Zac

September arrived quietly in whispers of falling leaves and chilly breezes. Fall semester was in full swing. I was running ragged on a jam-packed schedule—Spanish, Calculus, Physics, English Literature, World History, and Psychology, plus, soccer practice afterschool and games on weekends—and Cate's calendar was even more hectic than mine with her insanely demanding load of AP classes, sky-high list of extracurriculars, and early admissions for Stanford coming up in November.

Not to mention, her dad was still undergoing chemo treatments. Despite the frenetic pace of our daily lives, though, we both made time to keep in contact. Only through text and Snap and IG, of course. I didn't push for more.

I had been playing Halo with Wes when Cate called me. It caught me completely by surprise. My phone only rang two times because, the moment I saw babygirl pop up on my caller ID, I tossed aside my Xbox controller and my headset and nearly tripped over a pile of laundry to get to my phone.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Zac."

My breath hitched at the sound of her voice. "What's up, ba—"

I caught myself. I cleared my throat and restarted, "What's up?"

Stiffly, Cate laughed at my near fuck up. She sidestepped it, politely, as I proceeded to die a little inside from humiliation. "Um, nothing, really, just calling to say hi since, you know, we haven't really spoken in a while."

"Yeah, it's been a while, huh?"

Both Cate and I trailed into an awkward silence as the uncomfortable aftermath from our break up weighed over us. It was fucking tragic. Even though we had flirted the whole time I was stuck in the Iris-Cowan Center, we really only dated for one week while she was in New York. It had been a little over a month since our split. Emotions were still raw, at least, on my end.

"Anyway," she continued brightly, "how have you been?"

The sudden pep in her step sounded a bit forced, but I appreciated the effort.

"Not... bad," I replied with some uncertainty. "You?"

"You know me. Busy. Stressed. As always. The Stanford app is kicking my ass."

I chuckled softly. "Doubt it. Pretty sure you're the one kicking its ass."

"I appreciate your vote of confidence," she mumbled, "but I'm pretty nervous about my app."

"You shouldn't be," I assured her, "if Stanford turns you down, they're insane."

"Crazier things have happened."

"You'll get in."

"I hope so. Andrea says I should apply to Georgetown as a backup. She says I'd do well in their Government program. Or even their IPEC program."

"IPEC?"

"International Political Economy."

"Ah," I grunted as though I knew what she was talking about.

"I'm hoping to start on my Georgetown apps once I submit my Stanford one."

Cate sounded apprehensive. Immediately, I wanted to cheer her up.

"At least," I offered, "you know exactly what you wanna do after graduation. I'm just trying to get through senior year in one piece. You'll be successful no matter where you end up, Caterina Donati. I know this for a fact."

"Thanks, Zac," she said quietly.

"You're welcome,"—babygirl—"Cate."

She asked, "Do you know where you wanna go? For college?"

I winced at her question. "Not really. I guess I haven't really given it much thought."

"Well, there's no need to rush. You could always take a gap year to, you know, figure out what you really want."

For a split second, my overeager imagination zipped off to a year-long backpacking trek across Tibet, Iceland, or maybe even Egypt with a certain hazel-eyed girl at my side. "Maybe you should take a gap year with me."

My eyes went wide as the words slipped out on accident.

Shit!

Why did my dumb ass always have to make things so fucking awkward?

But, thank God, Cate laughed in response. "Maybe I should. Guess I know what we'll be doing if I get rejected by all the schools I apply to."

Just like that, she brushed off my suggestion-slash-invitation as a joke. The chillness of her reaction was a relief. Yet, it also made me sad to know we'd probably never go on an overseas trip together, let alone take a gap year together. Unreasonable of me, I know, but the heart was an unruly bastard.

Somehow, I willed myself to laugh along with her. "As far as backup plans go, I'm not the worst option, right?"

When Cate didn't respond to my quip, it sucked not knowing what she was thinking. Our laughter died down. There was another uneasy pause.

Cate cleared her throat. "Hey, Zac?"

"Yeah?"

"There was actually another reason why I called."

My eyes narrowed shrewdly. "Okay..."

I should've known that Cate would never call me just to say hi.

"Two reasons, actually," she added.

My nerves instantly clenched. Babygirl always had a way of keeping me on my toes. "Go on, then."

"I don't know if you've been following the Harvey Waldron trial, but my dad tells me the judge should be able to reach a verdict by the end of this month."

My eyebrows shot up. My pulse picked up some speed as well. I hadn't been expecting a resolution so soon.

"By then, I'll be able to talk more freely about everything relating to Harvey Waldron, Walter Sinclair, my dad, and your dad."

