High and Dry (17 page)

“There's something nice about not being able to talk during a movie, though.”

I caressed her fingertips in tiny circles, one by one. I traced patterns on her palm, wanting her to know her fortunes belonged to me, included me. I was going to make her remember exactly how good I could be.

After about fifteen minutes of all my best moves, she leaned over and licked my ear. It was just a tiny swipe along the shell, but it drove me crazy.

“I don't want this to be our last date,” she whispered, and her breath was cool and shivery along my skin where she'd licked me.

I'm so thirsty, I wanted to whisper back.

We fumbled our way out of our seats and out of the theater into the lobby. I pushed her against the wall and kissed her neck, working my way up the smooth column of her throat, along her jaw, across her cheek, and finally to her lips. She clutched my hair, encouraging me to go harder, faster, higher. I flashed through a dozen memories of making out with her in the days and weeks and months past, in the school hallway (“Get a room,” people griped, oh so originally), in my car, in her bedroom, on the floor, on the couch, and then I stopped and forced myself to focus on this moment, this reality, which was a thousand times better than anything last fall because it was happening
now
; she was making soft moans I almost couldn't hear, so soft they were more like vibrations under the surface. She clutched my arms, either pushing me away or pulling me in; I wasn't sure.

“Damn,” Ellie murmured when we came up for air. “You know that thing I was afraid of? It's happening.”

My fingers traced the skin just under her shirt at the waistband of her jeans. Her lips were red from the force of my kisses. It was way prettier than any waxy lipstick could ever be.

We reluctantly walked back inside the theater.

When the movie ended, we stood in the lobby again, feeling awkward around each other. Jonathan exited the bathroom and looked at the big clock on the wall above the movie schedule. “It's still early. Can we see it again?”

“But it's not a surprise anymore; you already know the twists and turns. It'll pale in comparison,” said Ellie.

“No it won't!”

“You know why you want to see it again? Because you want to feel the way you felt the first time, before you knew what would happen.” She looked right at me as she said this. “You don't care about the movie—you care about how you felt, when it was new.”

“Sometimes it's better the second time around,” I offered, grasping at straws. Had I lost her again, before I'd really gotten her back?

“I just want to see the car go off the bridge one more time,” said Jonathan, looking between us like we were crazy. “But whatever, maybe someone'll post it to YouTube.”

We pulled up to my house, and I didn't want to try to mack in front of the kid so I squeezed Ellie's hand, and said, “Give me a second with J-dawg?”

I opened the car door for him and motioned for him to follow me a few feet away.

I knew exactly how I was going to get the flash drive out tomorrow. The best part was, Ellie would help me.

I handed Jonathan the twenty dollars she'd given me: redistribution of wealth. “I need you to swipe Ellie's jacket tonight, the fleece she's wearing now, and take it to the high school tomorrow morning for your meeting with Fred. When you're done, drop it in the lost and found.”

“Why?”

“It's kind of a secret, but I'll explain later. Do you accept the mission?”

He smiled. “Accepted.”

We shook hands, and I knew I could trust him. Or at least my twenty dollars could.

They drove away, and I walked to my front door. My footsteps triggered the porch light, revealing Ryder curled up in a ball beside the creosote bushes. He had a black eye and a blood-smeared mouth, and he looked about two seconds away from passing out.

THE TRUTH ABOUT RYDER

I HELPED RYDER UP AND LED HIM INTO THE HOUSE. HE
weighed a ton. His arm was like an anchor around my neck, dragging me down. We half wobbled, half crawled to the living room couch.

Mom gave him a frozen bag of peas for his eye, some water, and a couple Tylenol. She wanted to call the sheriff's department, but Ryder begged her not to, so she didn't; no judgment, no questions asked.

Mom always had a soft spot for Ryder. It was almost like she respected him for surviving his life, respected his ability to withstand circumstances her own son would never have to worry about. She'd never let me get away with the things Ryder did, because she knew I'd never be forced to do them, and I think a small part of her disliked me for it.

We all agreed he should spend the night.

I put a pot of coffee on.

Ryder looked worse in the accusatory light of the kitchen; accusatory toward
me
, in particular. I had a feeling this night had been a long time coming, and just because I'd preferred to avoid it, and just because I'd sworn up and down to Ellie that Ryder was
a good guy, didn't mean I didn't know something was seriously wrong and had been since freshman year. The light in the kitchen was about to reveal all and I couldn't close my eyes against it.

His face had been bludgeoned, and his nose looked like it'd been moved half an inch to the left. Dried blood matted down his hair, sticking it in strands to his neck. It made me think of an animal I'd seen on the freeway, struggling to make it to the side of the road after being hit by a car.

“What happened?” I said, once Mom stopped helicoptering and left for her bedroom, telling us to call her if we needed anything.

“If you couldn't unlock the window tonight, all you had to do was let me know.” His voice was low and his words were garbled, as though he had rocks in his mouth.

Jesus. “I'm sorry, man. I just forgot. I completely forgot.”

“Whatever. I'm only here to find out about the soccer game, then I'll go,” Ryder told me. He sounded slow and clogged, like he had a cold, but worse. Maybe blood and snot had mixed up there.

His face was painful to look at. Even though I was afraid of the answer, I asked, “Who did this to you?” but he didn't reply. Maybe that's why I'd asked; I knew he wouldn't tell me, and then I wouldn't have to do anything about it.

I opened my wallet. “Here, at least take back your cash. I'm really sorry, man.”

Ryder scoffed at the money, knocking it out of my hands. “Don't be sorry. Just tell me what the deal is,” he said. “I need to know what's going down on Friday. Right now.”

