The Lifeguards(32)

“But Charlie didn’t do anything,” said Liza, getting hysterical.

“Jules will get you a lawyer,” said Whitney, her brow furrowed with concern. Annette knew Whitney felt responsible for Liza. They shared secrets, too, like who Charlie’s father really was. Annette wished Liza would confide in her. It made her feel lonely, always being the third wheel.

“Really?” said Liza.

“Of course, Liza. Of course.”

Annette’s heart ached for Liza, who seemed so fragile. When she thought of kissing Hank Lefferts, Annette needed to remember Liza’s face in this moment, the anguish Annette saw there. Annette hoped she would never feel the sense that she had no one and was completely alone. “This is all going to blow over. I know it,” she said soothingly, trying to convince herself as she spoke.

“Maybe,” said Whitney. “Who knows?” She turned to Annette, and her expression made Annette’s stomach flip. Whitney looked at her with pity, as if she were worried about her. As if Whitney knew something, and whatever it was would put Annette in danger.

“Why are you looking at me that way?” said Annette.

“What way?” said Whitney.

“Like you feel sorry for me!”

“Oh my God, what?” said Whitney. “I just—” She stopped, inhaled. “Annette,” she said, looking her directly in the eyes, “I have to ask you something. OK? Can I ask you a question?”

“Go ahead,” said Annette.

“Was Bobcat dating anyone?”

“Dating?” said Annette, her heartbeat quickening. The week before, Bobcat had left his phone to charge in the kitchen, and Annette had picked it up. She’d put in his passcode—78704—and scrolled to make sure he wasn’t dealing drugs or watching pornography. She’d known all the numbers…his friends, his dad, his coach. And she’d actually smiled when she saw a few notes from a girl—she’d thought it was a teenage girl—named Lucy. “Why do you ask?” said Annette.

“Roma mentioned he’d met someone,” said Whitney. “That’s all.”

Annette made herself stay calm. She closed her eyes, listened to the sound of the cicadas in the Packers’ fantastic yard. “I don’t know anything about a girl,” she said.

It was the first time she had lied to her closest friends.





-1-


    Xavier


NOW THAT HE LOCKS his door—even secures it with a bolt he bought at Home Depot and installed himself before anyone could stop him—Xavier can sleep, his descent into black nothingness steep and quick. It’s like falling into a vat of black soup. He lies down, he falls deep, and it is morning, too early, impossible to rise. He is making up for fifteen years of lying awake and waiting, worried about what his twin sister might do.

The day they find the body on the greenbelt begins with a tapping at his window. The tapping is forceful and insistent: it can only be Roma. Xavier tries to ignore it, to roll over and press his pillow around his ears. But she keeps rapping, tapping, as if she is a woodpecker, and this image, at least, makes him smile as he abandons sleep and moves into the day. Roma as a sharp-beaked bird, all spindly legs and claws, her head jutting back and forth endlessly.

He pulls open his blackout curtains. She is there, one hand on her hip, one raised to continue the endless knuckles-against-the-window barrage. Xavier stares at his sister, who begins talking, though he cannot hear her through the thick security glass. Xavier glances to the camera in the corner of his room. He unlatches the window and waits for the piercing alarm, but there is only Roma’s voice.

“…long enough,” she says. “Now the screen, little brother. Let’s go.”

Roma calls Xavier “little brother,” though she beat him into the world by only three minutes and twenty seconds. She also calls him “boy,” or “boi,” as if she is a rapper, when she’s just a fifteen-year-old girl, cruel and spoiled, deranged. Xavier hesitates.

“What?” says Roma.

“What are you doing?” says Xavier. “You turned off the alarm?”

She grins and shrugs, thinking he is calling her smart. She raises an eyebrow. “Open the screen or I’ll cut it,” she says.

He laughs. “Oh, you have a knife now?” he says. “You’re a full-on gangbanger now?”

“I don’t have a knife,” says Roma. She rummages in her miniature pink backpack and pulls out child scissors, holds them up triumphantly.

“I don’t care if you cut it,” says Xavier. He wants to shut the window, to go back to sleep, but he knows from experience that Roma will have her way. He opens the screen.

“Many thanks and happy returns,” says Roma, climbing nimbly inside. She stretches, exposing a belly ring. She’s wearing tight jeans and a midriff-baring top. Her makeup is a mess.

“Where were you?” says Xavier.

She crosses his room without answering.

“Roma,” says Xavier, “where have you been all night?”

She unlocks his door and steps through it. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she says. She slips the child scissors into her back pocket and is gone. Xavier shuts and locks the door. But there is no going back to sleep. The first day of summer has begun.