The Way Back to You (21 page)

N
o no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no.

The cookies.

THE COOKIES.

I drop my head in my hands. I’m hollowed out and overflowing at the same time. Empty and bursting. Every emotion courses through me at once, ribbons that are too tangled to separate and pick apart.

Gutted. Charged. Lost. Hopeful. Terrified. In love. Alone.

And angry. That one stands out in the balled-up mess of my insides, prominent and familiar, easiest to grab on to. A flush spreads through me, burning so hot that I’m sure I’ll leave a scorched imprint on the ground.

Rolling forward onto my knees, I bend over Kyle. He’s outstretched on the dirt, still laughing and beaming up at the sky. “Kyle, there was pot in those cookies.” My voice quakes, so I hold my breath to steady it.

“Ohhhh.”

“That’s why you’re . . . like this.” I can’t be mad at him; I shouldn’t be. But why couldn’t he have forgotten he had the cookies?

Why did he kiss me?

Kyle’s dazed stare meets mine, and he reaches up to softly tug at my hair, coiling it clumsily around his fingers before letting his hand slip away. “Your eyes, they’re so dark. But blue. Like that,” he says, pointing up. “But without the stars. Your eyes don’t have stars.”

“Kyle, we’re leaving. Can you stand up?”

He doesn’t answer, just keeps blinking at the stars.

“You can sleep it off at Will’s, okay? But we need to get out of here.”

Blink, blink. Blink.

“Kyle,” I repeat, pleading, a sob in my throat. “Please.”

He grins wide, so wide that his eyes stretch into a squint. Those are the only parts of him that move.

My teeth clamp together to smother a scream. There’s no chance of getting him up and to the parking lot by myself. I pat his pockets for his phone so I can call Will, and he cackles and twists away like I’m tickling him. But even when I find it, I can’t think straight enough to tap in a security code that makes any sense. Numbers flash briefly in my brain but don’t stick around to make an impression.

Panic swarms and, for a split second, I’m sure we’ve taken too long. Everyone’s left us here and we’ll have to spend the night and what do I do? I can’t take care of Kyle like this; I can’t
make things better when all I want to do is curl up somewhere, be small enough to disappear.

But then I spot a shadowy movement between the beauty parlor and post office, thirty feet away, and I do the opposite. I stand on trembling legs, jumping and waving my arms, making myself bigger so whoever that is will notice me. The figure gets closer and its—Will’s—jog falters when he sees Kyle sprawled out. Then he speeds up into a sprint until he’s right in front us. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Will, Will, Will,” Kyle mumbles. He’s calming down some, but his fingers flex and claw at the dirt underneath him.

I start pacing. “He’s high or something. He ate some cookies that Hannah’s friends gave him.”

Will’s eyes go round as he squats down near Kyle’s head. “How many?”

“Two.” A pain twists around my stomach. If Kyle had been aware of what those cookies were, he never would have eaten them—never would have offered one to me. I’d suspected and didn’t say anything. No one said anything. The thought snaps at me like a rubber band. “Did you know?”

Will’s hand is flat against Kyle’s forehead. “That he ate some?” Will says. “No. Garrett mentioned bringing them, but I didn’t realize Kyle had any.”

“You rode over here with him.” A cold sweat beads on the back of my neck as something that’s close to hysteria builds inside of me. “Are you saying you didn’t see anything?”

“I was driving,” he tells me, his tone clipped. “I couldn’t pay attention to everything that happened, Cloudy.”

I swallow a deep breath. An hour ago, I believed Will was a good guy—a good friend. I know this doesn’t change anything. You can’t watch over your friends all the time. I know that, too.

I shake my head, feeling even worse now for barking at him. “Can you help me get him to the parking lot?”

Without a word, Will props up a boneless Kyle. “We’re taking you back home, buddy,” he murmurs.

I’m certain Kyle is too out of it to process this, let alone respond, but as I stoop to help lift him, I hear his lilting whisper. “Not home. Here. Forever.”

