Overturned Page 13

  “Are you going to call him?” Molly says, now aware of F.S. and my inability to reach him. She uttered the question slowly, carefully, in neutral voice. Neither encouraging nor discouraging.

  I wanted to try so bad. I also wanted to show them I didn’t have to.

  “No.” I deactivated the timer. “It’s pointless.”

  Molly nodded, almost imperceptibly. I couldn’t tell if it was an acknowledgment or approval.

  Davis walked the room, moved on to the non-Nysos photos, but what was he thinking?

  “What now, guys?” I asked. A question and a challenge.

  “Your mom’s concerned,” Molly said in reply.

  “So you need to file a report?” The edges of my vision pulsed. Molly and Mom were awful tight lately.

  “I can file a report,” Molly said, “but what it actually says is debatable.”

  “And that means what, exactly?”

  “It can mean—” Molly began before the chiming, buzzing phone interrupted. “I thought you turned that thing off.”

  “I did!”

  It wasn’t my phone’s timer going off again, but the phone beside my phone.

  Dad’s.

  Me staying away from the phone was as likely as the unluckiest gamblers in the world staying away from the posh game rooms around town. I snatched the phone off the nightstand and tapped the ACCEPT icon.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Nathan’s girl?” Gravelly this time, but no alcohol-soaked slur.

  “This is Nikki.” All eyes on me, I lowered the phone from my ear, put it on speaker. See, I’m not crazy.

  “I’m Freddy. Freddy Spliff.”

  “Okay.” Should I know that name? “I tried to call you back from before.”

  “I got locked up. I’m out now. We should meet.”

  Ummm, definitely not, Molly mouthed.

  The boys had their stern, false-bravado looks going, as if Freddy Spliff might burst into the room with outstretched groping hands. I got it. Stranger danger. Hang up. Run. Hide. This was everything parents warned us about from the moment we’re old enough to waddle out of sight.

  Yet …

  “For what? Say what you need to say now.”

  “No! No, no, no! They might be listening.”

  The man sounded sober, but also skeezy and loony-bin paranoid. What were you hoping for here, Nikki? “How did you even know my dad?” I asked.

  “From Ely State.”

  Prison. It kept getting better. “Look, dude. If you can’t say what you have to say, then we’re done.”

  His response was quick, shocking. “The papers say Nathan was killed in a bad drug deal. That sound right to you? That’s surprising, girl. Real surprising.”

  My blood dipped below freezing.

  Molly reached across me and tapped MUTE. “This guy sounds über-creepy. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Of course!” But then I promptly added, “So what’s a good public place to meet, guys?”

  Molly slapped her forehead and paced away.

  “Caesar’s,” Davis offered. “The Forum Shops stay crowded. You can meet him, and we can be there.”

  Molly spread her arms wide, her not-happening posture, and zeroed in on Gavin. “Some help here.”

  Gavin said simply, “It’s about her dad.”

  From the phone, his mic still live, Freddy said, “You there? Did the call drop?”

  I unmuted quickly, afraid of losing the connection and never hearing from him again. “Yes, let’s meet. Midday at Cae—”

  Molly grasped my shoulder, shook her head while mouthing, Cosmo.

  No time to question the team captain, I rolled with it. “The Cosmopolitan. Tomorrow.”

  “Noon, then. We can still take them down. For Nathan.”

  Take who down?

  The line went dead. About four billion unanswered questions lingered. I asked Molly the first one that came to mind, “Why the Cosmo?”

  Everyone waited for the brilliant strategy, the likes of which Molly’s concocted on the playing field many, many times over.

  “Holsteins is in the Cosmo,” she said.

  The muscles in my face nearly cramped from my sudden hard frown. “The burger joint?”

  “Yeah. If I’m going to skip school to watch your back, I want one of their crème brûlée milkshakes. They’re magical.”

  I walked them all to the Loop. When we hit the lobby, Molly sped up, her gravity pulling Gavin along, leaving me paces behind them. With Davis. He hadn’t said anything since we left my dad’s room.

