Megan Meade's Guide to the McGowan Boys (16 page)

“Are you okay?” Megan asked.

“I've just never seen them like that before,” Finn said, his face slack.

“Come on. You guys must have had fights.”

“Not like that,” Sean put in.

Megan swallowed hard. “Really?”

“The occasional throwdown over a trashed skateboard or a lost CD, but nothing like this,” Finn said.

“So this is definitely not good,” Megan said.

Sean sighed. “I'd say that's a definite understatement.”

 *  *  *

That night Megan stared at her soccer balls, lined up on the bookcase next to her bed. She had shelved them in chronological order, from the first ball her dad had ever bought her back in Germany to the game ball from last year's semifinal match against William Clements High. In an attempt to lull herself to sleep, Megan had mentally reviewed the significance of each ball and named all of her team members from each and every team. She had gone through all fifteen balls three times. Clearly it wasn't working.

She sighed and rolled over onto her back. No matter how she tried to distract herself, there was just no stopping the endless mental movie loop of that afternoon's fight. Megan had seen plenty of fights in her time, at her old high school or on the base, but never between two people she knew. And never between two brothers.

John had gone white and speechless when he heard about the fight. He had taken Doug to the hospital to have his nose checked out. Doug was fine, but he had sat sullen and quiet through dinner. Evan was gone until sometime after dark, when he walked in without a word to anyone and went directly upstairs.

A sudden noise in the backyard sat her up straight, her heart pounding. Megan tiptoed over to the window and peered out. Someone was back there, moving around just below her window. She ducked back behind the curtain and squinted through the space between the eyelet border and the window frame until her eyes adjusted. A large cloth flicked out like a sheet and fanned out on the ground. Suddenly everything came into focus.

It was Evan. And he was laying out a sleeping bag.

Megan sat back, breathless. She glanced at her own army-issue sleeping bag, rolled up in the corner of her room. Before she could second-guess what she was about to do, she grabbed the bag and her pillow, stuffed her feet into her flip-flops, and tiptoed downstairs.

Evan looked up when he heard the door open. He was just pushing his legs into his sack.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.”

She walked over to him tentatively, clutching her sleeping bag to her chest. “I . . . saw you out here. . . .”

“My family used to do this at least once a summer, sleep out here under the stars,” Evan said, directing her attention to the gorgeous night sky. “I thought this might be one of the last warm nights.”

Megan nodded and hovered over him, unsure of what to do.

“So, you gonna put that down or what?” Evan asked with a small smile.

Megan laid her sleeping bag out a couple of feet away from his. She dropped her pillow near the top and shimmied inside, loving the feel of the cool cotton against her legs. Evan folded his pillow in half to prop his head up and Megan did the same.

“So, I went to Hailey's this afternoon,” Evan said.

Megan's breath caught. “You did? What did she say?”

“Nothing. I never got to the door.”

“Oh.”

“I just don't get it. Why would she tell him that I hooked up with you?” Evan said. “Do you think it's possible that she actually
thinks
she saw us doing something?”

Megan was, for a moment, speechless. Was Evan really looking for a plausible reason to forgive Hailey for what she had done?

“I . . . I don't know,” she said. “She was pretty drunk, but—”

“I know, I know,” Evan said, looking at the sky again. “I mean, she told Doug we were done and I know we never had
that
conversation. She's just . . . making things up.”

“Yeah. It sorta looks that way,” Megan said.

Tell him she's evil. Tell him he deserves so much better,
a little voice in her mind whimpered.
Tell him to just forget about her already.

“I just don't get it,” Evan said. “How could you do all this to someone you cared about? I mean, obviously she doesn't give a crap about me. That's obvious now, right?”

Megan couldn't have put it better herself, so she just stayed silent.

“You know what? I don't want to talk about this anymore,” Evan said. “Let's talk about something else.”

“Like what?” Megan asked.

“Like, I don't know, what do you want to do after high school?” Evan asked.

