Playing with Fire (19 page)

“They're desperate for a bass player,” Olivia says. “We have another gig—a middle-school dance on Friday, so it should be safe.”

“Man, would I love to see old Maxwell up there with the Stewed Oysters,” says Alex, “but my family is taking off for spring break that afternoon.”

“Where to?” I ask.

“My mom is dragging us all up to Victoria, BC.”

“I've heard it's beautiful up there,” I say.

“Girls like it.” Alex makes a face. “My sisters are thrilled.”

We all laugh. Then the others tell about their plans for spring break. I already know that Olivia leaves for an Alaskan cruise on Saturday. And Garrett told me that his foster parents want to take him to meet one of their kids over in Idaho. But it's a surprise to me that Conrad's family has suddenly decided to make a break for Disneyland.

“My dad just got tickets online last night,” he tells us. “It was actually a pretty good deal, I guess because it was last minute.”

“It'll be packed down there,” warns Alex. “Get ready to stand in some megalong lines, bro.”

Conrad nods. “We know. But it's what Katie wants to do.”

“Well, I hope you guys have a great time,” I say.

‘“How about you, Sam?” asks Garrett.

I shrug. “Well, my mom works…so I guess I'll just hang out.”

“Poor Sam,” says Olivia. “I wish you could come with us.”

I force a smile. “Hey, you could end up with some weird cruise disease or hit an iceberg or something.”

“Yeah,” says Conrad, “and we'll probably get sunburned and have a heatstroke down in sunny California.”

“And I'll die of boredom from looking at flowers and dishes and lace and girlie junk,” adds Alex.

“Or maybe you'll develop your feminine side,” teases Garrett.

“You're probably the lucky one,” Olivia says to me. “You get to do whatever you want for a whole week. You can sleep in, read good books, and just plain relax.”

I know they're all acting like I've got the best deal just to make me feel better. But I play along, attempting to suppress my vacation envy. And as I go to class, I remind myself that my heavenly Father owns the whole world and there's no place better to be than right where He wants me to be—even if it is only Brighton. But still, I'm only human, and the idea of being pampered on a cruise ship does sound tempting.

By Friday, I'm actually looking forward to spring break. Some downtime sounds pretty good to me. Felicity wasn't at school again today, and I suspect she's skipping. As I'm going to my car, I notice Jack in the parking lot.
He's alone, just leaning against his pickup. But he looks bummed, so I go
over
to ask if everything is okay. Am I snooping or just concerned? Sometimes the lines get blurry, but I don't think it can hurt.

“Hey, Jack,” I say as I approach him.

“What's up?” A shadow of suspicion crosses his brow ‘ as I get closer.

“Nothing.” I pause and switch the strap of my bag to my other shoulder. “Just saying hey. I missed Felicity in journalism today. Everything okay with her?”

He shrugs. “I guess…”

“I figured she was probably just skipping.”

“Or lying around dead on a red couch?” He peers curiously at me.

“She told you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I didn't tell her about that to scare her,” I say. “I was just trying—”

“I know…” He lets out an exasperated sigh. “She said you meant well, but she just happens to think you're a little insane.”

I force a smile. “She's probably not the only one.”

He frowns now. “So Zach McGregor is your brother?”

“Yep.” I control myself from adding, “and he makes me so proud.”

He scratches his head. “Just doesn't compute.”

“I know,” I say in a joking tone. “We don't look much alike, do we?”

“I didn't mean that.”

“So you know Zach?”

“Not real well. Felicity introduced me to him at a party.”

It figures. “Did you meet his buddy Tate?”

Jack nods. “Yeah, it was his party.”

“Oh…” Now an idea hits me. “And did Tate have a red sofa?”

Jack laughs. “Man, what is it with you and red furniture?”

“Well, I just wanted to make sure that Felicity wasn't pulling my leg.”

“So you really haven't been to Tate's? You didn't see it?”

I hold out my hands as if to show him who I am. “Do I look like I hang with guys like Tate?”

“What about your brother?”