  The general cheer wafting off the gaming floor was an inappropriate soundtrack for the tension between us.

  “Is there any way to make this less awkward?” I asked.

  “A talking dog and a van we call the Mystery Machine.”

  I snort-laughed. “Oh my god, I so needed that.”

  “I was worried about that one. Like, is an obscure Scooby-Doo joke offensive? Should I go more modern? iZombie, maybe?”

  Dead serious suddenly, I asked, “Do you think I’m crazy?”

  His shoulders tightened. “I think you’re looking at it the wrong way. You have questions about what happened to your dad. That’s not crazy, that’s natural. That guy Freddy, though. He might be a total psycho. You should be ready so you don’t get hurt.”

  “That’s why you guys will be there. If he tries something—”

  “No. I mean, yes, we don’t want him to BTK you. I was talking about a different kind of hurt. Disappointment if he tells you him and your dad were on the run from aliens or werewolves. Whatever.”

  What he said wasn’t far from my own thoughts, but it was still hard to hear. Freddy Spliff did not sound like America’s most trusted news source. Indulging him in this meeting was likely a prelude to an emotional crash-and-burn, yet I couldn’t steer away.

  He said the other thing on his mind. “Your dad really had a thing about my dad, huh?”

  I’d been hesitant to bring it up, but it kept hitting us both over the head, didn’t it? “Maybe. Your dad came to the funeral.”

  He stopped me in the foyer. “What? You didn’t say anything before.”

  “I didn’t know how to say it. My head’s been all over the place and you always catch so much crap over who everyone thinks your dad is.”

  He wiped a hand over his face, smoothing all the tics there. “So what did you think? Did you see his horns? The pitchfork?”

  “For someone named ‘Big’ Bert, he was smaller than I expected.”

  “That’s something.” He laughed, a pained sound. “This is not the second date I envisioned.”

  “That you envisioned a second date at all is amazing. I couldn’t blame you if you felt differently about it.”

  “Sure you could. You should blame me if I wasn’t here doing what you once did for me. Helping.”

  That left me speechless. Our night at the airport felt like it happened years ago, to a different girl. But this boy who owed me nothing was as sweet as ever. All my decisions from before hadn’t been bad.

  Mr. Héctor was working the valet stand and already had a sports car—another of Cedric’s, I guessed—parked and ready behind Molly’s SUV. With a tight-lipped expression, he handed Davis his keys.

  Davis thanked him and said to me, “Before I go, can I see your dad’s phone?”

  I thought I’d been discreet about slipping it into my pocket. I didn’t go anywhere without it now.

  “Please,” he said quietly.

  Was Molly watching in her rearview? I passed the phone to Davis under the cover of his open car door, like a spy.

  “You’ve got pictures,” he said, “but if you want to know where he was most often, there’s a better way. Watch.”

  He thumbed the SETTINGS icon and walked me through a series of subsequent menus I’d never seen, eventually ending up on a screen labeled Frequent Locations. “There’s a History option that gives a rough approximation of places he went often.”

&
nbsp; “You’re kidding me.” I retrieved the phone, looking at maps. Dates and times. “How did you … ?”

  “It’s a standard feature built into the phone’s GPS. Most people don’t even know they’re walking around like tagged animals.”

  Having my friends see what I’d been up to in my dad’s room felt horrible at first, like being forced to walk the Strip naked. How wrong was I? They’re watching my back. Counting on them felt like something old me would do.

  I glanced up from the phone and before I knew it, I’d stepped in, closing the space between us. “Thanks,” I said softly.

  “You’re welcome,” he replied just as softly.

  I felt a ghost of a smile on my face before leaning up to kiss him. It was meant to be a peck, but as soon as my lips hit his, I felt my hand fisting his sweatshirt and pulling him even closer. A delicious shiver bolted up my spine as he kissed me back. When we finally broke apart, he looked me in the eye and said, “Thanks.”

  I burst out laughing before replying, “You’re welcome.”

  Then he slipped into his ride and roared off. I stood there a beat, Dad’s phone and Location History cupped in my hand.

