“You do?” She managed to form the question in a faint whisper. The boy nodded, his eyelids dipping low, his face solemn.
“I’ve been watching you, rooting for you, but sometimes even our best intentions go unnoticed. Adults are so wrapped up in their own lives . . .” He paused, as if holding himself back. His brown eyes sparked with a quiet rage that Vivi understood all too well. The neglect. Being shrugged off because she was just a kid. The muffled yelling behind closed doors, only for her parents to act like everything was fine the next day. Like she didn’t know that they were fighting. Like she was too stupid to figure out that, because of their hardheadedness, her life was about to fall apart. “I had a father once,” he said. “He pretended to love me until it became an inconvenience. I was his son until he no longer wanted me. I know that pain, Vivi. I know how much it hurts, how much it makes you hate. But we can’t let the hate consume us. We have to take all the goodness we have left in our hearts,” he said, “and direct it somewhere else. Just how you’ve directed your love, your faith, toward me and my friends.” He reached out and gently brushed the pad of his thumb against the swell of her lower lip. “You’re so brave,” he murmured. “And I love you for that, Vivi. For that, I swear you’ll never be lonely again.”
She stared at him, unable to believe what she was hearing. She knew it was insane, but she kept repeating it to herself: he loved her. This beautiful boy, this creature loved her. Her chest felt full, as though her ribs could crack and her heart could burst. Her bottom lip began to quiver.
“Hey. Don’t cry.” He leaned into her, his lips brushing featherlight against her cheek. “None of that matters now, anyway. Forget the past. It’s toxic. Poison.”
She fought to swallow her sorrow, struggled to push down the sadness. The tips of his dark hair tickled her collarbone. His fingers swept across the length of her right arm.
“They don’t deserve you, Vivi. We’ll run away together, just you and me and my friends. You’ll have a new family, and we’ll be happy. Forget the fighting, the anger. Forget they ever existed.”
His fingers slid around her arms. Her pulse quickened by a half-dozen beats.
He was real.
Tactile.
He pulled her close, and she inhaled the scent of worn leather. His hands tangled in the waves of her hair. She closed her eyes, wondering what it would be like to start a new life, to forget the frustration and hurt. To just run away, and never come back. She had considered it when the arguments had gotten bad, shoving a few T-shirts and a change of underwear into her school backpack in the middle of the night. She had counted out her money, making sure she had enough for train fare.
Just head to the F train, she had thought. If you can get out of Queens, you can go anywhere in the whole world. But you gotta get out of here first.
Having snuck down the stairs while her mother slept, she found her dad working on his laptop, his back to the living room. Vee hovered around the doormat that read “HOME SWEET HOME” just inside the front door. She was ready to go, ready to run, ready to never see either one of them again. That would give them something worth fighting over . . . or getting back together over. It didn’t matter what happened to them—all she cared about was that she wouldn’t be there to listen to their screaming through the walls.
But as she stared at her father’s back, she took in the way he hunched over his work. The way he grabbed for his coffee mug every minute or two, as though what he was drinking was some sort of creative life source. It all gave rise to a cancerous lump in the center of her heart, a dormant tumor waiting to become malignant with guilt and regret. Standing on the doormat her mother had picked out with the best intentions for the happiness of their family, Vee had known that abandoning her parents wouldn’t just kill them—it would also be the end of her. It would twist her up, slowly strangle her. And if by chance she survived, there’d be nothing but a shell of what her parents hoped she’d one day become.
Having been dragged to Pier Pointe, she had tried to convince herself that perhaps now, with her mother out of the picture, things would be better. But they weren’t. If anything, they had become worse.
But her dad. She still loved him. She couldn’t leave him, not after what her mother had done to them both.
Vivi drew away from Jeff. I can’t just leave. She struggled for words, a way to explain. If I do, it’ll make me just like my mom. Jeffrey’s offer was tempting, but she simply couldn’t abandon her father, not until she was sure he’d be okay on his own. But before the words could leave her throat, Jeff’s image shifted like steam beneath the sheen of her tears. He warped the way the street did beneath the burn of a summer sun. Suddenly Vivi wasn’t quite sure why she was so unafraid. How could she possibly have forgotten that the room she was standing in wasn’t hers? That the boy standing before her wasn’t . . . alive?
She jerked back.
He’s supposed to be dead.
But Jeff hadn’t just gone wavy beneath the weight of her emotion. For half a second, seeing the world through the lenses of her own tears, the seventeen-year-old had grown older than her dad, maybe even older than her grandfather. In that moment, she saw the truth. The teenage boy with the beautiful face looked about seventy years old. The youthful serenity was nothing but a mask. Beneath it was an old man’s hard stare. Angry, impatient, a look that told her she was thinking too much, hesitating for far too long. A moment later, he looked young again, his true form wiped from view. Handsome, alluring.
Except that now she was truly afraid.
This isn’t right. Fear coiled around her insides, choking the bravery it had taken her weeks to summon.
“I . . .” She tried to think of something to say, but the thudding of her pulse derailed her train of thought. If Jeffrey Halcomb was dead, how could he be here and touch her? If he wasn’t really there, how could she smell the musky scent of oiled leather and exotic smoke that seemed to waft off his skin? He was more than a ghost. More than an apparition.
“You . . .” Jeff murmured at her, refusing to give her any extra space.
“I have to go,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, I just . . .”
“You’re just scared.” He finished the sentence for her. “There are different types of people in this world, Vivi. You’re a helper.”
No, she thought. He’s putting words in my mouth. He’s telling me what to think.
Her attention veered left.
“And you’re the one who’s going to help us all.”
She choked out a quiet yelp when she saw a girl standing in the corner. Vivi recognized her as Chloe Sears.
“I have faith in you, Vivi. I still believe you have the strength it takes to do the right thing.”
Over his shoulder, here now was Georgia Jansen, flanked by three younger girls. Shelly. Her mind paired a name with a face. Laura. Roxanna. And the boys were there, too. They stood motionless, filling the already cramped space of the small room. Their eyes were fixed on her, unblinking, waiting for her to make the right decision. They were waiting for her to do whatever “helping” entailed.
“You wanted this,” Jeff reminded her.
No, I’m not sure anymore . . .
“You’re tired of being overlooked. But being overlooked is all you know.”
I am, but my dad loves me. I’m sure he still loves me . . .
“You’re afraid, I understand that. But you have to have faith.”
“Have faith,” the others whispered in unison.