Chapter 12
Twelve
Once Easton gets home a few hours later, the atmosphere of the house changes instantly. There are three voices downstairs—Easton,
Valencia, and presumably JT. I’ve gone through a second box of Nate’s stuff, which held more stuffed animals, pictures, a
participation trophy for soccer, and a karate outfit and white belt with a blue stripe of tape on it.
I put everything back in the boxes because I’m not throwing away any of Nate’s things, but also I might be able to use them
later. If someone tells a story, I could come back up here and check the boxes to verify the truth.
When I get downstairs, Easton is drinking from a can of flavored seltzer, but his eyes lock right on me as if he heard me
coming even over JT’s loud, boisterous voice.
He nods at me, but JT keeps speaking—about farming, apparently? He’s talking about crop yield and distribution rights to Valencia,
who is doing her best to seem interested. I’ve only known her for two days, but even I can tell she’s just being polite.
She also locks eyes with me, but unlike Easton, it’s not in greeting; it’s a please help me look.
JT turns and his eyes go wide. “It’s Nate the Great and Missing!
” Valencia grimaces at the nickname as he walks around the island and puts out his hand with enough energy that I recognize he’s looking for one of those hand slap/shake thingies straight guys do, where they hug after. So I take the lead and do it.
“Hi, nice to meet you.”
“Nate, this is JT,” Easton says.
“What does JT stand for?” I ask.
“Jerkoff Townie,” Easton says before JT can answer. Without looking at him, JT snaps and points at Easton.
“Do not listen to him, little brother. He’s just jelly that I can find purpose and drive in a small town. Real name is John
Thomas, but I go by JT ’cause I don’t want to walk around with a name that’s slang for a dick.”
“Which he is, anyway,” Easton says.
“Hey!” JT doesn’t take his eyes away from me but keeps pointing at Easton. “That’s . . . actually true.”
John. Yes, it’s a common enough name, but is this the same John who the articles said Easton was with when Nate disappeared?
“Enough with the penis talk,” Valencia says. “Please. I thought the two of you would have matured by now.”
“Mrs. Bemo, I’ve always been very mature for my age.” JT clears his throat, then reaches into his back pocket and takes out
an orange inhaler. He puts it to his mouth and breathes in while he looks me up and down. But his gaze feels more like one
of appraisal than judgment.
Easton glares. “Is that why you were suspended in sophomore year for throwing fart bombs in the hallway between lunches?”
JT caps the inhaler and turns back to Easton. “No, I was suspended for pulling the fire alarm; they never caught me for the fart bombs.”
“That’s right, I forgot.”
“And the fire alarm thing was your idea, if I recall.”
“Easton!” Valencia turns away from a pot of pasta she’s stirring, her jaw dropping open. “Is that true?”
“It is true, Mrs. Bemo.” JT leans against the island. “He’s a total sociopath, look at him. You can see it in his eyes. He
actually wanted to set the gym on fire. I was the one who suggested pulling the alarm instead.”
“That’s not true, but yes, fine, I did maybe float the idea that he should pull the fire alarm so we wouldn’t have to take a chemistry
test.”
“And I never ratted him out either.”
“No, you did not. Thank you, buddy.” He holds out his hand for a fist bump, and JT hits it, then explodes it, making a noise
with his mouth.
Valencia shakes her head. “You barely even needed to study for school. Every teacher was always so impressed by you. Even
in elementary school. Remember Mrs. Duffy? She called me in for a parent-teacher conference because she thought you weren’t
paying attention. But every time she’d call on you, you’d know the answer.”
“Why’d she want a parent-teacher conference, then?” I ask.
“She wanted to know what she could do to challenge him more. So she started making him special tests that were a little harder and gave him different homework than the other kids. She was such a wonderful teacher.”
JT puts a finger up. “Actually, not all teachers were impressed. I distinctly remember Ms. Lockwood in seventh grade hating him.”
Valencia shudders. “She was a nasty piece of work. I had to stop going to those parent-teacher conferences.” She turns back
and looks at me. “I sent your father instead, and he hated that woman.”
“I’m sure the feeling was mutual,” JT says. “She was probably a man-hater because she was allergic to nuts.” He looks at Easton while he grabs his crotch. Easton gives him a disgusted glare and shoves him, telling him to shut up.
“That’s not nice,” Valencia says. “Also homophobic. JT, please don’t say things like that in this house.”
That catches me by surprise, and I feel my heart defrost even more toward Valencia.
She continues speaking to JT and it snaps me out of my thoughts. “But especially don’t make jokes about the way people die.”
“Sorry,” JT says.
“I forgot all about that, honestly,” Valencia says, picking up the pot of boiling water and dumping it into a colander in
the sink.
