You'd Be Home Now (23)

Hangs in the trees

Let’s see who’s back to teach us the finer parts of humanity Will it be Grabby Hands McGregor (watch out kids)

How about Helen Hoover from Hell Ready to fuck up American history for us I wonder how Mistuh Brody’s summer was (don’t you dare forget to call him mister, you ingrates) And let’s remember who isn’t here You know who I’m talking about And I miss her too

We are too young

To have had so many deaths

(oh and all you vegans your petition for better lunches was DE-NIED)



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#heywoodhigh #heywoodhaulers #schoolsin #backtoschool #millhaven #nightmare Lzysusan so much for keeping school kidz healthy

     FrancesP44 what is this account who are you MandyMandy I miss her, too NatetheGreat those kids shoulda gone to jail after Candy TupacLives @NatetheGreat That Luther guy went to juvie Stewie13 I hate school PristTine party at the bridge 9 tonite HelenOfJoy Did you see that reading list for Watson’s class? Lolita omg GiGi oh god Grabby Hands not again I can’t take another year of over the shoulder boulder holders for god’s sake man just teach me molecular something and stop feeling me up already





14


JOEY WALKS INTO THE kitchen with a disgusted look on his face. “I can’t wear this stuff,” he says. “I want my old clothes back.”

He’s dressed in a charcoal-gray hoodie, a chocolate-colored T-shirt, and a pair of the holey jeans I got him at the Gap.

“You look good.” I give him a granola bar. “Handsome.”

He tugs at the neck of the T-shirt. “I feel like I’m suffocating.”

My mother comes into the kitchen. “You look wonderful. Emory did a nice job picking out these clothes.” She brushes his shoulders with her fingers, though there is nothing there that I can see.

“I’m glad I know who to blame,” Joey says, unwrapping the granola bar.

“First day of the rest of your life, so to speak, Joe.” My mother pours a cup of coffee and takes a sip. “Emory, you look very nice, too. Lunches are in the fridge. Joe, you’re clear on the rules?”

He pulls at the pockets of his hoodie. “Sure thing.”

“It’s going to be a big year for you, Joe. I know you can do this.”

Joey grabs our backpacks. I get the lunches out of the refrigerator. My mother hands him the car keys and his new phone.

“You’ll be responsible for getting your sister home after school every day,” she says. “She can study while you have your tutoring sessions.”

    Joey salutes her and walks quickly out the door before she can react.

In the garage, I hesitate before getting into the car.

I wasn’t worried when Maddie drove me, why would I worry about Joey driving me? I feel guilty for even thinking about it. But it’s making me think of that night. The last time I was in a car with him.

Joey touches my arm, like he knows.

“I’ll drive slow,” he says.

I open the door, slide in, my heart beating nervously.

I start talking quickly so I don’t have to hear the sound of my heart. “I can’t believe Mom got you such a nice car.”

Joey runs a hand over the seat leather. “I wish she hadn’t. I don’t think this is going to make a good impression, if you know what I mean. I liked Nana’s junky old car.” He backs down the driveway. “We should go see her soon.”

Joey revs the engine. I jump.

Luther was driving too fast, no seat belt, and I was shotgun and Candy and Joey were in the back and Candy kept saying she was scared and what was wrong with Joey and— “Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “I had to. I mean, this car…”

Concentrate, Emory, I tell myself. Fixed point on the horizon. Keep talking.

“Nana’s been upstate visiting Aunt Dory all summer. Dory had that hip replacement,” I say. “We don’t have the same lunch period, you know.”

“You don’t have to hold my hand for lunch.”

“I just—”

    “I know.” He looks at me. “But I have to suck it up. You can’t do everything for me.”

I’m quiet, watching the rows of shops on Main Street pass by. Hank’s Hoagies, Kaminski’s Hardware, Betty’s Café with the potted flowers by the door and the painting hanging in the window of a black cat, with one white ear, lapping a milk shake. Mill Haven is neat and tidy, nothing out of place. The public library, stoic and brick, built by people in my family who died long ago. Everything in this town has a connection to me and I’ve still never felt at home here.

My stomach feels hot. Finally, I say, “Everyone is going to be, like, mad at us, I think. That’s what Tasha said.”

Joey bites his lip. “Maybe.”

“Mom wanted to send me to boarding school,” I say. “Did you know that? After it happened. She wanted to send you to military school. Maybe she was right. Maybe it would be better to be someplace nobody knows about us, or what happened.”

“No way am I getting shipped off to military school. I’d rather die than do that.”

Joey slows the car down. “Is that Liza?”

I look where he’s pointing. Liza Hernandez, my former best friend, is walking down the sidewalk, backpack jiggling, her hair almost as short as Joey’s. She’s in overalls. She’s been wearing them for two years straight.