Page 96 of As You Walk On

19

WRIGHT OR WRONG

My alarm goesoff at 7:00 a.m. Then at 7:05. Again at 7:10.

I forgot to turn off my weekend wake-up call. After the last twenty-four hours, I wish that weren’t the only thing I forgot about my life.

At the screech of the 7:15 alarm, I finally roll over, staring at my ceiling. My eyeballs are dry, throat cottony. I ignore the urge to pee. There’s a heaviness pinning me down. I know what it is, but admitting it is pointless.

It won’t change what happened.

When I finally peel the sheets back and drag myself out of bed, everything feels sideways. Like I’m navigating through one of those carnival fun houses. Except, it’s never-ending. I can’t find the exit. Even in the bathroom, it’s like I’m staring at a doppelgänger in the mirror instead of myself.

Was that the real me last night? The boy I was with the crew from Maddie’s bedroom. Or was he who I could’ve been—should’ve been—but now it’s too late.

While walking downstairs, I waffle between going on my morning run or crawling back into bed until spring break is over. I’m dressed in shorts and an old T-shirt, earbuds in hand. But I can’t persuade myself to face the world. The emptiness is overwhelming. I could barely stand up in the shower.

Something’s missing. Not Darren or Jay, who I haven’t heard from since dropping them off at the Scotts’ around three a.m. No, it’s the others.

I... miss them.

It was just one night, I remind myself. One moment in a bedroom with four people I hadn’t planned on keeping contact with once we got back to Brook-Oak. Excluding Luca, obviously. But it’s more than him.

It’s River’s geeking out over Monopoly. It’s Makayla saving me by the pool. It’s the way I made Aleah laugh after so many years of living without that noise.

In the kitchen, I find Dad at the table. He’s hunched over his phone. No weekend crime drama is playing. No plate of cold bacon by his elbow. Instead, he’s rubbing his temples.

“Uh, good morning?” I say on the way to the fridge.

He doesn’t answer.

Poor posture aside, there’s an obvious stiffness to every one of Dad’s muscles. His jaw and shoulders, down to the tendons of his forearms. He exhales long, even breaths.

“Everything okay, Dad?”

His head snaps up. Noticeable bags sit under his eyes. Slowly drooping eyebrows and his mouth hardening are the first real signs. Next is when his gaze lowers.

I track his eye movements to his phone.Shit. The rideshare app probably emailed him an invoice. Usually, when I stay over at Jay’s, Mrs.Scott drives me home early on Sunday mornings before their family goes to church. I knew Dad wouldn’t be alarmed if he saw me in my own bed when he woke up. But I couldn’t bother Mrs.Scott in the middle of the night for a ride home without her or Dad finding out what happened, so I used the app.

“Sit down,” he says in a cool, scratchy voice.

“Dad, I can explain—”

“You lied to me,” he interrupts. His index finger stabs his phone screen. “I got a call from Jess Scott at six this morning. My son’s best friend’s mom—one ofmyclosest friends—who I thought my son was safe with.”

“Dad—”

“No one’s parent ever calls another parent atsix in the damn morningjust to chat,” he snaps. “To my surprise, Jess was calling to see if you, the son I trusted, were okay. She hadn’t seen you like Ithought. You hadn’t stepped foot in her house yesterday. And on her way to get coffee, she found Jay vomiting in the kitchen sink.”

Oh. So... he knows everything, then.

I lean against the fridge, swallowing. What am I supposed to say?

“Do you know what it’s like to apologize to Jess and Justin fu—” He catches himself, shaking his head. The tension in his jaw could snap a tree in half. “I had to talk soft and gentle, TJ. In a tonethat Mr.Scott wouldn’t findoffensivebecause God forbid a Black parent speak through their concern and fear in a voice that someone doesn’t like. Then we’re angry. Uncivilized. Abusive.”

“No one thinks that about you, Dad,” I say quietly.

But it’s loud enough for his eyes to widen, fury rising.

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