9
Back in the Subaru, Jem said, “There’s no way that was an accident.”
Tean shook his head, but he didn’t say anything.
“Come on,” Jem said. “River shows up here, Ms. Winfield points her to Kai’s mom, then River dies, and then the mom dies.”
“I don’t know,” Tean said. “I mean, I see your point, but I need to think about it.”
Jem opened his mouth to try again—what were the odds that it could be a coincidence?—but before he could say anything, his phone buzzed.
It was a text from Daniel that said: Are you going to my meet
A moment later the phone buzzed again: Or are you in jail
“That little bitch,” Jem said, but a smile slipped out—more relief than amusement. He angled the phone to show Tean.
“I told you he wouldn’t stay mad at you,” Tean said.
“He’s definitely still pissed.” Jem considered the messages again. “He gets this from his father’s side, you know.”
Tean looked like he was trying to be very patient right then.
Jem tossed the phone in Tean’s lap and put the Subaru into reverse. “Tell him he’s a little bitch.”
“I’m not going to tell a fifteen-year-old that he’s a little bitch.”
“But he won’t know it’s you. He’ll think it’s me.”
“That doesn’t make it better, Jem.”
“Tell him I’m going to beat his ass.”
Tean started tapping out a message on the phone.
“And tell him I’m still faster,” Jem added as he steered them out of the parking lot.
“His meet is at five.” Tean glanced at the clock. “We’re going to be late.”
“Nah, babe. I’ll get us there in time. What’d he say when you told him he was a little bitch? Did he have a good comeback?”
Tean locked the phone and said, “He said he’s hungry.”
“Yeah, he’s fifteen.”
“And we’re supposed to pick up something for him to eat.”
“He gets McDonald’s if he wins,” Jem said. He tried to make his voice sound like a dad laying down family law. “Until then, he can have—uh, Burger King?”
Tean must have been tired, because he didn’t respond.
The drive back was quiet. A few times, Jem tried to bring up what they’d learned from talking to Ms. Winfield, but Tean’s responses were short, and he always went back to staring out the window. Eventually, Jem put on some music—Third Eye Blind—and drove.
By the time they got back to the valley, rush hour traffic was starting, and so they had to inch their way down I-15.
A quick stop at Kneaders to pick up sandwiches meant they made it to the high school just in time.
The sun was beginning to set, the sky a deep red along the horizon, and the parking lot was filling up.
“Ten minutes to spare,” Jem said, tapping the display. “Suck it!”
“I already do suck it,” Tean said.
“Yeah, but you haven’t sucked it today.” Jem even threw in a little move he did with his eyebrows.
Tean got out of the car.
By this point, they were familiar with the school’s layout, and they made their way to the gym.
Voices echoed, sneakers squeaked on the wooden floors, someone blew a whistle, and then a buzzer went off.
It was a massive space, and it was already full, with wrestlers from various schools spilling out of the doors as parents tried to force their way in to find a seat.
A boy in a trash bag ran past them, sweat streaming down his face.
Another boy was puking into a wastebin. Daniel appeared a moment later, headgear strap swinging because the goober hadn’t bothered to fasten it.
“Thank God,” he said, reaching for the bag Tean was carrying. “I’m starving.”
Jem snatched the bag first—he was still faster—and made a warning noise.
“It’s fine,” Daniel said. “I already weighed in.”
“Are you sure you should be eating before you compete?” Tean said. “Won’t it make you sick?”
“You know what my dad made me eat today? Egg whites and watermelon.”
Jem made a face.
It was a mistake, because he wasn’t ready when Daniel made a second grab for the bag and, this time, got it. “Oh shit, you got me a cinnamon roll?”
“No,” Jem said, “that’s mine.”
But Daniel took the cinnamon roll out and bit into it.
“How was school today?” Tean asked.
“Awful.” Daniel took another bite. As he chewed, he said, “That’s so fucking good.”
“Hey, boner,” Jem said. “Language.”
“Are you going to beat up another old man tonight?”
“No, but I am going to beat you up if I have to.”
For whatever reason, that did it—the weird edge to the interaction, whatever had been making Daniel snarky and snappy and all the rest of it, vanished, and then it was just the fifteen-year-old goofball smirking back at him.
Tean nudged Jem.
“That was, uh, a bad thing to do,” Jem said. His face was getting hot. “So, don’t do that. You shouldn’t do that.”
Daniel inhaled the rest of the cinnamon roll. He tipped the paper it had been wrapped in towards his mouth and vacuumed up the crumbs.
“Which teams are you wrestling tonight—” Tean began.
“Did you know him?” Daniel asked. “Or did you punch him because he was hitting on me?”