It goes through me like a lightning bolt, and it aches all the more because he doesn’t know what he’s saying. It means nothing to him, like repeating a word in a foreign language. Everything he said after eating those cookies means nothing.

Will takes on most of Kyle’s weight, but I shoulder what I can. We totter past buildings and character cutouts, Kyle’s toes dragging through the gravel between us. I don’t notice the parts of Bedrock City we were so eager to discover earlier—all I want is to get to the car, so we can get out of here. I focus on leaving instead of having Kyle pressed against me once again. This time, it’s like a parody, and totally unfamiliar to how being close to him felt only minutes ago.

Finally, we make it through the gift shop and into the brightly lit parking lot. The other cars are gone except for Natalie’s Toyota and the bus, which has all of its doors splayed open. My eyes fix on Hannah, listless, draped over the van’s front seat. My spine stiffens at the sight of her.

Will walks Kyle over to the bus, guiding him inside the large
cargo area, and I take off like a torpedo—rapid-fire, roaring, unstoppable.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Hannah must be stoned, because she chooses to smile at me. “Clauuuudiaaaa. Sooooo serioussss—”

“How could you let Kyle take those cookies without telling him what they were?”

She looks at me with a dreamy fuzziness. “He didn’t know about the pot?”

The height of the bus forces me to glare
up
at her—it makes my blood rage past boiling. “Do you think he would’ve eaten them if he did?”

Her head bobs around as she puzzles this out. “I thought he was up for some fun. Despite his choice in dates.”

Snickers skitter out from behind me, and that’s when I notice Garrett and John huddled together on the ground near the front bumper, holding each other up, but not really.

Turning to Hannah, I raise my chin. “I’m riding back to Sedona with Kyle. So don’t bother assigning seats again.”

She attempts a sympathetic, sulky noise, but it bubbles into a giggle. “There’s not enough room, remember?”

“You’ll make room.”

“Oh, Claudia, you need to unclench and give Kyle some space.” Hannah’s know-it-all teacher tone sounds sloppy. “Will told me what happened to his ex. And, like, it’s sad and stuff, but pretty lucky for you. No ex-girlfriend for you to worry about.”

I’ve been dropped into a black hole. I’m turned inside out. Maybe my senses have stopped functioning. But all I need is
for my hands to work to slam Hannah’s wasted, condescending face against the bus.

“Hannah!” The world refocuses and it’s Devynne, rushing up before I can make a move. “Why don’t you ride back with us?”

“You should,” Natalie says, somewhere to my right. She, Charlie, and Sergio, they’re all out of the car; our audience. “We can switch you with Cloudy.”

“Yeah,” Sergio monotones.

“Noooooooo,” Charlie whisper-yells.

Hannah grimaces with whatever muscle control she has left. “Why?”

Devynne clenches her jaw. “Because it’s a good idea.”

“. . . What about my bus?”

“First,” Devynne says, gesturing at Natalie and the others, “we’ll drop everyone off at the school. Then Will can follow Natalie back to your house, and she’ll drive him back to his car.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Will adds, clapping his hands once. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Perfect,” Devynne says.

Once Hannah is safely—if a little wobbly—on her feet, Devynne reaches behind her to squeeze my elbow. She gives me a reassuring smile, and instantly, my eyes well up, ready to spill over. Maybe this was all for Kyle’s benefit, but I am so, so, so grateful.

Devynne tows Hannah away, and their doors slam shut before I can say that.

The Toyota pulls out of the lot, and I climb into the bus before collapsing onto the floor. My shoulders fall against the
backseat, near Kyle’s head as he dozes. The middle bench has been ripped out, so the bus has a large, empty space between the front and back. That’s where Garrett has crashed, on a mattress and pile of blankets that serve as cushioning. John is up front with Will, who’s already gunning the engine.

“I’msosorry.”

It’s the slightest of moans, but it’s clear.

“Kyle,” I say. “Just try to sleep.”

He’s lying on his side, eyes slitted. “I screwed up.”

“You didn’t.”

