One of Us Is Next(51)
And Brandon—Brandon is buried and gone.
His funeral was last weekend, the first one I’d gone to since my father’s. I’d never felt such a confusing mash-up of emotions—shock and disbelief and sadness, but also some anger still. It’s strange, mourning someone who’d been legitimately horrible to you. When the priest eulogized Brandon, I felt like he was talking about a boy I’d never met. I wish I had, because that guy sounded great.
So much potential, wasted.
“Am I taking you to Until Proven, Knox?” Emma asks. She’s back to being calmly polite toward me, and hasn’t mentioned Derek once since Brandon’s funeral. Maybe his death shocked her out of her anger, or maybe it’s just that I finally have a friend she likes. She doesn’t even mind giving Knox the occasional lift to San Diego.
“No, I’m not working,” Knox says. I glance at him in the rearview mirror, cataloging the state of his bruises like I do every day. The ring around his eye is still purple, but his cheek and jaw have calmed down to a yellowish color. If he wore makeup, he could totally cover it up with the right foundation. “Just home, thanks.”
“You should come over,” I say impulsively. “Play that Bounty Wars game Owen keeps asking about.” My brother has been subdued lately, picking up on the sad vibe running through our house since Brandon died. A video game session with someone new would be the perfect way to cheer him up.
“Yeah, sure,” Knox says. Then he frowns and leans forward. “Does the car feel kind of—lopsided to you guys?”
“Always,” I say. “It’s ancient.”
“I was just thinking the same thing,” Emma says. “Something’s not right.” She turns in to the parking garage beneath our building and pulls into our assigned spot. I grab my bag as she climbs out and steps backward to look at the driver’s-side front tire.
“It’s going flat,” she groans as I get out.
Knox crouches down and examines the tire. “Looks like you picked up a nail,” he says.
I pull out my phone, only to see the power drained to nothing. “Emma, can you text Mom to call Triple A?” I ask. “I’m out of battery.”
My sister shakes her head. “I lost my phone, remember?”
Emma lost her phone almost a week ago. Mom had a fit and said she couldn’t afford a new one and Emma would have to pay for it out of her tutoring money. So far, Emma hasn’t replaced it, which is unfathomable to me. I can’t go an hour without my phone, let alone a week. But Emma acts like she doesn’t even miss it.
“Do you have a spare tire?” Knox asks. “I can change it.”
“Really?” I ask, surprised.
Knox flushes as he opens the trunk. “Don’t look so shocked. I’m not completely useless.”
“I didn’t mean that,” I say quickly, moving beside him to give his arm a reassuring pat. “I’ve just never met anybody who knows how to change a tire before. I thought it was a lost skill.” Which is true, but also: if I’d been asked to guess Knox’s car repair abilities on a scale of one to ten, I would’ve said zero. He doesn’t need to know that, though.
“My dad wouldn’t let me and my sisters take driver’s ed until we learned. It took me a month but whatever.” He pulls on a latch in the trunk I didn’t even know was there and slides away part of the floor to reveal a tire beneath. “Oh wow, it’s even regular size. Old cars are the best.”
Knox changes the tire, so slowly and painstakingly that I debate sneaking upstairs to charge my phone so I can call Mom and plead for an assist from AAA, but eventually he finishes. “You still need a new tire, but this will get you to a repair shop,” Knox says. It’s kind of cute how nonchalant he’s trying to sound when he’s obviously proud of himself.
“Thanks so much,” Emma says with genuine warmth in her voice. “You’re the best.”
“It’s the least I can do,” Knox says as we walk to the elevator. “You guys have been carting me all over town.”
“Well, you’re injured,” I say, pressing the Up button.
“Nah, I’m fine now. Doctors gave me a clean bill of health at my last checkup,” Knox says, leaning against the wall while we wait. His bruises look worse under the harsh fluorescent light of the garage. “Anyway, according to my dad it serves me right.”
Emma gasps as the doors open and we step inside. “What?”
Knox instantly looks regretful. “That came out wrong. Those aren’t his exact words or anything. He’s just mad that I tried to cut through the construction site.”
I frown. “He should be glad you’re alive. Mr. Weber would trade places with him in a heartbeat.” Brandon’s father has been on every major San Diego news channel recently, threatening to sue the mall, the bankrupt construction company that started the parking garage, and the entire town of Bayview. “Did you catch him with Liz Rosen last night?”
“Yeah. He was really ranting,” Knox says. The elevator stops on our floor and we all step into the hallway, which smells faintly of caramel and vanilla. Addy must be making cookies again. “I guess you can’t blame him, though. I mean, that construction site is a hazard. My dad’s been saying so for months. Plus Brandon’s an only child, so it’s like their whole family is gone all of a sudden. You know?”