“Look,” I say in a serious voice. “Don't get me wrong. I totally love my brother. But I'm pretty sure he's messing up. And that makes me really mad. He did a ninety-day treatment program for meth, and it seems like he needs to go straight back to it.”

Jack kind of nods like he agrees.

“Why do you hang with these guys, Jack? I thought you weren't into the hard stuff.”

“I'm not.”

I give him a look that's meant to convey skepticism. “Uh-huh?”

“I'm really not. I drink some. And I smoke weed now and then. But I don't do meth. That's a line I won't cross.”

“Why?”

He shrugs.

“I'm just curious, Jack. I mean, I can't figure out my brother. Anything you can tell me might help me understand Zach.”

“My dad was a heroin addict.”

“Oh…” I consider this. “But you say ‘was.’ Is he over it now?”

“In a way.” Jack pulls out a pack of cigarettes. “He's dead.”

“Wow… I'm sorry, Jack.”

He just nods, then shakes out a cigarette.

I watch as he lights up a Camel. “My dad was murdered,” I say quietly. Okay, I'm not even sure why. It just came out.

“I know.”

“You know?”

“Man, everybody knows, Sam. It was all over the place back when it happened. We all felt bad for you.”

I don't know why this surprises me, but it does. “I guess I was kind of checked out at the time. Not really paying attention, you know?”

“I know.”

“When did your dad die, Jack?”

“When I was pretty little. Not even in school yet. The truth is, I barely remember it. He was gone so much anyway. I remember the funeral, but that's about it,”

“Still, it's gotta hurt.”

He takes a long drag and slowly lets it out. “Yeah. And it hurts even more when your mom keeps comparing you to him.”

“But you really don't want to be like him, right? I mean, when it comes to doing hard drugs.”

“Yeah. I gotta draw the line.”

“But do you worry that dabbling in things like weed or alcohol might make you cross that line?”

“The old gateway drugs thing?”

“Whatever.”

“The thought crosses my mind sometimes.”

“And yet you don't stop?”

He studies his half-smoked cigarette. “Not yet.”

“But you're concerned about Felicity?”

He frowns at me, and I'm afraid I pushed too hard.

“Well, I worry about her,” I admit. “I don't want to hear about her dying on anyone's old'sofa, red or whatever.”

“Me neither.”

“Do you miss your music, Jack?”

He shrugs, but I can tell by his eyes that I hit a sore spot.

“Did you hear they got a new bass player?”

He looks curious now.

I sort of laugh. “I don't know how long it'll last,” I admit. Then I tell him a little about Maxwell, and he actually laughs too.

“Serves them right.”

“Why were you so down on Olivia?” I ask. “You acted so hateful to her, Jack, like you wanted to kill her. And yet you don't really seem like that kind of guy. I mean, you put on a good act, and you even had me scared.”

“I don't
hate
Olivia,” he says slowly “I just really dislike these rich kids, you know? The ones with their fancy houses, fancy cars, important parents…acting like they own the school, own the world and the universe. It just makes me wanna puke or punch someone.”

I nod. “I can understand that.”

“I guess Olivia's okay…”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. And she can sing too.”

“So why did you get kicked out of the band, Jack? I sort of assumed it was because you were into some hard drugs…since Cameron and the others drink and stuff.”

“Cameron's mom caught me smoking weed at their house and threw a fit. That was the end of that. In some ways, I was glad.”

“But are you still glad?”

He snuffs his cigarette out beneath his heel, then shrugs. “I dunno.”

“Am I bugging you with all these questions?”

“Sort of…but not really.”

“I guess I'm just curious.”

“It's okay.”

“Then can I ask you one more nosy question? And you don't have to answer.”

He frowns now, and I think I may have gone too far, but then he says, “Okay.”

“Well, remember Amanda's birthday party, the one that got busted?”

He laughs. “Yeah. I got out of there just in time.”

“Had you been in Olivia's car that night?”

He shrugs.

“Did you leave that Ziploc baggie there?”