  Molly leaned from her window. “Boy toy’s gone. Get over here.”

  Pocketing the phone, I complied, approaching Molly’s window cautiously. “You shouldn’t have come here. But I’m glad you did.”

  “I got you, Tate. No matter how hard you try being a jerk. We will get to those final two questions.”

  “Fair enough. And I’ll get to make my demand.”

  “A deal’s a deal,” she sneered, “even though you maimed me.”

  I gave a half shrug. “I’ll try my best never to do that again. No promises.”

  The gift shop had souvenir maps of Las Vegas. I grabbed one, then stopped in the offices for a box of pushpins. When I returned to Dad’s room, I took the generic framed painting of a ship listing at sea from the wall over the bed, and tacked the map to it. My feet sank into the spongy mattress while I used the locations in the phone to mark Dad’s travels with more pins. An hour into the task a call came through on the room line. Mom.

  “Are your friends still here?” she asked.

  “No, they left a while ago.”

  “Can I come down and talk?”

  I tamped down the swelling panic. “I’m actually on my way up.”

  A few minutes later I stood in her side of our suite. Mom had abandoned her casino-floor pantsuit for loose pajama pants and a T-shirt. She wrapped her hair for bed.

  “Is it helping, you spending time in your dad’s room?” she asked.

  “It is.” Short, ambiguous answers felt safest.

  “Good. I’m willing to give you whatever time and space you need for now. I think we can both use that.”

  I bet. Time and space with Tomás was a little more than what I needed. If he was enough of a distraction so she left me alone, cool. “Sure, Mom.”

  Her back was to me, eyes on her mirror. “If you want to talk, though, just know …”

  Her hesitation was discomforting. We weren’t the best at heart-to-hearts, and never had been. “I get it. Is there something you want to talk about?”

  “A lot of things. I don’t know how to say them.” She still wouldn’t look at me.

  “Are you happy he’s gone?”

  She spun on me, her face hard. She waited before speaking, let calm back in. “Not in the slightest.”

  “Because it’s weird to me that he had his own room. What was going on with you two before he … ?” I shrugged. Didn’t need to say it.

  “Adjustments. Figuring what it meant with him back. For everybody.”

  “Were you going to divorce him? Now that you didn’t have to feel guilty about him being in jail?”

  No outrage, and no straight answer. Both telling. She did say, “We discussed a lot of possibilities.”

  “Is that what’s on your mind?”

  “No. I wanted to ask you to leave tomorrow night free. Don’t make plans with your friends or anything. We should have dinner and really talk. About what happened, and what’s going to happen.”

  All the cryptic crap got to me. “Can’t we do that now?”

  “I think our conversation will be a long one. I have a couple of meetings early tomorrow.”

  “What kind of meetings?” I’d gotten a glimpse of her calendar when I was in the office yesterday, saw nothing.

  “Important ones.”

  That’s how you want to play, Mom. You’re not the only one with important stuff to do tomorrow. “Fine.” I was no longer in the sharing mood. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, right after soccer practice.”

  I kissed Mom on the cheek the next morning. It was important that she see me leave with my schoolbag and my soccer duffel, which no longer held sports gear I wouldn’t need.

  “You look nice today,” she said. I knew she saw it as a sign of me progressing. Moving on.

  My outfit wasn’t far from my usual school attire. Jeans. Tee. Blocky platforms instead of sneakers. I didn’t feel like hiding those in my duffel with the change of clothes and makeup I’d already stuffed in there.

  “Felt like switching it up,” I said. Not a total lie. Molly, Gavin, Davis, and I discussed the benefits of looking older today. “See you tonight for dinner.”

  Mom nodded as I headed out the door.

  In the Loop, Molly waited alone, tapping a drum solo on her steering wheel.

  “Where’s Gavin?” I asked.

  “Coach Peoples called early morning practice. There was another incident and he’s punishing them for it.”

  “Oh god,” I said, climbing in beside her. “What now?”

  She took us into traffic, the opposite direction from school. “Grammar’s been beheaded. Finally.”

