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Chapter no 15

Nothing More to Tell

โ€Œโ€œHe saidย what?โ€ Nadia asks.โ€Œ

Weโ€™re playing Ping-Pong in my basement on Saturday evening, me and Nadia versus Mason and Ellie. Ellieโ€™s taking a break from flute practice, and the rest of us are killing time, because while I donโ€™t know for sure what time a party at Charlotte Holbrookโ€™s house should startโ€”since she didnโ€™t bother to tell meโ€”Iโ€™m pretty sure itโ€™s not eight oโ€™clock.

โ€œThat son of a bitch got what he deserved,โ€ I repeat.

Ellie sends the ball back to Nadiaโ€™s side, and I lunge for it because Nadia is staring at me, openmouthed. I miss, and the ball goes flying off the table. Uncle Nick is sitting a few feet away, sifting through my parentsโ€™ old record collection because he too is going to a party, and it has an eighties vinyl theme. He leans to one side, scoops the ball out of a corner, and tosses it to me.

โ€œAre you sure he was talking about Will?โ€ Uncle Nick asks.

โ€œI donโ€™t know who else he could have been talking about,โ€ I say, handing the ball to Mason so he can serve.

Mason takes it but makes no move to start playing again. โ€œMaybe he was confused. You said he didnโ€™t recognize you, right?โ€

โ€œRight,โ€ I say. โ€œHe didnโ€™t seem to know Tripp at first either. But then he did, and he seemed fine after that. Until heโ€ฆsaid what he said.โ€

โ€œThatโ€™s horrible,โ€ Nadia says. โ€œPoor Mr. Larkin. First the portrait, and now this. This whole week has been such an affront to his memory.โ€

Ellie taps her Ping-Pong paddle against her palm, thoughtful. โ€œDo you think itโ€™s possible that you guys didnโ€™t know Mr. Larkin as well as you think you did? Maybe he wasnโ€™t totally nice all the time.โ€

I give her a hard look. Ellieโ€™s the only person in the room besides Uncle Nick who knows about my internship, and sheโ€™s the only one who knows about Ramon dโ€™Arturoโ€™sย The man was a voidย comment. Sheโ€™s hitting a little too close to stuff Iโ€™m not ready to share. โ€œI knew him plenty well,โ€ I say. โ€œAnd everybody at Saint Ambrose loved him. Including Mr. Solomon.โ€ Uncle Nick leans back on his heels, a Blondie album in one hand. โ€œDonโ€™t put Will too far up on a pedestal, Brynn,โ€ he says. โ€œThe guy was

only human, like the rest of us. He could get into it with people.โ€ โ€œGet into it?โ€ I repeat. โ€œWhat does that mean?โ€

โ€œYou know.โ€ Uncle Nick keeps digging through the pile until he extracts a Simple Minds album. โ€œYessss. Score,โ€ he says happily. โ€œDonโ€™t, donโ€™t, donโ€™t, donโ€™t, donโ€™t you forget about me.โ€

โ€œNerd,โ€ Ellie says.

I clear my throat. โ€œActually, Iย donโ€™tย know,โ€ I say. Uncle Nick just blinks at me, clearly having lost the thread of our previous conversation, so I add, โ€œWhat you meant when you said that Mr. Larkin could get into it with people.โ€

โ€œArgue. Lose his temper,โ€ Uncle Nick says. โ€œNot with you guys,โ€ he adds when my eyebrows rise. โ€œBut with parents. Iโ€™d hear him every once in a while, when I was doing after-school homework help. Sometimes it turned into an actual shouting match.โ€

โ€œShouting match?โ€ Nadia asks. โ€œWith who?โ€

โ€œMost of the time I couldnโ€™t tell,โ€ Uncle Nick says. โ€œI was trying to mind my own business. But I saw Laura Delgado storm out of there more

than once.โ€

โ€œShaneโ€™s mom?โ€ I ask. I donโ€™t know Ms. Delgado well, but every time Iโ€™ve seen her, sheโ€™s been smooth and unruffled. โ€œI never took her for a shouter.โ€

