Vengeance (11 page)

Delaney walked by our table with her bagged lunch in her hand. I hadn’t seen her in the cafeteria yesterday, but if she had the same lunch period, I guessed she’d eaten in the library. She sent a quick glance in our direction, a quick glance away. Kevin put his foot on the chair next to him and pushed it out without making eye contact, in an invitation. She paused for half a second before sitting.

Janna stopped eating. I stopped eating. We both stared at Kevin.

Delaney put down her lunch and walked toward the napkin dispenser. “What?” he said. “It’s her table, too.
Always has been.” He finished the rest of his lunch in one bite and talked through his chewing. “If you want me to hate her, Decker, better give me a good reason.
I
didn’t break up with her. And, honestly, I have no freaking clue why
you
did.”

Delaney returned with a stack of napkins. “What’s up, Maxwell?” Kevin asked, eyeing the food she pulled out of her bag. “Gonna eat that whole sandwich?”

She elbowed his hand away. “Hands off, Kevin. I have math next period. I need the brain power.”

“Maxwell,” Kevin said, his chin in his hand as he assessed her. “I don’t know how to say this. You’re kind of a nerd.”

Janna slammed her hand down on the table. Everyone stopped talking. “What? There was a fly.” She bit a french fry in half. “Did you see the field house, Delaney?”

Delaney shifted in her seat and shook her head. Oh yes, she had seen the field house.

Kevin grabbed for her sandwich again. “Hey,” he said as she elbowed him again. “I played a very small, but incredibly dramatic, role in saving your life. I’d say worth at least an eighth of that sandwich.”

Janna was watching me as she sipped her soda. She pulled the straw from her mouth and said, “Do you believe in ghosts, Decker?”

“Ha-ha,” I said.

“No?” She grinned at me, whispered so nobody else could hear. “How about curses, then?” She took another sip of soda, then burst out laughing. “Oh my God, you should see your face right now.”

Justin leaned over to Janna and whispered, “Boo,” in her ear. She swatted him away, and then they both started laughing.

Nobody seemed to be reading the words on the field house like I was, and with Janna sitting with us at lunch, I wasn’t about to say it either.

Carson was here, and now he’s not.

Was
.

Past tense.

SO WAS DECKER.

Flood. Glass. A warning.

The vice principal called me out of last period. For a second I thought maybe the whole thing would be ignored. Maybe stand as a tribute to Carson. And maybe it would have, if my name wasn’t carved in right below.

I walked into the front office, sat in a chair in front of the glass window that separated the office lobby from the front hall. The secretary was busy talking to the same guy I ran into at the barbecue—Maya’s brother. I knew he was older—in college—but I mistook him for a student when I first walked into the office. There were several papers flattened against the counter between them. “These are the documents you requested,” he said.

The secretary ran her fingers along each one while Maya’s brother scanned the class photos on the far wall. “Birth certificate, transcript … Seems like we’re still missing her immunization record.”

“I know,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “I called the doctor’s office. It should be coming.”

The secretary raised her eyes to him over her glasses. “How old are you, hon?” she asked. He was probably my height, my build. And, like I said, he looked like a student.

He stacked the papers together and handed them to her and said, “Old enough to be taking care of this.” I guess since his mom needed full-time care, he had to take care of this kind of stuff on her behalf.

She handed him one last paper and said, “We’ll need your mother’s signature on this one.”

“I’ll get it,” he said. He drummed his fingers on the counter. “Since I’m here, figured I’d take her home with me.”

“Sure,” she said. The secretary picked up a phone and said, “Maya Johnson to the main office for early dismissal.”

The secretary waved her fingers at me. “She’ll be right with you, Decker.”

He turned around, and I realized it was the features he shared with Maya that made him seem younger. But he had dark circles under his brown eyes, and his skin was paler, which made him seem older. He blinked heavily in my direction. “Hey,” he said. “Last night. I didn’t know …” He shook his head. “Decker. Of Decker and Delaney.” He quirked his mouth. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were a friend of Maya’s.”

“Friend” was kind of an overstatement. “Right,” I said, and I stuck out my hand to shake his. He was stronger than I expected. He gripped my hand like my dad’s lawyer friends
would. Trying to show authority in the work place. An adult handshake. Guess he had to, since he was pretty much filling that role.

