โโHe saidย what?โ Nadia asks.โ
Weโre playing Ping-Pong in my basement on Saturday evening, me and Nadia versus Mason and Ellie. Ellieโs taking a break from flute practice, and the rest of us are killing time, because while I donโt know for sure what time a party at Charlotte Holbrookโs house should startโsince she didnโt bother to tell meโIโm pretty sure itโs not eight oโclock.
โThat son of a bitch got what he deserved,โ I repeat.
Ellie sends the ball back to Nadiaโs 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.
โAre you sure he was talking about Will?โ Uncle Nick asks.
โI donโt 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. โMaybe he was confused. You said he didnโt recognize you, right?โ
โRight,โ I say. โHe didnโt seem to know Tripp at first either. But then he did, and he seemed fine after that. Until heโฆsaid what he said.โ
โThatโs horrible,โ Nadia says. โPoor 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. โDo you think itโs possible that you guys didnโt know Mr. Larkin as well as you think you did? Maybe he wasnโt totally nice all the time.โ
I give her a hard look. Ellieโs the only person in the room besides Uncle Nick who knows about my internship, and sheโs the only one who knows about Ramon dโArturoโsย The man was a voidย comment. Sheโs hitting a little too close to stuff Iโm not ready to share. โI knew him plenty well,โ I say. โAnd everybody at Saint Ambrose loved him. Including Mr. Solomon.โ Uncle Nick leans back on his heels, a Blondie album in one hand. โDonโt put Will too far up on a pedestal, Brynn,โ he says. โThe guy was
only human, like the rest of us. He could get into it with people.โ โGet into it?โ I repeat. โWhat does that mean?โ
โYou know.โ Uncle Nick keeps digging through the pile until he extracts a Simple Minds album. โYessss. Score,โ he says happily. โDonโt, donโt, donโt, donโt, donโt you forget about me.โ
โNerd,โ Ellie says.
I clear my throat. โActually, Iย donโtย know,โ I say. Uncle Nick just blinks at me, clearly having lost the thread of our previous conversation, so I add, โWhat you meant when you said that Mr. Larkin could get into it with people.โ
โArgue. Lose his temper,โ Uncle Nick says. โNot with you guys,โ he adds when my eyebrows rise. โBut with parents. Iโd hear him every once in a while, when I was doing after-school homework help. Sometimes it turned into an actual shouting match.โ
โShouting match?โ Nadia asks. โWith who?โ
โMost of the time I couldnโt tell,โ Uncle Nick says. โI was trying to mind my own business. But I saw Laura Delgado storm out of there more
than once.โ
โShaneโs mom?โ I ask. I donโt know Ms. Delgado well, but every time Iโve seen her, sheโs been smooth and unruffled. โI never took her for a shouter.โ
โShe wasnโt one of the shouters,โ Uncle Nick says. โBut 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 saidโall this media attention,ย including the potentialย Motiveย story that nobody else except Ellie knows aboutโand hastily adds, โOr maybe you just caught Mr. Solomon on a bad day. Getting old sucks, or so Iโve heard.โ He gets to his feet, wincing a little as something cracks, and Ellie smirks.
โHurt your back, Grandpa Nick?โ she asks.
โGo play some Mozart,โ he retorts. โAll right, Iโm heading out. How about you?โ
I glance at the clock on the wall; itโs barely eight-thirty. โI think itโs still too early.โ
โYouโve 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 Masonโs hand and bounces it neatly on her paddle. โThatโs me,โ she says. โAlways.โ
Mason looks like he canโt wait to leave my basement. โYou say that like we go to parties every weekend,โ he says. โThis is the first party weโve been toย all year.โ
โItโs January eighth,โ she reminds him.
โI was including New Yearโs Eve in that equation.โ
โWell, donโt,โ Nadia says. โNew year, new social slate.โ
โ
Itโs possible that, in our efforts to look too busy and important to show up early, we ended up being a couple of hours late.
โWell, this is quite the rager,โ Mason says as Charlotteโs 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.
โYouโre not going to be allowed inside if you use that term,โ Nadia says.
