Maybe when you’ve been hurt like that for so long, you can’t forgive somebody in less time than it takes to play a basketball game. Even if they saved your best friend.
“I know,” I say, turning and pulling back until he and I have our hands on each other’s shoulders.
“I wish Jake could go back with you, for Luke’s sake,” he says. “A kid deserves to have a big brother he can believe in.”
“Yeah,” I agree, but there’s not as much bitterness in it as before. “That makes a difference.”
I look back at Jake one last time. Decide maybe he’s ready for a joke now.
“I miss you, asshole,” I say.
It’s only there for a second, but I catch a twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Thanks,” he says.
“You shouldn’t swear,” Luke says. He hands Kmart the envelope that led us here. “We brought your mail.”
Then he hands a stack to Jake. Even from here, and even though I didn’t get nearly as many, I can tell they’re letters and mailers from colleges. “I made you a new highlight video with the state tournament on it. Arizona State is too focused on their big men, anyway. You might want to look at New Mexico State or Southern Utah. Let me know if you want me to look up stats on any of the others.”
“Thanks,” Jake says, pulling Luke in for one more hug. “I will. I promise I will.”
Then we tear ourselves away, divided between Daphne’s car and the junky old truck. It all feels wrong, but what can I do about it?
Back in Daphne’s car, we follow the truck to the end of the long gravel drive, and then they turn right and we turn left. In the mirror, I watch the taillights of the truck—one steady, one flickering—until they disappear around a turn. When I look over, Luke is watching too. And he’s crying.
The kid needs a big brother, or at least something like it. Maybe Mrs. Foster will let me take him to Best Burger, or to play catch. Or maybe we could even go out spotlighting—if he can stop talking about the stars long enough that the animals don’t all run away.
“Hey,” I say, tossing him a bag of chips I find next to my seat. “If those two are going to take care of each other, you and me might as well do the same thing.”
Luke turns the bag over in his hand and studies the nutrition information. “One hundred sixty milligrams of sodium.”
I look at Daphne, but she just nods like I should know what to do about this. “Is that okay?” I ask him.
Luke shrugs. “Could be worse. Did you know that there are significant amounts of sodium on Mars? And in the stars? But not in cars.”
“Luke,” I say. “You’re a poet.”
Luke crunches his chips. “Of course I am.”
“The Rebel Alliance makes a pretty good team,” I say.
Daphne laughs. Luke doesn’t.
“Of course we do,” he says.
I’m in my room, pretending to do homework, when a car turns down the gravel drive, lights flashing blue and red off its slick black body. I stare at my calculus book, knowing they’re here because of me, wondering whether I should run while I still have the chance. But it all piles on—the drugs, the lies, the perfect public persona—and I’m so sick of it all, so ready for it to be over, that deep down, I know I wouldn’t run, even if it weren’t too late.
It’s my mom who answers the door. Her voice is faint, but only because I’m not man enough to actually go downstairs and face what I’ve done. Not because she has anything to be afraid of. Yet.
“Come in, Matthew,” she says. Then her tone tightens. “Is this about Jake Foster?”
“No, ma’am.” It’s Officer Vega—Matthew, I guess—sounding like he’s trying too hard to be tough and professional. “We’ve got a warrant to search the house,” he says.
“I—I’m sorry?” she stammers.
“Me too,” Officer Vega says. His boots beat a rhythm across the wood floor and up the stairs, purpose and direction in every step, his partner following close behind. I spin the state championship ring on my finger, watching to see if my doorknob will turn.
But no, they pass by, headed down the hall to the little room over the garage where Coach keeps his tools and a small steel box I used to think he’d forgotten about.
Speaking of Coach, I hear another set of footsteps coming up the stairs. Quicker. Catching up. Then his voice, almost cracking. “Now hang on a second. What did you say you’re looking for?”
I open my door, just a sliver. Hear them looking around for something, know exactly what the something is.
Then another thought hits me: it was probably Judge Sharp who signed the warrant. He probably knows they’re here right now and knows exactly what they’re looking for. Daphne’s dad has never liked me much. What will he think of me now?
I hear the heavy thunk of the box as they pull it from its hiding place.
“You can’t take that,” Coach protests.
“I hope we won’t need to,” Officer Vega says, and he tells the combination to his partner. “Zero-nine-one-nine.”
Nine nineteen: 9/19. My parents’ wedding anniversary. It took me only three tries to guess it. The box was sleek and silver with a dusting of white across the bottom—the perfect place to hide something small and valuable.
“Now hang on,” Coach says again, his voice rising. “My family doesn’t deserve this. We’re good people. We’ve given a lot to this town. You know that as well as anybody. Didn’t I take a chance on your boy playing JV