“Daniel, he wasn’t— You shouldn’t—”
Daniel wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, staring at Jem, waiting.
“Both,” Jem said.
“I can take care of myself.”
“Yeah, I kind of remember getting you out of a dog cage.”
Color bloomed in Daniel’s cheeks. “Why are you being such an asshole?”
“He tried to take my pants off when I was a little kid,” Jem said. “And I wasn’t asking for it like you were.”
“Jem,” Tean said miserably.
But Daniel only frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me he was a creep?”
“He’s sixty years old, and he was eye-fucking a fifteen-year-old. What’s wrong with your head that I have to tell you he’s a creep?”
The color brightened in Daniel’s cheeks, but after a moment, he shrugged. “Fine. I won’t talk to him anymore.” But a moment later, he said, “He’s a big deal at Rainbow House. And Nasha says you can’t come back.”
“I’ll handle Nasha,” Jem said.
Daniel considered this as he fished a sandwich out of the bag. Then he looked at Tean and said, “Will you take me to a drag store?”
The look on Tean’s face might have been the funniest thing Jem had ever seen. Jem would have laughed about it if he hadn’t choked on his own spit at the exact same moment.
“Uh,” Tean said. “Um. Uh. Well.”
Jem managed not to hack up a lung, and the coughing turned into laughter.
“This is why I didn’t ask him,” Daniel told Tean. “He’s like a little kid sometimes.”
“Right.” Tean was fumbling with his glasses like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to take them off or put them on again. “You see. The thing is.”
“A drag store?” Jem said through fits of laughter.
Daniel shot a withering look in his direction, but to Tean, he said, “My dad said he won’t take me. He’s so fucking repressed.”
That must have been a lifeline for Tean, because he said, “Oh, well, if your dad doesn’t want you to go—”
“In the first place, doofus,” Jem said, “there’s no such thing as a drag store. At least, not here.”
“Well, I don’t know,” Daniel snapped. “You guys never tell me anything.”
“And in the second place,” Jem said, fighting another wave of laughter, “you want him—” He hiked a thumb at Tean. “—to help you pick out your tatas and wig?”
“Oh my gosh,” Tean mumbled. He had his eyes fixed on the Kneaders bag like he wanted to do some panic-breathing into it.
“What about you?” Daniel asked with next-level scorn. “You’d strap me in a pair of roller blades and parachute pants.”
“Okay, I know you’re being a little bitch right now, and I love it, but seriously, that would be so fucking dope.”
“The meet is starting,” Tean said—a little too loudly, and his eyes cutting back and forth. “You’d better get back to your team.”
“And give us our sandwiches,” Jem said.
With a grin, Daniel fished out his sandwich and tossed the bag to Jem. He jogged toward the gym, threw them a look over his shoulder, and almost lost his headgear. Only a quick fumble let him catch it. And for some reason, it made his grin bigger, as though he’d somehow done a trick.
“He is such a dork,” Jem said as the boy disappeared into the gym. “God, he’s going to make a terrible drag queen.”
A man in a red hat glanced at them as he passed. Jem grinned and gave him a big thumbs-up.
“Okay,” Tean said. “Let’s find a seat before they burn us at the stake.”
Inside the gym, it was even louder—someone was apparently testing the buzzer, which meant sounding it over and over again, and between bursts, parents and coaches and teens shouted to be heard over music pounding so loudly that Jem could feel it in his jaw.
The air was warm verging on hot, and it smelled unmistakably of damp winter clothing, of gym mats that needed to be bleached, and of sweaty teenagers.
The crush of bodies meant Jem had to half-weasel, half-elbow his way through the crowd, one hand pulling Tean along behind him.
Tean, for his part, was already getting that look on his face that meant too many people, too much noise, and too little space.
Maybe, Jem thought, he needed a little sign to wear at times like these that said MAY BITE.
Finally, though, they found seats. Jem got Tean’s sandwich ready first—cuffing the paper back so that Tean could hold it and eat it. Well, eat three bites of it.
“I’ve never heard him say ‘God’ before,” Tean said.
Jem handed over the sandwich.
Tean took it, but instead of eating, he said, “And his parents would kill him if they caught him swearing.”
“His parents have bigger things to worry about,” Jem said. “That boy has ants in his pants.”
Tean actually closed his eyes in despair.
Laughing as he unwrapped his own sandwich, Jem said, “He’ll be fine. He’s smart, and he’s a good kid. He’s trying to figure himself out right now.”
“Jem, he knew that man was flirting with him.”
“Of course he knew. He liked it.”
Tean opened his mouth and shut it again.