I fell still and quiet. My distrust in Cate was what drove us apart in the first place. The ever-present struggle between holding her at a distance and bringing her closer writhed in me.

She didn't wait for my reply. "At any rate, my speech and debate team will be going to New York for a tournament in a few weeks."

Wait.

Hold up.

Did she say New York?

I perked up. "You're coming back to New York?"

"Yeah, I'll be there next month. So, if you're interested in talking in person about anything relating to your dad or Harvey Waldron, I'm willing to answer any questions you might have."

My mind froze.

Would I be ready to wrangle the truth from Cate within a few weeks' time?

Our first attempt to communicate had ended in disaster and heartbreak. I didn't want to repeat the same experience from her last visit.

Cate seemed to pick up on my trepidation. "There's no pressure, though. We don't have to meet up if you don't want to. But think about it, okay?"

I fought to stay calm. I tried not to let my anxiety show. "Okay..."

We chatted for a few more minutes about school before Cate needed to head out.

Shortly after we got off the phone, I pushed myself to make a decision. Already, I knew there was no way I'd pass up an opportunity to meet up with Cate. I missed her. I wanted to see her so fucking bad.

As a friend, of course.

Only as a friend.

Well, maybe a lot more than a friend, but that was beside the point.

I just didn't know if I was mentally prepared to bear the brunt of whatever she planned to tell me.

My memories were certainly taking their sweet-ass time to revive themselves from the recesses of my mind. I didn't want to sit around, twiddling my thumbs, waiting for answers that might never come. Maybe it was time to grow a pair and charge headfirst into the flames and simply pray to make it out of the burning house alive.

I pulled out my phone and shot Cate a text: lets talk when next time youre in ny

She wrote back: Sounds good.

With a sigh, I set my phone to the side. I didn't know if I made the right choice. At least, I made my choice. I wanted to give Cate a chance to earn my trust, but I needed to be smart about it. I wasn't going to be a simp like before and believe every fucking thing that flew out of her pretty little mouth. I intended to do as much homework as possible before our meeting so I wouldn't be facing her like some gullible idiot.

I needed to get my hands on that fucking flash drive from the townhouse in Wellesley. I wondered if Cate knew what was on that stick. I wondered if she would come clean if I asked her about it. This option felt a bit precarious at the moment, so I decided to focus on what was actually accessible to me. I wanted tangible facts and evidence.

I spent the rest of my afternoon digging through countless online articles and reports about Harvey Waldron. At this point, it was pretty clear to me that the CEO of Wyman & Rimmel had been deeply involved in my dad's insider trading activities. Nothing I chanced upon stood out to me, though, since I had been following his trial pretty closely for the past few weeks. I already knew about most of his shit.

After dinner, I logged onto my dad's old laptop and scoured through his files and emails. Walter Sinclair's name kept popping up in my dad's private emails. Their ongoing correspondence felt shady to me even though there didn't seem to be anything particularly illegal about the contents of their messages. My dad and Mr. Sinclair were supposed to be work colleagues.

Why had they been communicating so much via their personal accounts?

Why didn't they email each other through their work accounts at Wyman & Rimmel?

Unfortunately, this wasn't exactly a game changing lead. I already knew that I had gone to Wellesley to investigate Mr. Sinclair's involvement with my dad's case. Briefly, I wondered if I had found anything of significance during my time in Wellesley.

Around midnight, I started scrolling through the sparse bits of data that remained on my old phone. Again, I didn't find anything particularly useful to my cause. The missing data kept taunting me. I knew I needed to locate where my mom had hidden my memory card. She had tossed out my old SIM card when I got my new number. I prayed she hadn't thrown away the memory card, too.

After my mom went to bed with Jared, I rummaged through our entire apartment like a thief in my own house. I came up with nothing.

At night, with a cloud of conspiracy theories and unanswered mysteries swirling around my consciousness, another dream came to me. While I slept, I returned to Wellesley once more.

***

I was bleeding through the bandages. There was blood. So much blood. The red was soaking through the sleeve of my hoodie. Frantically, I tried to stop the bleeding. I switched out my bandages. I changed into clean clothes. I couldn't let her see me. Not like this. But I needed to head out soon. I had somewhere to be. Someone was waiting for me. Suddenly, I was inside a car. Driving.

Driving where?

Oh, yes. To Cate. Always to Cate. I heard a soft chime on my phone. I glanced down. A notification.

From Cate?

No.

Not Cate. From an unknown number.

Who was texting me?

What did the message say?

I glanced back to the road. A vehicle appeared out of nowhere. Then came the squealing tires, the swerving, the bone-shattering, metal-crushing sense of panic, and—the final crash.