You'd Be Home Now (30)

“Luther lost an eye.”

“What?” I blurt, flustered, then lower my voice. “I’m sorry…I didn’t know that.”

I think of Luther’s legs hanging over the steering wheel, the dirty bottoms of his sneakers. I don’t remember much between when the police and ambulance showed up and when I woke up in the hospital, so I wasn’t really sure what happened to him at the time.

“Yeah,” he says. “Messed up his face and neck, too. The glass from the windshield. He’s in juvie. Because of the other stuff.”

That’s right. Long after I’d gone home from the hospital, I overheard my mother and father talking about Luther. That he’d been carrying a lot of drugs in his backpack. Too much for one person, which meant he was going to sell them. That’s why he wanted to turn instead of driving Candy home, to go to the shoe-in-the-tree house, I think. To drop off the drugs.

“He gets out in October, because he turns eighteen,” Jeremy says. “I haven’t seen him in a while, to tell you the truth. My parents don’t want to visit him and it’s hard to get out there without a car. It’s like they want to pretend he doesn’t exist.”

I think of my mom and her Rules for Joey and how my dad just walks through the house like a ghost at night. How my mom seems to think a list of rules will fix everything and my dad doesn’t even seem to want to deal.

    “I guess we both know a little something about difficult brothers,” I say softly.

“I used to feel like I didn’t exist in the house, because everything was all about Luther,” Jeremy says, “but now that he’s gone, I’m still invisible. I thought that would be different. Does that make sense?”

A huge swell of relief floods through me. “Yes. Yes, I get that. So much.”

We smile at each other, but it’s not entirely out of happiness. More like something sad and resigned.

“My people! My thespians! Arise and greet the day!” Simon Stanley’s voice pulls everyone’s attention to the wings of the stage where he’s walking from, waving a small baton, wearing slippers.

“Are we really supposed to stand up?” I whisper to Jeremy.

“Yeah,” he says. “We do some exercises to get loose. Here.” He holds his hand out and pulls me up.

Simon Stanley closes his eyes and takes a giant breath. He spreads his arms out and raises them above his head. “Up!” he shouts.

Everyone goes quiet and raises their hands, so I do it, too. But I keep my eyes open.

“And down, shake it out,” Simon says, breathing out.

Everyone bends over, flapping their arms. The stage floor is scratchy and dusty. The dust tickles my nose. I did not expect exercise, arm-flapping, and dusty floors, to be honest.

“Aaaaannd, up.”

We all rise.

Mr. Stanley smiles at all of us. “If you’re new, my name is Simon Stanley. You can call me Mr. Stanley. You can call me Simon. You can call me Si. If you’re nervous because you’ve never done this, good! If you’re scared to be here, good! If you feel brave, bold, and ready to take on the world, go home! You scare me! Just kidding. All are welcome here. Understood?”

    Everyone nods, but I’m kind of wishing I’d joined ceramics club after all. I definitely do not feel bold, brave, and ready to take on the world, whatever that means.

Simon Stanley’s face turns serious. “Now, before we really get to the nitty-gritty, I do want to take a moment of silence for our fellow troupe member Candace MontClair. Lucy, dear, is this too much? Should we stop?” He takes one of her hands. A couple of kids look over at me and Jeremy.

Oh, god. Jeremy and I both stiffen at the mention of Candy MontClair.

I never should have agreed to Drama Club. This is a whole group of her people.

In unison, Jeremy and I both look at our feet.

“Lucy?” Simon says.

“Yes,” she says. “I want to.”

Simon Stanley bows his head.

The stage gets so quiet that I’m sure people can hear how loud my heart is beating. I want to run off this stage and I would, if I could make it on my bad knee, but I’m stuck.

The longer it’s quiet, the deeper the quiet seems to get, making the stage seem like a spooky, weirdly special place.

I’m looking at the dusty stage floor and all I can think about is Candy and how pretty she looked the night of the party, even tearstained and with a ripped blouse. I liked her, too, and I was the last one to hear her breathing. Last spring she was walking on this very same stage.

I feel crushed and heavy inside and then I see wetness on the stage floor, dotting the dust.

    Oh, god, I’m crying. I don’t want anyone to notice, because in some ways, I feel like I’m not allowed to cry. I wasn’t close to her, but I am the reason she was in the car.

Like, if I hadn’t said I’d give her a ride home, and if I hadn’t had two beers and let Luther drive, she might be here, right now, doing silly warm-up exercises.

I bite my lip, but I can’t stop the tears from falling.

Next to me, Jeremy touches my hand with his finger.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. His eyes are shiny behind his black horn-rims.

Finally, I hear shuffling. I wipe my face quickly and look up.