“Who told you?”
“We did a lot of research for you, honey. We wanted to find the best possible place for you.”
What kind of research could they have possibly done? They’ve never even heard of dust, so how would they know which is the best place for rehabilitation from it? Unless they think that the drug is just another of my hallucinations—and of course, they do. They must think I was on something else, something they’ve heard of, something they’ve seen covered on the news.
“The best possible place for me is here,” I say, beginning to sweat. “If you want, I’ll talk to a therapist here.”
He’s staring out my window, a sad but hardened expression on his face.
“Look at me, Dad,” I say, trying desperately to keep my voice from shaking. “Look how much better I am.”
My father shakes his head. “Your hallucinations still have a hold on you. At night, you’re still having dreams—”
“How do you know?”
“You shout in your sleep. A name, a place. I don’t know.”
“Whose name?” John, I think, or Michael.
“Pete. Every night, you shout for someone named Pete. Wendy, who’s Pete?”
I shake my head. “I don’t remember,” I say finally. It’s not exactly a lie.
23
My eyes flutter open in the middle of the night. The scent of him—salt water and Tide, blue eyes and beer—fills my room. I must be dreaming. But it’s Pete’s name they say I’ve been calling in my sleep, not his.
My windows are still open, my room cool now, after hours without sunlight. The only sound is a tapping on the glass; I look to my windows, expecting to see nothing but the night-lights shining up from the city, but instead there’s a boy scratching at the glass like a cat asking to be let inside, a boy tall and muscular, pressing my window open even wider and climbing into my room. Beside me on the bed, Nana stiffens. I expect her to bark, growl, maybe even lunge at the intruder. But she must like the smell of him, because she hops off the bed and greets him with one of her enormous kisses.
I’m not about to do the same. Not to the man whose drugs kept me sick for weeks, who’s the reason behind my parents’ crazy idea to send me away, the reason my brothers got kicked out of Pete’s house, a home I still think of as a safe place, even after everything that’s happened.
I do get out of bed and run past him to the window, looking for a ladder, a rope, a bunch of bedsheets tied together. How did he get up here? Our house is perched on a steep hill and made of glass. There’s not exactly much to hang on to.
When he speaks, his voice is deep, as though strained from years of swallowing sand and salt water.
“Wendy” is all he says. The sheepishness in his voice is hard to reconcile with his laser-sharp eyes. Or with the fact that he just scaled a wall and climbed into my bedroom.
“What are you doing here?”
“I needed to talk to you.”
“Ever heard of a phone?”
“I didn’t exactly have your number.”
I nod, backing away from him, tripping over Nana and almost falling into my bed.
“What did you want to talk to me about?”
“Do you remember what you said that night?”
I shake my head, sitting down. Immediately I wish that I’d sat at my desk and not on my bed. Sitting on my bed while Jas is in the room feels too intimate.
“I don’t remember much at all. It comes to me sometimes, in flashes, but I can’t quite put it together.”
“That sounds like you. Trying to figure things out like a puzzle.”
I’m taken aback. “How do you know what sounds like me?” I ask.
“We spent some time together, Wendy.”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly myself then.” I pause. “How long exactly?” I’ve never been able to quite figure out just how many days I spent lost on dust before I found myself in Fiona’s driveway.
“About two days. You were so far gone that you didn’t fall asleep once,” Jas answers, and I’m surprised that he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t try to sugarcoat.
“What about you?”
“Me?”
“Did you sleep?”
He shakes his head. “Someone had to keep an eye on you.”
“How did I end up at my friend’s house?”
“On the second morning, you asked me to take you home. We were about halfway here when you started panicking.”
“About what?”
“Some lie you’d told your parents. You said you were supposed to have been with Fiona. So I left you there, with your car. Hitchhiked my way back to Kensie.”
I nod.
As though he understands, Jas adds, “Even high on dust, you were worried about the truth. Never saw that before.”
“My brothers weren’t quite so concerned with honesty?” I spit out accusingly.
Jas shakes his head sadly. “You talked a lot about your brothers when you were in my house,” he says.
“I did?”
He nods, still smiling. “Well, maybe not talked. You shouted about them, mostly.”
“That doesn’t sound like me.”
“You weren’t quite yourself.”
I bristle. “Thanks to you. Your cover charge.”
His smile vanishes. “I’m sorry,” he says. “People who come to that party know what they’re getting into, usually.”
“Do they know about the withdrawal?” Even though I’ve felt better for a long time, my room still has a hint of illness to it, like the scent of my sickness saturated the walls.
Jas doesn’t answer. At least he doesn’t lie.
Finally, he says, “I think I can help you find your brothers.”
“What?” I ask, sitting up straighter.
“I knew them,” he says, running his hands through his hair, pacing the length of my room like an animal in a cage that’s two sizes too small for him. His skin practically glows in the lights coming in from the city.
I sit on my hands. “I knew them, they were regulars. Up until a few months ago—January, I think.”
“January,” I echo. That’s when Matt said Pete kicked the boys out.
“I honestly hadn’t given them a second thought until you came to my party, shouting their names, and shouting about Witch Tree.”
“Belle said that when they left, they told her they were headed there.”
Jas nods. “It broke early this winter. It’s a winter wave—most of the big ones up and down the coast here are.”
“So they wouldn’t be there now is what you’re telling me? They’d be long gone?”
Jas shakes his head. “Normally, yeah. But a big northwest swell is brewing off the coast of Oregon. Never happened before, not this time of year. Surfers from all over the world are coming.”
My pulse quickens. “Including my brothers?”
Jas shrugs. “I can’t promise you that. But they might be. And I…” He pauses, stops pacing, and looks at me. “I know more than just the best places to surf up the coast, Wendy. I know the right places to look for—”
I finish his sentence for him, “The right places to look for kids who might be looking for other things.”
At least he doesn’t seem proud to be such an expert.
“The wave won’t break again until winter, if it breaks again at all this year,” he says. “None of these big waves will. That much I can tell you for sure. I don’t know when you’ll get another chance like this.”
Silence hangs between us while I consider his words. “Why are you here?” I ask finally.
Jas blinks; when his eyes are closed, the room seems to grow darker. “I told you. Because I think I can help you.”
“Yeah, but why do you care about helping me?”
Jas hesitates before answering. “I can tell you’re not going to give up until you find them,” he says finally.