Starry Eyes(63)

Despite the leg rub ending, I’m still happy. I smile to myself as I gather up the cards and stack them neatly in a single deck. “This is so not fair, you know.” I was distracted.

“Totally fair,” he says, carefully bagging all the M&M’s to put them back in the bear canister. “Tomorrow you’re going to be eating boring nuts-and-fruit trail mix, and you’ll think, Self, why did I go crazy with all those ridiculous bets? Sure wish I had some chocolate. And I will just laugh like an evil overlord.” He demonstrates said laugh in his deep voice.

“Okay, okay,” I say, pushing his shoulder. “Your dad will be proud that you lived up to your poker potential. You’ll have to tell him that you finally won next time you see him.”

Lennon sniffles and rubs his nose, dark eyelashes fluttering. He keeps his eyes on the deck of cards as I’m sliding it over to him. “Yeah, that will be difficult.”

“Why is that?”

His eyes lift to meet mine. “Because he’s dead.”





18




* * *



I freeze. “What are you talking about?”

“My father died.”

“When?”

“Last fall.”

How could this be? Last fall? “But . . .” I can’t even talk right. “What do you mean? How?”

“He killed himself.”

Without warning, tears flood my eyes. “No. That’s impossible.”

Lennon slips the cards into their cardboard sleeve. “He attempted once and failed. His girlfriend found him and got him to the hospital in time for doctors to pump his stomach. He said it was just an overdose of pain pills, and that he didn’t mean to, but his girlfriend didn’t believe him. And she was right. Because a few days later, he did it again. Successfully.”

I’m crying now, not making any noise, but stinging tears are tickling my cheeks, plopping onto the nylon floor of the tent. “I didn’t know.”

Lennon’s expression is somber. “I know you didn’t. Almost no one at school noticed. I mean, I thought you might hear. . . . It was in the paper. It trended online for a few hours.” He shakes his head softly.

“I didn’t hear,” I whisper, lifting my glasses to swipe away tears. “I’m so sorry. I just don’t understand why I didn’t hear. And I don’t understand. . . . Your dad was happy. He was so funny, always laughing. How . . . ?”

“He’d been on antidepressants for years and didn’t tell anyone he’d stopped taking them. He started obsessing about his music career being over. He was depressed that no one cared or remembered.”

“That’s not true! People still buy their records.”

“Barely. And he had a skewed idea of his success. I mean, how many people can say they had their songs played on the radio? But he didn’t see it that way. He wasn’t making much off royalties anymore, and the band was never huge—not like others. I don’t know. I guess being forced to work a nine-to-five job was failure to him. He couldn’t handle being normal.”

“Oh, Lennon.”

He nods, eyes downcast.

Did no one in our group know? The way Brett and Summer were talking about his dad when Reagan drove us to the glamping compound—and what was said about him during the big fight last night—I’m almost positive they didn’t realize.

I know Lennon didn’t see his father every day—or even every month—but Lennon was closer to Adam than I am to my dad. And now I’m thinking about Sunny and Mac, and how they must have been grieving too. And I never acknowledged it. What kind of monster do they think I am?

“When was the funeral?” I ask.

“Last October.”

When everything fell apart between us. The homecoming dance. The sex shop opening. My dad fighting with Sunny and Mac.

Is this the reason why?

It makes no sense. Why would he shut me out? “I should have been at the funeral.”

Pained eyes flick to mine. “Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

His face turns rigid, and he grabs the bag of trail mix. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, I do! I should have been there. Didn’t you want me there?”

“Yes, I wanted you there!” he shouts, startling me. “My dad died. It was the worst time of my life. Of course I wanted you there, but . . .” He squeezes his eyes shut and lowers his voice. “Look, it’s getting late, and we’re both tired. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Lennon!”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it right now. Goddammit, Zorie. What don’t you understand about that?”

This smarts. I’m shaking now, still fighting tears. And I’m utterly confused. But Lennon is unzipping the mesh door, and he ducks out of my tent before I can think of the right words to stop him.

Dazed, I try to sort out the events that transpired last year. Try to make sense of them. To understand Lennon’s anger. On the final week of summer vacation, Lennon and I kissed. We conducted the Great Experiment in secret. We decided make our first public appearance as a couple at homecoming. Lennon stood me up and stopped talking to me. The Mackenzies’ sex shop opened. My dad started fighting with them.