Afterward by Jennifer Mathieu Read Free Book Online Page B

jealous that he could call me from his own number. Being pissed for a second that his parents got him his own phone and my parents told me I needed to wait until I turned twelve to get one.
    What if I had missed his phone call?
    What if I had gone outside to shoot hoops and my mom had gone into the bathroom at just that moment and neither of us had heard the phone ring?
    What if I had decided it was too hot to bike over? That I wanted to stay home instead?
    Maybe I’d be in tenth grade at Dove Lake High instead of sitting at home with a tutor doing school online, completely screwed up and sleeping with the lights on.
    Maybe.
    Jesse is fiddling with his controller now, and I wonder if he wants to play some more. But I don’t feel like playing. I just want to be by myself. Or better, disappear. Then my mom walks in and starts asking us if we want a snack.
    â€œActually Mrs. Jorgenson, I got to get going,” Jesse says, standing up.
    â€œAll right,” my mom answers, and she’s reading my face, trying to make sure I’m okay. She’s constantly checking in with me. Every millisecond of every second, she’s scanning my eyes and my nose and my mouth to make sure I’m not about to lose it or something. Sometimes I feel like a science experiment.
    I try to hold it together, nodding. My mom and I walk Jesse to the door.
    â€œI’ll try to stop by next week,” he says.
    â€œCool,” I say. But I think he might never come over again, and this makes me relieved and depressed at the exact same time.
    â€œCool,” Jesse says, and he makes his way over to his mom’s Camry and drives off, giving me a little wave as he pulls out. No guy hug this time.
    â€œDid you have fun?” my mom asks after I shut the front door, her eyebrows popping up.
    â€œYeah, sure,” I say. I might as well tell her what I know she wants to hear.
    â€œWhat do you think you want for dinner?” she asks me, her eyebrows still up like two umbrellas.
    â€œAnything’s good. Maybe mac and cheese.” I just need to get out of here. I need to breathe a little.
    â€œOkay, mac and cheese it is,” she says, smiling.
    She heads back toward the kitchen but I say, “I’m going out to the garage. To practice.”
    â€œOh, that’s great, Ethan,” my mom says, and yeah, when she looks back at me, she tears up. Again.
    Outside, I take a deep inhale as I watch the garage door roll back like I’m the winner on some game show and here is my prize. A Ludwig in deep blue. I gaze at my drums and slide onto the stool, taking the smooth sticks into my hands. And I start playing, wailing away until I’m sure my arms are about to fly off. Until my mind is nothing but machine gun beats.

 
    CAROLINE—148 DAYS AFTERWARD
    Because it’s Dove Lake. Because it’s only a couple of thousand people who call this place home. Because Emma and I even drove past it a few times in the days after Ethan and Dylan were found to gawk at the news trucks hanging around. (Emma wanted to do it because it was something exciting that was happening in a place where nothing exciting ever did, but to me, it just felt creepy.) But because of all of these reasons, I know exactly where to find the house where Ethan Jorgenson lives. It’s one of those big, beautiful homes with a wraparound front porch and a landscaped garden and a giant backyard that gently nestles up against Dove Lake Creek. It’s an older neighborhood, but most of the homes only look old on the outside and are probably totally new and Pottery Barnish on the inside—not that I’ve ever been inside any of them. The people who live here are mostly people with money who came here to get away from city life. Some of them don’t even live here year-round. They just come and spend the weekends and long breaks.
    Must be nice.
    As I bike down Ethan’s street, I catch glimpses of the cute Halloween decorations