“I’m such an idiot.”

“Shhhh.” I lift my hand to stroke his hair, but he grabs it with his own first. “You’re okay. You’ll be better soon.”

“You’re staying with me?”

“Yeah,” I say on a breath. “I’m here.”

With a tired grunt, Kyle tips over so he’s on his back. He takes my hand with him, holding it to his chest. His strained eyes flutter shut and I want to nestle in beside him, wrap my arms around his waist, and gather him together.

Immediately, I force the image from my mind. Kyle might want me here as support, but that’s all he wants—a familiar face to cling to while he’s miserable. To him, what happened in the jailhouse will be some foggy drug-induced hallucination. It’ll sit hazy at the edge of his memory, never real or meaningful enough to remember.

Or maybe not—maybe he
will
remember, that I kissed him back with everything I have, that I said the word “love” to him, that I meant each touch when all of his were false, orchestrated
by something outside of himself, like those puppets with the strings. And this time, maybe he’ll be the one who asks me to forget.

But won’t I want that, too?

Hannah’s words play on repeat:
No ex-girlfriend for you to worry about.

As if it’s a relief.

I am disloyal and deceitful and, worst of all, guilty. Because not only did I let Kyle kiss me tonight, I wanted to kiss him, despite all I wished for in that clearing. I couldn’t let him go, not even for her. No matter what happens tomorrow, whether Kyle remembers our kisses or doesn’t, there will always be that. I will always know that I betrayed my best friend while on a trip meant to celebrate her. A trip meant to keep her alive.

Once in a while, the orange light from a streetlamp streaks by the half windows that run around the bus, and the only sound inside is Garrett’s faint snoring, and the classic rock radio Will is listening to. Half an hour out of Bedrock City, we hit a bump that rattles the undercarriage, and Kyle whooshes out a cough. I pat his chest to reassure him, but his lungs heave under my palm.

“Hey,” I say, bending over him. Even in the dim light, it’s obvious how washed out he is. “Do you need something? Water?”

Weakly, he pushes himself up onto his elbows. “Air.”

“Will!” I call out. From behind, I see Will tense. “Pull over!”

He doesn’t waste any time. Though I can’t tell where we are, Will guides us to the right side of the road with a sharp jerk of
the steering wheel. As soon as the bus brakes, he hops out of the driver’s seat, and he’s gone until the side door rumbles open. Before Will can step inside, Kyle shoots past us, stumbling into the darkness.

I scurry out and use the light from my phone to find him on all fours, crumpled on the shoulder of whatever highway this is. Kyle is shaky and whimpering—and then suddenly, he goes rigid. A second later, he retches in the dirt. I dig inside my coat pocket for a tissue, and he apologizes to me over and over, again and again, as a tear drips from the corner of his eye, down his nose. I click my phone off. Aside from the bus’s headlights and the occasional car passing, there’s not much to see by.

Stooping beside him, I rub his back in lazy circles. I turn away from him. Not because he’s sick, but because I can’t stand how it’s written all over his face, how today has turned out, with us crouched and broken under stars not worth wishing on.

But there’s tomorrow—there’s Oatman and his mom to tell him about. I can do something for Kyle, something that Ashlyn would be proud of. The idea of it ignites a light inside of me brighter than headlights, brighter than stars and lanterns saddled with wishes.

A
door slams not far from my head.

The Xterra is stopped, the engine is off, and Cloudy’s shoes are shuffling farther and farther away. Without opening my eyes, I know it’s too soon for us to be in Las Vegas. She must have needed a rest stop.

I was supposed to do all the driving to Nevada, but instead I’ve spent the past fifteen hours as this blob of groggy, dehydrated, embarrassed uselessness. We left Sedona after lunch and ever since, Cloudy’s been driving and I’ve been lying across my backseat with seat belts twisted around me in an uncomfortable configuration with her pink cloud-print pillow under my head as I sleep, jolt awake, sleep, jolt awake.