โIโm guessing her parents arenโt home,โ I say, which is another detail Charlotte failed to mention.
โI donโt think I should go any farther,โ Nadia says, slowing the car to a stop. โIt looks like people are blocking one another in, and I donโt want to get stuck. Iโm going to pull onto the grass.โ Cars are parallel parked on either side of Charlotteโs 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. โAll right. Letโs see what an elite party is all about.โ
โOnly if you stop calling it that,โ Nadia says.
Mason pouts as he gets out of the car. โStop 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: โWhereโs the door?โ
Itโs 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, โThanks for the assist.โ
โShould we help him?โ Nadia asks, looking over her shoulder. I wrinkle my nose. โWith 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. โThis,โ he slurs, โwas one too many.โ
โAuspicious start,โ Mason says. โLetโs go.โ
The first thing I notice as weโre absorbed into a crush of people is that weโre 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.
โAbby,โ Nadia calls, and I turn to see Abby Liu leaning against the wall in a short red dress, fanning herself. โYou look so pretty. Is this supposed to be semiformal?โ
A different type of person than Abby might smirk about how weโre obviously second-tier guests, but she smiles kindly. โOh, no, itโs just something a few of us did for fun. How often do we get to dress up, right?โ She fans herself again. โI was about to grab a drink. You guys want something?โ
โYes,โ Mason says, nodding eagerly. โI would like that very much.โ โTheyโre in the kitchen,โ Abby says. โFollow me.โ
I tap Nadiaโs arm. โYou guys go ahead,โ I tell her. โIโm 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. Sheโs wearing a shimmering bronze dress, her hair pulled back on one side with a jeweled barrette. Sheโs 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. โPunch?โ she asks.
โThanks,โ I say, taking it. โYour house is amazing.โ
โOh.โ Charlotte blinks around her kitchenโwhich is twice the size of mine and has top-of-the-line everythingโlike sheโs never really thought about it before. โItโs okay, I guess.โ I canโt help but let out a snort, and her lips curve into a small smile. โThat came out wrong. I just wish it were closer to school, sometimes. Iโm jealous of the kids who can pop home for lunch.โ
Iโve neverย popped home for lunchย in my life. But sheโs been nice to me all week, so I tell her, โWell, if you get desperate, you can always come to my house.โ
โYour house?โ Charlotte looks baffled at the concept, like it hadnโt occurred to her until just now that I continue to exist when Iโm out of her sight. Then her hostess mask slips back into place and she says, โYouโre the sweetest.โ
Aaand, weโre done. โIs Tripp around?โ I ask.
โHe is,โ Charlotte says, scooping more punch. โBut I wouldnโt go looking for him if I were you. Heโs having a bad night.โ
โA 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. โItโs not easy, you know,โ she says.
โWhat isnโt?โ I ask, my patience thinning at her vague-talk.
Charlotte seems to realize it, and finally meets my eyes full-on. โSeeing what we saw,โ she says. โBack then. It doesnโt leave you.โ
โOh,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 Iโm dealing with actual people. I take a long sip of punch, which isnโt quite sweet enough to mask how strong it is. โYeah, of course.โ
โEverybody has their own way of dealing,โ Charlotte says. โTrippโs is that sometimes he drinks a little too much when something sets him off.โ Her face hardens. โLike a demented old groundskeeper turning positively feral.โ
โHe told you about Mr. Solomon, huh?โ I ask.
โHe did,โ Charlotte said. โAnd I toldย him,ย I think being on that committee is a terrible idea.โ She gives me a pointed look, as though Iโm the one who recruited him. โScholarship or no scholarship.โ
โWhat scholarship?โ I ask.
โI donโt know what itโs called,โ Charlotte says. Of course; she doesnโt need to know anything about scholarships when she lives in a house like this. โBut thereโs a big community service requirement, soโโ She breaks off as a group of girls descends upon the orderly line of punch cups. โOne 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) heโs found his crush, Geoff. I catch sight of Nadiaโs 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 Trippโs having a bad night, heโs not going to be in a crowd. I donโt 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 Charlotteโs spacious backyard.
