24
O ne afternoon, when MC and Conrad were kids, they’d gone over to Conrad’s friend’s house to play video games.
This friend lived two miles away. But his house was connected to theirs by a network of unofficial trails that crisscrossed the woods butting up on everyone’s properties.
MC and Conrad had walked there, and the expectation was that, before dark, they would walk back home.
Maybe the games went later than expected.
Maybe MC was slow on her feet—she was only in third grade at the time.
But night fell just as they’d started the trek back, and all the familiar paths became hard to keep track of.
Everything looked the same in the eerie dim.
Conrad kept marching ahead, trying to scout out a house or some other landmark.
But it was a spring night, no moon, and the trees were already lush with leaves.
MC was terrified. Of sounds real and imagined, of the idea of spending the night outside with no food or shelter.
But most of all, she was terrified of getting in trouble.
It wasn’t even the prospect of having toys or activities taken away that’d filled her with panic.
It was her parents’ disappointment. Her dad had never hesitated to give the silent treatment, and while her mother was less icy, she was also less present, content to have an excuse to bury herself deeper in whatever study she was running.
MC had wished she could at least rely on her brother to stay by her side, but she was already aware that he retreated into his own world in times of stress.
As she cruised around Green Hills all those years later, Conrad red faced and hunched over in the passenger seat beside her, MC thought back to that night. The fear of disappointing the people you loved, no matter how hard you tried not to, and the consequences of that disappointment.
“What’s next?” she said, pulling up to a red light.
“Let’s try the Horny Ram.”
She put her blinker on. The more popular of the town’s two pubs wasn’t far, but MC doubted Gabby would be there.
“How long do you want to keep this up?” she asked. They’d been on the hunt for over two hours, and the few other cars MC encountered on the road seemed increasingly fast and erratic.
“Until we find her.”
“Maybe this is a sign that she needs space right now.”
Conrad shook his head. “If we’re apart tonight, we’ll be done forever.”
“What makes you think that?”
“The way she looked at me before she left.” Conrad’s voice sounded hollow.
He’d given MC the story after she’d picked him up, shaking and wet in the snow.
How he’d tried to text Jae about meeting up, then gotten angry when she’d ignored him.
That he’d fired off a few messages about how they needed to deal with what happened and decide what comes next .
Gabby had noticed his absorption, and done something she’d never done before.
She asked to see his phone.
It hadn’t helped that he’d been weird with Gabby all day, unsettled by the conversation he’d had with MC. He knew what he had to do, but couldn’t imagine doing it, and somehow got the idea that tying things off with Jae first would make it all easier.
He hadn’t given Gabby the phone in the end, but it was as good—as bad—as a confession. She’d blown up. Right at the dinner table. She’d gotten out of her seat in tears, yelled at him, and locked herself in her old room.
Then her parents and her brothers had gotten involved.
“This is the worst part,” MC said, “right now. And even if it takes a while to get better, it will get better.”
“I don’t know, MC.” He started crying again.
“I’m really sorry this is happening.”
“It’s my fault. I deserve it.”
“Yeah, okay. But also, we all make big mistakes. We all feel weak sometimes. Or maybe it’s just that we need things that are hard to explain to other people, even people who love us, so we go to crazy lengths to get them.”
“She’s never going to see it that way.”
“We don’t know that.”
She pulled up at the Horny Ram, which was, unsurprisingly, packed for Christmas Eve. Conrad got out of the car—he insisted on going by himself—and shouldered through the double doors.
MC waited. Her eyes drifted to the patterned wrapping paper by her knee. She’d tucked Nora’s gift in the pocket of her door, unopened. Now she picked it up, set it in her lap, and carefully worked the tape off.
A hardcover copy of Girl Next Door stared up at her. She knew the loopy script of the title all too well. The cartoon illustration that stood in for her and Nora. When she lifted it up, she saw a note had been tucked under the front cover. She pulled it out.
The first thing you need to know is I WAS NOT IN LOVE WITH YOU IN HIGH SCHOOL.
But I did like you. Maybe more than I’ve let on.
Most people freak me out. There’s just something different about you. Which is weird, because you’re always trying really hard to blend in.
Don’t read too much into what I wrote. But if it doesn’t make you hate me... call me. XO
MC leaned back and closed her eyes.
Conrad grunted when he got back in the car. “Let’s try Stacey’s next.”
MC frowned, tucking the book away again. “Stacey Grummond?”
“Yeah. On Bates Road.”
“Are they still friends?”
“They go out for drinks now and then.”
“Con. I think we need to call it quits for tonight.”
“If you’re tired,” he snapped, “I’ll drop you at home and keep going by myself.”
“I am tired. But this isn’t about me wanting to abandon you on your quest.”
“So, what’s it about?”
“Accepting that Gabby really doesn’t want to see you right now.”
Conrad started to cry again. MC rubbed his back.
Then he took out his phone.
“What are you doing?” she said.
He kept typing.
“Let it go, Con.”
“Fine.” He chucked the phone over his shoulder, where it bounced against the back seat, then disappeared into the abyss.
MC remembered eventually getting back home with him, all those years ago.
Finding their way after they’d been lost in the woods for what felt like forever.
They’d been expecting their dad to be sitting up in his easy chair, glaring at them the moment they walked through the door.
But the chair was empty except for his newspaper.
They crept into the living room and realized he’d fallen asleep on the couch.
The TV was on. Their mom was still at the office.
As it turned out, it wasn’t actually that late.