“How did she die?” I ask. The door to the garage opens and closes.
Valencia looks ashamed. “We shouldn’t be talking badly of the dead. She didn’t hate Easton, and Marcus didn’t really hate her.”
“Hate who?” Marcus appears in the kitchen doorway.
“Yo, Mr. Bemo!”
“Ms. Lockwood,” Easton says once Marcus gives JT a begrudging fist bump.
Marcus sneers. “Speak for yourself. I absolutely hated her.”
“Enough!” Valencia’s voice has gone completely cold and the melting ice on my heart seizes once more. She stops working on
dinner and turns to everyone. “Just because she was strict and didn’t like Easton doesn’t mean she deserved to choke to death.”
I wince. “She choked to death?”
“Anaphylaxis,” Easton says. “She ate something in the teachers’ lounge that had nuts in it and apparently didn’t have an EpiPen
on her.”
Valencia says, “They didn’t have a full-time nurse on staff, so when one of the other teachers ran to the office, it was locked,
and they couldn’t get the EpiPen in time. Marcus’s firm did get her family a nice payout from the school, though.”
Marcus pops a piece of green pepper into his mouth. “And we took a third of it, too.”
“Capitalism!” JT holds up his hand for a high five and Marcus actually gives it.
Easton frowns at them and looks over at Valencia, who shakes her head.
“Okay, that’s it, everyone out of the kitchen. Boys, go outside.” Easton gives JT a light shove toward the back door, and
I move to follow, but Valencia stops me. “Hold on, Nate.”
She waits for the door to shut behind them, Easton giving me a better-you-than-me glance, then turns her attention to me.
“I made your first appointment with Dr. Zapata,” she says. “It’s next Tuesday afternoon. She has an office in Easton, so I’ll
take you to work with me in the morning and you can hang out in my office. And I’ll give you a dental cleaning. I’m sure you
need one.”
“Sorry, you said an office in Easton?” The phrasing doesn’t make sense to me because . . . well, Easton is a person. Valencia laughs and gives Marcus a knowing look; he returns it with a smirk like there’s some kind of inside joke.
“Easton, Maryland,” she says. “It’s a town about twenty minutes away. When you were learning how to read you would point out
every sign with Easton on it and say, ‘Look, Easton, you live in two miles!’”
“And then we’d spend fifteen minutes trying to get the two of you to stop bickering,” Marcus says, taking another green pepper
and popping it into his mouth—but not before Valencia playfully slaps his hand.
“I think you only did it because you knew it pissed him off,” Valencia says.
“Well, he should have gotten you to drive through Nathaniel, Maryland, more often,” I say. But immediately my cheeks burn
with embarrassment. I didn’t mean to make the joke—the embarrassment isn’t from it being a bad joke, which it is, but more because I feel like I don’t have the right to joke with this family. I’m not their son. It feels
disingenuous to be a part of their inside jokes.
But Valencia still guffaws and even Marcus snorts a laugh through his nose.
Their approval only makes me feel worse. Marcus tells Valencia he’s going to get changed, and he attempts to snatch another
green pepper, but Valencia catches his wrist and pulls it away instead. Marcus wraps his arm around her waist and kisses her
neck.
I look away, but at the same time I’m fascinated. I feel like I’m doing an anthropological study on parental behavior. Is this how they’re supposed to act?
As Marcus walks past, he pats me on the shoulder. “Good joke, kiddo.”
Kiddo? Now there are two emotions at war in my chest. I still feel awkward for trying to joke with this family. But I can’t help
but feel a sense of pride as Marcus tells me my stupid joke was good.
My mother’s voice sounds in my head: Proverbs 16:5. Her voice ends there because I know the verse by heart. Every June our pastor read it aloud as part of his condemnation of
the gays. Everyone who is proud in heart is an abomination to the Lord.
Be assured, he will not go unpunished.
“Do you need help with anything?” I ask. If I find a way to be useful, maybe I can ignore these feelings. Shut off my brain.
“You okay?” Valencia asks. She looks at me with concern, which only makes me feel worse. I know she’s not a mind reader, but
there should still be some kind of hesitancy from her. I can see it with Marcus, and with Easton, so why doesn’t she have
that?
I nod and fake a smile. Pulling on the imaginary Nate mask I’ve worn since I got here. Trying to look the part.
“Okay.” But Valencia doesn’t buy it. Still, she nods toward the cabinets next to the fridge. “Grab some plates, napkins, and
silverware and take it out to the table. There’s gonna be six of us.”
I do as she says, moving quickly so I can get out of the kitchen and onto the deck. Away from her eyes, which question every
part of me while ignoring the seams between who I am and who Nate was.