Opposite of Always(53)

I strain to look over his athletic shoulders, but the room is empty behind him. He looks back into the room, presumably to see what it is I’m staring at, and then he shakes his head. “Kate’s not here. Are you one of her kids from the center?”

I have no idea what he’s talking about. One of her kids. But then I remember, Kate volunteers at the rec center. “No,” I say, wondering who this guy is. “I’m a friend of hers, actually.”

He smiles. “Well, friend of Kate’s, I hope you didn’t come a long way. Kate is gone until next Monday. Some family situation.”

“Is everyone okay?”

He shrugs. “Hopefully, right?” But he says so in a way that I read as he, too, is in the dark about what family situation means.

And then he says, “Well, I was just going to head out. Kate asked me to drop something in the mail for her.” He holds up a slender envelope with my name on it in swirly dark print. Below my name is my address.

“Hey, that’s me.”

The guy looks down at the envelope. “You’re Jack King? Of Elytown?”

“Yep,” I say, making a move for my wallet and whipping out my license.

He looks surprised, startled even, but then his smile returns, brighter, toothier. “Nice to meet you, Jack. I’m Xander.”

“You didn’t punch the guy?” Franny asks as we angle the car back out of the Whittier D Parking Lot. “I would’ve sent him into the next decade, happily.”

“Franny, sometimes you’re such a caveman,” Jillian announces, making eye contact with him through her rearview mirror.

“Why thank you,” Franny says. “Me love Jilly.”

“He was actually a pretty nice guy. Very attractive, too.”

“So not only did you not punch the guy, you also want to date him?”

“He gave me this,” I say, holding up the envelope. “From Kate.”

“Well, open it already,” Jillian says.

“It’s really thin,” I say. “If it was a love letter, wouldn’t it be thicker?”

Franny sucks his teeth. “It’s not a college rejection letter, man. Just open it.”

“I don’t know if—”

But Franny rips the envelope from my hands. And I undo my seat belt, lunging into the back seat like a man who has twenty seconds to disarm a bomb, but Franny transforms himself into the world’s strongest human ball, his ass pointed at me and his broad, arched back acting as a force field.

“Boys, behave! You’re gonna cause an accident,” Jillian says.

“At least read it out loud,” I plead with Franny.

“No way,” Franny says a moment later. “No goddamn way!”

“What?” I ask, feeling very delirious. “Is it that bad? Is it a restraining order? She never wants to see me again, right?”

But Franny puts his heavy hand onto my shoulder and slaps me with the other, not hard, but firm enough to make me shut up.

“Get a grip, man. Otherwise, I’m going to have to find someone else to use your ticket,” Franny says.

“What ticket?”

“These tickets,” Franny says, holding up three Mighty Moat concert tickets. “She actually came through. Even though she hates your guts, Jack, she still came through. Too bad you blew it with her, she’s actually really freaking awesome.”

“Wait,” Jillian says, studying us through the rearview. “Mighty Moat? She really got us tickets?”

“Yeah, her sister Kira’s dating the drummer. I told you guys that.”

“Uh, pretty sure I would’ve remembered,” Jillian says.

“Who cares? We’re going to Detroit,” Franny screams.

The two of them launch into a lengthy Detroit, Detroit chant.

“Was there anything else in the envelope?” I ask, reaching out for it.

“Uh, just this,” Franny says, holding out a pink Post-it note. “Whatever it means.”

Have fun, Jack.

The Eternal Cap’n to Your Crunch,

Kate.

Kate’s “note” is an entire nine words, but I can’t stop thinking about it. Dissecting it. Overanalyzing her choice in line breaks, squeezing each syllable for its drop of meaning, like that small amount of juice you get from squeezing a hundred lemons. There’s one word I keep going back to, and it’s not fun.

You got it: Eternal.

As in, she wants to be my permanent, all-time cereal-eating partner.

So maybe there’s still hope?

Not to mention the tickets themselves are a sign, no?

A peace offering, maybe.

An olive branch, extended.

But then Xander pops into my brain—Greek-God-Adonis-stunt-double-looking, easy-smile-having Xander—and all those hopeful feelings jump ship. Because why was he there? Out of all the people in the world, of all the thousands of students on campus, why did she ask Xander to go to her room while she was away? Why did she put Xander up to mailing my letter? Why is she still talking to Xander at all?

And then my favorite word eternal melds into Xander, so that every time I hear the word, every time I even think about it, Xander’s face follows.

Mighty Moat is phenomenal. When the crowd refuses to leave, the band comes back out and performs half a dozen encore songs, including my all-time fave “Home Again.” We’re second-row center and it’s a dreamscape, a horizon of stretching neon and electric bodies, rivers of smoke winding through the stadium. Franny and Jillian and I belt out each song at the top of our lungs, until our voices are gone, and even then we don’t stop singing.