"Yes, agreed. What else?"
Quiet descended while he thought. Bugs, night birds, and the breeze shaking the trees took over. Finally, he gave a long sigh. "Honestly, I spent most of my time selling weed."
And hooking up with cheerleaders, I silently added, because jealous bitch, etcetera. "You need a new non-illegal hobby."
"Yeah." His eyes narrowed on the heavens. "Bet that clerk from the tech college had plans. There were hundreds of people at his funeral. I saw his girlfriend; she was devastated."
"You went to the funeral?"
He nodded. "Seemed like the right thing to do."
"I was taking it easy with cracked ribs and stuff." I frowned, unsure I'd have had the courage to go even if I'd been able.
Overhead, the moon did nothing. It was dependable in that way, circling the sky all nonjudgmental like, just doing its thing. Me and the moon were great friends, especially now. It kept me company during the long, awful nights. The moon kept my secrets, telling no one how many times I woke up in a panic, covered in a cold sweat.
"What are your nightmares like?" I asked.
He turned to me, eyes dark. He didn't speak.
"I don't want to sleep anymore."
A nod.
"Think of all the time we lose sleeping anyway," I said. "It's a waste. I mean, I love my bed, but I could do without the dreams."
Nothing from him.
"Thanks for tonight," I said, keeping my voice low. "This is nice."
He smiled. "Yeah, it is."
"We should be friends."
Brows arched, he gave me an amused look. He had nice lips. "We are, you goose."
And John Cole teasing me, that felt damn good too. Another feeling, however, suddenly came front and center. "God, I'm hungry."
We went to In-and-Out Burger before he dropped me home. Even without the high, talking to him now after everything felt easy, soothing. He understood because he'd lived through it too. Was still living through it. I even got to sleep without too much tossing and turning. Best night of my life.
Sunday night . . .
Me: You awake?
My cell buzzed a minute later. "Hello?"
"Hey," he said in a low voice. "How you doing?"
"Good. How about you? What are you up to?"
"Just give me a second." In the background, a girl asked John who he was talking to. Guess that answered that question. He mumbled something and I heard rustling, followed by the closing of a door. Eventually, he sighed. "Sorry 'bout that."
"No problem." I'd interrupted his Netflix and sex session. Awesome. Go, me.
"What'd you do today?"
"Ah, I hung out with my mom. Tried to do some studying, the usual. What about you?"
"Did some work on my car. Read Catcher in the Rye."
I snorted. "What'd you think of it?"
"Thought you were a bit harsh about it, to be honest."
"Maybe," I said. "Though the heart of my loud, embarrassing, and irrational rant was more fear over what idiots have done in the book's name."
"Can't really blame the book for that."
"I suppose not." I hummed. "Apparently, it's a trigger book for me. Because I have triggers now . . ."
"Probably to be expected."
Silence.
"Bad dreams again?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"The one where you're flying, but can't get high enough to get out of trouble? Or the one where you die instead of Isaac?"
Crap. "I told you too much last Friday."
A soft chuckle. "You're safe with me. I get it, okay?"
"Yeah," I said, more to be polite than anything. Exposing what a hot mess I was to this cool, beautiful boy. How much more insane could I get?
A pause. "I keep waking up, hearing the gunshot, thinking the bullet's got me in the chest this time instead of just winging me."
"God. That's horrible."
Silence.
"I keep smelling blood, even when there is none," I said.
His laughter sounded entirely without joy. "I was never great with blood. Now . . . it fucks me up a little."
"How long do you think it takes to get past this sort of thing?"
"I don't know if you do." He sounded down and a little lost. A lot like how I felt. There came a click, followed by him breathing in and out real deep. Smoking. "Can't imagine forgetting it."
"Guess it just becomes a part of you. You get used to it."
I lay on my back on the bed, staring out at the night sky. Deep thoughts. Deep, pointless middle-of-the-night thoughts of life and death and pain and dismemberment. "I forgot to say, thanks for turning up to school Monday morning. You really did me a solid."
"How's that?"
"You took the attention off me being the new girl."
"Ha. You're welcome," he said.