โ€œShe wasnโ€™t one of the shouters,โ€ Uncle Nick says. โ€œBut she was upset, which is my point. Will had a way of pressing buttons. Maybe all this media attention is opening old wounds.โ€ Then he seems to realize what he just saidโ€”all this media attention,ย including the potentialย Motiveย story that nobody else except Ellie knows aboutโ€”and hastily adds, โ€œOr maybe you just caught Mr. Solomon on a bad day. Getting old sucks, or so Iโ€™ve heard.โ€ He gets to his feet, wincing a little as something cracks, and Ellie smirks.

โ€œHurt your back, Grandpa Nick?โ€ she asks.

โ€œGo play some Mozart,โ€ he retorts. โ€œAll right, Iโ€™m heading out. How about you?โ€

I glance at the clock on the wall; itโ€™s barely eight-thirty. โ€œI think itโ€™s still too early.โ€

โ€œYouโ€™ve got a designated driver, right?โ€ he asks, in that semi-stern tone he thinks makes him sound like Dad.

Nadia plucks the ball from Masonโ€™s hand and bounces it neatly on her paddle. โ€œThatโ€™s me,โ€ she says. โ€œAlways.โ€

Mason looks like he canโ€™t wait to leave my basement. โ€œYou say that like we go to parties every weekend,โ€ he says. โ€œThis is the first party weโ€™ve been toย all year.โ€

โ€œItโ€™s January eighth,โ€ she reminds him.

โ€œI was including New Yearโ€™s Eve in that equation.โ€

โ€œWell, donโ€™t,โ€ Nadia says. โ€œNew year, new social slate.โ€

โ€”

Itโ€™s possible that, in our efforts to look too busy and important to show up early, we ended up being a couple of hours late.

โ€œWell, this is quite the rager,โ€ Mason says as Charlotteโ€™s enormous, contemporary-style house comes into view at the end of her mile-long

driveway. The front of the house is almost entirely windows, and every room is packed full of people talking, drinking, and dancing.

โ€œYouโ€™re not going to be allowed inside if you use that term,โ€ Nadia says.

โ€œIโ€™m guessing her parents arenโ€™t home,โ€ I say, which is another detail Charlotte failed to mention.

โ€œI donโ€™t think I should go any farther,โ€ Nadia says, slowing the car to a stop. โ€œIt looks like people are blocking one another in, and I donโ€™t want to get stuck. Iโ€™m going to pull onto the grass.โ€ Cars are parallel parked on either side of Charlotteโ€™s driveway, and Nadia adds her Subaru station wagon to the end of the line.

I lean forward from the back seat to thump both of them on the shoulders. โ€œAll right. Letโ€™s see what an elite party is all about.โ€

โ€œOnly if you stop calling it that,โ€ Nadia says.

Mason pouts as he gets out of the car. โ€œStop policing our vocabulary.โ€

We make our way down the rest of the driveway, weaving through cars that are parked much too closely together. When we reach the house, we all pause, eyes roving across its front. Nadia is the first to say it: โ€œWhereโ€™s the door?โ€

Itโ€™s a fair question, because everything looks like a giant window. Then a boy rushes from inside toward one of the panes and pushes it outward. He barely makes it past us before he falls to his knees and vomits into a shrub. Music pulses from the open door as Mason catches hold of the slim silver rod that passes for a doorknob and says, โ€œThanks for the assist.โ€

โ€œShould we help him?โ€ Nadia asks, looking over her shoulder. I wrinkle my nose. โ€œWith what?โ€

The boy gets up then, still clutching a Solo cup in one hand, which he waves at us as he staggers back through the door. โ€œThis,โ€ he slurs, โ€œwas one too many.โ€

โ€œAuspicious start,โ€ Mason says. โ€œLetโ€™s go.โ€

The first thing I notice as weโ€™re absorbed into a crush of people is that weโ€™re underdressed. Well, Nadia and I are. The boys are in casual clothes, but most of the girls are wearing cute cocktail-style dresses. Some of them

are in heels, but more are barefoot, like they kicked off their shoes a while ago.