Thereโs a covered pool, a fountain, and an immaculate-looking shed thatโs 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, โHowโd you get up there?โ
Tripp blinks slowly at me, and Iโm pretty sure he didnโt see me coming. โClimbed,โ he says. Heโs 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 statueโs.ย Heโs beautiful,ย I think, before shoving the thought away and replacing it with a more appropriate descriptor.ย And very, very drunk.
โCharlotte says youโre having a bad night,โ I say.
โCharlotte is mistaken,โ Tripp says, taking a long swig from the bottle. When he finishes, thereโs barely an inch of liquid left. โIโm having aย greatย night.โ
โHave you thought about how youโre going to get down?โ He shrugs, unconcerned. โJump.โ
โYouโre at least eight feet off the ground.โ
โAnd Iโm six feet tall, soโฆโ Tripp shrugs again. โI only have to jump two feet.โ
โThatโs not how it works,โ I say.
Tripp finishes his bottle and points it at me. โYouโre fun at parties, Gallagher. Always knew you would be.โ
โIโm just trying toโโ Then I gasp, my heart jumping into my throat as Tripp suddenly launches himself off the pillar. For a second I canโt breathe, waiting for the horrific splat thatโs 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 doesnโt lose his balance makes my temper spike. โAsshole!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. โYou scared me.โ
Tripp brushes his hair out of his eyes. โWhy?โ
โYou couldโve broken a leg! Or worse. And thenโโ
โNo,โ Tripp says, advancing toward me until heโs close enough to touch. Heโs almost a foot taller than I am, and I have to crane my neck to see his face. โI mean, why do you care?โ I donโt answer right awayโwords have deserted me, for some reasonโand he adds, โYou canโt stand me.โ
โThatโs not true,โ I say automatically, because thatโs what you say to a drunk person exhibiting self-destructive tendencies. It takes a few beats for me to realize I mean it.
โIt should be,โ Tripp says.
I study his face. He looks tired and sad; thereโs none of the raw anger I saw when he nearly punched Colin Jeffries.ย Thatโs 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 couldโve dropped me so easily? But Charlotteโs offhand remark about the scholarship keeps circling through my brain, reminding me how precarious Trippโs home life always was, and probably still is, no matter how together he seems on the surface.
I donโt understand, suddenly, why Iโm here. Well, Iย understandย itโ reconnaissance for Carlyโbut it doesnโt feel right anymore. Thereโs no way
I can tell her about this conversation; I canโt offer up Trippโs pain like itโs just another sound bite. But thereโs still something Iโd like to know, for my own sake.
โWhy did you apologize to me?โ I ask. His forehead knits. โHuh?โ
โToday, at Mr. Solomonโs. You said you were sorry.โ โRight. Yes. I am.โ
โFor what?โ
Trippโs voice is steady, and if I hadnโt seen copious evidence to the contrary, Iโd almost believe he was sober. โFor 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. โIโm aย bad liar.โ
โThen why did you say it?โ
โBecause.โ His Adamโs apple bobs once, then twice, as he looks at the ground. โI needed you to hate me.โ
โWhy?โ I ask. โBecause youโd suddenly decided to hateย meย back then?โ
Tripp looks up then, his eyes capturing mine. โNo, Brynn. I didnโt hate you back then. And I donโt hate you now.โ He enunciates each word slowly and carefully, like he needs to make sure I donโt misunderstand him. โNot even a little bit.โ
โT!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. โTime to come inside, donโt 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. โHey, Brynn, howโs it going? Iโll take it from here.โ
โTake what?โ I ask.
โTrippโs having a bad night,โ Shane says, sounding like Charlotteโs echo as he lifts Trippโs empty bottle from the ground with two fingers. His free hand curls around Trippโs bicep. โYou canโt take anything he says right now too seriously.โ
โWe were just talking,โ I say, feeling weirdly defensive. I try to catch Trippโs eye, but heโs looking at the ground again.
โNo, totally, I get it,โ Shane says. โBut talkingโs over, okay?โ He doesnโt wait for me to answer before steering Tripp away.