The Boy from the Woods(41)

Teenagers, Wilde thought. A boy and a girl at a party. We may not like it, but it’s a tale as old as time.

“You want to hear something awful?”

Wilde gave him a small nod.

“We start going at it a little harder. Her hand is on my leg, all that. And part of me is like, Yeah, awesome. And part of me is like, Wow, look at you—you’re with the biggest loser in the school.” Matthew stopped, raised his hand, shook his head. “I’m not explaining this right. And it doesn’t matter. Because right then, with her hand on my leg and my hand under her shirt, a big spotlight hits us in the face. We both jump back. I can hear laughter. Hard to make out, but for sure I can hear Crash and Ryan and…Naomi runs. Like a rabbit. She jumps up and takes off. I can’t even see. The light is still in my eyes. I raise my hand to block it. Everyone is laughing and mocking me for being with her. I’m all blinking and I can feel tears start coming. I just want to die, you know? I’m thinking I’m never going to live this down. And for the next two months, I don’t. Wherever I was on the social ladder, I’m tossed down to the bottom. Not as low as Naomi. But down there.”

“What did you say?” Wilde asked. “To the guys laughing at you.”

“That it was nothing. That I was just having fun.” He swallowed. “I…I said that she’s easy.”

“Classy.”

Matthew closed his eyes. Wilde backed off.

“Did you talk to Naomi about it?”

“No.”

“Seriously?”

Matthew didn’t reply.

“When did you next see her?”

“At school, but we avoided each other.” Matthew thought about it. “It was more me avoiding her, to be honest. It was really bad for a few weeks.”

Wilde wanted so very much to play a small air violin. “This is all awful,” Wilde said, “but I’m still not sure why you were so concerned when she went missing.”

“Because I’m not done with the story.”

Tears flooded the boy’s eyes. Wilde felt his heart drop.

“I’m going to skip the excuses, okay? Because there is no excuse. I got a small taste of what Naomi went through for years. Just a small taste. And I couldn’t take it. So when Crash came to me with a way to get back into their good graces, I took it. That’s all that matters. Not why. Just that I did it.”

“What did you do?”

“It was a prank.”

“What was?”

He didn’t reply.

“Matthew?”

“I asked Naomi to meet me. Like, on a date. I texted that I wanted to see her again, not to tell anyone, at that same spot behind the Maynards’.”

“How did she reply?”

“She said yes.” He shrugged. “She seemed excited.”

Matthew closed his eyes.

Wilde worked hard to keep his expression neutral. “And?”

“And I pranked her.”

“How?”

“I sort of didn’t show.”

“Hey, Matthew?”

Matthew looked up.

“This isn’t a time to be cute with your wording. What do you mean, sort of didn’t show?”

“I didn’t show. And I was supposed to ghost her so when she texted me ‘where are you’ I wasn’t supposed to reply.”

“But you did?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you say?”

“I said, ‘I’m sorry.’”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing. She never spoke to me again.”

He flashed back to that basement. Naomi’s words about Matthew: “He probably blames himself. Tell him he shouldn’t. He just wants to fit in too.”

Maybe Naomi forgave him, and maybe Matthew was looking for absolution, but Wilde wasn’t about to be the one to give it to him.

“So what happened when Naomi went to the brook by herself?”

“Crash showed up. Others in the group.”

“And?”

“And I don’t know. Or at least I didn’t. That’s why I contacted Nana. The next day, Naomi vanished. I thought…well, I don’t know what I thought. I thought they’d done something to her.”

“Like what?”

“Like, I don’t know,” he said, throwing up his hands. “But it ends up, Naomi was okay. You found her. Crash just told her about that stupid Challenge game. Got her to go along with it. That’s all.”

Wilde heard what he thought might be a car pulling into the driveway. He moved down the hall and looked out the window. A tall man in obvious designer threads got out on the driver’s side of a shiny black Mercedes-Benz SL 550. He hurried to the passenger side, hoping to be ever the gallant gentleman, but Laila had already opened the door and gotten out too.

So that was why Laila had told Wilde she’d be out late.

Without another word, Wilde padded down the stairs and out the back door. Matthew would get it. They’d all been here before. Laila wouldn’t bring Designer Threads into the house. Not yet. Not with Matthew home. But she’d ask Wilde to stay away from her for a while and Wilde would and Laila would try and in the end it wouldn’t happen. Wilde shouldn’t wish for that. He told himself he didn’t, that he just wanted Laila happy. But for now, Laila would give this guy a go—and Wilde would take up with other women. He’d still see Laila platonically—she’d never want him out of her or especially Matthew’s life—and then one day Designer Threads would be gone and Wilde would stay the night. Maybe that cycle was okay. Maybe that was how it was supposed to be. Or maybe Wilde should make himself less available and not be such a convenient out for her. Maybe he made it too easy for her to give up on a new relationship. Maybe not. Maybe she’s better off with Wilde and she should forget Designer Threads. Maybe Wilde was self-rationalizing. And maybe, just maybe, he shouldn’t be deciding what Laila really wants or needs or what’s best for her.