โ€œAbby,โ€ Nadia calls, and I turn to see Abby Liu leaning against the wall in a short red dress, fanning herself. โ€œYou look so pretty. Is this supposed to be semiformal?โ€

A different type of person than Abby might smirk about how weโ€™re obviously second-tier guests, but she smiles kindly. โ€œOh, no, itโ€™s just something a few of us did for fun. How often do we get to dress up, right?โ€ She fans herself again. โ€œI was about to grab a drink. You guys want something?โ€

โ€œYes,โ€ Mason says, nodding eagerly. โ€œI would like that very much.โ€ โ€œTheyโ€™re in the kitchen,โ€ Abby says. โ€œFollow me.โ€

I tap Nadiaโ€™s arm. โ€œYou guys go ahead,โ€ I tell her. โ€œIโ€™m going to find a bathroom.โ€ My friends leave with Abby, and I wander through the crush of people until I see a long line of girls in the hallway that can only mean one thing. I join them with a sigh, thinking how much easier life must be when you can just saunter outside and find a tree. By the time I finish my turn and make my way into the kitchen, my friends are nowhere in sight.

Charlotte is, though. Sheโ€™s wearing a shimmering bronze dress, her hair pulled back on one side with a jeweled barrette. Sheโ€™s using a ladle to scoop red liquid from a crystal bowl into cups, and when she catches sight of me, she waves and holds one up. โ€œPunch?โ€ she asks.

โ€œThanks,โ€ I say, taking it. โ€œYour house is amazing.โ€

โ€œOh.โ€ Charlotte blinks around her kitchenโ€”which is twice the size of mine and has top-of-the-line everythingโ€”like sheโ€™s never really thought about it before. โ€œItโ€™s okay, I guess.โ€ I canโ€™t help but let out a snort, and her lips curve into a small smile. โ€œThat came out wrong. I just wish it were closer to school, sometimes. Iโ€™m jealous of the kids who can pop home for lunch.โ€

Iโ€™ve neverย popped home for lunchย in my life. But sheโ€™s been nice to me all week, so I tell her, โ€œWell, if you get desperate, you can always come to my house.โ€

โ€œYour house?โ€ Charlotte looks baffled at the concept, like it hadnโ€™t occurred to her until just now that I continue to exist when Iโ€™m out of her sight. Then her hostess mask slips back into place and she says, โ€œYouโ€™re the sweetest.โ€

Aaand, weโ€™re done. โ€œIs Tripp around?โ€ I ask.

โ€œHe is,โ€ Charlotte says, scooping more punch. โ€œBut I wouldnโ€™t go looking for him if I were you. Heโ€™s having a bad night.โ€

โ€œA bad night? What do you mean?โ€

Charlotte squints critically at the neat line of cups in front of her. They all appear to be holding the exact same amount of liquid, but she tops two of them off. Then she frowns and dumps the contents of one of them back into the crystal bowl. โ€œItโ€™s not easy, you know,โ€ she says.

โ€œWhat isnโ€™t?โ€ I ask, my patience thinning at her vague-talk.

Charlotte seems to realize it, and finally meets my eyes full-on. โ€œSeeing what we saw,โ€ she says. โ€œBack then. It doesnโ€™t leave you.โ€

โ€œOh,โ€ I say, surprised at her honesty and a little ashamed that I forced it. Sometimes I get so deep into reporter mode that I forget Iโ€™m dealing with actual people. I take a long sip of punch, which isnโ€™t quite sweet enough to mask how strong it is. โ€œYeah, of course.โ€

โ€œEverybody has their own way of dealing,โ€ Charlotte says. โ€œTrippโ€™s is that sometimes he drinks a little too much when something sets him off.โ€ Her face hardens. โ€œLike a demented old groundskeeper turning positively feral.โ€

โ€œHe told you about Mr. Solomon, huh?โ€ I ask.