"I owe you one. If you run into trouble with any English assignments, I'll help, okay?"
For a moment there was no reply, and I wasn't sure if he was still there.
"John?"
"Okay, deal." His voice sounded cautious. "Math, I'm fine. But if they start in on poetry or shit like that . . ."
"Understood." I laughed. "You get numbers? I've never known what to do with them. Numbers and I are not friends."
"We'll trade." Another heavy exhale. "I'm serious, Edie."
"Okay." I smiled and then stopped. "Oh. Under the weird requests category, I was wondering, would you visit the guys' graves with me sometime? You don't have to. It was just a thought."
"Yeah, that's . . . we can do that. Tomorrow night work for you?"
"That would be great."
"I got to get home," he said. "You okay to try and sleep now?"
"Yes. Thanks for talking to me."
"Anytime."
Beneath my ribs, my heart stuttered. "'Night, John."
"'Night, Edie."
I brought two bunches of flowers with me. John brought a six-pack of beer. Both seemed apt in their own way.
We wandered through the cemetery, moonlight shining off of burial stones and winged statues of angels. Never would I have had the guts to do this in the dark by myself. The whole place made me nervous. He'd had work after school, so we couldn't go until later in the evening. This worked for me, because I didn't have to mention anything to Mom about the Drop Stop or why I felt the need to go visiting dead people. Both would have worried her and I was sick of being the cause of Mom's high stress levels.
Luckily, John knew the way, leading me through the graveyard without any hesitation. He smelled different tonight. Spicy, like he'd put on aftershave. And God forgive me for noticing such details in a place like this. I was headed straight for hell's barbecue, and that was the truth.
"Where do you work?" I asked, watching the ground so I didn't trip over anything.
"Landscaping business my uncle owns," he said. "Just started a few weeks back. I've gone from selling grass to cutting it. Ironic, huh?"
"Ha." I grinned, even though he had his back to me. "I have to get a job. That's next on the list."
"You don't get an allowance or something?"
"Not anymore with my behavioral problems."
"Another first?"
"Yes, it will be. My very first job. Does that make me sound like a spoiled, bitchy private school girl?"
"Nuh. You're not mean enough."
"I could be," I said, looking down my nose at him with my very best judgy glare. "Though really, who has the energy?"
He stopped. "Here we are."
A mixture of fresh and fading flowers covered the ground in front of a dark gravestone. I tried to remember the boy behind the counter, the clerk. The details of his face and the startled look he'd given me when I put my basket full of junk food on the counter. Details of that night were either scarily pristine, ingrained on my memory, or hazy and on the verge of being lost. Any moment now they might fade off into the recesses of my mind, gone for good.
"I can't remember his face," I said, adding my flowers to the rest. "Why can't I remember his face?"
John placed a beer by the headstone, then passed me an open bottle before taking one for himself. "He'd worked there a while, didn't mind me dealing there. Used to buy from me sometimes. Always seemed nice enough."
I gulped down the cold liquid, ignoring the taste of the yeast and hops. Beer would never be my thing. Especially now that it was linked to that night, sitting on the floor bleeding, listening to John trying to keep Chris from losing it completely and killing us all. But I wouldn't let bad memories stop me, not even in this case.
"He was a student working night shift at a crappy job and he died for no good reason." I blinked, fighting back the threat of tears. Useless things, they never helped.
"Yeah."
"Fucking Chris." Hate burned bright in my heart. I'd never wanted anyone to die a fiery death to the extent that I wished it for him. It weighed on my mind heavy and dark, and churned deep in my belly. Forgiveness didn't even exist.
John took a long pull of his beer. "Come on, Isaac's just over here."
I stumbled along behind him, the beer hanging forgotten from my hand. Flowers and burnt-out candles covered Isaac's grave. Here too, John left one of the beers. I lay down my remaining flowers, staring sightlessly at the petals and thorns, the white sympathy cards so bright in the dark. Death was a stone, dragging me deep. Life had been so much simpler and easier before all of this. I'd been immortal, but tomorrow didn't exist. It was all now, here, today. Until Chris and his gun destroyed everything.