“I can't throw the game,” I said.

He shifted uncomfortably. “Don't show up. No one will question it. You've been skipping practice, you've been sick, just stay home on Friday. Everyone knows you're drunk half the time, anyway.”

“Not anymore.”

His eyebrows lifted and he winced, raising his hand and a sodden piece of tissue to lightly touch the swollen area around his eye.

“That coffee's not spiked with whiskey?” he asked.

I handed it over. He took a sip; frowned.

“Ellie wants me to stop drinking,” I explained.

He handed the cup back. “That's my Charlie. His moral compass always points E.”

I swallowed, unsure if I felt embarrassed or angry. “Lay off, all right? I said I was sorry about the window, and I'm giving you your money back, but I can't throw the game. What's with you lately?”

He laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. It was the laugh of someone who was empty inside and could only mimic sounds instead of create them; could only conjure up the opposite of what a laugh should be, because it had been so long since he'd experienced real joy or humor. “‘Lately'? Now you ask? ‘Lately,' he says.”

The day after Ryder threw the bat, we'd had nowhere to go, so we kicked an old soccer ball around. We spent the rest of the summer practicing and reading all my dad's
X-Men
comics. Ryder had
remembered what I'd said about Lockheed that first day of practice, and he wanted to find out more.

Turns out I was good at soccer, but I never would have known if Ryder hadn't sabotaged Little League for himself. He could've gone far, maybe even pro ball. The minor leagues? Maybe even the majors? Who knows?

He always acted like it didn't matter, but his sacrifice had saved me.

I paced back and forth around the kitchen table, let the words I'd been suppressing for years pour out of me, unfiltered.

“Look—you should've been on the soccer team with me. You should've been on soccer or baseball or football. Hell, I don't know—any team you wanted. And then you wouldn't be betting from the sidelines. You'd be the one deciding if we won or lost, the one getting a scholarship to leave Palm Valley behind. It should've been
you
playing all these years and you
know
that—”

“Yeah, well, that wasn't an option.” He got up and slowly, painfully walked toward the door. “Have a beautiful life, Charlie.”

I moved to catch up with him.

“You can't even walk straight. Where are you gonna go? Crash here tonight, get some rest. Tell me what's going on, man.”

He reached a hand out to the wall to steady himself; turned to face me. “You know Griffin hates you, right? That he always has?”

“He's the one who cut my brakes when I was twelve, isn't he?” I said. “Egged the house? Crank-called us?”

Ryder nodded shortly. “I mean, I don't know if he did
all
those things. But he blames you for ruining our lives. Thinks if you hadn't moved here, Mom would still have a job at the school, we'd still have our old house, and Dad wouldn't be in prison.” He laughed again, the sound like an off-key piano. “Like you guys
made
him rip off Flynn Scientific! Like you
made
him sell stolen auto parts! It's lame, but that's what Griffin thinks. He promised to leave you alone if I helped him on his deliveries, served as a scout.”

“Why'd you fail the drug test freshman year?” I blurted out.

“
I wasn't on drugs
,” said Ryder. “I mean, I wasn't taking them for myself. He forced me to test the product every once in a while, make sure it wasn't bad.”

I thought I might be sick. “That's horrible.” I wish I'd known, back then. But what could I have done about it? I remembered Ryder being summoned yesterday by Griffin and Griffin's friend. “
The nose knows.
” A cocaine sample to test?

Ryder wobbled back into the living room and sat down on the couch.

“After I failed the test, and I couldn't be on any of the teams, I had nowhere to go, no group to join; everywhere was a slammed door. I told Griffin I was done with him, but I was getting my ass kicked all the time at school, so it was like … my only way out was through him. He and his friends said they'd protect me if I started working for them again. It's screwed up, but there it is.”

“What kind of drugs did they make you take?” I asked.

“Mostly it was coke,” Ryder said. “Occasionally weed, if the
grower changed. I didn't mind the weed so much. But tonight, it was supposed to be LSD. After what happened to Maria, I said ‘Hell, no.' She might've overdosed, or it might've been a bad batch—Griffin doesn't really know what he's doing; it's all an experiment for him. I wasn't gonna take that risk, so I refused, and I fought him off and I ran here.”

I wiped a hand down my face. “He's the one who drove my car to the hospital, isn't he? Tried to make it look like I dosed Maria Salvador?”

Ryder hesitated. “Yeah. If Salvador died, and word got around, his business would go with her; no one would buy from him anymore. He's trying to expand through Agua Dulce down to the San Fernando Valley, the edge of Van Nuys.”

“Since when do songbirds do drugs?”

“Posey asked me for LSD. Said she was going to teach the Other Maria a lesson, trick her into taking it.”

“She wanted her out of commission so she could have the concert solo,” I muttered.

“Whatever her reasons were, I didn't care. I know what it's like to be force-fed, so that was off the table.”

“That's when she called you a cylon?”

“We had a fight and I left. That's when you saw me at the party, on my way out the door. I think after that, Bridget must've called Griffin, and he came over to make the deal. Bridget is, like, Posey's henchman.”

Bridget always told me I was too nice, too bland, too sweet.
Had she found what she was looking for in Ryder's older brother?

“We were gone by the time he must've showed up,” I said. “Bridget dropped me off at home by nine.”

As I said the words, something clicked into place for me. She hadn't been my alibi.
I'd been hers
.

“So Griffin probably sold it to Posey and stuck around, maybe to see if any high school girls would hook up. And when things got bad, he used your car to drop Salvador off at the hospital,” Ryder theorized.