Chapter 3
Ezra
“Hey, man,” Tucker says through the phone. “Do you think you could give me a ride tonight?”
I check the time on my cell before lifting it back to my ear. “Where?”
“There’s a party in Cambridge. Mabel wants me there, and you know my car broke down.”
“Cambridge?” I scrunch my nose. “Why so far?”
“Oh, come on. It’s only a twenty-minute drive, and it’s a nice area. Do me a solid so I don’t have to look like a loser and ask her for a ride.”
“Fine,” I mutter. “I’ll pick you up in a few.
” If I don’t, he’ll probably ask next if I can hook him up with one of the cars at my parents’ dealership.
Or loan him some money for a ride. All the guys on the team love asking me for favors.
Sometimes I wonder what kind of dynamic I’d have with any of them if I couldn’t offer them something.
I toss the phone onto my bed and search for something to wear.
My room smells faintly like cedarwood and body wash, thanks to the steam that flowed in here across the hall during the shower I just took.
There’s a pile of hoodies draped over the back of my desk chair, and my textbooks are stacked like uneven towers on my dresser.
My laptop is still open from earlier, paused mid-session on a video game I’ve been obsessed with playing lately. It’s a medieval RPG—role-playing game—and if any of my friends saw me playing it, they’d absolutely make fun of me.
My Fallbrook Falcons letterman jacket hangs on the closet door, reminding me of yesterday’s game and the person I came face-to-face with. The person who never used to ask me for endless favors or keep our friendship at a surface level.
No. Now isn’t the time to think about her. Focus.
After rifling through my dresser, I eventually settle for jeans and a black long-sleeve shirt.
When I head downstairs, Olivia is texting on the living room couch with her tiny dog in her lap. I try to snake past her so she doesn’t rat me out to our parents, but she side-eyes me instantly. “Where are you going?”
“Nowhere.”
“I’ll tell if you don’t tell. You’re not supposed to go anywhere until you do the dishes.” She gives me a sassy head-waggle, making her giant hoop earrings slap against her cheeks.
“Ugh, just this once, don’t be a brat. I’ll do them when I get back,” I say. I make for the door, but she’s off the couch in an instant. Her Chihuahua, Chai Guy, instantly falls into step beside her.
“Dad,” she calls.
“Okay, fine.” I hold my hands up. For such a tiny little freshman, Olivia is absolutely terrifying.
It’s no wonder all the other cheerleaders at Fallbrook never stand up to her, even though she’s a flier and they quite literally hold her life in their hands.
“I’m just dropping Tucker off at a party in Cambridge.
” I don’t add that I was planning to finish playing that game tonight.
Olivia would roast me for being the only varsity player in Fallbrook history who’d rather play a video game than go out.
She arches an eyebrow. “A party? And you think you’re just going to sneak off and not tell anyone?”
“Try to remember, I’m the older brother here.”
“Age means nothing.” She rolls her eyes and studies me like she’s thinking of the next way she’s planning to torture me. “I’ll cover for you, and even do the dishes for you. But you owe me a favor.”
I groan. “Whatever.”
She beams like I just signed my life over to her. “Bye! Have fun.”
I shut the door behind me before she can think of anything else to spring on me.
As crazy as my sister can be, she’s very much like her dog—tiny, vicious, and undyingly loyal.
He’s the bad guy, so she doesn’t have to be.
Chai Guy would probably tear the hand off anyone trying to hurt Olivia so she could smile, flutter her eyelashes, and pretend to be the nice one.
And though Olivia likes to torture me, she’s done the same for me many times.
I think that’s why it was so hard for me to restrain myself on the basketball court yesterday. After that guy from the Boston Bears made a crude comment about my sister, I had no choice but to teach him a lesson. No one talks about my family and walks away the same.
As I drive to Tucker’s to pick him up, I can’t help but remember what happened after the game.
The moment I saw Rue standing only feet away from me.
I haven’t seen her up close in years, only from afar, and I had to remind myself not to physically reach out and touch her to make sure she was real, especially when she tripped and fell.
Seeing her face was like a slap, reminding me of my biggest regret in life, the one I’ve been trying to shove down and forget since it happened.
But there’s no forgetting. Not when it comes to Rue Sullivan.
Tucker gets in my Volvo when I park outside. I have to admit it’s sweet being a junior with such a nice car, but that’s what happens when your parents own a dealership. It’s practically a rite of passage for someone like me.
“Alright, dude, hurry. We’re gonna be late,” Tucker says, flipping the mirror down so he can run his fingers through his blond, shaggy hair.
“I think you mean thank you,” I mutter, and hit the gas.
The drive from Boston to Cambridge is quiet at first. Trees stripped bare by winter line the river, and the sky fades from blue to a deep pink.
We pass bridges, rowers gliding through icy water, and old brick buildings with ivy climbing their sides.
When I pull onto the side of the road next to the house Tucker directs me to, I can’t help but admire the location.
The house is right on the Charles River, with the perfect view of Boston directly across.
And then with a jolt, I remember who else lives on this street.
Rue.
It’s like I can’t escape her. I haven’t been able to, in fact, since that day in seventh grade when I ruined everything. It’s not like I meant to do it. I never thought our three years of friendship would get tossed in the trash because of me.
I’m pretty sure it all started because of that day I told her she’d be great in the drama club.
Rue used to always tell me so many stories and dream up all these intricate worlds.
She’d write a lot of them down in a notebook she took everywhere with her, too.
I didn’t realize it back then, but I think it’s why I was so drawn to her when we first became friends.
I liked the way she saw things—like everything was somehow tied together in a sort of dreamy narrative.
And not only that, but the girl could recite entire monologues from the movies we watched after only seeing them, like, twice. So I told her, “You’re so good at remembering random movie lines, you should audition for the school play.”