“Wow. Um . . . I . . . college, I guess?” Megan said.

“Any idea where?” Evan asked.

“I don't know,” Megan said. “I think the idea of actually staying in the same place for four years is so bizarre to me that I can't fully wrap my brain around it.”

“It must be hard, moving all the time,” Evan said.

“You get used to it,” Megan replied automatically.

“Well, I want to get the hell out of here, that's all I know,” Evan said. “BC and New Hampshire are both trying to recruit me for hockey, but I'm thinking Michigan or Northwestern. Someplace that's at least a day's drive from here.”

“Don't want any visitors?” Megan joked.

“At this point I wouldn't mind never seeing this family again,” Evan replied.

“You don't mean that,” Megan said. “It was just a . . . a bad day.”

“You don't know what it's like,” Evan said, gazing up at the stars. “Do you know how many times teachers have called me Sean or Finn or even Miller? Mr. Robertson has settled on calling us all ‘McGowan' because he's too senile to keep us straight. It's basically impossible to have an identity in this town or to feel like I'm my own separate person. When I'm here, I'll always just be one of the McGowan boys.”

Megan looked at him, shocked. “You don't really think that,” she said.

“Sometimes I do,” he said. His eyes grew a little wider. “I mean, don't tell anyone.”

“I won't say anything,” Megan said.

“I can't believe I just told you that,” he said, covering his eyes with his hand. “I've never said that out loud to anyone.”

Megan's heart was so full she could hardly breathe. He'd never told anyone, but he'd told her.

“It's okay, really,” she assured him. “But for the record, I really don't think it's true. Everyone knows who you are.”

“Yeah, well, I think Hailey just
proved
it's true,” Evan said
morosely, propping himself up on his elbow to face her. He ripped up a handful of grass and let it sprinkle out of his palm. “I mean, she slept with
Doug
. She's supposed to be in love with me and she slept with my little brother.” He dropped back again and stared up at the sky.

Megan watched Evan's face, half in shadow, half lit by the shimmering sky above. He looked so hurt and disgusted and sad. She wanted to touch him so badly—to press her palm to his cheek and tell him that Hailey was an idiot if she didn't see how amazing he was. He was Evan McGowan. There was no way anyone could think he was interchangeable with Doug or anyone else.

Her hand inched out across the grass that separated them. Megan held her breath. She willed herself to touch him, but she couldn't. Her chest felt like it was going to explode.

“It's gonna be okay,” she said finally.

Evan looked into her eyes, then down at her semi-outstretched hand. He reached over and hooked his index finger around hers.

“Thanks,” he said. “I'm glad you came down here.”

“Me too,” Megan said.

She expected him to pull away, but he didn't. He lay down on his back and closed his eyes, his finger still crooked around hers. Ever so carefully Megan lay down on her stomach and pressed her cheek into her pillow. Before she knew it, Evan's breathing had slowed into a deep, rhythmic pattern. He was asleep, just a couple of feet away. He was asleep, and they were still touching. Megan bit her lip and grinned, gazing at their entwined fingers.

This was, without a doubt, the best night of her life.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Boy Guide

Megan Meade's Guide to the McGowan Boys

Entry Eight

Observation #1:
Boys do tell you how they really feel.

I think you just have to be in the right place at the right time. Or maybe be the right person.

Sunday afternoon, Megan was so giddy she was practically bouncing in her desk chair as she surfed the web. After an hour of research on Asperger's she decided to put some of what she had learned to the test. It wasn't like she was going to be able to sit still and concentrate on homework anyway.

Megan shut down her laptop and practically skipped down the stairs. Most of the McGowan clan, Evan included, was gathered around the TV in the living room, watching a Yankee–Red Sox game. Only Doug and Miller were absent. They were all wearing battered Red Sox baseball caps, T-shirts, or jerseys, and the coffee table was loaded up with various snack bags and soda cans. Everyone in the room was riveted. Megan waited until the Yankees' manager came out to retire his pitcher before she spoke.