  “Shut. Up.” Grammar, the Cardinal Graham’s eagle-headed mascot. For as long as I’d been at Vista Rojo, there’d been healthy debates on how someone might grab the head off the rival mascot’s costume. Teams dared each other; some of the genius types in the school drew up Mission: Impossible–like plans to accomplish the feat. No one ever went through with it. Until now.

  “Coach Peoples thinks his team pulled it off?”

  “They did. Gavin sent me a pic last night.” She motioned to her phone resting in the cupholder. I tapped in her security code and navigated to her texts. I glanced at a couple from Cedric Carlino—winky emojis and LOLs—that we’d deal with later and found the incriminating photo from Gavin. A shot of the Griffin’s detached head propped on top of the Vista Rojo High School marquee.

  “How’d they do this?”

  “Intel from your Davis.”

  “My Davis?” I kept my voice high and light.

  “We should’ve been the ones stealing that head. But you had to go and quit on me.”

  “We never planned to steal it. We always said that was stupid.”

  “True. Still. Quitter. You’re not really done with soccer, are you?”

  “Um, yeah. If for no other reason, the Hades-style torment Coach Riley would put me through if I tried to come back now.”

  Molly held her freshly bandaged arm in front of my face. “Not just Coach. I’d have some B-squad beatdowns lined up for you, too.”

  I turned away, shamefaced. “I’m sorry about that. My head’s been weird lately.”

  “Save it. I’ve had teeth kicked out before. This was a bug bite.”

  Glancing at the picture again, I said, “It’s kind of awesome that they got it. CG’s going to come back at us hard.”

  “Us? See, you’re still on the team. If only in spirit.”

  Okay, I had all the school pride feels. I was still capable of enjoying moments like this.

  Morning rush traffic on the Strip was a real and horrid thing. Bumper to impatient, maniacally honking bumper on the way to the Nysos. The steel-and-glass behemoth was a looming waypoint ahead, reflecting morning sun and blocking our view of anything beyond. A divisive landmark despite its youth,
it became part of Las Vegas’s navigational landscape. You were north of the Nysos or south of it. East or west. Davis’s home was the new center of the universe.

  We continued down Las Vegas Boulevard, the looming hotel growing closer, closer. Some of the landmarks we passed were in Dad’s photo log. The boxy towers of the SLS and the mirrored glass of the Riviera. Thanks to Davis’s tip about navigation history, I knew they weren’t the important properties. They’re one-time visits, maybe even real sightseeing on Dad’s part. It was the Nysos, and a few other properties around town, that drew him again and again.

  What were you looking for, Dad?

  Molly steered us into the cavernous underworld of the Nysos’s parking deck, putting us in a slow-moving line of cabs and tourists. I fired off a text.

  Me: we’re about to hit the valet stand. get down here.

  Davis: as you wish.

  “He’s coming,” I said.

  “Awesome! So is he, like, your boyfriend now or what? That’s my second question, by the way. You’re obligated here.”

  I’d been expecting that one. “We haven’t talked about it.”

  “You’ve thought about it, though?”

  “Is that your third question?”

  She considered it a moment. “No. I’m going to keep that one for a while.”

  Traffic sped up and split, the taxis veered far left, and paying drivers seeking assistance angled toward the tip-hungry valets.

  Ahead of us a polished black party bus spilled spent people into the offloading area. I’ve seen a bunch of these rent-and-roll vans—with their tiled floor and optional stripper poles—all year. Bachelor’s playing dress-up, suits and ties. Birthday parties where the ladies all do short sequined skirts, and the eternally twenty-five birthday girl got a sash and tiara like Miss America. Occasionally, there were nuns.

  The groups on these buses were, typically, pretty much the same. As my mom said, dogs with the dogs, and foxes with the foxes. The group evacuating this bus were like the animals from the Madagascar movies, an unlikely group bonded by … what?

  One guy looked like an aging CEO. Another was college age, in cargo shorts and a tank top. There was a woman with knitting needles and yarn protruding from her purse. An old man with a cane.