This Is How It Ends (8 page)

CHAPTER 10

“TELL ME AGAIN WHY WE'RE
we doing this?” Tannis asked as she climbed into my car.

“Because you live close to me and I've got the car tonight and I'm gentleman enough not to make you walk.”

“No, you moron. I meant, why are we going back to those binoculars?”

I knew that's what she'd meant, but I was trying to avoid thinking about it, my stomach a tight ball of knots.

Tannis poked my shoulder. “Hey. Loverboy.”

I rubbed the spot where she'd jabbed me. “Could you please stop calling me that?”

She snorted. “Truth hurts?”

“What's that supposed to mean?” I snapped, wishing immediately I hadn't. I suspected Tannis knew I had a thing for Sarah, but I sure didn't want to hear it out loud.

She smirked. “I think you know.”

“Whatever.” I waved it off. “You heard Trip,” I said, returning to her original question. “We're going back because we need to know what the binoculars are. And whether they had anything to do with what happened to Nat's dad.”

“And if they did?”

“I don't know. I guess it depends on how they're connected.” I didn't want to think about turning Nat in. Or turning the binoculars in. Though I wouldn't mind seeing the look on Lincoln Andrews's face if he saw the crazy shit we had.

She was quiet for about ten seconds. Which might have been a world record for Tannis. “What if it really is the future?”

“It's not,” I said automatically.

“But what if it is?”

“Okay, fine,” I said. “Let's just say—for the sake of argument—that it is. So what?”

“So what?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Does it matter? Does it change anything?”

“It changes everything.” Tannis's voice broke on the last word.

I looked over, surprised.

“It's all wrong,” Tannis said.

“What? That you have kids?”

“Everything,” she said miserably. “It means all of the stuff—my races, the trials, the time I've been fixing cars instead of studying or whatever—it's all been a huge waste. None of what I want happens. I never leave. I'm stuck right here, raising kids, living in a falling-down house, just like my mom, and her mom before her, and—”

“Whoa, Tannis. Hold it,” I said. “How can you know that?”

She stared at me, her face tight for a second, then crumpling. “Because I have three kids. And I'm not old.” She wiped at her eyes, and I felt my head swimming a little. I'd never seen Tannis cry. Or go off like this. “I'm in, like, my twenties. And I'm walking on a trail on that same damn mountain.” She took a short breath. “I'm not racing; I'm not training. It means I never make it on the circuit. So, what do I do? I'm not smart like you or Sarah. It's too late for me to go to college or figure out something else. This is the only thing I'm good at. The only thing I've ever wanted. And it
doesn't happen
.”

Tannis wiped at her eyes, sniffling.

“Tannis,” I said softly, “you're getting
way
ahead of yourself.”

“Am I?” she demanded, whipping her head up to look at me. “Was yours like mine? So real you could smell and feel stuff in it like it was really happening?”

I thought about Sarah's weight next to me in that bed. The way my chest flooded with warmth when she smiled. I didn't answer, and I think that was answer enough. Tannis had been so quiet about the things she'd seen, not bringing it up at all in the week between the cave and the Dash. I'd assumed she'd blown it off as nothing, had forgotten it. I couldn't have been more wrong. It was itching at her, just like it had been at me.

“You're not really going to look, are you?” she finally asked.

“No, I'm not going to look.” It was Trip's idea to go back, and even though I knew he was right, I wasn't willing to be the guinea pig. Trip seemed more than happy to do the honors, which could only be attributed to the fact that he'd seen nothing last time and he hated to be left out.

I turned up the volume on the radio then, which was kind of rude, but it kept Tannis from asking me any more questions. Eventually she sang along instead. Loudly, the way Tannis does most everything.

Lights were blazing in the living room when we pulled up to Trip's house. I saw his dad pass by the oversize window as we went up the walk, and my teeth clenched. The last person I wanted to see. Great.

Tannis rapped on the door three times, then pushed through without waiting for an answer. “Domino's!” she yelled.

I took a deep breath, assaulted at the threshold by the smell of Pine-Sol and the candles Trip's mom always lit to cover her cleaning obsession.