โ€œHe did,โ€ Charlotte said. โ€œAnd I toldย him,ย I think being on that committee is a terrible idea.โ€ She gives me a pointed look, as though Iโ€™m the one who recruited him. โ€œScholarship or no scholarship.โ€

โ€œWhat scholarship?โ€ I ask.

โ€œI donโ€™t know what itโ€™s called,โ€ Charlotte says. Of course; she doesnโ€™t need to know anything about scholarships when she lives in a house like this. โ€œBut thereโ€™s a big community service requirement, soโ€”โ€ She breaks off as a group of girls descends upon the orderly line of punch cups. โ€œOne at a time, please,โ€ she chides, and I take the opportunity to slip away.

I check my phone and see a text from Mason that readsย GORFF IS HERE I LURV HEM, so I can only assume that (1) Mason, a notorious lightweight, has been hitting the punch hard, and (2) heโ€™s found his crush, Geoff. I catch sight of Nadiaโ€™s pink sweater in a knot of girls and decide that my friends are doing fine on their own for now.

I make my way through the house. A room with a huge arched ceiling and a massive television on the wall seems to be where people are drinking the hardest, but if Trippโ€™s having a bad night, heโ€™s not going to be in a crowd. I donโ€™t know the current version of Tripp all that well, but I know where my old friend would be. So I go outside, shivering without the coat I dropped in a pile somewhere, and gaze around at the much smaller groups of people standing in Charlotteโ€™s spacious backyard.

Thereโ€™s a covered pool, a fountain, and an immaculate-looking shed thatโ€™s practically a small house. The property is ringed by a wrought-iron fence broken up with evenly spaced stone pillars, all the same size and shape except for the one farthest away. When I get closer, the irregularity morphs into the outline of a person. Tripp is sitting on top of the narrow platform, his legs dangling and his left hand clutching a nearly empty bottle of whiskey.

I stop at the base of the pillar and call up to him, โ€œHowโ€™d you get up there?โ€

Tripp blinks slowly at me, and Iโ€™m pretty sure he didnโ€™t see me coming. โ€œClimbed,โ€ he says. Heโ€™s coatless and his blue button-down shirt is half-untucked, the sleeves rolled up. His tousled blond hair looks silver in the moonlight; his shadowed features are as fine and chiseled as a statueโ€™s.ย Heโ€™s beautiful,ย I think, before shoving the thought away and replacing it with a more appropriate descriptor.ย And very, very drunk.

โ€œCharlotte says youโ€™re having a bad night,โ€ I say.

โ€œCharlotte is mistaken,โ€ Tripp says, taking a long swig from the bottle. When he finishes, thereโ€™s barely an inch of liquid left. โ€œIโ€™m having aย greatย night.โ€

โ€œHave you thought about how youโ€™re going to get down?โ€ He shrugs, unconcerned. โ€œJump.โ€

โ€œYouโ€™re at least eight feet off the ground.โ€

โ€œAnd Iโ€™m six feet tall, soโ€ฆโ€ Tripp shrugs again. โ€œI only have to jump two feet.โ€

โ€œThatโ€™s not how it works,โ€ I say.

Tripp finishes his bottle and points it at me. โ€œYouโ€™re fun at parties, Gallagher. Always knew you would be.โ€

โ€œIโ€™m just trying toโ€”โ€ Then I gasp, my heart jumping into my throat as Tripp suddenly launches himself off the pillar. For a second I canโ€™t breathe, waiting for the horrific splat thatโ€™s sure to come, but he lands on his feet with barely a quiver, the bottle still in one hand. He sets it on the ground before bowing deeply, and the fact that he still doesnโ€™t lose his balance makes my temper spike. โ€œAsshole!โ€ I say, socking his shoulder. Which probably hurts me more than it hurt him, because he isย solid.ย I shake my hand and back away, glaring. โ€œYou scared me.โ€