“Holden,” he said. “Brother of Maya’s.” Then he dropped his voice lower and said, “Sorry to hear about your dad, by the way.”

“Thanks,” I said.
Should’ve been your mom, but thanks
.

“Decker?” Mrs. Woolworth was standing halfway out of her office, motioning for me to enter.

I saw Maya sprinting down the hall, her backpack bobbing on her back with each step, like a little kid, as I turned to go. She threw open the door and whispered, “Score one for the brother!” Then, lower, “I thought you had to leave this morning.”

He laughed. “I’m drowning in paperwork.
Your
paperwork,” he said.

She bit the inside of her mouth. “I thought you had a test you couldn’t miss.”

He hooked an arm around her neck, pulling her out the door. “Turns out, I didn’t want to miss dinner with my pain-in-the-ass sister.”

“Come on, Decker,” Mrs. Woolworth said. I waved to Maya, but she was already leaving. If she’d seen me, she’d forgotten about me a fraction of a second later. So I turned for the office, my punishment waiting on the other side.

Her desk was pristine. The entire office was pristine. Not a paper in sight, not a speck of dust. She was in charge of discipline at the school. Carson used to say her stare alone could break you.

But right now, sitting across from me, she was trying to look kind. Caring. It didn’t quite translate.

“I know it’s been a rough month for you,” she said.

Guess Janna was right. Dead dad cuts me some slack. “A rough
year
, really,” she continued. “And part of me understands what you’re trying to do.”

She hadn’t seen Janna’s face in the woods. She didn’t see all the places Carson should’ve been.

“But I can’t let this go, you understand. What kind of message would that send?” She tapped the eraser of a pencil against the desk blotter. “But I see no reason to involve your mother. Or your record. Are you in any sport?”

“Not in the fall.” I ran track in the spring. Hoped she wouldn’t kick me off the team.

“Clubs?”

“Nope.”

“Good. Then I’ll see you after school until it’s fixed—you can see Mr. Hayes at the athletic center. He’ll set you up with everything you need. You start today.”

I was in the parking lot with Justin and Janna. Justin was asking Janna who she was trying to impress with her skirt, and Janna was telling Justin to fuck off in every iteration possible. I saw Kevin from across the parking lot and waved him over.

“I’m not in trouble—”

“See?” Janna said. “Told you.” She ruffled my hair, like I was a pet she was proud of.

“—but I have to fix it.”

“What do you mean,
fix it
?” Janna asked, arms folded across her chest.

“Sand it and paint over it, I guess.”

She leaned toward me, stuck a finger in my chest. “You’re not going to, right?”

“I pretty much have to,” I said.

“Carson would never paint over your name,” she said, and it stung. Because it was true. But I wasn’t him. Neither was Kevin, who put a hand on her shoulder and said, “Sorry, Janna.”

She shrugged him off.

“So,” I said. “Work detail. Starts today. I figure we could get it done in a couple of days if we all do it.”

Kevin cringed. “Dude, yeah, that’s kind of like an admission of guilt on our part.”

Janna nodded. “I’ve run through dead brother goodwill.”

I eyed Justin.

“I … have a test to study for.”

“I hate you all,” I said.

And as I left, I heard Kevin yell, “Go, Decker!” like a baseball chant, and then they all clapped and cheered as I walked away. It was hard to hate them. Really.

Chapter 7

There were worse ways to watch September slip by. I spent the afternoons scraping off paint, and not just over the letters—over the entire field house. Guess they figured it was a good time to repaint the whole thing, and I was free labor. A week of scraping off paint and sanding. A week of painting. So far, two weeks of avoiding just about everyone. The field house doors were usually locked—though that had never stopped Carson, who’d flip the lock on the window during afternoon practices whenever he was planning to use the field house after—but Mr. Hayes had to leave the doors open for me while I was working so I could paint the trim up to the hinges.

I’d spent three days pretending to do just that, but mostly I was just passing time. There was a riding mower in the back corner. Football equipment along the wall, nets and balls and hurdles in various states of wear. The floor was wood, finished enough to protect from the weather but not finished
enough to make it comfortable. It was cool inside—cooler than the air outside, turning to fall. I spent three days lying there, in the center of it all, with an open container of paint, with my hands under my head, smelling sawdust and sweat and paint and the faint odor of gasoline from the containers next to the riding mower.