His face turns stony. But I think I have my answer.

“Look, it's not like I'm trying to get you arrested,” I assure him. “I've just been wondering. It seemed to add up.”

He still doesn't say anything.

“I mean, I was pretty mad that night. It wasn't cool getting arrested and being hauled down to city hall.”

He snickers. “I heard about that. But I also heard you girls got off.”

“After we were humiliated and had to take a drug test.”

“Welcome to my world.”

I scowl at him now. ‘That's your choice, Jack. It wasn't ours. We got dragged into it. Do you think that's fair?”

“Hey, I wasn't thinking too clearly that night. And I was mad they'd let a girl into the band. I'm sorry you got into trouble, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You should think about being a cop, Sam. You seem like you have a natural instinct for it.”

I laugh to cover my surprise at this. “Thanks, but no thanks. Remember that's how my dad got killed.”

He nods. “Yeah…”

Just then a couple of his buddies head this way, and I think it's a convenient time to exit. “Take care, Jack. If you see Felicity, give her my best.”

He laughs like he knows how she'll react. “Sure, you bet.”

“See ya.” I head back over to my car feeling rather pleased with myself. Okay, it's not like I really uncovered anything in that little interrogation that I didn't already know, but it seemed like something good happened just now. I'm not sure what exactly, but I'll be praying for Jack more than ever. And for Felicity too. But she seems like a much tougher case to me. Funny how that is. I never would've guessed it to be like that a few weeks ago when I had Jack pegged as the “tough guy” and Felicity as the “victim.” Go figure.

I
think about my brother as I drive toward home. Zach I hasn't shown his face at our house in days. At least not while we were home. Mom thinks he's been by to pick up some of his things, and she's okay with that. I think she hopes he'll stay away until he decides to toe the line, if that ever happens. But I'm starting to feel irritated with him. And scared. I hate to think of where he's going to end up. I wish there was something I could do to get to him.

I decide to drive past Tate's apartment, because I'm curious as to whether Zach is actually staying there or not. Although I can't imagine where else he might be. I just wish I could “happen” to run into him. I'm not even sure what I'd say, but I'd like to talk to him. Okay, I'd like to shake him and yell at him and tell him to straighten up before it's too late. But I'd also like to encourage him. I'd like him to know that I don't want to give up on him—ever. And I'd like to tell him I believe in him. I believe that with God, he can beat this thing. Even so I'm worried. Really worried.

As much as I try to shove it away, that image of Zach lying facedown in the bloody snow still haunts me. But I don't see any sign of Zach or Tate as I drive down Grant Avenue. Knowing I might be pressing myluck, I decide to
drive past the automotive store as well. I really don't expect to see them and almost hope that I don't since I don't want them to see me. But once again I notice Tate's car coming around from the back of the building. And once again Zach is riding with him. I glance at my watch to see that it's a little before four. It's possible they've both put in a day of work and are going home now. Or maybe that's just wishful thinking.

I don't look their way but keep my eyes on the street in front of me and just continue driving like this is completely normal. But once again, my heart is pounding hard, and I feel afraid. Why?

I rationalize with myself as I drive home. Why should I be afraid? Zach is my brother. No way would he hurt me. No way would he let anyone else hurt me. I believe that to my core. And yet I still feel scared, like I'm in over my head. And then I realize it's time to pray.

I feel a little better by the time I get home. I park my car in the driveway and lock it as usual, double-checking to make sure it's really secure. Is paranoia kicking in? Then I go into the house and lock and deadbolt the front door behind me, double-checking it too, and even secure the chain-link lock that Mom installed a few years ago for extra safety. At the time, Zach and I teased her, pointing out that anyone could break through those flimsy things. But she told us it was a way to check who was at the door without being totally vulnerable. I lock the back door too, like I'm trying to turn our house into a fortress. Like, who do I think is after me? I try not to obsess over my behavior as I get a soda and what's left of a bag of tortilla chips and take them to my room,
where I close my door, wishing I had a lock for it too. Is that weird or what?