She shuddered. “That sounds scary…getting on a stage like that.”
“You could just try it. You never act shy when you’re reciting movie lines.”
She laughed. But something I said must have clicked, because she did audition, and she enjoyed it so much, she thanked me. “You were right, Ez. I really think acting is for me.”
But then she started getting teased, and it only got worse when I made the basketball team because my teammates would constantly ask me why I hung out with her so much. I just shrugged. “She’s my friend. Why wouldn’t I?”
“She’s weird. She’s always staring at people and writing in that notebook instead of talking.”
“She just likes to think up stories about people sometimes. It’s no big deal, dude.”
Every time someone made fun of her felt like a knife to the chest, because who could be mean to someone like Rue? She was the kindest person I ever met.
But I couldn’t deny I was excited to be part of the basketball team, because with it came such a popular friend group. I started getting more attention, and my list of friends grew from just Rue to so many I couldn’t count.
It got to my head so much that one day in the halls, I caught one of my new friends teasing Rue, and I literally said nothing to stop him.
“Why do you keep staring at me?” he asked her between laughs. “You’re not going to write a story about me, are you? That’s freaky. You’re basically a stalker.”
Rue’s accusatory gaze turned on me, but I was so stunned, I just held up my hands in surrender. Everyone in the hall was laughing, so I gave up and said nothing.
In the moment, I thought, with hope, that my teammate was just messing with her, and that Rue would laugh it off. But by the time it became clear that my friend was being a jerk and Rue was upset, I’d let it go too long. I had basically frozen up with indecision, and then it felt too late.
But I should have known right away how bad that moment was for her, and all because I told my new friend something so great about her. He twisted it, and he didn’t just tease her about it.
He humiliated her.
And then I lost her because I stood by and watched it happen. She stopped carrying her notebook around after that, and in my eyes, it was as bad as if I’d been the one teasing her in the first place.
For the rest of middle school, I tried to think of ways to apologize and make it up to her, only to regret my stupid ideas the moment I caught sight of her. I naively believed it would all work out and blow over eventually, and then finally realized it wouldn’t.
I never wanted to lose her as my friend, but we drifted so far after that, my new friends all but replaced her.
At least the teasing from my teammates ended once Rue and I stopped hanging out.
And once we got to Fallbrook, where everything is completely backwards, I bet she never got teased again.
Because the ironic part? The drama kids—the ones most of my team would typically avoid being lumped in with—are the most popular people at Fallbrook.
Thanks to Little Birdie’s obsession with them, they’re basically celebrities.
Poor Rue has never deserved to be scrutinized, but she became front and center news this year at Fallbrook, thanks to Little Birdie.
I’ve read all about her crush on Carlton Peters, and I’ve been secretly eating up every crumb I can to learn about her new life with every new scrap of info.
And I may not be part of her circle anymore, but I still watch her from afar the way she used to watch others.
From what I’ve observed, she’s still shy and nothing like the other, more outgoing drama students. Little Birdie makes it seem like everyone always overlooks her.
But not me.
She might have quit looking my way, but I’ve never, not once, stopped seeing her.
The problem is, I don’t know how to ask for her forgiveness. I’m sure she’s feeling more than a little wrath towards me. Or worse, indifference.
And it hasn’t just bothered me all these years to know I let Rue down. It also bothers me to know, in the back of my mind, that I was a coward...or at least that I had a moment of cowardice I never fixed.
I’ve already made a promise to myself that if I’m ever in a position like that again, no matter how uncomfortable it is, I will step up and do what's right, even if it means messing up my reputation, or embarrassing myself.
I park us down the street from the party, and when we get out of my car, music thumps through the walls of the house as we approach. Colored lights flash through the windows. Tucker claps me on the shoulder as we walk. “Don’t get in a fight this time, Davis.”
I smirk. “No promises.”
He laughs. “Yeah, must be nice having parents who sponsor the team. I’d probably get away with starting fights, too.”
The comment practically knocks the wind out of me. I should be used to it by now, but every time, it makes me feel like everyone thinks I’m a fake who didn’t earn my spot on the team, thanks to my parents and their generosity toward the basketball and cheer team at Fallbrook.
I brush it away and grin. “You know I don’t start fights. I finish them, and only for the people who matter.”
Like Rue. If only she knew how much I miss having a friend like her, one who actually knows me and isn’t just dazzled by my title of basketball captain.
“Bro, I think your luck is running out for once. I heard Coach talking about benching you,” says Tucker.
Dread expands in my stomach. “No…he wouldn’t.” If anything happens to keep me from playing my best game this season, I might not get scouted. And if I can’t be good enough for a scholarship, I’ll have no choice but to believe that everything people say about me is true.
“No more fights from me,” I say. “I can’t get in trouble with Coach.” Not if I’m going to finally be more than the guy with rich parents and show everyone I actually deserve to be captain.
Tucker snorts. “No more fights? Oh, no. What if none of the girls like you anymore?”
I roll my eyes. “Who cares?”
“True. No more girls means you’ll have all the time you want to play video games.”
I wince at the way he says it, like something I enjoy to burn off stress, other than basketball, is nothing but a waste of time.
And as for the girls, I’m pretty sure they only like me for what they see on the outside.
The most recent girl I dated, Amanda, only lasted a week.
She was done when she learned I’d rather hang out with my family than go partying with her every weekend.
And when she realized how much time I put into practicing instead of her, it turned out to be a huge ick for her.
Maybe everyone is right. Maybe despite how hard I try, I’m not good enough to be captain. Maybe I’ll never be able to show anyone I’m worth the hype because I’m not. Not when I let my new friendships get to my head so much that I forgot who I was.
And then lost the one person who ever really knew me because of it.