The Cousins(24)

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Dunes is packed when I get there. The restaurant is dim, paneled with the same kind of wood as my parents’ hasn’t-been-touched-since-the-seventies basement, which gives it a closed-in feel despite the large space. There’s a dining area with a few dozen full tables, a bar strung with twinkling white lights, and a small stage off to one side where a girl with a guitar and a guy with a keyboard are starting to set up. The back of the room is filled with pool tables, dartboards, and a bunch of high-top tables.

I spot a lot of familiar faces as I approach; it looks like Towhees have taken over two pool tables and all the surrounding seats. Brittany waves wildly from a corner where she’s clustered with a group of girls, and my roommate, Efram, steps away from a pool game to drop his jaw in mock surprise. Efram is one of those relentlessly friendly guys who invites me everywhere he goes, even though I never accept.

“Is there a fire in the dorms?” he asks. He puts one hand over his heart and the other on my shoulder. “Are you okay? And more important, did you save my laptop?”



Milly materializes beside him with an arch smile. “Jonah is being social tonight,” she says. I don’t like the triumphant gleam in her eyes. At all. I’m half tempted to turn and leave when someone grabs hold of my arm. It’s Aubrey, smiling widely and holding a pool cue.

“Perfect timing,” she says. “You and Milly can play me and Efram.”

I narrow my eyes. Is she in on whatever Milly’s up to? But I stand by my original impression of Aubrey: the girl can’t lie to save her life. She might actually be happy to see me. Which is weird, but then again, I haven’t seen Aubrey hang out with anyone except Milly and Efram, who’s also a lifeguard, since she’s been here. She fits in only a little better than I do.

“Great,” I say blandly, grabbing a cue from the rack on the wall. “I’ll break.”

Efram, who’s been gathering balls from the pockets, tosses the last of them into the rack. “We should probably warn you that Aubrey and I are undefeated, and that includes a game against a couple of townie dudes who are now drowning their humiliation at the bar,” he says, pulling the triangle away with a flourish. “But let’s see what you can do, hermit.”

I run my eyes over the table, then focus on the cue ball as I position myself to take aim. For a few seconds, I barely move except for a couple of micro adjustments to get my stick angled exactly how I want it. Then I draw back and strike fast. The balls explode against each other with such a loud crack that Aubrey gasps beside me. Striped balls start dropping into the pockets one after the other, while the solid balls spin harmlessly against the sides of the table. When the balls stop moving, only two stripes remain along with all but one of the solids.



I glance up to meet Milly’s shocked expression and try not to look smug. I probably fail. “We’re stripes,” I say.

Efram raises and lowers his arms in a we’re not worthy gesture. “Why didn’t you tell me your cousin was a shark, Aubrey?” he asks.

“I had no idea,” Aubrey says, blinking like she’s seeing me for the first time.

Which is disconcerting. Maybe I should’ve stuck with my first instinct and left, but the thing is, as soon as I saw the pool table, my hands itched to hold a cue again. I grew up around a billiards hall and used to hang out there every afternoon. One of the regulars taught me how to play, and after he died—dropped dead from a heart attack in his early fifties, which my father used to call “the blue-collar guy’s retirement plan”—I kept playing by myself. When I was twelve years old, I started challenging adults to play for money. They thought it was cute until I beat them.

Milly jostles against me in a surprisingly friendly way. “Well, well, well,” she says. “Looks like we’ve discovered your secret talent.”

She cheers me on for the rest of the short game—I clear the table before Aubrey and Efram get a turn—and then she leans her pool cue against the wall. “I need the restroom,” she says over her shoulder to Aubrey and Efram. “But we challenge you suckers to a rematch. You can break this time, to give you a fighting chance.”

“Only if Jonah ties one hand behind his back,” Efram mutters as he starts gathering balls.

“Where did you learn to play like that?” Aubrey asks.

“Just around,” I say, my eyes straying to one of the Towhee tables behind us. It’s full of guys Efram calls the Prep Squad—they’re all tall and blond and wear stuff like whale belts unironically. Their unofficial leader is Reid Chilton, whose senator mother might be running for president in the next election. I don’t see much of the guy except when he bangs on our door to borrow toothpaste, but I already know I don’t like him.



Reid pauses midconversation to watch Aubrey lunge awkwardly across the table for the triangle, and says something that makes the Prep Squadder next to him laugh. My hand curls more tightly around my pool cue. The more I see of Reid and his friends, the more I wonder whether there was some kind of method to Mildred’s madness. Maybe she saw her kids turning into assholes and took extreme steps to stop them.

“You.” The voice at my elbow is ice cold, and when I turn, so is the look in Milly’s eyes. “Come with me. Now.” She snatches the pool cue out of my hands and leans it next to hers against the wall. “Game delay,” she says to Aubrey. “I need to talk to Jonah.”