“Have any of you guys seen Miller?” Megan asked.

Evan glanced over his shoulder and smiled when he saw her. She grinned back.

“Basement,” John answered.

“He's not allowed to watch the Yankee–Red Sox games with us,” Evan explained. “Because you know, Dad would kill him.”

“Ah.” Megan glanced at Finn, who was sitting next to Evan, then checked on John. His eyes were trained on the TV. “Um . . . aren't you supposed to be grounded?” Megan whispered, crouching at the back of the couch.

“Shhh!” Finn said as he leaned forward for a bag of mini-pretzels. “My dad's so mesmerized he hasn't noticed me yet.”

“Nice.”

“So, hey, you wanna meet me out in the shed later?” Finn asked, popping a pretzel into his mouth.

“Oh, sure,” Megan replied, flushing slightly.

“What're you two doing in the shed together?” Evan asked, raising his eyebrows.

Megan's flush deepened.

“An artist never discusses his work,” Finn replied.

“I think it's a magician never reveals his secrets,” Megan said.

“Same thing,” Finn replied. Megan and Evan looked at him like he was crazy. “Okay, it's really not,” he amended.

“So, you're calling yourself an artist these days?” Evan asked. “Usually you're just going off about how much you suck.”

Finn punched Evan on the arm, hard. Evan punched him back. Megan rolled her eyes. “I'll see you guys later.”

She headed downstairs and found Miller sitting alone on a beanbag chair in his A-Rod T-shirt and Yankees cap, watching the same game his family was watching upstairs. Megan was struck by the loneliness of it all.

“Hi, Miller,” Megan said, hopping down the last couple of steps onto the floor.

There was a commercial on the TV, but he didn't look at her. “The Yankees are on.”

“Yeah, I know,” Megan said. “Do you mind if I watch with you?”

There was a long pause. “Okay,” Miller said finally.

Megan pulled over another beanbag chair and sat down next to Miller. Another commercial was starting. It was time.

“So, I was hoping we could talk,” Megan said. “I'd like to get to know you better.”

Miller swallowed. “What do you mean?” He still hadn't looked at her.

“I mean, I'd like to know more stuff about you,” Megan said. “I know you like the Yankees, but I don't know much else. Wouldn't you like to know more stuff about me?”

“I guess,” Miller said.

“Okay, so what do you want to know?” Megan asked, leaning back in her chair.

Miller rubbed his palms on the beanbag chair, looking down at the floor. He kept rubbing faster and faster until his face started to turn red. Megan's stomach clenched, but she told herself to chill. The articles had warned her something like this might happen.

“Okay, I think I know of a way that you can ask me whatever you want to ask me,” Megan said. “Miller?”

He paused, turning his blotchy face away from her slightly. “Yeah?”

“How about you tell me something about the Yankees? Anything at all. You like talking about the Yankees, right?” Megan asked.

“Yeah . . .”

“So tell me something about them and then ask me something about me right after,” Megan said. “Do you want to see if you can do it?”

“I can do it.”

Megan smiled. “Okay, then, go.”

Miller glanced at her for a split second, then gazed at the floor again. “The Yankees were the first team ever to win four World Series in a row. Why do you smell like that?” he asked.

Megan burst out laughing and Miller looked at her uncertainly, then laughed too.

“Why do I smell like what?” Megan asked.

“Like the beach,” Miller replied. “You smell like my mom at the beach.”

“Coconut,” she said. “I use coconut shampoo. I can't believe you can tell.”

Miller smiled and nodded.

“This is good. Try it again,” Megan said.

“Derek Jeter was the first captain of the Yankees since Thurman Munson,” Miller said. “Are you gonna live with us forever?”

This time Miller looked up at her, right in the eye, for a good few seconds.

“Well, no,” Megan said. “Hopefully for this year and maybe next year, though. Why? Do you mind me living here?”

Miller shrugged and returned his attention to the TV, which was coming back from break. “It's okay,” he said, but he was smiling. “Game's back on.”