpot," I say when I reach it, and grin at the crew as they shuffle up behind me. I grab a can of spray paint from the basket Miley is holding and practically skip over to the ground-to-ceiling windows, shaking it as I do. Time to decorate.
"Yo, they got snacks in here?" Za says incredulously, opening the cupboards in the small kitchen. This is one of those one-roomed apartments, like a dorm room, so everything is built in this foyer.
"Ronnie said the Wreckers use it as a meeting place," Khalil points out, swinging the bat he's holding. We're really trying to do damage tonight.
"And storage." Miley kicks over a stack of boxes in the middle of the room, and a pile of Ziploc bags stuffed with pills and capsules spills out. "It's actually kinda cool."
"Too bad we're about to fuck it up," Jason announces with a smirk.
And then it starts.
"Food fight," Za grins.
He rips open bags of popcorn and Doritos and starts walking around the apartment, dumping the contents across the floor as he goes. Miley follows behind him and steps on the snacks so they crunch under her feet and turn into a crumbling mess. Then Za returns to the kitchen and grabs a liter of Coke, shakes it so it fizzes uncontrollably, and sprays it across the walls. The liquid stains the dingy yellow wallpaper and the plaster behind it.
"Let it snow," Miley announces.
She tears open several Ziplocs, grabs huge handfuls of the pills, and tosses them aimlessly around the entire space as she walks around. They skitter everywhere, making different sounds on each surface they land on: clattering on the floor, pinging in the sink, pattering on the ceiling, clanking on the windows. Khalil takes his bat and bashes in the plaster, which is either soggy from Za's soda shower or already run-down enough to punch through.
Jason and I graffiti the bottom half of the ground-to-ceiling windows with the spray paint Za bought. At first it's just random artwork, but then I start - disrespectfully - tagging it with "Bangerz" and "Bizzle Gang" like this our turf now. Jason chuckles and follows my lead, making the words bigger and adding crowns and guns. When we're finished I step back and admire it, remembering the way we vandalized East Bay on Halloween. Just like then, I feel like something is missing...
"Hey, Khalil, can I see that bat?" I ask, getting this crazy idea all of a sudden. He tosses it to me and I catch it lengthwise. Then I turn back to the top half of the windows, brace the bat in my hands, and swing it like I'm playing softball. The glass shatters and explodes with the force, and I hop back to avoid the rain of shards.
"Wreck the halls with bats and spray paint, fa la la la la, la la la la," I sing, laughing because this is just too much fun.
"Tis the season to be a pain, fa la la la la, la la la la," Miley chimes in as Za takes the bat from me and gives it a try.
"I think we just won this whole war, fa la la la la, la la la la!" I shout.
Khalil takes a turn.
Miley comes over to me and puts her arms around my shoulders. "Merry fucking Christmas to the Wreckers, fa la la la la, LA LA LA LA!" she carols at the top of her lungs, as Jason smashes the last window and the bat goes flying outside.
We collapse in laughter. Oh man, this feels good - messing around, taking out all our anger, resentment, vengeance, and bitterness for the Wreckers by being reckless and destructive. I mean, it's not good, but it's better. Better than going after the Wreckers themselves, right? Whatever. I don't even feel like justifying it. We're doing this because we want to.
Finally we manage to pick ourselves up - even though we're all crying from laughing so hard - gather our stuff, and head back down. Once we're outside I glance back at the building, like I'm saying goodbye to it or something, and another spark of inspiration hits me. I'm imagining this place in total destruction.
"Guys, we should burn it down," I announce.
They all whirl to face me with awestruck expressions. It's me that shocking them, not my idea.
"You serious?" Khalil says.
"Well, yeah. Trashing it was fun, and it was for us, but the Wreckers can always clean it up. They'll figure that someone snitched on them to us, and we wanted some innocent payback from the skate park. But they're not expecting us to burn it down. They'll be so confused. This is our chance to throw them off completely and fuck up their whole system. Let's torch it so they have nothing to come back to."
Za looks at me for a minute, then shrugs like I'm making a good point. "I have some lighter fluid in my trunk from the shop," he offers.
"I have an extra lighter," Miley volunteers.
"I'll check for explosives." Khalil smirks and jogs back inside.
I cross my arms over my chest and nod in satisfaction. Jason looks at me, presses his tongue against his cheek in amusement, and shakes his head.
"What?" I say.
"You're crazy and I love it."
"If I'm crazy then you're out of your mind. Because I got the idea from you." I tap his nose. "Remember the night we trashed East Bay? You wanted to set it on fire! So let's light it up, babe."
He narrows his eyes and pouts at me as Za comes over with the jug of lighter fluid. I grin and pinch Jason's cheek.
Inside I take charge and douse the building with the acrid-smelling fluid; it reminds me of gasoline. I shake it over the carpet on the first floor, spill it down the staircase, and sweep it across the messy foyer upstairs. When I'm done I take one last look at the crew, follow them out the door, and flick the lighter behind us. Flames roar up in our wake immediately.
We stand on the street and watch the fire spread for a minute. The building is so weak and debilitated that the blaze swallows it, engulfing the bottom half and crackling the plaster. I marvel at the display of ocher, marigold, and scarlet, like fireworks, then glance over at Jason. He looks absolutely wicked, the flames dancing in his honey eyes, just like I imagined long ago.
"Are those sirens I hear?" Za says.
"Or just the Wreckers crying?" Miley replies.
We grin and ha-ha at the joke, but sure enough sirens wail somewhere in the night - a fire truck coming closer and closer to us by the sound of it. Then we see a flash of blue and red.
"Time to go!" I announce, grabbing Jason around the waist, taking his keys from his pocket, and darting to his car. He runs after me, followed by the crew, and we speed away from the scene of the crime.
I'm laughing in exhilaration as I drive away with Jason, a dark road ahead of me and a flaming building behind. I know all we've done tonight - trespassing, vandalism, arson - but it doesn't matter, not even a little bit. I'm at the point when doubt transforms into delight, and the last of my inhibitions abandon me.