“Hey, guys,” Trip's dad greeted us, giving me a hard clap on the back. I mumbled hi and ducked into the living room, hoping to catch the score before going downstairs. I could hear him chatting up Tannis:
“. . .
looking lovely as ever. . . . Got a hot date?” “Not tonight, Mr. Jones. . . . Are you free?” Hardy-har-har.

Then his footsteps. “They're losing again.”

“I see that,” I said without turning around. Trip's mom passed by on her way to the kitchen, calling a quick hi.

“Terrible about Natalie Cleary's father,” he said, stepping closer and shaking his head with exaggerated sympathy. It was what people had been saying for days, but like everything else Mr. Jones did, it was too much—too loud, too hearty, and now, too sad. A big, fake, lying façade.

When I was a kid, I'd liked how his big smiles had been different from my dad's moodiness. I remember roasting marshmallows beside him. He ate his charred, and I'd liked watching them burn.

“Ready, Riles?” he'd ask, puffing on his cigar and holding the stick just outside the campfire's flames.

I'd nod, barely hearing my dad across the fire. “You're making my son a pyromaniac, Pete.”

Trip's dad had grinned. “I'll drop off some fire extinguishers. Consider it a housewarming gift.”

We'd just moved into our place, and my parents had been scraping wallpaper and painting most weekends, their home improvements nearly steamrolling right over our annual camping trip with the Joneses. That year Trip and I had our own tent, which I'd been psyched about until he'd sprung his plan to set up his SpyToolz Lazer Wire to trap bears. I hoped I wouldn't have to crawl into my parents' tent overnight. I'd never hear the end of it.

“Better blow that out, Pete,” my dad warned, nodding toward the marshmallow as he stood. “You're gonna catch the stick soon.” He tossed the remains of his cigar into the fire, then hooked a thumb toward the woods. “Gotta drain the main vein.”

Trip snorted. His dad didn't say stuff like that, and Trip thought it was hilarious.

Mr. Jones had me hold his cigar while he steadied the stick and blew hard on the marshmallow until the fire went out, leaving a drippy black glob that he sandwiched between graham crackers and chocolate, then offered to me.

I wrinkled my nose. “No, thanks.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Have you boys been sneaking chocolate?”

I shook my head, but in fact we had.

“Reeeally,” he drawled. “Not sure I remember a time in your ten years when you've turned down a s'more, Riley Larkin.”

He winked so I'd know he wasn't really mad. I liked that Trip's dad never left you wondering about that.

He offered it to Trip, who also shook his head. “Don't want it.”

“Hnmmmm.” Mr. Jones rubbed his chin. “Curiouser and curiouser.”

Mrs. Jones had ducked into their tent for some drinks, so Mr. Jones turned to my mom.

“Melissa?”

I was surprised when she said, “Sure.”

He smiled, crossing to her side of the fire. Trip scooted next to me, bringing the bag of marshmallows and chattering about whether we should set the wire up by the entrance to the cave or the trail and where a bear'd be more likely to come from, but I was busy watching Mr. Jones feed my mom, both of them laughing as strands of marshmallow dripped down her chin.

I'd felt only surprise then, seeing my mom giggle like that. Maybe a hint of apprehension. Not the hot, seething anger I felt standing beside Mr. Jones now. “Yeah,” I answered shortly as the Sox struck out again. “Terrible about Mr. Cleary. Is Trip in the basement?”

“Him and his girl.” He winked, somberness vanishing instantly. “Proceed with caution.”

Bastard
, I thought. Which is pretty much what I always thought when I saw him these days.

I flicked the basement light on and off before clomping downstairs. Mr. Jones was a creep, but he was right. I definitely did not want to see Trip and Sarah doing whatever they did when we weren't there.

Which today was only playing checkers.

I lugged a beanbag closer while Tannis, who'd followed me down, messed with the music. Trip took Sarah's piece, and she responded with a triple jump, clearing the board of red checkers.

“I let you win,” he said, standing.

“Yeah, okay.” Sarah rolled her eyes and smiled at me. Typical Trip.

“You hear from Nat today?” I asked her. We'd all left messages and texts, but Sarah was the most likely to hear back.