I’m drifting off again when, somewhere up front, comes insistent rustling and . . . hissing? I open my eyes in time for Arm to launch herself over me from the front center console, land at the top of the backseat, and then disappear into the cargo area behind.

“What the hell?” Untangling myself from the seat belts, I wriggle to sit up.

A donkey has forced its head in and is nuzzling a large, open bag of pretzels on the front passenger seat.

“Hey! Get out!”

I lean over the console to pull the bag away. The donkey grabs on using its teeth, and pretzels rain down as it hurries to slip its head back out the window. It runs about ten paces, glances back, sees I’m not chasing it, adjusts the half-empty bag in its mouth against the ground, and then traipses off with what used to be Cloudy’s snack.

“So that just happened,” I announce to Arm.

I can’t see her, of course. What I can see is that the dirt and gravel where my car sits isn’t a rest stop or gas station on Highway 93. Instead, I’m near a white-and-red-painted sign, which reads: Parking Lot.

I swivel my body. In the distance, clusters of donkeys and humans wander the street, which is lined on both sides with Wild West–style buildings.

Cloudy’s brought us to Oatman. After the Drugged-Cookies Incident, I’d assumed we’d take the shortest route to Vegas, but now that we’re here (an hour out of our way, with at least a couple more hours of traveling to go), I am glad to have one less thing to feel crappy over; my mistake last night didn’t end up causing her to miss this detour she’s been excited about.

I’m not feeling 100 percent, but I put the windows up, grab the keys from the ignition, and head back to make sure Arm is okay after her donkey scare. Once I lift the hatch, it takes a moment to spot the black kitten in the corner; whenever she’s on dark-colored objects or in shadows, she tends to blend in.

“You okay?” I put out my hand, which, after several seconds, lures her over.

Her green eyes are open wide and the fur on her back is spiking up, but she’s uninjured. She gives a growly meow, which I’ve figured out is her way of saying, “Pet me now!”

“You want to come with me?”

Breathing in the farmlike smell of donkey poop and dust being kicked up by passing cars, I chug a water bottle and then lift the bottom of my sweatshirt. With my help, Arm climbs up so she’s nestled against my T-shirt underneath. I’m not sure it’s the best idea to walk around with a cat hidden in my clothes, but if I keep one hand cradled underneath her and steer clear of her enemy the donkey, we should be fine.

After locking up, I follow the wooden sidewalk, stopping at the first shop. Most of what they sell is shirts and hats, which (like everything in this town) feature mining, donkeys, or ghosts. Cloudy isn’t inside. I move on—popping into each store I approach, scanning, and then heading out. Finding her would definitely be easier if her phone wasn’t still in the car, hooked up to the car charger. Did she leave it behind for this very reason? She has seemed concerned over my health and comfort today, but she’s also avoided most conversation and all eye contact with me.

At the center of town, I finally spot Cloudy’s rusty-blond hair across the street as she’s about to walk into a gift store.

“Hey, Cloudy!”

She waves and waits for me to cross. While I’m approaching, she wrings her hands and steals a glance at the store window. I understand her nervousness because my first thought when I
woke up was:
I kissed Cloudy
.

It was immediately followed by:
I kissed someone other than Ashlyn.

I will always be Ashlyn’s last kiss, but she isn’t mine anymore. On some level, I’ve known since she died that this would happen eventually. It still didn’t prepare me for the thunderbolt of guilt or my pinwheeling emotions this morning after it had become a reality.

I have no regrets about Cloudy and me, though.

Well, not about what happened between us inside the jail cell, I should say. Once we got back outside and the effect of the drugs hit me all at once, everything became so confusing. I remember lying on the ground with her on top of me. I remember the stars and telling her about the Pegasus statue in Vegas. I remember her saying she loved me, but that doesn’t make sense. It must have been me. I was rambling about nonsense. I told her I loved her. I told her that her head was expanding.

What a dumbass.

“You’re awake,” Cloudy says. “Feeling better?”

