Page 93 of Just Friends Forever
He’s certainly got me curious.
Once he’s there, he looks up at me for a second. “I want my ashes thrown over the Pacific, okay?” He extends the phone to me, then suddenly pulls it back, his nose wrinkling. “But not, like, Ensenada. Something prettier. Cabo, at least. Or Hawaii.”
I can’t help smiling, even though my impatience is getting the better of me. “You’ve got it.”
“We can put it in writing before Troy gets back.” He hands me the phone.
It takes me a second to figure out what I’m looking at. It’s a video, but the still is blurry.
“Prepare yourself,” Austin says. “It’s not pretty.”
I frown and tap the play button. The camera moves, and the fumbling sends a flurry of sound through the mic. After a couple of seconds, the video stabilizes.
Troy is sitting in the passenger seat of a car, a bandage wrapped around his head and under his jaw. I recognize the car he’s in—it’s the Sheppards’ old minivan Troy used to drive in high school. His hair is mussed from the bandage, and it gives away the era immediately—this was during his mullet days. Yikes. This must have been when he got his wisdom teeth out sophomore year.
Troy moans, his head rolling from side to side on the headrest.
“Just try to rest, honey.” His mom’s voice is calm and kind, as always. “The surgeon said if you don’t, you could make the bleeding worse.”
“How can I possibly rest, Mom?” Troy’s words are garbled, like he’s got a mouth full of marbles. “I’m dying.”
She reaches a hand over to his shoulder, her expression half-amused, half-exasperated. “You’re not dying, sweetheart.”
“Iam. My heart is ripped to shreds.” He puts a hand to his chest and yanks it away dramatically.
A little snigger comes from behind the camera, but a stern look from Mrs. Sheppard nips it in the bud.
Troy slumps to the side, and the cameraman—Austin, I assume—reaches forward to keep him upright. “She’ll never love me, Mom,” Troy says. “Why won’t she ever love me when I love her more than… more than… more than Austin loves himself?”
“Hey!” Austin says.
Troy turns, his eyelids heavy and low. They widen as they land on Austin. “You,” he says with drunken vehemence. “It’syourfault. All your fault.” His face screws up. “I’ll kill you!” He swipes at Austin, missing by a mile.
“Honey, youhaveto calm down,” their mom says, keeping her eyes on the road while she tries to restrain him.
Troy surrenders, his shoulders slumping. “I’m too tired to kill you now. Mom, can you remind me to kill Austin after my nap?”
“Sure, sweetie.”
“I’m not Stevie.”
“I saidsweetie, not Stevie.”
Troy’s face crumples. “Idolove Stevie, Mom.”
“I know. And she loves you too.”
“Like a friend.” He spits out the last word. He lets out a huge sigh. “She’s just so… perfect. She smells like”—he inhales with a sleepy smile—“graham crackers.”
“Yeah?” Austin says, his voice trembling with suppressed laughter. “What else do you love about her?” He adjusts the camera angle to give a better view of Troy, whose expression turns dreamy.
“Her hair is so soft and creamy. Like buttered toast.”
Austin snorts.
“Mom,” he whines, turning toward her, “when we get home, I want buttered toast. And Stevie.”
Mrs. Sheppard glances over at him and pats his arm. “You’ll feel better one day, sweetheart. It won’t always be this way.”