Sarah shook her head. “The police probably have her phone.”

“I wonder when they'll let her go,” Tannis said. “I mean, they can't keep her forever.”

“Unless she did it,” I said.

Trip scowled at me and pulled on his fleece. “You ready?”

No. But I trailed him back upstairs anyway. All of us waved to his parents on the way out.

***

Twenty minutes later we pulled into the deserted dirt lot. I stepped out, the wind rushing past with more than a hint of frost. The four of us huddled by the car, zipping jackets and rewrapping scarves before following Trip up the half-frozen path like a parade of mummies. It was hard to believe it had been less than two weeks ago that we'd come up here with beers, made the fire, played Tannis's stupid game of truth or dare.

Now one of us was in police custody, her dad dead.

The clearing seemed much more exposed, with the leaves gone and the cave yawning black behind the half circle of stones. No one mentioned gathering wood. There was no beer to stow.

“Where are they?”

It took me a minute to realize Trip was talking to me. “The binoculars?” I asked.

“No, dude, your balls.” Trip snorted. “Of course, the binoculars.”

“In the cave.”

“I'll go with you,” Sarah told him. “I put them in there.”

Trip slipped his hand into hers and they walked toward the cave, the beam of the flashlight bobbing ahead of them and twigs crunching under their boots. The moonlight made Sarah's skin even paler than usual, and I could see her biting at her lip, the way she did when she was nervous. The first time I'd noticed it had been in sixth grade at Kelly Lipman's party. The day we kissed.

Rich Fowler had shoved the Coke bottle toward me. “Your turn, brainiac.”

I'd stared at it, wishing I could melt into the floor. Galen Riddock whispered something to Trip, the three of them nudging each other and laughing across the circle. That was the year Trip discovered football, and Rich and Galen were the captains of the Pop Warner team he hoped to play on. He'd been buddying up to them, so I was an outcast, sandwiched between the new girl who'd come with Natalie Cleary and Kelly, whose mom worked at Woodside Manor with mine and had probably made her invite me to this stupid party just like my mom had made me come. Angrily I sent the bottle skittering, trying not to think about Rich yammering by the pretzel and soda table earlier. I had no idea how to “slip them some tongue,” since I'd never even kissed a girl on the lips.

The bottle slowed, clicking softly and finally stopping with its neck pointing squarely to the girl on my right.

She looked at me silently, her dark eyes solemn. My heart was thudding.
Does she expect me to slip her some tongue? Does she
want
me to?

“Uh, Riley? You want to get on with it?”

Trip. Fucking loudmouth.

“I don't think she bites,” he said, adding suggestively, “Or maybe she does.”

Everyone laughed. Except me and the girl.

Her brown eyes seemed nice. But also sad. Like my mom looked the time we found a puppy with broken ribs at the park.

For God's sake, stop thinking about your mom. Just do it
. I leaned forward.
Don't slobber.
She smelled sweet, like gum or candy, her eyes on mine until I was too close to see them anymore. Then my lips touched hers, soft and hot, and I felt weird and nervous and tingly.
Okay, that's long enough
. I sat back, my face burning, hoping I hadn't messed it up somehow.

“Didja get some tongue?” Galen yelled. Trip and Rich cackled.

The new girl looked at him. “No,” she said blandly. “And please keep yours to yourself next time too.”

“Oooooooh!” Natalie said.

Galen shot Nat a dirty look, and I stared at Sarah McKenzie, wondering at this new girl brazen enough to take my side over one of the most popular guys in school. That was when I saw her hand clenched by her side, the knuckles white and the corner of her lip puckered where she was biting at it.
She's nervous
, I realized, filled with admiration.
Much more than she's letting on
.

“Yo!” Tannis yelled toward the cave now. “Trip! Should we send in a search party?”

They came out seconds later, before I even had time to hope maybe the binoculars were gone. Trip waved the box toward me. “Want to go first?” he asked.

“No.”

“What are you . . . chicken?”

“What are you . . . ten?”

Trip stuck out his tongue.

“I guess that's a yes,” I said. “And, sure, I'm chicken.”