“A little hazy still, but yeah, much better.” She’s become transfixed by my feet, so I quickly add, “I know I ruined everything at Bedrock. I feel like—”

“No. None of that was your fault. They tricked you, and I should have realized it sooner.”

I’m not sure how she could have; by my recollection, she figured out the cookies were the problem right away. But my memories aren’t reliable. At some point last night, I stopped being able to comprehend words. Then there was relentless shouting in my head. And the nightmares—so many terrifying
dreams, for so many hours. I truly believed I was dying, and I’m still shaken up by it.

“I don’t think those guys were trying to trick me,” I say. “Garrett said the cookies were ‘an extra-strong batch.’ I thought he was talking about the overpowering mint flavoring. I then ate two of them for a double extra-strong dose.”

“You’d never heard of edibles?”

That’s the same question my dad asked when I called him. The way he said “Oh,
Kyle
” after I explained that I’d puked and spent the night hallucinating was worse than if he’d yelled at me. Then he told me marijuana usually has an
anti
nausea effect, which is why some chemo patients use it. That made me feel extra worthless, like I can’t even react to drugs properly.

“I’d heard of hash brownies and space cakes,” I tell Cloudy. “Not pot cookies, though. In other words, I was an idiot.”

“Naïve, maybe, but not an idiot.”

Those two words sound identical to me. I give her a small smile. “Then will you please forgive me for the multitude of
naïve
things I did and said last night? And for throwing up in front of you. Talk about humiliating.”

“You’ve done nothing that needs forgiving. We never have to talk about this again, okay? But misunderstanding or not, it still wasn’t your fault. If a friend gives you something with drugs in it, that friend should say, ‘This has drugs in it!’ They didn’t and that sucks.”

I nod because Cloudy’s right. Of course she’s right. My tension is easing, too, because whatever else she might be thinking right now, at least she isn’t pissed at me. “Jackass Gifts.” I gesture at the sign on the door. “Oatman sure knows
how to name their stores.”

“No kidding. I saw an antique shop called Glory Hole. How can they allow children into this town?”

Keeping a straight face, I scratch at my cheek. “Glory Hole. That’s a mining term, right? I wonder what kind of souvenirs a person might find there.”

She squints, like she’s trying to work out if I’m aware of the double meaning. “You know what
I’m
wondering? Why you’re holding your stomach like a pregnant woman.”

“Oh, this? This is because of a thieving donkey, a bag of pretzels you’ll no longer be eating, and a certain black cat who wanted to be comforted as a result.”

She laughs, and I want to believe we’ll bounce back from this, that we didn’t finally fix our friendship after a year only to have it fall apart because I chose the wrong dessert. But I can tell by the way she’s fidgeting that she’s still uncomfortable. I’m not sure what more I can say, so I go for a Matty-style approach: cheerful distraction.

I push open the door of Jackass Gifts with a flourish and step inside, where racks upon racks of items with names printed on them are spread out before me. “We’ve arrived,” I say, my voice mock reverent. “Personalized trinket heaven.”

Cloudy yanks me back outside and slams the door behind us.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. “I thought you wanted to go in there.”

“There’s something we have to talk about first. It’s really important.”

I’m suddenly getting the feeling she’s about to give me another “I shouldn’t have kissed you, so let’s pretend it never
happened” speech. It’s the opposite of what I want to hear, but I shrug as if I’m unbothered. “All right.”

She loosens her grip, but still holds on to my arm as she leads me down the sidewalk and past the old Oatman Hotel. We stop at a bench mounted to the building, and sit beneath flyers advertising Oatman’s staged gunfights. To calm myself, I peek down my shirt at Arm’s eyes glowing up at me.

“There’s something I was planning to tell you earlier,” she says. “But you were out of it, so I decided to wait.”

And here it comes.

I lift my face and meet her gaze. “Okay?”

“Last night, Will and I were talking. And he told me Vivian recently saw . . . your mother.”

My body snaps to attention, but my brain can’t catch up. “Wait. She
saw
her? Where?”

“Here. In Oatman.”

