“Zbogom,” she said.
You stumbled over the chair and made your way back across the green carpet and out the front door. A bird feeder slammed into your head as you ran down the stairs, but you barely felt it. You searched the driveway for snakes, but there weren’t any in sight. They were all hiding out there somewhere in the dark.
Then you were driving, hitting turn signals by rote and merging without really looking. Your thoughts were racing along with the car. And about halfway home, it hit you so hard that you nearly stopped breathing: If you wanted a meaningful relationship with your brother, there was no way anything else could happen with Diana.
The two were mutually exclusive.
Even if it hurt, you had to choose the person you’d known your whole life, the one who had always been there for you, even if he made mistakes. Maybe, if you talked things through with Sean, you could still be Diana’s friend. You could tell him that she was important to you, a close friend you didn’t want to lose. Maybe he would understand.
There weren’t many night owls in your neighborhood, so no one was out when you pulled back in the driveway around oneA.M.You looked for Sean’s bike but didn’t see it. And when you stepped inside, the house was so quiet, you wondered if anyone was home.
“Where have you been?”
Sean’s voice cut through the dark, and made you jump back, banging your hip on the doorknob. He was sitting on the stairs, sweat dripping down his face.
“Sean,” you said. “When did you get back? I was worried.”
“Were you at her house, Case?” he asked.
You were about to answer him. Honestly, you’d like to think. But before you could say anything, he flung a notebook across the room at you like a Frisbee. It hit you in the chest, and you caught it off the ricochet. For a second, you were so startled you didn’t know what it was or why he’d launched it at you in the dark. Then you opened it and looked down, and even in the dim light, you saw your own handwriting staring back at you. You knew then exactly what it was, and you felt a stab of nausea.
It was the letter you wrote to Diana over Christmas break. The one that explained your feelings. The one you thought about giving her, but ultimately kept in this worn-out notebook when you clearly should have thrown it away.
The one your brother must have found.
THIRTY
“Silas,” says Will. “Get your ass out here, bro!”
You’re all standing around his tent now, which is zipped closed and looks hastily pitched. It shows none of the care and expertise you saw at the beginning of this trip, when there was an educational purpose to his every gesture. There’s no sound from inside, and you all eyeball one another, daring somebody to make a move. Finally, Fran steps forward and slowly unzips the flap.
It ripples in the breeze for a second, then she yanks it open and you all peer inside at a wadded-up sleeping bag and a few food wrappers. Fran searches for something uneaten but comes up empty-handed. She does, however, find another empty pill bottle.
“Case,” she says, and tosses it to you. “This one’s you, dude.”
You catch it and look inside to find a small residue of orange pill dust that you’re thinking seriously about licking right then and there. Surprisingly, seeing your full name and the name of your pharmacy on the bottle makes your whole body ache with homesickness. You wouldn’t have thought a pill bottle of all things would do this, but the way your mom would pick up your script after a shift and set it on your dresser without judgment or fanfare made you gradually lose the shame you felt at using it.
“The island can’t be that big,” says Troy. “He’s here somewhere, right?”
“Unless he took the boat…,” says Will.
“Boat’s right over there!” yells Fran, who has wandered a bit.
And sure enough, nestled in some brush, not far from the tent, is the third canoe. You walk over and check it for gear, but it’s empty save for a pool of dirty water in the bottom.
“We’ll split into groups,” says Diana. “If we each head one way around the island, we’ve got to find him.”
You nod. Fran reaches out a hand to Diana, but this time, Diana, ever unpredictable, walks toward you. Will and Troy join Fran instead, and she pretends to be okay with that, staring at you all the while.
“Meet back here either way,” says Will.
“Okay,” says Diana.
“Good luck,” says Troy.
“Good luck,” you say.
Then you take off in opposite directions, following the coast of the small rocky island. The gradually dissipating fog cloaks the treetops and makes them seem a hundred feet tall. You and Diana walk side by side, seeking out patches of sand amid the chunks of blue-gray slate and snared driftwood. The roots that twist through your path are as thick as pythons.
