“I don’t understand, Mickey.”

“Get better, Mom,” I said, standing up now. “Because the next time I come back, I’m bringing Dad.”

Chapter 26

I hurried out then. Christine Shippee said, “Wait, where are you going?”

“No,” I said.

“What?”

I spun back to her. “She stays. I was only in there a few minutes. Please.”

She looked at me, then at Myron. Myron shrugged.

“Please,” I said again. “Just trust me, okay?”

Christine Shippee nodded. “Okay, but, Mickey?”

“Yes?”

“You can’t do this again.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I won’t be back until everything has changed.”

• • •

I was in school, on my way to practice the next day, when Rachel sent me a text: In Philadelphia with my dad.

I typed back: Sounds like fun.

I told him I knew the truth about my mom.

I nodded toward the screen. How did it go?

There was a small delay before she typed back: Not well. Yet. But it chased the lie from the room.

I smiled. Good.

Be back late tonight. Can you update me in the morning?

Sure.

Great. My place early AM. See you then. Take care.

I wrote back, because I’m the master of smooth: You too.

I stared down at the phone until a voice jarred me back to the present.

“What are you smiling at?”

I looked up too quickly. “Nothing.”

Ema frowned. “Right.”

“It was nothing. Someone just sent me a joke.”

“One of your new jock friends? I bet it was a riot.”

“What’s up?”

“Guess who found us a Betamax machine so we can watch that tape,” Ema said.

“You?”

“Nope. Spoon. If you can skip chilling with your hoops bros tonight, maybe we could go to the hospital and watch the tape together.”

“I’m there,” I said.

“Goodie.”

Ema took off. I got ready for practice. A bunch of the guys were joking around and I joined in and I enjoyed it and the heck with Ema and her attitude. I was allowed to have a little fun, wasn’t I? I spotted Brandon lacing up his sneakers in the corner. He looked over at me and tilted his head as though asking, Well?

I walked over to him. “Let me ask you something,” I said.

“What?”

“It’s about Buck.”

“What about him?”

“From what I understand, his parents are divorced.”

“Right. I think they split three, four years ago, I don’t know.”

“Was it hard on Buck?”

Brandon squinted at me. “What difference does that make?”

“I’m just finding this all a little convenient.”

“What?”

“Buck has lived his whole life in this town, right?”

“Right.”

“So suddenly, a few weeks into his senior year, he has to leave his friends and school and live with his mother?”

Brandon shrugged. “I’m not a lawyer, but they have joint custody or something.”

“So when was the last time you talked to him?”

“I don’t know. A few days before he left.”

“You haven’t spoken to him since?”

“No.”

“No text or e-mail, nothing?”

“A text, I think,” Brandon said. “Maybe an e-mail.”

“No good-bye?”

Brandon seemed to get it now. “No,” he said. “No real good-bye.”

“And you don’t find that odd? You guys were friends from childhood. He moves away and never says good-bye?”

Still seated, Brandon looked up at me. “What are you getting at, Mickey?”

“The timing,” I said.

Brandon said nothing.

“Look,” I said, “I’ve only known Buck a short time. He’s been nothing but this horrible bully. That’s all I know of him. But I want to show you something.”

“What?”

I started down the row of lockers into the hallway. Every high school has that sports trophy display case. I brought him over there and pointed to the photograph of last year’s team on a plaque as county champions. I pointed at Buck.

“What?” Brandon said.

“You don’t see it?”

“No. What is it?”

“Maybe because you saw him every day. I didn’t. But take a good look at him.”

“I am,” Brandon said. He was very tall, so he bent down for a closer look. “What am I supposed to be seeing?”

“This picture was taken a year ago. It barely looks like the same Buck I know. This guy has to be thirty pounds smaller.”

Brandon stayed hunched over and studied the photo. “So? Lots of guys grow between junior and senior year.”

“That much?”

“Sure.” But I could hear the doubt in his own voice. “Come to think of it . . .”

“What?”

“Buck had a great baseball season. The extra strength really made a difference in his slugging percentage . . .” Brandon’s voice drifted off. Then he gave me a sharp look.

“What?” I said.

“You’re supposed to be helping Troy.”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

“It sounds more like you’re trying to make a case against Buck.”

“I’m not making a case for or against anyone. I’m trying to find out the truth. But suppose there’s a connection between what happened to Buck and what happened to Troy.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know yet. But suppose Buck got a positive drug test too. Wouldn’t that maybe explain why he suddenly changed schools and doesn’t communicate with anyone?”

Brandon looked off, considering it.

“What?” I said.

“It was always hard for Buck,” Brandon said.

“How so?”

“The pressure on him. Being Randy’s younger brother. It was more than just a shadow he couldn’t escape. It was a shadow that smothered him. I know you hate him, and I can’t say you don’t have your reasons. But a lot of Buck’s bullying behavior was because he always felt second best.”

I arched an eyebrow. “His parents didn’t hug him enough?”

“Hey, you’re the one who raised this. But think about it. In the past few years, Buck has had to live with the superstar brother. That pressure had to be enormous.”