Real words escape me, and what comes out instead is:
“Whuh?!”

“Your mom was working as a cashier,” Cloudy says in a rush. “Will wasn’t sure at which gift shop, though, so I was asking around while you slept. Someone told me there’s a redhead named Shannon who works at Jackass Gifts.”

I’ve become hot and cold at the same time, and it’s entirely possible that I’m going to be sick again. “You’re telling me Shannon’s inside the store you just pulled me out of?”

Cloudy puts up her hands and lowers them again, like she can calm me with a simple gesture. “I’m not sure. But I can go in and check, if you want—”

“No! Why would I want that?” Six people on the street
crowded together to feed three donkeys all glare at me, so I lower my voice. “
Why
would you bring me here?”

“I agreed with Will that you should know the truth. And because you said you might miss her.” Her eyes are filled with concern and worry. “I decided to scope things out to make this as easy for you as possible. I was never going to tell her you’re here, though. Seeing her or not is your decision, obviously.”

Still holding Arm gently, I close my eyes and lean back until my head is pressed hard to the building. I have to suppress the urge to bang it against the wood.

When I was a kid, I had theories for why Shannon kept leaving us. She was a spy sent on dangerous missions. She was in witness protection for putting away a crime lord. But I had to let the fantasies go. Since then, I haven’t imagined what it would be like to see Shannon because I’ve had no intention of looking for her.

Now there’s a chance she’s a mere thirty feet from where I’m sitting. In the years to come, will I regret not going back in? Will I regret it more if I do?

“We can get in the car and leave right now,” Cloudy says. “If that’s what you want. But maybe it could be therapeutic for you. You can show her exactly how well you’ve been doing without her.”

I choke out a laugh. “Today, of all days, isn’t the best proof of that.” Pretty much none of the days during the past almost six months have been. “I don’t know what I would say.”

“Something will come to you. Or you can see what she has to say and go from there.”

Cloudy thinks I should do this, but I can easily come up
with fifty reasons why I shouldn’t. Yet there’s that regret thing. I might not get this chance again. “Can you check for me? If she’s there, I’ll have to decide what to do. If not, there’s no decision to make.”

“Okay. You want me to go now?”

I nod.

Cloudy squeezes my shoulder before starting back toward Jackass Gifts.

As she walks away, there’s no relief for me that she’s taking care of it; I’m acting like a little boy who’s scared to find his own mother. I’m not a little boy anymore. I can handle this.

Pushing myself off the bench, I sprint to catch up with her. “Never mind. I’ll go in.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” We reach the door, and I smile at her. “This is becoming a bad habit of yours, you know. Taking me to people without telling me first.”

“I know.” Cloudy chews her lip. “Do you want me to come with you?”

“Of course. Do I look all right?” I ask, skimming my free hand over my hair.

“Of course,” she echoes. “Even if you do have a kitten-sized growth at your midsection.”

THERE ARE NINE people inside Jackass Gifts: Cloudy, me, a middle-aged couple in matching Grand Canyon T-shirts; a very short man wearing a very large cowboy hat; a young woman with a baby in her arms, along with her little boy, who keeps
asking, “Mama, can I have this? Can I have this, Mama?” And the cashier, a woman with a silver Afro.

The tension inside me eases. “Looks like she had a premonition I was coming and skipped town.”

“Let’s ask the woman at the register. It might be her day off or her lunch break.”

I forced myself to walk into this shop, but now that I know Shannon isn’t here, I’m not in the biggest hurry to ask questions. I motion at the display in front of me. “Don’t you want to find an Arizona key chain with your name first?”

“Unfortunately, there’s no such thing as a ‘Cloudy’ key chain. Here’s ‘Kyle,’ though.”

Arm’s tail curls out from under my shirt in a way that’s kind of obscene; I tuck it away in a hurry.

Cloudy giggles. “You should have brought her in my bag.”

I sneak another peek at the cashier as she leaves the register to tidy up a display. “What about ‘Claudia’? Would they have that on a key chain?”