I’d stay until practices were over and people started dragging equipment back inside, then drive to my mom’s office, where we ate by ourselves and didn’t talk about the fact that she’d been lying to me.

Then we’d go to Delaney’s, where I’d say meaningless things like
it’s raining
or
the phone is ringing
or
where do you keep the laundry detergent
and also
I don’t know how to work the dryer
, and didn’t talk about the fact that she’d been lying to me.

Except for one night, she cornered me while I had my math homework spread out on the dining room table and said, “How long are we gonna keep doing this, Decker?” And I said, “Doing what?” like an asshole. “You’re being an asshole,” she said. And then I laughed because I knew it. She stomped up the stairs, and Ron, whom Delaney hadn’t seen on the sofa, glared at me from the living room couch until I opted to do my homework in the office instead.

And that night, I found a note under my door. It said,
“To clarify, I didn’t mean you ARE an asshole. Just that you’re acting like one. Also, #2 is wrong. Good night.”

God, if I had no memory, I’d fall for her all over again.

But most of the time, I didn’t say anything at all. Delaney would either be working in her room, or if she was downstairs, I’d sit out back, or if she was out back, I’d sit inside.

Turns out, it’s not so hard to not see someone. Even in the same house. I thought of how many times I’d waited for my dad to leave a room before going in. How many times I’d pretended to sleep until they both left for work because I wasn’t in the mood to talk.

How easy it is to become strangers.

On my fourth day of not finishing the field house, a shadow stood over me as I lay on the bare wood. “Waiting for someone, Deck?”

Tara was grinning and breathing heavily, her dark hair in a high ponytail. Her cheeks were pink, like she’d just finished a run. She bent over to pull her socks up over her shin guards. She winked at me while crouched down. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell.”

I pushed myself onto my elbows. “No, I’m not.”

“Hey, you don’t have to explain to
me
.” She shrugged, but it felt like I did have to explain it to her.

“I’m painting the field house.”

She raised her eyebrow.

“I’m
supposed
to be painting the field house.”

She started stretching in front of me, sitting on the wood floor, legs straight in front of her, reaching for her toes. “I’m supposed to be getting cones,” she said, but it looked like she was about as interested in getting the cones as I was in painting the field house.

She switched positions, tucking one leg underneath her,
and leaned toward her other shoe. “Heard about Delaney,” she said. “Scary.”

I stood up, turned away so she couldn’t see me. “You heard
what
about Delaney?”

“That someone tried to break in last week while she was home.”

“I was there,” I said. And that’s not exactly what happened.

“Lucky for her, I guess.”

Her home. Her windows. My mom thought she was the target. I thought
I
was. But it was Delaney’s house, and she was home. She was home alone, as far as anyone could tell. Maybe it was her. I started rummaging through the equipment mindlessly. “I don’t see any cones,” I said.

I heard her sigh from somewhere behind me. “Behind the nets,” she said.

I shifted the nets to the side, careful not to knock over any of the gasoline containers, and pulled out three stacks of cones—same ones we used in drivers ed, judging from the tire marks and the way half of them were misshapen.

I grabbed two stacks and nodded toward the third. “I’ll help,” I said.

She stood and brushed the dust from her soccer shorts. She picked up the stack of cones and bumped her hip into mine playfully as she passed. “Ah, Decker Phillips. Always the hero.”

She talked the whole way, past the baseball fields, the football field, to the girls’ soccer field. She talked and talked and I didn’t have to say anything. She talked about people,
about everything, about nothing, and I remembered why it was so great to hang out with Tara. You forget about everything else. There’s no room in your head for anything else.

But a few of the girls on the team stopped running drills as we approached. They were watching us. Watching me. With her. I imagined rumors of
Tara and Decker
starting right then, circulating around school, through everyone, around everyone, straight to Delaney. I dropped the cones at the far corner, waved to the team in general. I lifted my hand as Tara called her thanks, but I was already halfway across the football field, and I didn’t turn back around.