Tripp brushes his hair out of his eyes. โ€œWhy?โ€

โ€œYou couldโ€™ve broken a leg! Or worse. And thenโ€”โ€

โ€œNo,โ€ Tripp says, advancing toward me until heโ€™s close enough to touch. Heโ€™s almost a foot taller than I am, and I have to crane my neck to see his face. โ€œI mean, why do you care?โ€ I donโ€™t answer right awayโ€”words have deserted me, for some reasonโ€”and he adds, โ€œYou canโ€™t stand me.โ€

โ€œThatโ€™s not true,โ€ I say automatically, because thatโ€™s what you say to a drunk person exhibiting self-destructive tendencies. It takes a few beats for me to realize I mean it.

โ€œIt should be,โ€ Tripp says.

I study his face. He looks tired and sad; thereโ€™s none of the raw anger I saw when he nearly punched Colin Jeffries.ย Thatโ€™s not who he is,ย I think, and then I push the thought away, because how do I know, really? Were we ever truly friends, if he couldโ€™ve dropped me so easily? But Charlotteโ€™s offhand remark about the scholarship keeps circling through my brain, reminding me how precarious Trippโ€™s home life always was, and probably still is, no matter how together he seems on the surface.

I donโ€™t understand, suddenly, why Iโ€™m here. Well, Iย understandย itโ€” reconnaissance for Carlyโ€”but it doesnโ€™t feel right anymore. Thereโ€™s no way

I can tell her about this conversation; I canโ€™t offer up Trippโ€™s pain like itโ€™s just another sound bite. But thereโ€™s still something Iโ€™d like to know, for my own sake.

โ€œWhy did you apologize to me?โ€ I ask. His forehead knits. โ€œHuh?โ€

โ€œToday, at Mr. Solomonโ€™s. You said you were sorry.โ€ โ€œRight. Yes. I am.โ€

โ€œFor what?โ€

Trippโ€™s voice is steady, and if I hadnโ€™t seen copious evidence to the contrary, Iโ€™d almost believe he was sober. โ€œFor what I said in eighth grade. In gym class. It was a lie. Which you already know, obviously.โ€ He huffs out a humorless laugh. โ€œIโ€™m aย bad liar.โ€

โ€œThen why did you say it?โ€

โ€œBecause.โ€ His Adamโ€™s apple bobs once, then twice, as he looks at the ground. โ€œI needed you to hate me.โ€

โ€œWhy?โ€ I ask. โ€œBecause youโ€™d suddenly decided to hateย meย back then?โ€

Tripp looks up then, his eyes capturing mine. โ€œNo, Brynn. I didnโ€™t hate you back then. And I donโ€™t hate you now.โ€ He enunciates each word slowly and carefully, like he needs to make sure I donโ€™t misunderstand him. โ€œNot even a little bit.โ€

โ€œT!โ€ The booming voice behind us makes me jump. I turn to see Shane heading our way, wearing a big grin and a determined expression. โ€œTime to come inside, donโ€™t you think, bud?โ€ I step back, self-conscious about how close together Tripp and I were standing, and Shane gives me a curt nod. โ€œHey, Brynn, howโ€™s it going? Iโ€™ll take it from here.โ€

โ€œTake what?โ€ I ask.

โ€œTrippโ€™s having a bad night,โ€ Shane says, sounding like Charlotteโ€™s echo as he lifts Trippโ€™s empty bottle from the ground with two fingers. His free hand curls around Trippโ€™s bicep. โ€œYou canโ€™t take anything he says right now too seriously.โ€

โ€œWe were just talking,โ€ I say, feeling weirdly defensive. I try to catch Trippโ€™s eye, but heโ€™s looking at the ground again.

โ€œNo, totally, I get it,โ€ Shane says. โ€œBut talkingโ€™s over, okay?โ€ He doesnโ€™t wait for me to answer before steering Tripp away.

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